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rafetopia · 8 days ago

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just one time (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you’re constantly venting to rafe about how unlucky you are in love. one night, he gets fed up hearing about your insecurities and finally shows you how badly he’s always wanted you.

tags best friends to (temporary) lovers. alcohol mention. filthy smut. angsty ending. divider credit.

Rafe Cameron gives it to people straight. Hell will be an ice rink before he offers anyone words that have been coated with sugar.

He’s been like that since you befriended him in the twelfth grade, when you both donned private school uniforms and jaded scowls that had no business being on the faces of privileged teenagers.

The only thing steady about Rafe is his honesty. It’s why you go to him for the truth. You know your best friend will dole it out without a single inhibition holding him back.

And it’s what you desperately need right now.

You’re lying in your bed and holding your thumb against your phone screen, every passing second cracking your heart a little more.

The cycle continues, the curse lives on – another man you have growing feelings for has indirectly rejected you, this time through a story on social media. The photo shows his hand holding a woman’s over a car console, paired with a sappy caption.

When you saw him last weekend, you ended the date with a kiss. He’s been on your mind since, while he probably forgot about you the second he drove off your street. He’s already with another woman. One he actually likes.

The all too familiar feeling of inadequacy screws a hole into your chest. You hate that something as trivial as validation from the men you date can hit you this hard, but it can and it does.

It’s a pattern now. Your texts go unanswered, your crushes unrequited, and at this point, you need to know what it is about you that men deem so unwantable.

You need Rafe and his unwavering disposition for telling the truth, no matter how ugly it is. You text him: come over?

He responds: What’s up? I’m with the guys.

You reply: need your opinion on something when you stop being too busy for me.

Maybe if you ask nicely.

You scoff to yourself. Typical Rafe, acting like time with him is a gift. You text: jerk.

Damn. Right to calling me names. Is it that bad?

You close the conversation, knowing you’re taking your disappointment out on him, but too pissed off to curb it. He lets his anger drive him; it’s rubbed off on you.

You’re just as upfront with him as he is with you. While he can tell you if you’re overreacting about a fight with a girlfriend, you can tell him when he’s been drinking too much. Honesty is the foundation of your friendship and you both hinge on this hard but necessary way of caring for each other.

After a few minutes, Rafe texts: I’ll head over soon. You know him well enough to imagine the annoyed huff he let out when he gave in to you and typed out the message.

As expected, Rafe’s friends give him shit when he tells them he’s leaving to see you. They’ve been like that for years, jeering him for being so soft for a girl who doesn’t even put out.

But their taunting doesn’t get under his skin. They don’t understand that Rafe could count the things he cares about on one hand and that you’re one of them.

They don’t know him as well as they think. They were all friends when he was an eighteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder, but they had no clue what he was going through.

They didn’t know that he wasn’t getting any sleep because the fighting echoing through the walls at home kept him up. They didn’t know how hard he took the catastrophic divorce he had to watch unfold. They didn’t know how badly he needed to escape.

But you did. You let him slump next to you at the back of class for an entire semester, sleeping while you took two sets of notes. You reminded him to bust his ass until the end of the school year, giving him the tough love he needed to graduate.

And it was all because of one night, at a party, when he drunkenly confessed to you how shitty his life was and how he just wanted to make his dad proud after his mom left.

He’s never said it to you, but he owes you for pulling him out of the hole he’d fallen into back then. You were just a pretty girl assigned to sit next to him, until you became more, and he’s kept you close since.

Your bedroom is dimly lit. He doesn’t know what it is, if it’s a perfume or shampoo or cream you use, but he knows that he finds relief when he smells the familiar fragrance that means you’re around.

You shut your door behind him, falling into bed on your back, your hands over your eyes.

“Tell me,” he says, settling onto the edge of your bed. The mattress sinks with his weight. “Why’d I come all the way over here?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask.

Rafe’s eyes trail to where your shorts end, the flesh of your thighs tantalizingly swelling past the hem.

“A lot,” he jokes.

You sit up and he looks away. It’s a skill he’d mastered, forcing his eyes off of you at the right moment so you don’t catch him staring.

“Seriously,” you say, a tremble in your voice that you weren’t expecting. “I want to know.”

The hardness in his face fades, his stare melting into something gentler.

Moments like these, you see the guy you knew in school, the one who’d pretend he was heartless, when really, his emotions ran layers deeper than he ever let on.

