Rafe Is Definitely Tender-headed, But There Was Something Irresistible About The Way Your Nails Sank

Word count: 1402

A/n; I'm proud of this (hope I did this properly) tiny last minute editing.

Warnings; bad day, angst with a happy ending, Rafe being boyfriend material pet name (pretty girl) hurt x comfort

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Rafe Cameron, prideful, persistent, and above all punctual.

Admirable, aggravating.

When Rafe texted you and said he was coming by, you knew that meant 10 minutes max, before he would be knocking on your door.

You were paniced, reasonably so. You had just stepped out of what was supposed to be a relaxing shower, your skin pricked with goosebumps as the cold air hit your exposed skin.

10 minutes, and here you were debating if you wanted to respond or not, but anything was better than staying at that house any longer.

Love would not be enough restraint for you if you had to deal with another one of your family's feuds.

It soon hit you that time was ticking, your hands tossing your phone into the pile of pajamas you were in earlier as you quickly got to work dying yourself off.

As soon as he approached the porch you appeared in the doorway, a soft smile tugged at his lips seeing you standing there.

Hips leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, and your beautiful face staring expectantly into the distance.

Even still he walked up the creaky steps, hands open to relieve you, but when you remained planted, eyesight shifting towards his polo, the closed collar underlining his broad chest, and muscles caught your gaze.

He countered the hug within distance, slugging an arm around your shoulder, he leaned down, pressing his cold lips against your heated skin, causing your cheeks to bubble, lips pursing in a supressed smile. "Missed me didn't you?" He cooed, the keychain circling his index jiggled, the tip of his finger teasing the underside of your jaw.

You stiffened at the action, taking the first step forward, muttering a quiet 'sure'.

"Ahha," he chuckled dryly, following your lead.

Even if you didn't share the enthusiasm he was happy to see you.

You approached the car, Rafe cutting you off mid step to pull back the handle, the dark paint job facing you now as you scoffed playfully circling the door.

"After you milady," You rolled your eyes at his antics, kicking one foot into the car, the other followed by your chin pressing sharply into your chest as you ducked the roof of the car, settling side.

You wiggled in your seat, immediately reaching for the seatbelt, pulling it smoothly across your chest.

You let out a breath you were holding. Had it got stuck or you couldn't adjust it just right and you had to wrestle it, you'd scrap the whole car. Even if it wasn't yours, you were especially fragile right now.

Rafe got in the driver’s side, the engine roared to life at the twist of his hand, a triumphant grin crossed his face, his nose scrunching as he did so, looking at you excitedly.

Would it be rude to ask why he was so...energetic...today?

The answer?

He saw it.

Through his tinted shades currently sitting in his cupholder.

The attitude in your body language, the shift of weight from one leg to the other, the strain in your formerly guarded form, the unhappiness in your features, and especially the wrinkles siding beside the corner of your eyes. They weren't from smiles, but from heavy glaring.

And smiles would be evident in the way your cheeks pigmented a visible tone after long periods of laughter, and how puffy the corners of your mouth got.

It didn't at all sound attractive when he brought it up to you, but he explained his admiration for your joyous nature, and how when you smiled you smiled big.

And despite your objection in his words, your lips wavered, peeling back into the corners of your face, showing him just what he thought to be true.

"Did you..." You paused, his attention immediately turning on you. "Have you been hanging around Barry again?" Was the only respectful way you could ask.

He didn't take offense, instead braced his hands against the steering wheel, "No," he drew out, putting the car in reverse.

You nodded, awkwardly placing your hands in your lap.

At first being home free helped. Something about the drive around, loud music, and sea salt in the air had made you forget the knot swelling inside various places.

Just as progress was made a flip switched.

It was the song playing on the radio. Something you didn't care to remember because you felt it.

Those sick, unwell feelings form in the pit of your stomach at the words, and now more than ever a raw intensity pulling within you drawing you back to a place of anger.

A place of hurt.

Rafe noticed at first, it was subtle. The head nodding, rolling your eyes as he turned the volume up. He paid attention.

He knew these.

He knew you.

