VALENTINES DAY ❤️ (PT2)
(Military!Rafe x Wife!Reader)
Rafe didn’t realize how quiet the house was until after breakfast.
Not the awkward kind of quiet—just that soft, warm hush that only happens when the world outside hasn’t really started yet. Morning light spilled in through the windows, turning the rose petals on the floor into tiny flecks of red and white fire.
You were still in his shirt, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from laughing, crying, kissing, being surprised, being loved.
And Rafe…
Rafe looked like he’d finally exhaled for the first time in years.
He sat back in his chair with his coffee, one arm slung over the back like he owned the whole world, but his eyes never left you. Not for more than a second.
You caught him staring again.
“What?” you asked, half-smiling.
Rafe’s gaze dragged over your face slowly, like he was memorizing every detail.
“You’re pretty,” he said.
You blinked.
Then you laughed, soft and breathy. “That’s all you have to say?”
Rafe shrugged, like it was obvious.
“It’s true.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.
Then you looked down at the table again—at the plates, the fruit, the coffee cups, the candles he’d lit like he was some kind of romance expert—and you shook your head.
“I still can’t believe you did all this,” you murmured.
Rafe’s jaw flexed.
“I told you,” he said. “I’m not wasting today.”
Your chest tightened.
You reached for his hand across the table and laced your fingers with his.
Rafe’s grip tightened instantly.
Like he didn’t want to let go.
Like if he let go, you might disappear.
“You happy?” he asked quietly.
You looked at him.
Really looked.
The dog tags resting against his chest.
The faint shadows under his eyes that never fully went away.
The way he held himself like he was always prepared for something—even here, even safe, even home.
But the softness in his gaze?
That was all you.
“So happy,” you whispered.
Rafe’s shoulders loosened like he’d been holding his breath.
“Good,” he murmured.
Then he took a sip of his coffee, set it down, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’re being suspiciously quiet.”
You blinked innocently. “I’m just… enjoying.”
Rafe leaned forward a little.
“No,” he said. “You’re plotting.”
You laughed, and the sound echoed softly through the kitchen.
Rafe’s lips twitched.
“I knew it,” he muttered.
You squeezed his hand. “Rafe, relax.”
Rafe scoffed. “I am relaxed.”
You gave him a look.
Rafe stared back.
Then he sighed.
“…Okay. I’m not relaxed.”
You smiled, eyes softening.
“You’re never relaxed.”
Rafe’s gaze warmed.
“Not when it comes to you.”
Your heart flipped.
You swallowed, trying not to let your face show how much that affected you.
But Rafe always noticed.
He always noticed everything.
He stood up slowly, still holding your hand, and tugged you gently until you stood too.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
Rafe’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing,” he corrected.
You blinked. “Me?”
Rafe nodded once.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re too quiet. You’re too calm. That means you’re hiding something.”
You tried to keep your face neutral.
Failed.
Rafe’s mouth twitched.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I knew it.”
You laughed, unable to help it.
Then you took a step closer.
“Okay,” you admitted softly. “I might have… done something.”
Rafe stared at you like you’d just said you bought a second house.
“…What did you do.”
You smiled sweetly.
“I need you to close your eyes.”
Rafe didn’t even blink.
“No.”
You gasped. “Rafe!”
Rafe’s jaw flexed.
“I’m not closing my eyes,” he said flatly. “In my own house.”
You crossed your arms. “Oh my God. You’re impossible.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I’m trained.”
You laughed. “Trained to ruin surprises?”
Rafe’s mouth twitched again.
“Trained to not get ambushed,” he said.
You stepped closer, reaching up to rest your hands on his chest.
His heartbeat was steady beneath your palms.
“Please,” you said softly.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands.
Then back to your face.
His expression shifted—softer now.
Because when you said please like that, it wasn’t a demand.
It was trust.
Rafe exhaled.
“…Fine,” he muttered.
Then, like it physically pained him, he closed his eyes.
You smiled.
“Good,” you whispered.
Rafe’s head tilted slightly.
“You better not be doing something weird.”
You snorted. “Rafe.”
“I’m serious,” he said, eyes still closed. “I will open them if I sense danger.”
