#bartender!reader!universe

It had been four months since Autumn was born.

A whole season passed in a blur of spit-up, midnight feedings, and shallow dips of sleep, never long enough.

You were finally starting to feel like your body belonged to you again, not just to a baby or to recovery. You'd gotten cleared by your doctor weeks ago, but neither of you had rushed anything.

Mostly because Rafe had looked like he might break down at the very idea of hurting you.

“No,” he’d said quietly, the first time you hinted you were ready. “Not until I know it won’t hurt you.”

You loved him for it. But Autumn was asleep after the third attempt—half a bottle, twenty-seven minutes of bouncing.

The house was quiet for once.

Rafe had taken her for the final round, pacing slow laps in the hallway while you’d watched him from the doorway—shirtless, eyes heavy with sleep, one big hand cradling her tiny head, the other splayed over her back. He looked massive next to her, but so gente.

“She’s out,” he whispered finally, not moving yet.

You let him tuck her into her bassinet with the kind of care people don’t expect from someone like him—someone with his past, his name. But he was the best father. And the best husband.

Tem minutes later, you came out of the bathroom in his old shirt and a pair of underwear you didn’t remember buying. Tired, boobs still sore sometimes.

You didn’t feel sexy, you still didn’t recognize parts of yourself. Your body wasn’t what it used to be, and even though you’d been cleared by your doctor at six weeks, you were still sore and unfamiliar with your body. 

Rafe hadn’t pushed once. Which made it worse somehow, or better.

He was sitting on the bed, shirtless, rubbing the back of his neck, still wearing those stupid grey sweatpants that sat way too low on his hips. He looked up when he heard you. Your stretch marks were still dark, and your stomach hadn’t 'snapped back', and yet, he looked at you like he’d never seen you before.

You moved past him toward the dresser, but his hand caught yours, tugging you back, your knees landed on the mattress next to his thighs. 

“Rafe?”

“I can’t stop looking at you.”

You swallowed as his eyes flicked down, then back up. He was staring like you were still the woman he’d married, or something more than that: to Rafe, motherhood had added to you, not taken anything away.

“And I tried to wait. I was good.”

“You were,” you whispered, your heartbeat kicking up.

“I want you to tell me if anything hurts,” he said. “Anything, baby. Even a little.”

You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin. “I’m yours.”

When you pulled back, his lips crashed against yours like he hadn’t kissed you in years. His hands were greedily slipping under the shirt, shoving it up and over your head. He didn’t stop to look—didn’t need to—and pushed his mouth to your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts with this desperation.

You moved like you were remembering each other. Familiar, but rediscovered. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re even more perfect now.”

You almost cried right then, but the tears caught in your throat and turned into a moan instead. You missed him, like this.

You tried to laugh, but it came out hitched. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.”

You kissed sloppily, whispered curses, soft “fuck, baby”s and “missed you”s, quiet moans muffled in each other’s skin. You felt him hard already under you, through the thin cotton of your underwear and his sweats.

His hands cupped you gently, thumbs grazing your nipples, and the shock of sensation made you gasp. You were sensitive—more than you remembered—but you didn’t want him to stop. 

He kissed them, “Tell me what feels good.”

And fuck, it all did.

Rafe trailed lower, kissing the swell of your stomach with this impossible gentleness that made your eyes sting. His hands smoothed down your hips, massaging.

When his fingers reached the waistband of your underwear, he didn’t pull them down—he looked up again. “Can I?”

You nodded, too emotional to speak.

He peeled them off carefully, you wanted to cover yourself out of habit, but you didn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you—this was his favorite version of you. 

He kissed the inside of your thigh. Then again. Then again, higher.

“Open for me,” He hummed, “Let me get you ready, sweetheart.”

In a matter of seconds, your ass was on the bed, and Rafe was kneeling beside you on the floor.

Your legs spread, he was already between them, lowering himself down because it was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.

Then—his mouth. The first touch of his tongue made you flinch, not from discomfort, just surprise. You’d forgotten what that felt like, what you felt like. He moaned low when he tasted you.