Then a couple miles down, you were singing along, looking as you did do, but he could feel you loosening up.

But just as fast as it appeared it stopped.

He turned the music down, hoping you would continue, but you didn't.

Back to silent nodding and now something else. Your eyes. They were blinking... rapidly.

Now he knew something was up. Something heavy.

Little did he know the events of the morning lingered a dense electric gray over your head, and rain would soon pour from your clouded irises.

"Did something happen? You're all sad and,"

"And shit," you responded, tilting your head back.

"Yeah... all sad and...shit," as you had not so eloquently put it.

"It's nothing," by now it was everything.

"That doesn't sound right," he countered, his foot applied pressure towards the break, the wind breaking acceleration had decreased to the speed limit at best.

And you held back a couple of tears, but that didn't stop strays, warm against your skin. You could feel a burning in the top of your nose, and a climbing temperature around your ears indicating you were about to cry.

"Do you want to talk about it? I can listen," he offered.

You simply sniffled, you palmed up, roughly pushing against your skin, wiping tears. "Do you even know where we're going? We've passed that same park like three times," you said referring to the open field with 101 benches placed too close together.

Sometimes your deflection could be ignoring his question, answering vaguely, or in this case, insulting his navagation skills.

"No, no," he played along, "That's the country club, it's got an expansion, pretty much every road has a view of it."

That actually makes sense now.

Still.

He continued to examine you, your body language.

It was just as tense as before, if not more.

Your little breakdown had only gone on for a quick minute and then you were back to being stone.

If only he could turn you into statue.

Unlike your earlier suggestion before you the dizzy world had slowed and vision returned.

Not before the sight of a concerned smile, his hand parked over the steering wheel, the other resting on the armrest, his torso twisted to meet you.

This time he didn't try to convince you, he let his sad, pretty eyes manipulate you into a sharing state.

"It's just not my day today," you confessed, a little bob in your head confirming that.

"Well, we can change that," his ringed fingers found there ways rubbing against your salted skin swiping tears.

He leaned forward, his lips pressing to your cheekbone, lingering over your skin, the edge of his nose rubbing up the bridge of yours, traveling kisses planted on you in various spots.

He made it to your hair, letting out a hum, tilting his head against yours, making himself level with you, you looked up through your eyelashes to find his comforting gaze on you already, promising better.

Amist the intimate gesture he leaned into it, his elbow honking against the wheel, a bold whistle vibrated through the car, making you jump.

You felt his long lashes tickle your cheek, an embarrassed sigh left him, his forehead still pressed against your face.

And while he thought the accidental honking had ruined the slow, intimate vibe, it tickled you.

His reaction of resignation and reserveness had made it better, and you couldn't hide the smile on your face, the peaks of your teeth peering through and a hearty laugh escaping you.

Rafe carefully kissed your jaw once more, slipping back into his seat, both hands holding the seatbelt at the chest, as he was still fixated on you.

You were smiling.

Rafe made a face, to which he followed up with "there she is," and the mellowness of his tone was enough to make you melt.

"There's my pretty girl."

Dog days are over

Ill!Rafe x gf!reader

Summary: Rafe's your patient

Content warning: fluff, symptoms consistent with a cold, soft-ish Rafe, medication, meditation, and some TLC, Cameron sibling dynamic

A/n: Happy Valentines Day

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Something is off.

You felt it.

With infrequent visits from your boyfriend, texts over calls, and no contact otherwise you were concerned.

He's expressed a text is nice, but it doesn't properly demonstrate his disapproval, if any. That and he doesn't like to miss you on the phone. If you needed to talk then and there he'd do it.

You usually see him around when you're not hanging out, but the last two weeks have been different.

Last week you caught him at the bonfire, and he kept you in his sight while chugging a barrel of beer, and Tuesday he arranged lunch plans for you two, but that was the last time you actually saw him.

Since then he makes sure to send a text a day at least, in between those. It's not always coherent, but it's something.

Today would mark the third quarter of a week in which you haven't had physical contact.

