It was one of the rare moments Rafe went without his balaclava, leaving it on the side of your dresser as he went to work on his motorbike.

Boredom had overtaken you, and that what got you here. You were wearing his mask, phone in his hands after taking about a gazillion photos of you in his his mask, when Rafe walked in.

“What’re you doing, missy? Missed me, huh?” He asks, wiping oil from his hands on his cargo pants, whilst also discreetly fixing the front of his pants, “‘m not making fun, sweetheart, just wanna know if this is what you get up to when ‘m not around.”

You don’t say much, slightly embarrassed about being caught wearing his balaclava.

“my little mini me, huh? you know i like seeing you in my stuff, don’t you, sweet girl? you know what you’re doing. that naive bit makes me want to knock some sense into you. you’d like that, hm? want me to tell you what’s wrong, what’s right? what’s dangerous? this, baby. this is dangerous.”

You mumble a quiet, “I know…”, the words barely audible from behind the thick fabric covering your mouth.

“So why’d you do it, huh?” And when you didn’t answer, you gaze lingering on your phone just a little too long, he snatched it up and scrolled through the photos you took, “you’re so adorable, you know that? my baby just likes having me on her.” He cooed softly.