“Missed this. Missed you.”

You whimpered, back arching, hand flying to his hair. He licked slowly at first—lazy strokes, not to overwhelm you. When he circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, your thighs tensed around his shoulders, and he didn’t stop. 

“I’ve got you.”

You were wet fast. So fast.

He dipped one finger inside—testing, watching your face. His wedding band was warm against your skin, dragging against your thigh as he moved. It always got to you.

You moaned out loud. 

“Rafe,” you breathed, hips canting up toward his mouth. “Shit, I—”

“Wanna feel you open up for me.”

He added a second finger, scissoring gently until he felt your body adjust. He kissed the crease of your thigh and went right back to your clit, tongue working in circles, filthy wet sounds filling the room.

You were so close. It had been so long, and Rafe had always known how to ruin you with his mouth.

“Come for me,” he said against you. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

It crept up out of the blue and then crashed, all at once—your legs shaking, mouth falling open, breath catching as you came around his fingers. He didn’t stop until you twitched from overstimulation, and even then, he only pulled back to kiss your hipbones again, up your stomach, up your chest.

You were soaked. Ready. Your body welcomed him like it had been waiting.

He let you pull him without a fight, watching you crawl over him, his arms spread, needing to feel you with his whole body. You sat up on top of him, legs straddling his hips, completely bare except for your underwear. 

Married. Yours. Still completely obsessed with you.  

“Look at you.”

You tugged at his sweats and he lifted his hips to help, now bare too, thick and hard and so ready it made your head spin.

You hovered over him, suddenly breathless. Your hand curled around the base of him, guiding him to your entrance. And even though he’d gotten you so ready—fingers, tongue, all of it—you still took your time, easing down, feeling the stretch in the best way. Your body took him like it remembered him, it had been waiting.

Rafe groaned, head dropping back against the pillow.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

It wasn’t perfect. You both moved slower than usual; it had been months, after all.

“Saw you watching me in the mirror the other night,” you said, nails dragging down his stomach. “After I showered.”

His breath hitched. “I was gonna jerk off.”

“I know,” you purred, your hips grinding into his, and you felt him pulse deep inside you. 

Your hips moved in shallow rolls at first, easing. He kept his hands on your waist, not pushing, letting you lead until you moaned and leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, kissing him.

The way he looked under you—neck strained, mouth open, chest rising and falling hard—you had all the power.

“Harder,” you whispered, and he did—thrusting up into you.

You cried out, not in pain, only because it was overwhelming. It was so much. His hands on your ass. His mouth on your neck. His breath in your ear: “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

Your thighs shook; you were close. Already. It hadn’t taken much.

You couldn’t stop looking at his hands—those big, veiny hands—and his wedding band catching the warm lamplight as he slid his palms up your waist. That little reminder that he was yours, that he loved you, had chosen you again and again. 

Rafe opened his eyes at that, dazed and wrecked and smiling as you braced your hands on his chest again and rode him harder, feeling your orgasm start to build all over again. He was babbling now—words half-formed, mouth hardly keeping up with the way you were moving.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned. “You—fuck—you gave me our baby, and you’re still letting me have you like this. I don’t deserve you.”

He kissed you so deep, tongue sliding against yours as he fucked up into you, matching your pace now.

You whined, your nails clawing down his chest, and he felt that—his head snapped back with a guttural sound, fighting the urge to flip you, to pound up into you with everything he had—but this was better.

You had him pinned.

“Fucking love when you're on top,” he panted. “—I’d give you anything. Anything you want. Look at you. Ridin’ my cock like you own it.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I do.”

That did it. His hands flew to your hips again, forcing you down while he thrust up, and you cried out. 

Rafe’s eyes slammed shut, “Don’t—shit, don’t say that. I’ll blow right now.”

Your back arched, thighs trembling, a broken sob falling from your mouth as you clenched around him over and over, pulsing tight, soaking him just like he asked.