You laughed and took his hand.
“I promise,” you said. “No danger.”
Rafe’s hand tightened around yours.
“Mm-hm,” he murmured, skeptical.
⸻
You led him out of the kitchen, carefully guiding him around the bouquets lining the floor.
Rafe moved like he was stepping through a minefield.
Every few seconds his shoulders tensed like he was about to react.
You couldn’t help laughing.
“You’re so dramatic,” you whispered.
Rafe’s mouth moved like he was trying not to smile.
“I’m not dramatic,” he muttered.
“You are literally walking like someone is about to attack you with a toaster.”
Rafe huffed.
“You think it’s funny,” he said.
“It is funny.”
Rafe shook his head once.
“You’re evil.”
You smiled. “You married me.”
Rafe’s grip tightened.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I did.”
⸻
You stopped him in front of his office door.
The one space in the house that still felt like a piece of his old life.
His quiet place.
His thinking place.
Sometimes his lonely place.
You squeezed his hand.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Open.”
Rafe opened his eyes.
And for a second…
He didn’t react.
He just stared.
Like his brain couldn’t process what it was seeing.
Because his office wasn’t just decorated.
It was loved.
Balloons floated near the ceiling, red and white and a few gold ones, tied to the edges of the desk and the bookshelf.
White rose petals—soft, delicate—were scattered across the floor like snow, and sprinkled across his desk like you’d wanted his whole space to feel warm.
And on his desk…
Flowers.
A vase full of them.
Roses, mostly.
Some red.
Some white.
Not the “safe” kind.
Not the “masculine” kind.
Just flowers.
Beautiful ones.
Because why the hell shouldn’t a man get flowers?
And next to the vase…
Gifts.
A stack of them.
Wrapped.
Neat.
Placed carefully like you’d been preparing for this moment for years.
Because you had.
Rafe took one slow step forward.
Then another.
His face changed.
His throat bobbed when he swallowed.
His eyes moved over the room like he was scanning it, like he needed to confirm it was real.
Then he turned his head toward you.
And his eyes were already glossy.
“Baby…” he said, voice rough.
You suddenly felt shy, like you were back at the beginning of your relationship and you’d just admitted you liked him first.
“I did it last night,” you confessed softly. “While you were sleeping.”
Rafe blinked.
“You were out of bed?” he asked, like that was the part that shocked him most.
You laughed quietly. “Yes, Rafe. I can sneak.”
Rafe didn’t laugh.
He couldn’t.
He just stared at the flowers again.
Then the gifts.
Then, finally, the card.
Placed in the center of his desk like the most important thing there.
Rafe stepped closer.
His movements were slow.
Careful.
Like he was afraid if he moved too fast, it would disappear.
He reached for the card.
His fingers were steady—but you could see the tension in his hands.
Like he was bracing for something.
He opened it.
And the second his eyes hit the first line…
His entire face shifted.
His jaw clenched.
His nostrils flared slightly.
Like he was fighting an emotion he didn’t want to let out.
You watched him read.
Line by line.
His eyes moved slowly.
His lips parted slightly like he was breathing through the words.
And as he read, his shoulders dropped.
Not in relief.
In something heavier.
Like guilt.
Like gratitude.
Like love so intense it scared him.
When he finished, he didn’t speak.
He just stared down at the card for a moment.
Then he set it down carefully.
Like it mattered.
Like it was sacred.
Then he looked at you.
And his eyes were wet.
Not fully crying.
But right there.
Right on the edge.
You stepped closer, voice gentle.
“You deserve flowers too,” you whispered.
Rafe swallowed hard.
“…I’ve never gotten flowers,” he admitted quietly.
Your chest tightened so sharply you almost flinched.
You reached for his hand.
“Well,” you whispered, squeezing it, “now you have.”
Rafe’s gaze flicked back to the vase.
He stared at it like he didn’t know what to do with it.
Like he didn’t know how to be the one receiving.
He’d spent so long being the protector.
The provider.
The soldier.
The one who came home with gifts and apologies and promises.
But being celebrated?
Being softly loved?
It hit him like a wave.
He cleared his throat roughly.
“How many gifts is that,” he asked, voice tight.
