Yall Chose Topper Over JJ Over POPE??!!! And Poor JB, Damn. Give These Men (not Topper) The Love They

(Austin by Dasha) applied to reader x Rafe

Why do I see it?

(Coming soon)

Relief

Barry x reader

summary; in which cramps are kicking your ass your boyfriend comes in clutch

Content warnings; fingering, stimulation, long hair Barry, reader is ovulating, overstimulation, mention of periods and pain, gumming, hair pulling, sensitive!grumpy!reader, playful banter, dry humping

A/n; Barry’s a drug dealer, we know this. Not proof read

Word count; 1.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This is bullshit," you grumbled to yourself, arching your back up, pressing your palms square against the patch of carpet you cleared for this excerise, chin up as instructed.

Despite dealing with this since being a pre-teen you have yet to find an efficient way to alleviate the severity of cramps. Why you resorted to google for relief.

So, here you are, holding the cobra position that allegedly allieives pressure around the hips and lower back.

You didn't believe it made a difference as you inhaled slowly, the knot around your pelvis following the pained breath.

This was such a stupid idea. Especially since despite your current activity you're trying to reduce unnecessary movement.

This was the fourth thing you've tried in the last ten minutes and it seemed to enhance your discomfort. While the reality appeared to be you were just to impatient to anticipate the results of your efforts the truth was Google was partly to blame with how unreliable some of the suggestions are.

You dragged your knees beneath you, coming into a seat on your heels, you swiped your phone up closing the search tab, shuffling over to the leather couch on your knees, very delicately rising into a quick squat. You pushed yourself against the seat of the couch as the door had opened, your ankles crossing to contain yourself.

"Do I even wanna know?" Barry asked, tossing his keys over the ashtray by the door. "Only if you ask," you replied leaning against the armrest.

Barry shrugged, heading over to the kitchen, the door rattling with glasses as he pulled out a beer, capping it off on the counter, walking back through the living room.

"Alright, what were you doing?" He asked, taking a seat beside her, kicking his feet up against the glass coffee table, tucking his hair back.

"Yoga," you answered, turning to face him. "Which position is this?" He pointed to you leaned against the couch, phone in hand, the other propping your head up.

"Uh, think it was called I quit, you can find it between never again and hell no," being active was literally the last thing you wanted on your period.

"Well you don't do that shit no way. Why not pop some shit like a regular person?" He asked, setting his drink against his lap, holding it between his thighs, the ends of his shorts scrunching up.

"Because I don't trust nothing 'round here. You got a pill for anything, back hurt, neck hurt, need help getting it up? You got it," last time you took some kind of reliever from Barry it was an edible.

"Well, depends on what you need help with," he shrugged, throwing an arm over the couch, raising an eyebrow prompting you to roll your eyes at him. "Cramps. But every time I take something from you I end up high as hell."

"Shit, you want to feel better or not?" Believe it or not he was actually trying to help. "I found a couple alternatives-" "any that work?"

You knew he was probably right and since he was home he could give you the right medication this time. So, you thought about it.

Between the pointless poking of various body parts, excessive hydration and massaging sore spots nothing had helped. You looked to him, your face setting to not give away a potential yes.

"No, and the rest of the alternatives are unhelpful. Things like avoid caffeine, drink water, and 'quit smoking', like I asked how to stay hydrated rather than how to get rid of them."

"Sounds like you outta options," he mumbled, pressing his lips against the beer bottle, watching you sigh in defeat.

Your eyes flickered in annoyance, watching the little smirk curl on his lips. "Alright," you let up, knowing you were desperate at this point.

"But you're taking full responsibility if something happens," Barry dismissed you, getting to his feet. "Where are you going?" You asked, watching him step over your legs, pulling his shirt from around him, "I'll be back."

You leaned back, a pout on your face, watching him disappear into your shared room.

He came out seconds later, stuffing something in his pocket.

"What's that?" "I told you I'll take care of it, I'll take care if it," he teased, walking back into the kitchen. The sink runs over the sound of dishes cluttering, the spongy sound of the soap dispenser sounding as he looked over to you, rubbing his hands together.

At least he was being clean you thought, watching him flick his hands over the sink, then swipe them off on the towel tossed over the counter.