You whimpered, legs trembling, body twitching with every roll of your hips. You slammed down onto him, and he snapped, groaning loud enough you were half-scared you'd wake the baby—but neither of you stopped.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, bucking into, completely lost, watching the way your tits bounced with every stroke. “Could die like this. Between your legs, inside you—fuck, what a way to go.”

You’d probably bruise, and you didn’t care. You wanted it, to feel it days later, every time you sat down, every time you walked. Proof.

“Let me see you,” he rasped. “Touch yourself for me, baby.”

You slid a hand down between your bodies, brushing over your clit, slick and sensitive. His eyes dropped, transfixed, the muscles in his abdomen pulling tight.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he groaned, voice strained, trembling with it.

You smiled through the moan. “Good. I want it.”

Your fingers kept circling your clit as Rafe watched. His fingers were digging into your flesh, but he still let you lead, soaking and grinding, taking what you needed.

The stretch had faded into that addictive fullness, every grind thick with pressure, each slide over your clit more intense than the last.

You knew how to work him just right.

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Fuck, just like that. Gonna come for me again?”

You nodded, breath hitching, fingers circling faster. “With you. Wanna come with you.”

Rafe sat up suddenly, the change bringing your bodies skin to skin, burning hot. His forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling.

“Then ride me harder,” he said, voice breaking, sweat beading along his temple. “Take what you need. You always know how.”

You gave it to him, grinding and bouncing. Rafe met every move with one of his own, your bodies slapping together in rhythm.

He sat up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your lower back, locking you to his chest. The new angle made you both cry out. You couldn’t breathe, nor did you want to. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes rolling back for a second. “You’re not playing fair.”

Your teeth scraped his bottom lip. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Rafe’s hands slid up your sides, across your ribs, brushing under your breasts. You arched for him, offering yourself, and he took advantage, wrapping his lips around your nipple. His tongue circled lazy, wet, sucking hard enough to make your head fall back.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, grinding harder now. “That’s—don’t stop.” You were babbling too, the pleasure cresting hard.

His cock twitched inside you constantly, and you knew he was dying to flip you over and fuck the orgasm out of you—but he didn’t.

Instead he grabbed your wrist, not to stop you, but to guide your hand and press your fingers harder.

“I’ve got you,” he growled against your neck. “Let me feel you, baby.”

You did.

Your hips stuttered as your whole body shut down with it, clenching around him so desperately that he didn’t stand a chance. He shouted your name, pulled you flush against him, and came with a force that had him shaking under you, his cock buried to the deep end, pulsing hot inside.

There was so much you felt it gush out around him, spilling over your thighs, making a mess of everything. His cock twitched inside you twice, still throbbing, pumping more of it in deep as you whimpered against his shoulder.

His mouth pressed against your shoulder, then to the curve of your neck. His breathing was uneven against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You nodded into his hair. “More than okay.”

Your fingers kept tracing the sweat-damp line of his spine.

“I missed you.”

You kissed the shell of his ear. “You’ve got me. Still yours.”

You held each other there, chests heaving, skin sticky, hearts thudding. Neither of you moved, except for the tiny things. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, dragging down to your jaw, and he smiled quietly.

“God, I love you.” 

You cupped his face, brushing under his eyes. “I love you too.”

From the hallway, a tiny cry.

You both groaned.

Rafe let his head fall back. “Shit.”

You laughed, breathless, and climbed off him, a new rush of cum following, sliding down your inner thighs.

“I’ll go,” He pressed a peck to your bare shoulder. “But when I come back…”

You smirked. “Better bring water.”

He shot you a look, tousled hair wild, glowing with afterglow.

“Water and snacks.”

Rafe sat up, grabbing the nearest pair of boxers from the floor, dragging them on over his still-hard cock, the fabric doing little to hide what you’d just done to him.

He leaned down to kiss your knee again before heading out, mumbling, “Five minutes. Don’t move.”

He paused at the doorway, running a hand through his hair, and you swore your womb fluttered. You watched him go, soft lighting catching the curve of his shoulders, the waistband of his boxers slung low on his hips.

Yeah—you’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

Today, it starts with a childish fart noise.