Rafe, on the other end of that was miserable. His head was killing him, palm pressed up to his forehead as he sat in the kitchen, squeezing the life out of a water bottle, letting some of it dribbling down his chin.

He was encouraged before seeking a medical fix to try drinking water since he and hydration have history.

Advised by you, the one time you played doctor.

Maybe you could cure him, you've done it before right?

But, by the way your phone hasn't rang, he's decided against it. Until you got a text from an unknown number.

Unknown

Unkn: Please come get my brother

You: Sarah?

She's who you immediately thought of because you were considering a house visit.

Once she confirmed it was her, you immediately edited the contact name.

Sarah <3: Yes

You: what's wrong?

Sarah <3: I'll call you

And when it rang you picked up. Sarah initially didn't say something, but you could hear her footsteps, and the wind faintly in the background.

You listened on, curious about what was happening, and then you heard it.

A suppressed cough followed by a sniffle, but that wasn't all. "Sarah, get out," Rafe rasped on the other end, his voice clear in the background.

And then her retreating steps.

Once she was out of earshot she adjusted the camera to face time, her blonde hair whipping into frame.

"How long has he been like that?" "Who knows?" She shrugged, adjusting her shirt. She didn't have much to say on the matter, she simply flipped the screen around, revealing Rafe on the couch.

He's on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow and a blanket pulled up to his waist. Visually his surroundings were clean, no tissues, pill bottles, no indication he's been on the couch longer than it looks, but if you squint you could see the crease in his forehead, and chest moving with his labored breaths.

Then it switched back to Sarah, "get him out of here, please."

"I'll see what I can do," you said, kicking off your covers.

You were on the road soon enough, driving to the Camerons's house.

When you arrived, you pulled into the driveway, backing symmetrically against the curb, turning off your engine.

Sarah tip toed outside, skipping over to your car with the biggest grin. "So?" She asked, hopefully placing her hand on her hips.

She had a lot of faith in your ability to influence Rafe to do anything.

"I need to see him first," you dodge, stepping up to the porch. Your knuckles rapped against the door, stopping when you heard a groan from the other side.

You pressed your ear to the door, hearing Rafe's grumbling and dragging feet. The lock clicked against the door, Rafe's fingers gripping the door frame, a couple inches above his head, which was hung low.

You looked up, your fingers sifting his hair out of his face, your eyes looking up to meet his tired, droopy ones. He straightened his lousy posture, turning his head away, "What're you doing here?"

Sarah called, but that's not what he wanted to hear. "I've been meaning to visit," you step closer, wedging your foot between the door. "Let me in?"

He again grumbled under his breath, shuffling back, keeping an eye in you as you walked through the door, closing it behind you.

Now you were looking around. You could see Rafe's makeshift palate on the couch, the living room furniture spotless, and an air freshner fuming in the corner.

Mint?

"So, how are you feeling?" "Fine."

You had dropped your bag off on the loveseat, across the way, sitting down in the corner, keeping him in sight.

You figured your staring had made him uncomfortable with how much he shifted around once he "settled". Not long after for the one second you turned away he got to his feet, gathered his blankets and lugged them over his shoulder, heading up the stairs.

You waited to he disappeared to give him a semblance of space, too getting to your feet.

Sarah peeked her head back in, scanning the coast landing on you, shimmying the belt of your jeans up a little higher. You shot her a playful look, unhooking your car keys from the chain of your purse, tossing them to her.

"Got it," she whispered, popping out.

And so you went up.

Rafe's room was in poorer shape than the living room. Bed disheveled, laundry tossed over, his pillows stripped, curtains tied, his closet had seemingly flooded into the room, and the picture above his bed was crooked.

"Rafe..." You offered a sympathetic look, tilting your head at him. He rolled his shoulders back, plopping onto his bed, hands folding over his abdomen.

This was so unlike him, the bed like him, but everything else was usually neat. Some superstition about the state of your mental. Right now his is crowded, stuffy, and in need of a little tidying up.

You trudged through his sock pile, stepping into the clear tile of his bathroom floor, eyes immediately drawn to the trash overflowing with tissues. Empty boxes parked on the sink, floor, in the tub.