“What do you mean?” Rafe asks.

“Why does every guy I like treat me like I’m nothing special?”

His hardness reappears, like a light being switched on.

“This shit again?” he mutters. “You called me over to talk about guys?”

“Be honest. What is it about me?”

He sighs your name in frustration, having heard this so many times. This is territory he refuses to go into with you.

If he’s honest, you’ll find the desire he’s hidden away from you and it’ll open a door he won’t be able to slam shut.

Feelings don’t last. Love is a joke. He learned that young. He’s not about to put himself through the same lesson and fuck things up with his best friend just because he finds her so agonizingly attractive.

“I need the truth,” you say. “I liked this guy and I thought he liked me, too, but he’s with another girl now and–”

“And what?” Rafe interrupts. “Did you want to marry him? You’re always crashing out over losers.”

You inch closer to him and pull your knees up to your chest, your stare doleful.

“Are they all losers?” you say. “Or are some of them right that I’m missing something?”

“You need to get your shit together,” he says sternly.

“I’m know I’m being pathetic,” you say. You gaze at him, at the crease between his brows, at the way his lips firm when he’s irritated. “But it’s just… what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being nice and I hate it.”

“Being nice,” Rafe repeats in a disbelieving huff.

“Just tell me what to fix.”

A tense silence blankets you both, you anticipating harsh words, him clueless as to what to do.

“Call one of your girlfriends for this,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I love them, but they’d just give me a pep talk and say that guys are intimidated by me or something,” you say. “This is why I called you.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Come on. I hear the gross way you talk about girls with your friends,” you reply.

Countless times, Rafe’s vulgarities have fallen on your ears, evidence of his rough and untamed edges. You’ll never be more than friends and that’s okay, because if he ever were to find a girl that he wants to be serious with, she’d have to tolerate his temper, his narcissism, his volatility.

And while you love him, you could never love him like that.

“Just pretend I’m a stranger,” you continue. “What would you say to your friends about me if you saw me enter a room?”

Rafe would rather not imagine you as a stranger. The thought of his life without you makes an empty feeling spiral in his gut.

He wants you from any distance. He craves the taste of your tongue, something he’s never even had. He dreams about your legs wrapped around his hips. He wants to hear the noises you make when you’re drunk in pleasure.

Fuck. Had he known he was walking into this, he never would have gotten into his car.

“Rafe,” you say impatiently, oblivious to the irritation that turns inside him whenever you force these types of conversations.

“For the fiftieth fucking time, you don’t need to change anything,” he says. “It’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

You exhale slowly and look down to your bedsheets, so used to his abrasiveness that it doesn’t even leave a scratch.

“That guy kissed me when he dropped me off,” you mumble. “Maybe I’m a bad kisser and that’s why he isn’t into me.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, glossy from the way you’d just licked them, and he can’t imagine those lips going anywhere near him and not being appreciated for it.

“I doubt it’s that,” he relents. You meet his blue eyes.

“You think so?” you ask.

“You’d know if you were bad at it,” he says. The square of his sharp jaw tenses.

“How?”

“You can just tell,” Rafe says. “Seriously… just get it together. You’ll be fine.”

He shuffles to stand up, but you pull him back by the crook of his elbow, your touch sending an electric current through his body.

“Why are you being more of an asshole than usual?” you ask. “Did something happen?”

He tries not to drown in your gaze, but he does, comforted by the sympathy that nobody else offers him.

“I can’t hear you saying this shit about yourself,” he admits. “And whatever I say just doesn’t register.”

“Rafe, be real with me. I know my body isn’t perfect and I know I’m not the prettiest girl around, so it’s not like I’m delusional.”

He scoffs. You are delusional. And it chips away at him, listening to you list your insecurities, ones that have no basis in reality.

You’re fucking beautiful and you have nothing to change and he doesn’t know nor care why the morons you date don’t see it.

“I can take the truth,” you repeat. “I think you’re just scared to be honest because you don’t want to hurt me.”

Your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths. Your eyes search his with caring curiosity. You’re enveloped in privacy for the millionth time, but he hasn’t ever felt this tempted to give in.

And he finally breaks.

“Kiss me, then. I’ll be honest,” Rafe murmurs, selfish and selfless at the same time.

Shock doesn’t touch your features, not for a second. You know he’d do anything for you, even go to these types of measures to prove you wrong.