One obnoxiously loud, undeniably juvenile fart noise made with the palm of JJ’s hand against his mouth, and suddenly Autumn is screeching with laughter in the middle of the living room, witnessing the peak of stand-up comedy.

You’re bent over folding laundry on the couch, half-listening, until you glance over and see her practically convulsing in her bouncer—tiny fists in the air, drool on her chin, blue eyes crinkled in delight.

You swear she snorts.

JJ does it again, louder this time and she completely loses her mind. Meanwhile, Rafe is seething across the room.

“She thinks he’s hilarious,” you tease, smirking.

“She has no standards,” He mutters, arms crossed, watching his six-month-old daughter howl like JJ’s the second coming of Jim Carrey.

The blonde sends him a smug look as he scoops Autumn up, balancing her easily in one arm while bouncing her, still making sound effects with his mouth.

“Say it with me, baby girl,” he coos, kissing her chubby cheek. “Uncle JJ’s the funniest person alive.”

“Don’t gas her up,” Rafe snaps. “She’s impressionable.”

“She has taste,” JJ shoots back. “Sorry not sorry.”

“She’s a baby.”

“She has instincts.”

You shake your head, amused at the pout on his lips. It always goes like this. JJ and Rafe, acting like frat boys fighting over who gets picked first—only now it’s over a baby who eats her own socks and thinks peekaboo is a full-length feature film.

JJ still looks up to Rafe, even if he hides it in sarcasm and endless shit-talking. Rafe pretends JJ’s a nuisance, but he’s the one who always makes sure there’s extra food when he shows up unannounced.

He’s the one who slipped cash in JJ’s glove box the winter his truck almost died and stopped asking questions when the kid was seventeen crashing on your couch for the third night in a row.

You have the softest spot for JJ that’s carved out of shared history and hard-won freedom. So when Autumn lights up for him like that—like he hung the moon—you don’t get jealous.

But Rafe does.

“She’s gonna start calling him Daddy,” he grumbles, watching JJ lift her into the air like she’s Simba.

“She can barely say da,” you reply dryly. “Relax.”

"She’s obsessed with him.”

“She’s a baby. She’s allowed to have a favorite person of the week. Next week it’ll be the ceiling fan again.”

Rafe scowls, continuing. “He’s corrupting her.”

You give him a look. “He gave her a carrot stick and told her it was a tiny lightsaber.”

“She tried to stab herself in the eye with it.”

“With a carrot?”

Autumn squeals happily from JJ’s arms, cheeks flushed, hair a wild puff of static from all the excitement. You glance at Rafe, who’s still pouting, then lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“She loves you most,” you murmur. “She just likes that he lets her be chaotic.”

“I taught him that fart noise.”

You snort. “So technically, she’s laughing at you.”

He scowls harder, “Should’ve known he’d use it against me.”

You chuckle shifting the laundry pile to your other side. “It’s not espionage. It’s a fart noise.”

“It’s psychological warfare,” Rafe grimaces, watching him cradle Autumn like a football while making increasingly ridiculous sound effects. “He’s trying to brainwash her."

“Uh huh.”

"I don't like it."

“She’s allowed to have multiple people she loves,” you remind him but you’re still smiling. You’re used to this version of him—the one that acts like every new milestone is a competition.

“She doesn’t laugh like that for me,” Rafe says under his breath.

And that—ugh. That makes your heart squeeze.

“She does,” you say, getting up from the couch to press your hands to his chest.

He huffs and puffs. “I’m gonna teach her to fake snore when he talks.”

Nevermind.

“I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”

“She’s my daughter. I deserve to win.”

He stares at JJ for a second, expression split between a grudge and a mission. Then he walks forward with purpose.

“Alright,” He says finally, “That’s enough. Gimme my daughter.”

JJ clutches her tighter, one hand protectively over her diapered butt, shielding her from a custody battle. “Uh, no? I just got here. We’re bonding. Go away.”

Rafe steps forward, narrowing his eyes. “Maybank.”

JJ narrows his eyes right back, pivoting on socked feet like a quarterback. “Rafe.”

“She’s my baby.”