Unlike some people, he's not too kooky about being sick. In fact he'll lie in it.

You didn't need to check his temp to know he was burning up, despite the goosebumps littering his arms.

He was sick. Not a doubt in your or his mind.

You peeled back his foggy mirror, looking at the many yellow prescription bottles he's got lying in a row, twisting the labels around.

Some of these are for low blood pressure, not of course prescribed to him.

"Bae," you called, swiping a couple up, "which one of these is Tylenol?" Probably none.

And you were right, not Tylenol, ibrouprophen, not acetaminophen, nothing you could think of off the tip of your brain. "Okay," perhaps you were being too specific.

"Which one of these is a painkiller or reliever of sort?"

Finally, Rafe thought. A broader spectrum to work with. Over the counter meds wouldn't do it for him. Part of him wanted the high.

"White pills, red label," he coughed.

White pills red label, white pills, red label, white pills, you repeated to yourself, swatting the other bottles away. You found it far off in the corner. "Vicodin?"

"Yeah,"

"Two, right?"

"Three,"

"Nice try," you chuckled popping the pills into your palm. You know he'd take one every 30 minutes if he didn't feel they were kicking in fast enough.

Before you could ask about water you stepped forward until a mound of them, all crinkled up, empty, there had to be at least 10.

Poor baby, he was really suffering.

"Sit up and lean back," you instructed, holding your hand out, watching him look down at the pills then to you.

He attempted to grab them, but you closed your hand making him grumble, "I'm fine where I'm at," he grumbled for the umpteenth time.

"Choke," you wished, tossing them at him.

He wheezed out a broken laugh, making you almost regret your request, "if you insist," he smirked, watching you scramble to the edge of the bed, reaching for the medicine.

He pulled away.

Of course.

Your knee slipped beneath his as you climbed on top of him, sitting on his thigh, the other leg propped up beside you. "Finally, some urgent care," he leaned forward, abs crunching beneath your hand pinning his waist down.

"Not that kinda rodeo," you insisted, slipping your fingers over the crevice of his shoulders, squeezing them, pinching at his collarbone.

His brows unfurled, loosening at the feel of your attentive touch working over some tense spots.

Once you got him mellowed out you scooted off his lap, settling beside him, running your fingers through his hair.

You would've made tea, or got an him an ice pack, but his body temperature was so out of wack he may not be able to handle anymore chemical changes.

When you were done your fingers found their way through his hair, sweeping it back from over his eyes, combing it back, giving his scalp a nice scratch the had his head tilting over your shoulder.

He huffed against you, defeated the simple act had tamed him considerably.

"This all you wanted? Just a little loving?" He opened his eyes, cocking his head back, "Why are you talking to me like I'm a dog?"

"I think all partner talk was derived from talking to dogs," you concluded, shrugging it off.

You sat there for a while, acting out terrible scenarios of how talking to a partner could feel like treating/taming a dog.

While you were talking, you put the rooms trash to use, sifting through what you could reach from the bed.

And Rafe made a game of shooting balls of socks into his laundry bin.

"This feels poguey," he comments, leaning his head back against your lap with a genuine smile.

"Doesn't make it less fun," it just meant he wouldn't admit to anything that's happened in the last two hours.

His wrist flicked back, hurling the white socks towards the bin, landing beside it.

"Oh, big talk there," you winced, pinching his side.

"Alright, hotshot, let's see you make a basket," he challenged, looking up to you.

All was in good fun and while kisses may have been contagious you stuck to scratching his chin, placing your palm over his forehead and kissing the back of it for the time being.

Unrelated to OBX

Sorry to all my wrestling fans out there, like so sorry. I don't write for them, on this blog, but I do enjoy content about them.

My advice, get them out while you still can.

Those fics sitting in your drafts. Post them. Get it out and grieve.

And a moment of silence for the love and respect that is not reciprocated through these thoughts and actions.

Authors continue, discontinue, I support YOU and YOUR work, not the politics bullshit.

Stay strong.