You hesitated.
Rafe’s eyes flicked to you.
“…How many.”
Your voice got quieter.
“Four years worth,” you admitted.
Rafe froze.
The air in the room changed instantly.
He turned his head toward you so slowly it almost scared you.
“Four years,” he repeated.
You nodded, heart pounding.
“I bought you something every Valentine’s Day,” you whispered. “Even when you were deployed.”
Rafe’s lips parted.
His eyes flashed.
Then softened.
Then flashed again.
Like he didn’t know what emotion to land on.
“Why would you do that,” he asked, voice raw.
You swallowed.
“Because I loved you,” you said simply.
Rafe stared at you.
You kept going, voice trembling a little now.
“I didn’t want to give them to you through a screen,” you admitted. “And I didn’t want to give them to you when you came home exhausted and jet-lagged and… still carrying everything.”
You took a shaky breath.
“So I kept them,” you whispered. “I told myself… maybe next year.”
Rafe’s throat bobbed.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes went even wetter.
And then he did what he always did when he couldn’t handle something—
He moved.
Fast.
He crossed the room in two steps and pulled you into him so hard you gasped.
His arms wrapped around you like a vise.
Like he was trying to fuse you into his body.
His face buried in your neck.
And for a second, he didn’t speak.
He just breathed.
Heavy.
Shaky.
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him.
And you felt it.
The tremor in his exhale.
The way his grip tightened and loosened.
Like he was trying to keep control.
But he didn’t have to.
Not with you.
“You waited,” he said, voice muffled against your skin.
Your eyes stung.
“I did,” you whispered.
Rafe’s hands slid up your back, cradling you like you were fragile.
“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said, voice rough.
You pulled back slightly, hands on his chest.
“Rafe,” you said firmly, “don’t do that.”
His eyes met yours.
They were glassy.
Full.
“You shouldn’t have had to wait,” he repeated, softer now. “Not for me.”
You swallowed.
“But I did,” you whispered. “Because you were worth it.”
That did it.
Rafe’s face crumpled slightly—just for a second.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
Not rough.
Not angry.
Just… desperate with love.
Like he needed to put the emotion somewhere.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
His breath was warm.
Shaky.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured.
You laughed softly, wiping at your cheeks.
“Good,” you whispered. “You scared me for four years.”
Rafe let out a broken little laugh.
Then he kissed you again, softer this time.
⸻
He turned back to the desk.
But he didn’t let go of your hand.
Not once.
He kept you right beside him, like he needed the contact.
Like he needed to anchor himself.
He picked up the first gift.
His fingers hovered over the wrapping like he didn’t want to ruin it.
Then he opened it.
Inside was something practical.
Something you knew he’d actually use.
Rafe stared.
Then he looked at you.
“You remembered,” he said quietly.
You shrugged, trying to play it off.
“I pay attention.”
Rafe huffed softly through his nose.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “You do.”
He opened the second gift.
Then the third.
A leather wallet.
A new watch.
A set of good pens—because he always stole yours.
A framed photo of the two of you from before his first deployment, when his smile was bigger and his eyes were lighter.
Rafe stared at that one for a long time.
His thumb brushed over the glass.
Then he swallowed hard.
“You kept this,” he said.
You nodded. “I like that picture.”
Rafe’s voice was barely audible.
“I do too.”
⸻
Then he opened a smaller box.
And inside…
Was a keychain.
Simple.
Metal.
Engraved.
One side said:
COME HOME SAFE.
The other said:
SHE’S WAITING.
Rafe’s breath hitched.
He stared at it like he didn’t know how to handle it.
Then he clenched his jaw and looked away, blinking hard.
You stepped closer.
“Rafe…”
He shook his head.
“No,” he said, voice rough. “It’s—”
He stopped.
Then he let out a shaky breath.
“It’s just a lot,” he admitted.
Your heart ached.
You touched his arm.
“I know.”
Rafe turned back to the desk.
He opened another gift.
Cologne.
The one you loved on him.
His lips twitched.
“Of course,” he murmured.
You laughed softly.
“What?”
Rafe glanced at you.
“You’re obsessed with this one.”
You shrugged. “It smells like you.”