JJ whirls around dramatically, Autumn giggling in his arm. “You mean our baby.”

“Try me, Maybank. I will end you.”

“She’s my niece. And she just told me she prefers my vibes.”

“She doesn’t know what a fucking vibe is, dumbass, she eats lint.”

“Language!" Autumn chooses that moment to let out a delighted squeal, grabbing a fistful of JJ’s hair, who winces. “See? She’s on my team. Blood oaths have been made.”

She yanks one more load of JJ’s hair, tugging so hard his whole body dips forward.

“Jesus—okay, that’s new.”

Rafe smirks. “Yeah. Put her down."

JJ immediately takes off, sprinting around the coffee table, Autumn bouncing in his arms and laughing like it’s the best roller coaster she’s ever been on. Rafe chases after him, dodging a laundry basket and knocking over a throw pillow like it’s war.

“I'm gonna kill you.” Rafe shouts.

“You’ve tried!” JJ yells over his shoulder, giggling like a child himself. “Didn’t work before, won’t work now!”

You’re frozen on the couch, holding a burp cloth and a sock that definitely isn’t yours, mouth open in disbelief. “OH MY GOD—put her down! You absolute freaks, she’s a baby!”

JJ dives over the arm of the couch, landing with a grunt and shielding Autumn against his chest.

"She’s safe! She’s laughing! That means I win!”

“You are a grown man,” you hiss.

“Debatable,” Rafe mutters, climbing over the opposite side of the couch.

“Stop—no parkour while holding my child! I swear to God, Jay—”

“She’s resilient!”

“She’s six months old!”

Autumn is absolutely howling with laughter now, unaware she’s at the center of the dumbest turf war known to man. Her sock is hanging off one foot, her little cheeks are flushed, and she’s having the time of her life while her dad and honorary uncle act like this is an olympic final.

Eventually, Rafe wrestles JJ into a cushion pile and scoops her out of the chaos. He holds her up triumphantly, triumphant and slightly out of breath.

“Victory.”

Autumn lets out a sleepy giggle, head dropping to his shoulder and her dad, leans in, kissing her cheek.

JJ, from the floor. “She told me I’m the favorite.”

“She told you nothing.”

“She blinked twice. That’s Morse code for JJ is the coolest.”

You close your eyes. “I am begging for peace.”

You wrestle a pacifier from the depths of the diaper bag and pop it into Autumn’s mouth, watching her blink drowsily, eyelashes fluttering like little wings. She curls into Rafe’s chest ready to crash, all worn out from being the prize in a living room death match.

JJ groans from the floor and throws an arm over his eyes.

“I pulled a muscle.”

“You don’t have that.” Rafe retorts.

You glance between them, grabbing a baby wipe and tossing it at JJ’s face. “Can we go five minutes without turning my child into a tug-of-war rope?”

He peels the wipe off dramatically. “She loved it.”

“She also loves chewing on her own foot,” you say. “Not a high bar.”

Autumn makes a soft squeaking noise into Rafe’s shirt, fingers curling in the fabric. You reach over, brushing a tuft of hair off her forehead, your heart gushing at the sight. She’s settling.

Rafe’s rocking her gently now, swaying in place out of habit, his palm covering most of her tiny back. He snorts, glancing down at JJ.

“You’re wearing socks with bananas on them.”

“They’re lucky socks.”

“For what? Avoinding employment?”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, but there’s warmth in it. They’re always like this no matter their age, sarcasm wrapped around gratitude. JJ may act like the annoying little brother, but Rafe never lets him get too far.

Autumn stirs, fidgeting against Rafe’s chest.

“...Dada.”

Rafe freezes mid-sway. JJ’s jaw drops.

You blink. “Did she—?”

“Did she just say—” JJ starts.

“Say it again,” Rafe whispers, looking down, voice stuck in his throat. “Do it again, baby. Please.”

Autumn blinks up at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Her pacifier hangs out of the corner of her mouth. She gurgles again.

“Dada.”

Slurred, but undeniably there. Rafe’s face crumples. You reach over, your hand on his wrist, heart doing cartwheels in your chest.