Content warning: Rafe being horny, little foreplay, lots of grabbing, kissing, takes place at your place, lots of teasing, established relationship, tit play

Summary: sexy time with a twist

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You were in the bathroom, hiking your favorite underwear up your legs, trying to capture the sensuality they do on screen when the doorbell rang throughout your living room catching your attention.

With one final draw up your thighs you pulled the waistline up, resting the elastic hem against your skin, twirling on the tips of your toes, looking back, giving your ass a little shake on the way out. You dropped the t-shirt from under your chin, smacking the lights with with your palm, entering the dark.

You skipped over to the door, careful to dodge an obstacles that may have been waiting for you. Successfully making it to the door, you twisted the knob to reveal in all his 6'2 glory, your handsome boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

You flicked on the dull porch light just to see his face, his eyes trailing down to your shirt, noticing the faint presence of your breasts, your nipples poking at the fabric freely.

"Expecting someone else?" He asked, watching you acan him from head to toe.

"Just looking," you sassed, throwing your arms around him, the action further confirming his suspicion when he felt your chest press against him, your arms sweeping beneath his, connecting around his back.

His hands came to rest on your lower back, his fingers deafly sweeping over the end of your shirt.

You let go ever so slowly, retracing your action, but instead of letting go your pinkie slips through his index and you reel him in, pulling him toward you.

Your shirt swayed teasingly as you twirled keeping him locked in your grasp, the change providing a good view to the white panties outlining the curve of your ass.

Rafe's lip curled at the silent promise of a treat.

"Turn the light off behind you," you said, waving at the row of switches. He took his time, memorizing the art before him, one he wouldn't mind adding a couple more strokes to.

He did as told, letting the dark envelop the house once more, following you to your single bedroom.

He wasted bo time, shoving you on to your mattress, your instincts making sure you landed on hands and knees, ass up, facing him. Full access as he wanted.

"Wait," you exclaimed, crawling away from the edge of the bed, making room on the other side.

"What?" He questioned, his hands pulling at your comforter in an attempt to guide you back over to him.

He was so needy when he knew he was getting action. Sometimes he took his time, but any other he got right down to business.

You flipped onto your back, sitting up against the pile of pillows behind you, an iron grip fell on Rafe's collar, his stature falling level to you in seconds.

He was still tall, even on his knees, struggling to maintain his posture as you pulled him forward so you moved your legs making more room for him, your knees folded against his ribs as your lips connected.

Once he was steady he hooked his cool fingers beneath your knee, shifting the whole situation to have him beneath you while he selfishly tugged at your clothes.

Things got heated quick, shirts got removed, and mouths got to work, his tongue swirling around your sensitive stump, his warm mouth closing around, teeth sinking into the doughy flesh. His palm kneed the other pinching it, flicking his thumb to sooth over the stinging.

He was so entranced by you he cupped them in entirety and just squeezed, thrusting his erection further up, now digging into the damp cloth between your legs. When he pulled away from your tit he kissed the other, and lowered you to the mattress, following suit, his body cared yours.

"Is that.." kiss, "enough.." slip of the tongue tickling through roof of your mouth, "break?"

If you didn't combust right there, melting to the heat applied to all senses.

Finally he was moving where he really wanted, from your hardened nipples, down your stomach, feeling it tighten further down.

His index circled your waistline before he sank in, making you hiss at his cold ring dragging against your pelvic bone.

"The fuck are these?" He grumbled, curling the fabric around his finger, pulling it, letting it snap back against you making you flinch.

"Huh?" You were steadying yourself on your elbow, watching him pull at but not move the panties.

This wasn't the first time he had sex with you, and definitely not the first time he's had to strip you to get you where he wanted.

"the hell is this shit?" He repeated louder, repeating the motion of.

"Rafe, what?" You pulled away, scooted up into a seat, resting your knees to your chest and arms stacked to cover your partial nudity.

"That's not what you usually wear," "and that has what to do with this?"

In all honesty this wasn't where you thought it would end up going, and you're still unsure of how it got to this point.

"What is it?"

You're aware that his last relationships he's probably had girls dress up for him, and you do that occasionally, but Rafe doesn't usually care as long as he can relieve himself or you.

