Dandydrunky - Creepycanopy

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

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"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.

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.

(Austin by Dasha) applied to reader x Rafe

Why do I see it?

(Coming soon)

The last one is debatable, but if majority wins...

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.

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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.

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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

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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.

A/n; This will have a couple parts. I haven't finished part one of s4, but this is loosely from what I've seen. With a twist ;)

Warnings; fluff, slight angst, no Jiara, No hate to Kiara, but she does like JJ (even if he's already got a girlfriend) on a brighter note more Pope :)

"Yeah, man, Cleo made me this peppered dish, and it was magic, let me tell you," JJ was staring at Pope, his hands balling in excitement, knees bending as he explained, his eyes closed briefly. The blond snickered, watching his friend's animations, to which Pope straightened up, leaning back against the dock, casually shrugging it off, "I mean I couldn't feel my face, but," he looked around making sure the coast was clear, knowing Sarah or Kie would have gossiped like nobody's business, "worth it."

"I'm happy for you man," JJ said, reaching into his pocket, fetching his lighter, his tan fingers grasping the cold metal, running over the initials as he reached for the freshly (as of yesterday) rolled blunt. His other, patting Pope's shoulder. It was nice to see the pogues finally getting the peace they deserved, and Pope happy with Cleo after his short lived fling with Kie, they don't talk about it.

Speaking of which, she was spotted, storming down the driveway, water drops glistening on her warm skin, her hair stringy, and loosely framing her face as she raked a towel across her shoulders. JJ was quick to notice, the unmistakable, progressing grumble falling from her sunken lips, curved into a sour expression, "check it, dude" he interrupted, the two's eyes following the sway of her hips, matching her face-paced steps up against the plank stairs.

The door swung open, she disappeared inside, the boys following suit after J delicately placed his weed behind the safety of the rope railings, jogging to catch up.

JJ entered the house, hearing distant voices, he could tell it was tense, the silence blanketed the atmosphere, and a latch unhooked, Pope head hung headed towards a confused JJ.

"What happened? He whispered, gripping Pope's shoulder, his concern had seemed to fade in the two seconds the blond was out of the house. He still didn't get an answer, instead a distant shrug, indicating it couldn't have been good.

He continued forward, his ringed fingers gripping the end of the wall, he listened intently, hearing the cluttering of dishes, and the heavy metal clanging, he flinched at the sound, boxing up, he stiffened the wall.

He could tell she was unhappy.After the heavy clatter had died down, he peeked his head from around the corner, seeing her pulling her shirt over her head, the wet fabric smacking against the counter. JJ eased from behind his defense, revealing himself to her, hands thrown up in surrender, "what happened?”

Topper and his stupid kook friends," nothing more had to be said. His hands lowered to his side as he stepped closer, which she allowed. She let him into her personal space, his touch slowing the hand that was scrubbing her arm harshly, now moving the rag in cautious, immediate circles.

An intimate silence had fallen over them, especially under the sound of running water and gentle breathing.

JJ's fingers slipped beneath hers, her rosy knuckles uncoiling as he took over, dragging the material in delicate motions, his eyes following what he was doing.

Kiara's guarded stance had dropped significantly, shoulders relaxing, and her metal rings glided over the edge of the sink while he worked on her back. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” His knuckles dragged against her soft skin, skimming the side of her spine, sending a facial jolt through her. She wanted to, of course she did, but she simply shook her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in an attempt to calm herself.

“How about with Pope?” He’s noticed when Kiara and Pope are around each other things get tense.

He wouldn't say anything for the sake of his friend, but it must have meant she felt it too, refusing to answer him or even look in his direction.Now JJ was torn, on one hand his friend needed help on the other Topper had to be dealt with.

“Done,” he murmured, tossing the damp towel against the counter top. Kiara's back arched against the cold air, the warmth from their closeness fading, JJ watch her spine curve, her body turning around to face him.Her lips were curled in a pout, her hair strung over her shoulder, thickly clumped together over her eyes, and her hand holding her elbow, tapping her rings and bracelets against her forearm.

JJ stood still, reaching out, he pushed her hair back behind her ears, her dimpled smile making an appearance, wavering as he took a step back. She accepted the distance with a drawn out blink, almost willing him back over, but instead she breathed out a thank you.

“ ‘Course,” he offered a tight lipped smile, “what are friends for?”

Friends? They just had a moment and he's calling her a friend? She scoffed to herself, leaning back against the counter, watching him walk off towards the door.

Now that that was taken care of, JJ headed back to the dock, surely to find Pope, smoking his blunt, angrily inhaling, and with a small cough breathing it out. Smoking wasn't his thing.

He liked a clear train of thought, but it seems his distasteful interaction had disgruntled him.

“Pope,” JJ summoned what was left of his enthusiasm, approaching slinging his arm around the guy’s shoulder, plucking the weed from his hand. He brought it to his lips, taking a quick huff, tossing it over the railing, into the water.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry.” He shook his head, pushing the bottom of his jacket up, his hands finding his pockets, “nah, man, it's not your fault,” he shrugged.

Yet here he stood apologizing. He knew that even though he would deny it, the apology meant a lot to Pope. “We cool?” “...Like chili,” Pope fished his hand out his pocket, the two fist bumped, patting each other on the back, the mood seeming to make it's way back to them.

Pt.II coming soon

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.

Yall chose Topper over JJ over POPE??!!! And poor JB, damn. Give these men (not Topper) the love they deserved

The last one is debatable, but if majority wins...