He laughs, stunned, breathless. “Holy shit. She said—”

“I was holding her for two hours,” JJ groans dramatically, throwing himself backward onto the rug. “I did the work. I earned that word.”

“She said Dada,” Rafe repeats, beaming like the sun rose in his arms. He presses a kiss to her chubby cheek, then her forehead, holding her like she’s made of gold. “I win. It’s over. Game set match.”

“She said Dada,” JJ protests, rolling to his side. “Not Rafe. That could’ve been anyone’s Dada."

Rafe ignores him, smirking down at you.

"I told you she's a prodigy."

You’re laughing now, tears gathering in your eyes because your little girl, with eyes fluttering shut again, said her first word.

“She said Dada.”

“I know,” you whisper, leaning in close. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you without thinking, a quick press of lips but JJ yells again from the floor.

“Oh my god. Get a room.”

“You don’t live here,” Rafe calls over his shoulder.

“I'm here every other day.” JJ argues.

Rafe flips him off with one hand, the other still cradling Autumn.

JJ sits up like a man betrayed, squinting at the baby girl.

“Y’know what?” he mutters, brushing imaginary dust off his banana socks. “She’s a traitor. I give her my time, my talent, best material—I’m done."

“You say that every time."

“I’m gonna make my own baby. That’s right, a new heir."

You nearly choke on your own breath. “I—I'm sorry—what?”

He squares his shoulders, chin up. “A baby. A tiny me, blood loyalty.”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “You are not reproducing.”

“Watch me.”

“No—no no no. You think you’re getting Kie pregnant before she hits twenty-eight? She’ll feed you your own balls with a side of avocado toast.”

Your husband is gone, biting back laughter so hard he nearly drops Autumn.

JJ points an accusatory finger in your direction.

“You’re not invited to the baby shower.”

“Good,” you shoot back, grinning. “I’m already planning the funeral.”

You shake your head, standing and grabbing the baby monitor off the table. Autumn’s fast asleep now, her mouth slack on Rafe’s shoulder, one hand curled in his shirt.

JJ watches her, quiet for more than two seconds, which is rare.

“She really said it, huh?”

You smile, “Yeah."

Rafe kisses her hair, rocking a little again without realizing.

“You’ll get your moment, man."

JJ nods solemnly. “You’re right. I’ll wait. And in the meantime…”

You narrow your eyes. “What.”

He grins. “I’m teaching her how to say Uncle JJ is the GOAT.”

"Touch her again and I’m yeeting you off the balcony.”

You pinch the bridge of your noise. “Both of you, get out.”

JJ's already halfway to the kitchen.

That changed the minute he started dating you.

The first time he changed it, you’d only been together a few weeks.

He had secretly taken a photo of you sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his shirts, eating fries from the bag while humming along to the music playing on his speaker. The lighting was shit, and your hair was a mess, but you were laughing at something stupid he said, all sunshine in your eyes.

That’s my girl.

He didn’t say anything and silently made it his lock screen, his little secret.

After that, it was always you. Over the years, he swapped it out for different versions of you—sneaking a sleepy photo of you curled up in his chest, a blurry snap of you dancing in the kitchen, your profile in golden hour while you poured a drink behind the bar. You were always there, greeting him every time he picked up his phone.

Now, the first thing he saw when he picked up his phone was the love of his life and the tiny miracle they created together.

It was a photo he’d taken when you first brought Autumn home from the hospital. She was asleep on your chest, her cheeks pink and warm, her tiny hands curled into fists. You were sitting on the edge of the couch, hair pushed back lazily, bags under your eyes, an exhausted look on your pretty face.

You’d told him to delete it.

“Don’t even save that. I look like shit." You’d muttered, voice soft so you wouldn’t wake her.

He had smiled, kissing your temple. “You look like a fuckin’ angel.”

You had rolled your eyes, retorting something under your breath, but he’d kept the photo anyway, made it his lock screen. And he stared at it constantly.