He's acting like a kid discovering porn, "comfortable is what it is."

"But why? You're young and pretty, don't you want to look like it?" He gestured towards the underwear. They were a little bigger than the average cut, they offered decent coverage and went high, and they resembled a diaper shape wise, but that shouldn't matter if they're coming off.

"What's wrong with these?"

"They're granny panties," you could hear the disapproval in his voice.

Did he want you to get rid of them or what? You only had one question, letting a silence creep between the two of you. They even have lace, not a whole lot, but enough.

"Are we still doing this or?" And he let your question linger, he shifted, his head shaking, hand coming to his face in contemplation.

You grumbled, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed, he sat up, still thinking to himself while you scooted off the bed.

He turned his head for a second, watching you gather your shirt and hold your breasts out of sight with an arm, pulling it over your head.

You slowed your movements hoping he gave you an answer of some sort, but he kept watch, so you left him in the dark, disappearing into the bathroom.

You closed the door behind you, turning the light on, Rafe heard you moving around and was drawn back your way by the creaky door.

Your hip leaned against the doorframe, your fingers pinching your shirt up to reveal you had changed into black lace, thinly cut that would potentially give you a wedgie.

He visibly perked up, tilting his head at you, itching to come forward.

You approached the bed, walking slowly, crawling towards him, stopping at his lap, you brought your legs beside him, straddling him, letting the rest of you relax against him.

"Let's try this again," you offered, delicately pecking his lips.

You let him undress you again, this time with the aid of the lace, he still slipped them down to your ankles.

"Thought you wanted those," you pointed out, finally feeling his fingers dig into your core.

"Eh," he shrugged, "visually."

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A/n; for a second you had him like...

Ft OBX and the Bahamas finest

Barracuda wasn't that bad, but he's not good either.

Excluding Barry and Rafe, I will happily throw Topper and Kelce's irrelevant ass in next poll.

And Papa Heyward was the best

Content warning; groping, reader has a potty mouth, traumatizing Rafe again, typical work day at the trailer, TENSION

A/n; Wolf of Wall Street reference if you squint

Word count; 1.2k

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"Hello again," you didn't have to look up to know it's Rafe again, trying to smother his heavy breathing with face paced steps in your direction.

It's his second time in your house in less than 12 hours, by enabling his poor habits you've been able to pinpoint his unscheduled appointments, usually within a three day period, meaning about 2-3 visits a week.

Money, drugs, transport, whatever Barry had to offer, but same day repeats were a huge no for Barry. Can't keep clientele if they're dead, it's his way of caring, unless they wave a couple bands.

But Rafe was special, you'll tell him no, no problem, and that's what you did. Even if you were actively spooning greens into thin cut rolling paper.

"Wha-, no, I'm not here for that," he huffed, even though he eyed the jar of rolled blunts.

"Why are you all sweaty and out of breath?" His shirt was dampened in the pits, easier to spot with how swamped he was everywhere else, his hair all sticking together, he looked good.

He stopped his movements, shooting you a squinted glare, lifting his hands above his head, resting them in his hair, "where is Barry?"

Where is Barry? If you had a dime every time he said that, you'd own that bar on figure 8, such a nice piece of land at the end of town, underfunded, partially developed, perfect.

Hello," he snapped, waving his hand in your face.

"Yo..." Barry's voice droned through the entrance, he sniffed, kicking aside your bra on the floor, tugging at his cargo pants, looking at the scene before him.

His eyes fell to you, on the couch, your bare legs parted, what visible part of your bottoms tucked just beneath your working hands, the rest disappearing beneath the half tied robe you're sitting in.

" 'Hell is this?" Mainly looking at you because when he left to go fool around in the makeshift shed out back you were reading a magazine that you had found tucked on his side of the bed.

Now it was open to a page of a girl bent over in a very skin tight skirt, looking back and in some stringy stilettos, her legs seemed infinite while her torso was buried beneath your station.

