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Prisoner!rafe x black!babymom!reader

Summary: Rafes in jail you come to visit him without your 3 year old son

The CO waves you forward, the heavy door buzzing before it drags open. The visitation room smells like bleach and old air-conditioning, all metal tables and scratched plastic chairs. You hate this room. You hate how small it makes everything feel.

Rafe is already there.

He sits on the other side of the divider glass, elbows on the metal counter, tapping the side of the phone like he’s been waiting longer than he really has. He’s got that buzz cut now — sharp, uneven in places, done by some bored inmate with clippers. It makes his jaw look harsher, eyes bluer, attitude louder.

He looks up when you approach.

The tapping stops.

You take the seat, lift the phone to your ear. He watches the way your fingers wrap around it like he’s starving for anything from the outside world, even your smallest movements.

His first words aren’t “hi.”

They’re not even close.

“Where he at?”

Your jaw ticks. “Hello to you too.”

He leans closer to the glass like he’s trying to get through it. “Don’t play. Where’s our son?”

“Not here,” you say plainly.

He sits back, his whole expression folding into irritation. “You didn’t bring him? Again?”

“It’s loud in here,” you say. “And he gets scared. I’m not dragging a three-year-old through security every time you feel like seeing a familiar face.”

Rafe shakes his head slowly, jaw clenched, gaze drifting somewhere down your arms like he’s checking for something — exhaustion, stress, maybe proof that you’re still surviving without him.

“You think I don’t know he gets scared?” he mutters. “You think I don’t miss him?”

You stay quiet. Because you do know. And that’s the worst part — knowing he’s telling the truth.

Rafe looks back up at you through the glass, eyes colder than his voice.

“You look different,” he says. “New hair, new nails, new everything. Must be nice out there.”

Your eyebrows lift. “What, I’m not allowed to take care of myself now?”

He laughs once, humorless. “Didn’t say that.” He shifts, leaning in again. “Just noticing.”

Your pulse jumps — not in a good way, not entirely in a bad one either.

He studies you with that trapped, hungry look men get when the world is moving without them. Then his voice drops, rougher:

“Come on. Show me something . Lemme see you.”

You snort, instantly annoyed. “Rafe.”

“What?” he asks, all fake innocence.

“Don’t start.”

His smirk says starting is exactly what he wants to do.

The CO walks past, and Rafe’s eyes flick over him like he hates needing witnesses for even this tiny moment with you.

When the guard moves away, Rafe tilts his head, eyes dragging over your neckline with slow, deliberate interest.

“C’mon,” he repeats, quieter. “Lemme see your tits”

“Fuck off, Rafe.”

His grin is slow, smug, like he’s been waiting for you to snap just so he can feel something.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “Knew you still had some heat for me.”

i’ve read enough of rafe and reader saying the reader is his and him being all dominant and shi

season one rafe is unbearable with the noise. there's zero restraint in that boy — none. it's almost pathetic how loud he gets, like are you seriously making all of that noise right now? omg... but it's kind of hot. actually, it's really hot. keep doing it!!

i headcannon s1!rafe as someone who isn't exactly drowning in attention, so the second he actually gets his dick wet? he's whimpering, breathy, fully vocal like volume laws don't apply to him. he literally cannot help himself — there's no composure, no dignity. just a mess.

i do think rafe in later seasons is different, though. he's quieter — not silent, but it shifts. more dialogue, low grunts, sharp breaths and the occasional moan. nothing even close to the chaos that was season one rafe, oh my god. he's toned it down — matured a little.

it's genuinely embarrassing because he cannot shut the fuck up once he's into it. (but do we really want it to? no!) you'd be telling him to quiet down, begging him to stop being so fuckin' loud, shushing him more times than you can count — and he still fails every single time. you'd given up, honestly. it's hopeless.

when he's high? it’s worse. it’s so much worse. his brain is like scrambled eggs, his focus is completely gone, and the concept of "indoor voice" evaporates in his brain. he's louder, needier, just endlessly vocal because he physically can't think about anything else but the rush of adrenaline surging through his veins, and the way you feel wrapped around him.

sorry for ranting in ur inbox babe, i love ur writing so much 🫰🏽

IM SO SORRY for the late reply omfg. seasonal depression really getting my ass right now.

absolutely love the detail about him coming back with his skin all flushed, and his pupils blown wide because i can totally picture it. he's been gone for hours — didn't answer his phone, didn't respond to texts. ward's been pacing the living room at tannyhill for what seems like hours, jaw tight, every few minutes muttering about his son's "goddamn irresponsibility."

and then he stumbles in. it's late — the kind of late where everything's so quiet in the house, the only noise being the hum of the AC and the ticking of that old clock in the hallway. his shirt is wrinkled, smelling faintly like smoke and cheap liquor. he barely gets a word out before ward's voice booms across the room.

and it's the kind of argument, where rafe has no other choice than to just... take it. he just stands there, swaying slightly, eyes darting anywhere but his father’s. that bravado he usually wears like armor starts to crack — because ward’s voice isn’t just angry, it’s disappointed. that cold, cutting disappointment that used to make rafe feel small when he was a kid.

“you want to be treated like a man?” ward spits. “then start acting like one.”

and it's starting to actually hit him now — his father's ruined his high, and the guilt is finally starting to gnaw at his gut. it doesn't leave him alone for weeks, because all he can think about is the fact he missed the birth of his own child to chase pussy and get high? what the fuck! that's not even mentioning how fucking disappointed you are, either.

YES bc it’d be so easy like he already is on thin ice w the family, so you wouldn’t even need to invent drama, just amplify what’s already there. like when ward criticizes him, you could whisper things like “it’s crazy how he always blames you for everything. he never even thanks you for what you do.” it’s not a full-on lie, but it’s a lens shift. and that’s how you get him to start narrating his own life as “me vs them”

after every blow up he has w sarah or ward, you swoop in, not to play peacemaker, but to comfort him, show you’re on his side. being quiet, calm, maybe touching his arm in a low voice, telling him you’re proud of him. no lectures, no judgment, no “be better” just soft, steady validation. he’ll start venting to you first, which means you get to frame every situation however you want before anyone else does. he’d start storming into your room, furious, ready to break shit. instead, you pull him in, kiss him breathless, scratch down his back while whispering “you’re mine, only mine, i’ll never treat you like they do.”

next, heighten the emotional intimacy. since he’s already bound to you, this is the easiest part. sitting close, letting his head fall onto your lap when he’s high, brushing his hair back, holding his jaw when he’s ranting. giving the vibe of “i’m the only one who can calm you down” then one night it slips. maybe his hand lingers too long on your thigh when you’re comforting him, maybe he kisses your shoulder, maybe you kiss his cheek and it lands too close. it’s framed as accidental but you both know it’s not.