You lean forward, your lips hesitatingly pressing on his. You slowly melt into the kiss, and it’s too easy to overlook the fact that the lips on yours are your best friend’s, as you’re revelling in how soft his lips are and tasting a hint of whiskey and savoring the arousal coiling in your core.

Your noses brush together as you push closer, perching on your knees, breath hitching when his big hands cradle your face.

His ring presses against your cheek, the ring you’ve seen him wear over so many years, and its hardness is a reminder of how long you’ve known him, how insane it is to be doing this with him.

He pulls back, dying to know if you feel it too, the spark sizzling in the air, the fire despairing to be stoked.

“You’re good,” he rasps, his breath warm on your cheek, hands still cupping your jaw.

“Just good?” you whisper sadly.

“Fuck,” Rafe mutters. His muscles are stiff and his boxers are getting tighter. He’ll go as far as you’ll let him go so he can prove to you that the words describing how badly he wants you don’t exist.

His grip firms, pulling you into him again. The more of your taste that he gets, the more he wants. He’s hungry for you, ravenous, and if you’re letting him finally surrender to his appetite, he’ll stop putting up this bullshit front that he doesn’t fantasize about you.

Your tongues run over each other’s, lips smacking as he pushes you down to your back.

Your mind is spinning. This is Rafe. The man who looks at you like you’re one of the guys, who tells you about his noncommittal hook-ups, who feels nothing but friendship for you.

Logic is dulled by lust and you give in completely. You hook an arm around his neck, writhing beneath him, begging for some friction.

He shifts to put his thigh between your legs as if you’ve done this before, giving you relief when you grind up against him. You’re tumbling into mindless bliss, starved for him, for the validation he can give you.

He’s hard against your thigh. It makes desire heat you from the inside out. You’re friends, but you’re not ignorant to the fact that he’s the most attractive man you know, so feeling his body’s charge for you is intoxicating.

You lower a hand, feeling for the bulge beneath his jeans, touching him in a way you never would have expected to, feeling yourself getting wetter.

Rafe ducks his head, teeth nipping at your neck, hips rolling into yours as you stroke his cock, too many layers of clothes between you.

“You’re fucking hot, alright?” he murmurs into your ear. You can only nod as you continue to rub his length, anticipating how he’ll feel inside of you. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Just one time,” you whisper, because even though you’re lost in the moment, you’re not so stupid that you won’t build a safeguard around your heart.

You’ve already been fooled by the familiar emotions rushing through you, tricking you into thinking that a man wanting to fuck is a man capable of love.

You need to remember it, especially now. You know Rafe. He doesn’t want love and he doesn’t want to give it.

“One time,” he echoes. “Take your shirt off.”

You’re trembling beneath him, your words caught in your throat, eagerly shifting to pull your top over your head. The moment you’re left in your bra, he digs his head into your chest, hands gripping your tits tightly, breathing in sharply.

Rafe’s kisses are sloppy and heated and he roughly pulls down the cups of your bra, exposing you, stabilizing himself on his elbows as he drinks in how goddamn perfect you are.

The closest he’s ever been to seeing you naked in the past was when he’d notice the peaks of your nipples under a shirt or a bikini. He’d imagine how they’d feel in his mouth. He doesn’t have to imagine anymore.

His lips close around your nipple, sucking and licking, earning soft, surprised moans from you. Your hand finds his hair, fingernails dragging over his scalp as he wets your chest with his spit.

“Wow,” you breathe. You can feel yourself clenching for him, your hips stuttering in need. Your hands drag down his back, bunching up his t-shirt.

He sits up to pull it off and throw it to the floor, looking down at you, his body broad and hard and heaving. You spread your legs wider, slowly pitching your hips forward with desperate eyes.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but he speaks with his body instead, resting his hand between your legs to slowly stroke his thumb over you. You sigh in pleasure when he rolls over your clit, silently begging him to take what’s left of your clothes off.

Rafe keeps his eyes on yours when his fingers hook under your shorts, wriggling to make sure he’s captured the band of your panties, too. He drags them down your legs, gazing at you like he’s never seen a naked woman before, his face pinched in awe.

“God,” he moans. He doesn’t waste a second. His chest is on your bed, his head between your legs, and his open mouth makes contact, hot and wet and perfect.

He laps at you, drool rolling down the side of his mouth, his face drenched in your arousal. You gaze at him through half-lidded eyes, gentle whimpers spilling out of your mouth.