"Get comfortable،" he warned, sitting beside you, his hand falling to your thigh, giving it a squeeze, you let him lift your leg, slowly, uncrossing your ankles.

"So," he started, scooting closer with the help of his knuckle against the seat, his knee knocking against yours.

"Something you haven't considered..." His hand on your thigh slipped between your legs, pressing against your crotch. You eyes followed, hand following his, falling over his smooth skin.

"Seriously?" He wants to do this now?

"You asked for my help," he shrugged, "yeah, I'm starting to reconsider," you teased, clamping your thighs around him.

His dull fingers gripped your thigh, making your legs part slightly. "Just trust me," to which you hummed in response.

His burning grasp on your leg climbed up your waistline to the hem of your leggings. While shorts would have been more convenient since you were deadly afraid of tampons, you'd stick to pads and with that came the need of a solid hold that would prevent shifting.

So you leaned back, allowing his index to drag the band down enough to slip his hand against against your warm skin, skimming straight over to your folds, curling his fingers inside, making your hips move back.

Barry scoffed, continuing to brush over your clit, just stroking two fingers over the sensitive bud, you flinched feeling him press against your slick walls. "Goddamn girl," he exclaimed, digging his hand deeper, the tip of his middle finger circling your entrance.

A hum fell from you lips as you tried to focus on the sensations of his hand pressing against you, his movements slick as your legs wobbled together.

Barrys eyes flicked over yours, a disapproving glare fell over him, his free hand slipped beneath your thigh, placing you calf over his lap, parting your legs for more room as he pinched your clit, smoothing over it with the tick of his thumb.

You felt his hand brace itself against the fat of your ass, followed by a deliberate tug, making you recline further into your seat, leg part even further and then a firm grip pinning you in place.

"Don't run from it," his voice distracting you from the heat rising beneath you, the twirling of his fingers had you squirming in your seat, "Just breathe, breathe through it," he advised, slowing his movements down.

He spent the next couple of minutes stroking your clit and dipping just the tip of his fingers in you, feeling you tremble beneath him.

He winded you up and down keeping his movements short and sweet, he had gotten closer, know with your lap pressed against his thighs, your hips sunken, offering him more room, he kept to his minimal ministrations, pinching and pleasing your drenched cunt.

And that was just foreplay, once he had you relaxed, panting to yourself in your corner he reached in his pocket, pulling out a little plastic bag with a white substance.

"What's that?" "All your problems gone away, huh?" He kept steady, increasing the pace, watching your hands still your boobs from moving, painfully hard against your palms.

He enjoyed watching you, his thrust now up and teasing, his body moving forward with each, his lips falling to your jaw, eliciting a string of whimpers from the pain and pleasure.

He reached for the bag, bringing the plastic to his lips, he pulled away from your flourished skin, bringing the substance to his nose, giving it a huff, he sits it against his knee.

While you were just about reeling from the escalated encounter, he still kept his hand at work, prepping the powder.

Your lips parted, chest moving up with your breathing, he took the opportunity to push against your jaw, your first instinct to bite at his hand, he retaliated with a haste kiss, opening you up again, he mowed his fingers over your gums, capturing your protest with his encouraging whispers.

It tasted bitter to you, unpleasant, but as quickly as it appeared it stopped, a sudden loss of feeling in your mouth, the rawness of your lips against Barry’s had made you lean into, a hand eagerly slipping into his hair.

Your nails scratched at his scalp, tugging at his hair, earning the sink of his teeth into your plush lower lip.

"Yeah, you like that," he whispered into you, licking at the roof of your mouth. All of it was so euphoric and overwhelming, you had slipped out of reality for a minute, and you floated on cloud nine for what felt like hours.

The troubles of cramps seemed a thing of the past, the only tightness you felt were your walls fluttering around Barry’s fingers, spiraling through your g spot.

"Almost there, now," he cooed, pulling you up against his lap, he backed his hips in sync with his prodding, moans rolling from your lips, the sweet melody with his gyrations had the coiled wringing in your stomach, the floodgates opening as a pleasureful wave of calm washed over you with the release of lower tension.

"There you go," he whispered, placing wet kisses on your neck, his hand still playing with your worn clit, he focused on the excess stimulation even as your body softened against his, the muscles of your thighs instinctually clamping around his hand, shaking against him.