He subtly started posting it. Rafe, who barely touched social media unless it was to like a meme or accidentally reply to his friend's story with a fire emoji, suddenly turned into a guy who posted. It made his friends roll their eyes, sure. Topper gave him shit.

“You turned into a Facebook mom, bro.”

Rafe didn’t care, this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You. Autumn. His little family. He couldn’t believe you picked him to build a life with. Now he had something worth showing off.

Sometimes at work, he'd unlock it to look at the two girls who had flipped his whole world upside down, and he’d grin like an idiot. Didn’t care who saw.

Every now and then, you’d catch him doing it—on the couch while Autumn napped on his chest, or at 3 a.m. during a bottle feed, phone propped up on the armrest beside her socks—and he’ shrug, a little sheepish, getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re obsessed,” You’d tease, flopping down beside him. “You’re worse than me.”

“Damn right I am.” He’d kiss the top of Autumn’s head and then yours. “I'm always gonna stare at you like you hung the moon.”

He said it so casually, full of sleepy, reverent affection, that it made your heart ache in your chest. Rafe wasn’t just in love—this new chapter had taken all the hard parts of him and melted them. He still had his days, sure—he was Rafe, after all—but when it came to you and Autumn, he was all heart.

Protective and tender in equal measure, he’d rock her for hours just to let you get a nap, talk to her like she understood him, whispering about how strong her mama was and how lucky they both were.

The man who never got tired of holding you close and saying, “Baby, you’re unreal.”

Some weeks, you didn’t feel beautiful. Your body was still healing, the dark circles on your eyes felt permanent. But Rafe made sure you never forgot how loved you were. He worshipped you with every glance, with the brush of his hand against your back, whispering “thank you” into your skin.

Even now—months in—he still looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. You’d be standing in the kitchen, bouncing Autumn on your hip while you stared into the fridge, saying something about not knowing what to make for dinner. Hair up in a bun, wearing one of his old tees and the softest pajama shorts you owned. And behind you, Rafe would just… stop.

Mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-breath sometimes. The curve of your shoulder, the rhythm of your swaying, and the way Autumn's tiny fist curled into the fabric near your collarbone were all he could think about.

That’s my whole damn life, he’d think. Right there. 

He’d be caught red-handed. You would look over your shoulder and blink at him, half-smiling, unsure.

“What?”

”Nothing,” he would say with a hoarse voice.

You’d scoff or shake your head, but the corners of your mouth would twitch. And that just made it worse—better, somehow. He was constantly in awe, even when you were pissed off at him—when you were snapping for leaving the wet laundry in the machine once or for forgetting to thaw the chicken—you were still beautiful to him.

Still, the woman who changed his life. Still the girl in the blurry photo on his bed, laughing at nothing while eating fries.And some nights, when everything was quiet and the world had finally gone still, he’d lie there with you asleep beside him, the baby monitor low, and he’d whisper to you.

“You saved me,” he’d breathe into your hair.

rafe had been pacing the bedroom for the past half hour, hands shoved deep into his pockets, glancing at you every few minutes as you lay sprawled out on the bed, fuming. well, not exactly fuming—more like grumpy. very, very grumpy. and uncomfortable.

the baby, it seemed, had decided it was perfectly content staying right where it was, even though your due date had come and gone three days ago.

you had enforced a “sex ban” two weeks ago, mostly out of frustration with rafe’s constant hovering and protectiveness.

he'd been overbearing, to put it mildly, fussing over every little thing, making sure you were never on your feet too long, practically spoon-feeding you every meal.

it had gotten to the point where you needed a break from him, and you knew withholding sex was the fastest way to get him to back off a little.  he hated it, of course, but he respected your boundaries.

well, sort of.

now, though, you were regretting it.

you let out a frustrated huff, moving on the bed again, trying to find a comfortable position for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. nothing worked. you were restless and more than anything, you were ready for this baby to finally make an appearance.

rafe, meanwhile, was watching you like a hawk, biting back his comments, trying his best not to say anything that would push your buttons. he knew you were on edge, and truth be told, so was he.

he hated seeing you like this, hurting.