The thought of someone not wanting you feels like an unknown concept, like something that never even crossed your mind. He’s ravishing you like he’ll die if he stops.

He’s licking and sucking with abandon, reaching every inch, dipping his tongue inside and sighing in pleasure simply from tasting you.

“Your pussy’s so sweet,” he rasps against your inner thigh. “I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard. Say you want it.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, thoughts a tangled mess. This is not what best friends are supposed to do. You don’t care.

“Please,” your voice comes out weak and honeyed, eyes shut. “Now.”

Anticipation rolls through you when you hear Rafe unzip his pants. His jeans are bunched up at the end of your bed and he hovers over you and you’re so glad that he doesn’t wait.

He holds himself at his base, guiding into your heat, filling you quickly, the pressure hard but perfect.

Your stomach numbs when he bottoms out and surrounds you in himself, the realization hitting you like a wave that he’s inside you right now, that he feels you as intensely as you feel him, that your bodies are joined in a way you never thought they would be.

He rocks back to thrust into you, your body jolting, your legs wrapping around him. He finds a rhythm, every push into you paired with a heavy exhale as his cheek presses against yours.

The line between you blurs and breaks with every movement.

“Tell me you’ll stop talking like that,” Rafe demands. He rolls his eyes from the thrill of how tight you are around his cock, squeezing him in hot, wet velvet. It’s so much better than he imagined.

“I will,” you promise. His chest is firm and hot against you, skin sticking with sweat.

“I don’t want to hear it anymore,” he whispers, voice strained. “I want you to remember how bad I wanted to fuck you whenever you think that stupid shit about yourself.”

“Yes,” you whisper. Rafe doesn’t care enough to lie. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t fake what you do to him. He’s being honest when he says there’s nothing about yourself that you need to change.

He’s driving into you at a perfect angle, giving your clit sweet friction against his groin, pulling you closer into an orgasm. Your hands are on his hard back, feeling his muscles tense and loosen.

He kisses your neck, telling himself to remember every single detail. Your noises and your aroma and your touch. You said it yourself, just one time, and you’re right, because he’s never had his heart involved in sex like this.

It’s fucked up and wrong for him to feel what he’s feeling. He’s proving a point, he’s indulging a fantasy, and that’s it.

“Shit,” you whisper, back arching as the coil in you gets closer to snapping. “I’m…”

You come with a shudder, your entire body tightening around him, fireworks sparking every single nerve in your system. Pleasure pools you from head to toe, leaving you shaking.

Rafe groans when he feels you flutter around him, pulsating with your peak. He starts to thrust harder and sloppier, dismissing the notion of making this last and instead giving in to the impulse to take the same satisfaction he’s given you.

He comes inside you with a hitched breath, his mouth open at the crook of your neck as a rush of euphoria rips through him.

And he collapses. Body against body, still inside you, panting with you, blissed out and so fucking confused.

The lust dissolves and reality sinks in and he can tell by the look on your face that you’re thinking the same thing when he pulls out: What the fuck did you just do together?

It comes with years of knowing each other; he can read your expression, not needing to hear the words to know you regret this, too.

You sit up, pulling your sheet over your chest, eager to pretend there’s a boundary even after what you’d just done.

“I believe you now,” you say with a thin voice, desperate to somehow put back together the pieces you’d just shattered, even through a lighthearted joke. “You fixed me.”

Despite himself, Rafe huffs a chuckle, leaning against the wall, following your cue to cover up, acting like you hadn’t just plunged into an unreal level of intimacy.

You stare at each other from across the bed, the weight of your friendship, all the shared memories and inside jokes and ridiculous arguments and promise of an uncomplicated bond, now on shaky ground.

His eyes travel over your pretty features, having never felt this after sex. Satisfied, but famished for more.

“I didn’t mean for… I mean, that’s not why I called you,” you say awkwardly. You take in his pink cheeks, the sweat sheened over his skin, his lips wet and parted. “I… didn’t plan this.”

“I know,” he replies. “Me, neither. It was just one time.”

“Right,” you say.

It’s what you agreed to.

He wanted to prove something to you and he did.

And if you have any respect for each other, if you have any cares for keeping your friendship and not messing it up with sex any more than you already have, you know it’ll need to stay that way.

Just one time.

(the end)

#ohhhh this was hot #and we all know it’s not gonna stay one time 😭#they want each other again so badly

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