While you recovered Barry gripped your hip, slipping you from atop his lap, letting you go limp beside him, eyes wide, lips parted, and the occasional hiccup, feeling the strain of his fingers against your folds.

The overstimulating and the temporary high from the coke had skyrocketed you to cloud nine and as soon as the cloud disappeared you floated back down to earth, crashing against the head of the couch.

Barry held a cocky smirk watching you come down, the orgasm still fresh on you, you looped your arm through his, putting your head on his lap. He finally withdrew his fingers, seeing them glossed in arousal and the tiniest amount of blood, he chuckled standing up, making you groan at the loss of contact.

He went to clean himself up, coming back later to you passed out where he had left you. He snickered at the sight, coming back to his place at your side, bouncing against the cushion he leaned forward grabbing his abandoned beer, eyeing the left over coke.

A winter recital

(Rafe Christmas special)

Posting tomorrow

A/n hopefully you enjoy it and happy holiday🎄

in the meantime

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

Last two are SERIOUSLY debatable, but peoples choice, so choose wisely.

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.

Green girl

Summary; dating Rafe throughout the seasons

Content warning; Rafe being Rafe, lot of talk about clothes and lifestyle (appearances and whatnot

A/n; each scenario is a different variation of pogue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

S1 Rafe

Rafe was opposed to labeling you as his girlfriend for the first few weeks of your relationship, for various reasons, but the biggest?

You were a pogue, and in more ways than one it showed.

From the way you talked, slipping a bro or dude into an otherwise classy conversation to how you dressed.

When he finally accepted you were dating, it seemed to open him a little more.

Of course he still questioned why you repeated outfits and lived in an appropriately sized one bedroom for just you, but he wasn't prepared for when you asked back why he still lives with his dad.

His hobbies consisted of golf, drinking, partying, and biking while yours were pretty basic, you enjoyed a variety of arts, gardening, and fashion.

And not the expensive kind, the destructive kind. Tearing holes in jeans, cutting up sleeves, bleaching a faded tee, donating what you didn't feel you needed.

All in all he liked you, (even if he didn't show it as much as he should), despite your (obvious) differences

And dates were usually in private places where he could allow you to be as cheap as you'd like.

Otherwise he'd never hear the end of it and at some point he'd be inclined to agree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

S2 Rafe

This was really the time where he wanted to help his dad as much as he wanted to piss him off.

What better way to do that than to date a pogue?

He felt obligated to upgrade you since you started dating

Buying expensive jewelry and clothes.

If he was gonna risk his reputation, he'd do it right.

Now, you accepted some of his gifts, a lot of them costing what you could probably achieve in 10 years, but not all of them

On dates he frequently ordered for you the priciest thing on the menu, but in your preferred palate, took you out to high end places, spent a couple thousands.

Once he was satisfied with the result of burying you in his riches he'd get right back to work.

You did like his taste, but some of the other things you donated to charity or even gave to friends

Rafe was passionate about his gifting, not because it was genuine, but because he needed to be able to show you off and proudly.

So, he instead of bombarding you with gifts you could give away, he bought YOU a house on figure eight

Try selling that

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

S3 Rafe

He was different.

All the rumors revolving him, all the gossip, it didn't fit the guy you were dating.

Nothing about the way he sweet talked you or pampered you suggested he was anything like what they said he was.

This was a very important time in his life, where he was semi rehabiliting and learning to think and act for himself

He was a rich boy at heart, but tame in comparison.

He bought you gifts that you've suggested an interest in (this time with your blessing), but his love language was really acts of service.

Now, focusing on your relationship he had to take the time to know you and how to be at your service.

For you he shelfed his rich boy tendencies and learned how to meet you half way.

You taught each other new things

For example, years ago he wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near a washing machine, but you sometimes found him outside, putting the dry clothes into a hamper and/or folding them.

A memorable moment was a power outage at your place due to construction, Rafe instinctively wanted to maybe bribe a worker to repower your neighborhood in particular, but he didn't.

Instead, he helped you finish washing clothes out back that were mid cycle when they stopped, hung them on the clothesline, and lounged around the house between shifts.

You did wake the next morning to a fully a/c conditioned house and working lights.

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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."

Pogue!gf!reader

Rafe or Barry would get done folding you in half, having nearly stopped your heart from beating and have the audacity to leave a clip of money on the dresser while they went for a smoke.