Rafe’s gaze softened.
“I smell like you,” he corrected quietly.
Your cheeks warmed.
“Rafe…”
He opened another.
Headphones.
Good ones.
The kind he’d never buy for himself.
He stared at them, then looked at you like he didn’t know how to accept something that expensive.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” you interrupted gently.
Rafe’s mouth closed.
His eyes flicked away.
He nodded once.
Then he opened another.
A small box.
And when he saw it, he froze.
Inside were dog tags.
Not his military ones.
Custom.
Clean.
New.
The chain gleamed softly in the morning light.
He lifted them carefully.
The first tag had your name engraved.
The second tag said:
HOME.
Rafe stared.
For a long time.
His hands trembled slightly.
And when he finally looked up at you…
His eyes were wet.
Fully.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
“Baby,” he whispered, voice cracking, “what the hell…”
You swallowed, blinking fast.
“I just…” you started.
Your voice shook.
“I wanted you to have something that reminds you you’re not just a soldier,” you whispered. “You’re my husband.”
Rafe stared at the dog tags.
Then at you.
Then back at the dog tags.
And his face crumpled.
He stepped forward and pulled you into him again, tight.
So tight.
His hands cradled your head, fingers threaded through your hair.
He kissed your forehead.
Then your cheek.
Then your temple.
Over and over.
Like he couldn’t stop.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “I love you so much.”
You clung to him.
“I love you too.”
Rafe pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto yours.
And when he spoke, his voice was low.
Serious.
Like a vow.
“I’m never missing another Valentine’s Day,” he said.
Your breath caught.
You smiled through tears.
“You better not,” you whispered.
Rafe’s mouth twitched.
Then he leaned in and kissed you again.
Slow.
Deep.
A promise.
⸻
He stayed in the office for a while after.
Not because he wanted to be away from you.
But because he kept looking around at the decorations like he couldn’t believe you’d done it for him.
He touched the petals on his desk like he was trying to understand how something so soft could exist in his world.
He stared at the flowers again.
Then he glanced at you.
“You really think men deserve flowers?” he asked, voice quieter now.
You nodded immediately.
“Yes,” you said. “You deserve them.”
Rafe’s gaze dropped.
His throat bobbed.
Then he nodded once.
“…Okay.”
And you could tell it mattered.
Not because it was flowers.
But because it was you telling him he deserved tenderness.
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then he reached out, tugged you closer, and pulled you into his lap in his office chair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You laughed softly, settling against him.
Rafe pressed his face into your neck.
His voice came out low.
“You saved gifts for four years,” he murmured.
You nodded.
Rafe exhaled.
Then he whispered, like he was admitting something he’d never said out loud:
“I thought you’d stop.”
Your heart clenched.
You pulled back, immediately.
“What?”
Rafe’s eyes flicked away.
He looked embarrassed.
Like he hated that he’d even said it.
“I thought you’d get tired,” he admitted quietly. “Of waiting. Of me leaving. Of—”
He stopped.
His jaw clenched.
Then he looked at you again.
And the vulnerability in his eyes was almost unbearable.
“I thought one day I’d come home and you wouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
Your breath caught.
“Rafe…”
He swallowed hard.
“I know it’s stupid,” he said, voice tight. “But I thought it.”
You reached up and held his face in your hands.
“It’s not stupid,” you whispered. “It’s human.”
Rafe’s eyes softened.
You pressed your forehead to his.
“But I’m here,” you whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Rafe’s hands tightened around you.
His voice broke slightly.
“Promise?”
You nodded.
“I promise.”
Rafe closed his eyes for a second.
Then he kissed you.
Soft.
Slow.
Like he was trying to sink the promise into his bones.
⸻
And when you pulled back, still in his lap, still surrounded by rose petals and balloons…
You smiled through tears.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, husband,” you whispered.
Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours.
His voice was quiet.
But certain.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, wife.”
And for the first time in four years…
You both got to mean it.
PART TWO!!!!
HOPE YALL ENJOYED!!!!
ONCE AGAIN HOPE YALL HAD AN AMAZING VALENTINES!!!!
LOVE YA 💋
BYEEEE 💋💋💋