"I need a gun," Rafe interrupted the heated staring contest, watching as you reclined against the couch, kicking one knee up, the end of your robe hiking over your knee exposing your thigh, a sparkling pedicure gracing the cluttered table.

Barry's pupils voided solid for a second, his eyes flickering over to the kid. You really were distracting him.

But Barry obliged with the request, silently heading towards the bedroom, you giggled at the sound of his flipflops after him.

Rafe stayed in the living room, staring down at you. He's so tense, you wonder if maybe you can help with it.

More so leaning forward to roll a blunt, bringing the packed paper to your lips, looking through your lashes up at Rafe while keeping your head down, breathing on it gently, the tail of your tongue prodding through your lips, flicking at your project.

Delicate kitten licks, hardly even grazing the surface as you extended your foot to where he was standing, with the tips of your toes dragging them down against the fabric of his pants.

Barry came back in the room, holding a western revolver, jamming the loaded chamber back into place, holding it out for Rafe.

"Oh?" You hum, leaning forward, Rafe has more business to take care of than any responsible adult you know, which isn't many.

"You boys and your business," watching the quick exchange, seeing Barry also had a gun tucked in the waistband of his pants.

"Speaking of, what's all this?" the weed, the robe, looks like you in charge of this operation, that wasn't entirely untrue. "Restocking inventory."

"In a robe?" While you had a guest you were still in the comfort of your home, so if you decided to lounge around half dressed so be it. "I mean, I can always take it off," you shrugged, flipping the end up over your lap.

His hand swept over yours, pressing your hands firm in place in objection "you good."

Rafe watched in irritation as you two interacted, seemingly ignoring the urgency of his statement, glaring heavily at you.

It was you, not Barry.

You were a distraction, to him and Barry.

His glare had lessened when he felt the scrap of your nails against his thigh, followed by a heavier presence between his legs, bringing him back to present.

"Little boys shouldn't play with guns," your tone casual, but low, seductive almost. "But if you're all grown up," followed by a nice squeeze, squishing his balls against your palm, your lips curved into a sunken smile, you were enjoying this, "we won't have a problem...will we?"

A quick silence fell over the room, and then the faint whimper from Rafe, his knees bending as he was following the pull of your hands with his hips, he let out a strangled hum of acknowledgment and a haste nod making you smooth over your thumb over where you had been viciously tugging on him.

You kept him in your grasp for extra measure turning your predatory attention now on to Barry, first noticing his bottom lip tugged under his teeth.

You didn't have to look to know that turned him on, he kinda likes being told what to do, especially when you know what you want and how you want it.

"As for you," with your free hand you undid your robe, shrugging it back off your shoulder, showing the thin strapped tank you were wearing, fully giving away the curve of your breasts, "I'll remind you, they don't have this where you're going."

Something you liked to remind him of, if not daily, and it works every time.

Especially like now, when you've displayed your dominance even cornered by these two men, one in the palm of your hand and the other just as easily caving with the promise of your company.

He watched you cross your legs, pushing all other distractions aside as you drew attention to your unshielded figure. Even caught Rafe peeking, subtly.

"Fuck..." Your boyfriend muttered to himself, his eyes not at all leaving you.

Once you were satisfied with their response you let Rafe go, allowing him to stand still and process what had just taken place while you tucked a j in Barry's pants pocket, for good luck, you mouthed, intentionally squishing your breasts together as you did so.

It was enough to inspire good behavior.

Rafe elbowed Barry, nodding towards the door, hoping to escort him out of there before the plan got forgotten altogether.

The two damn near rushed out the door, Rafe following behind to make sure Barry made it, watching his disappear out front.

"Rafe," you called out, watching him slow to a stop, his head turned over his shoulder.

"You got a nice pair, keep it that way." He scoffed, flipping the end of his shirt up to tuck the gun in his waistband, resting it against his back as he walked out.

I would just like to say no matter what x reader I pair with Barry they will be down bad for each other. Nasty, sticky, sweaty, dirty, gritty , just downright horrendous in love.

A winter recital

(Rafe Christmas special)

Posting tomorrow

A/n hopefully you enjoy it and happy holiday🎄

in the meantime