The Winter Recital

A/n; this was so rushed, I am so sorry, I tried

Warnings; fluff?

"How do we plan three weeks in advance, and you're still unprepared?" Rafe grumbled, watching you toss through your closet. "In my defense," you didn't miss his teasing glare, daring you to justify it," a lot can change in three weeks."

You are headed up to St. George in Bermuda for the holidays, exquisite, isn't it?

Kildare had a history of celebrating Christmas, but their more glamorous festivities are usually around summer and spring.

Not that you minded, but this was you and Rafe's 2nd Christmas together. And it had to be nothing like the last one."I'll buy you something when we get there, if we can get there," Rafe offered, tugging you out of your closet.

It's just nerves. He was also escaping his family for the holidays.At least until New Years. Somehow, Rafe had managed to get you out the front door and out to the dock where your ride awaited. You skipped ahead, now your turn to urge your boyfriend along.

"Cool your jets," he was being weighed down by the luggage you wanted to bring. The only thing of his he carried was his wallet. Lord knows he would need it. Especially when you had wanted to double the 20% tip he was already leaving the driver. The cabin was quaint and festive, ribbons tied above the door and looped throughout the staircase in bright green and scarlet. It smelt of pine and cinnamon as you were led through the house, admiring the decor as you did.

It was so homey, and Rafe knew it was perfect when you disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to haul your luggage through the doorway. "I'm never going back home" was your official declaration. And that wasn't even the best part. Amist raiding the insanely sweet hygiene products, in the bedside the you found a holiday card for the guests of cabin 8, "Rafe," You called, hearing his hurried steps, you chuckled to yourself, flipping the card over. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything is perfect," you handed over the card, watching a defeated sigh leave his lips, but a look of curiousity flash as he skimmed over it's contents.

"Okay? It's just a welcome card." Just a welcome card? "It's scented," you snatched it back scratching at the back, your dull nails denting the card, rather then the patch.Rafe sighs, tossing you his keys which you fumbled but then caught.

"Why did you bring these?" "That's what you're worried about? They're my house keys, they were coming with me even if we went to the North Pole." There was his Christmas spirit.You shrugged at the point, racing the keys over the card, bringing it up to your nose, inhaling deeply. He simply watched, a slight scrunch in his nose, watching you cuddled paper.

"It can't be that good," he grumbled, stepping forward to be met with your shoulder as you turned away.

"It's better than your cologne," you teased, to which his smile sank into a pout, "you love my cologne," "Yeah, but..." You drew out, another long, excessive inhale, "This is my new favorite." The parchment was ripped from your face, folded half heartedly, "enough of that," he hummed, tucking the card into his pocket.

"Don't be sad," he wrapped his massive arms around you, rendering yours to your side, his heavy head falling against your squared shoulder.

You tried to shake him off, managing a slight twist before giving up. You were only getting out if he let you out.And strangely enough he did.Something replaced the warmth of the scented card, something stronger, muskier and thick. Rafe's cologne. "Now I smell like you," "and you love it," he argued.

The night went on like that, playful banter, and gentle affections, eventually you crashed in the living room by the the brick fireplace.Rafe wandered down the steps in a low hanging towel, another working at his wet hair, his attention landed on your curled up form on the couch. You're resting in front of your unopenned briefcases splayed out on the fur rug.

To his surprise you were in one of his flannel curled up against the velvet couch.

"You packed three suitcase just to wear my clothes?" he scoffed playfully, picking up a shirt of the floor. The next morning you two woke up snug on the couch, your head in Rafe's lap and his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey," he gently whispered nudging your shoulder, "Merry Christmas," his lips ghosted over the she'll of your ear.

Your elbow jerked into his stomach instinctively, earning a groan into your ear. He leaned back scooting against the couch, resting his head against the pillows.

Don't worry, he's was gleefully dancing around the kitchen to some old vinyl you found, and making hot chocolate late into the day.

And it wasn't all bad, you took a walk around the town, visiting stations, and you spent time in the store spending Rafe's money.

At that point he had trade you his wallet so he could carry all of your bags.

You returned back to your cabin after all of that and crashed to watch some holiday movie waiting for nightfall.

When it did you asked Rafe to help you pick an outfit to which he kept responding "you look great in anything."

It was frustrating as it was flattering.

You ultimately ended up with fur coat, (Rafe's) and a sweater dress with wool leggings, just in case it gets cold. And it does, but it also snows, Rafe's hand holding yours as you walk side by side, your other hand smearing it from every availabe surface.

You go out, party, dance, but your favorite part of the night was the couple's cooking contest. To participate in your favorite tradition of the night, and to also be with the one you love unlike last year.

Now the cooking was slightly over cooked, but it looked pretty. You didn't win, but you had fun. You did however get voted for best chemistry, earning you a wreath around your neck, wrapped in ornaments, chesnuts and a classic mistletoe.

"You owe me a kiss," Rafe teased, to which you scoffed, nudging his shoulder.

"Under the mistletoe, remember?"

Rafe grumbled beneath his breath, his hand reaching for your arm, "What're you doing?" you asked, feeling him squeeze your elbow.

"Mistletoe, remember?" He carefully picked you up, you squealed your feet leaving the ground.

Still, you attempted to balance yourself against his shoulders, resting your arms, his hand wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, guiding your head down to his.

And you share a gentle kiss, his lips cool against yours, and your tension melts, allowing you to soften in his grasp. He smiles against your lips, letting out a breath of cold air, "ready to take this back to the cabin?" You nodded against him, leaning back in.