“y’know,” he started, clearing his throat, “there’s this thing they say works to, uh, speed things up…”

you turned your head to glare at him, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “don’t even start.”

he put his hands up defensively, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “’m just saying, it’s supposed to help.” he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, enjoying himself a little too much. “we could give it a shot. what’s the harm?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck because shit, he wasn’t wrong. but you were still annoyed, especially when rafe got that smug look on his face. 

“you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, rolling onto your side, and facing away from him.

he chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to the bed, his hands sliding into his pockets as he stood next to you, towering over your grumpy form. 

“c’mon baby. y’know ’m right.”

you could hear the teasing lilt in his voice, and it only made you more irritated. you had put him on this stupid sex ban for a reason—because he wouldn’t stop fussing over you, treating you like you were made of glass, acting like you couldn’t do anything for yourself. and now he was suggesting breaking the very ban you had imposed.

but the thing was you were starting to consider. the idea wasn’t sounding so bad anymore, not when you were this desperate for some relief.

“i hate you sometimes.”

rafe grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand immediately finding its way to your belly, gently rubbing slow circles like he always did. “nah, you love me. just don’t wanna admit I’m right.”

you turned to look at him, your glare less menacing now, more playful despite your mood. “don’t act so smug.”

he shrugged, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “can’t help it, baby, know you too well.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to decide if giving in would be admitting defeat. but then again, you were so ready for this baby to come out. maybe he had a point.

“fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “we’ll try it.”

rafe’s face lit up like christmas morning, that grin of his widening as he raised an eyebrow. “now you wanna try it, huh? after you’ve had me on a sex ban for weeks?”

you jokily slap his wrist, “don’t push it, cameron.”

he held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk on his face told you he was thoroughly enjoying this moment. “’m just saying, you were the one who cut me off, and now you’re asking me to break the ban. kinda ironic."

you groaned again, throwing an arm over your face. “shut up and get over here before i change my mind.”

rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

he was already sliding onto the bed beside you, his hands touching over your body like he couldn’t help himself. he’d been waiting for this—weeks of restraint, holding back when all he wanted to do was touch you, help you feel better in any way he could.

his hands ghosted over your swollen belly, trailing down to your hips, as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “you sure about this?”

“rafe,” you warned, but it came out more breathless than you intended. your body was instantly reacting to his touch, the heat in your stomach spreading fast. “stop talking. push your stupid jeans down."

his hand paused mid-rub, his brow furrowing in confusion. "what?

you shot him a look that clearly said don’t make me repeat myself.

“you heard me.”

he stared at you for a second, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be concerned. “can’t i be a little romantic first?”

“not today—” you gestured impatiently at him, “hurry up before i change my mind.”

rafe looked almost wounded for a second, his lips parting like he was going to say something else, but then he caught the look on your face.

"jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stood up, hands going to the waistband of his trousers. “i feel objectified.”

“’m nine months pregnant. come here before i explode.”

he kicked his trousers off in one swift movement, stepping back toward the bed. “when you put it that way…” he knelt back down beside you, but this time, his hands were less gentle, sliding up your thighs, pulling you closer. 

you could tell he was still trying to be careful, still thinking of your comfort, but you had other priorities.

“baby, please stop fussing and just—” you cut yourself off, grabbing at him, urging him to stop overthinking every little thing. you didn’t need sweet or slow or careful right now. you needed this baby out.

 “bossy today, huh?”

you weren’t in the mood for drawn-out foreplay. you let out an exasperated groan, rolling your eyes again. “i’m being so serious.”

he eventually got the hint, pulling your shorts and panties off with surprising ease.

without another word, he dropped his entire weight on the bed, sitting up against the headboard as he dragged your body to his lap.

you gave him that impatient look, your legs straddling his hips. his hands rested on your thighs, his cock already hard and ready, pressing against you. instead of easing into it, like you might’ve done any other time, you just went for it.

you reached down between you, grabbing him, and lined him up, your breath coming quicker. "just do it." your voice had a demanding tone as you stared him down as if daring him to argue.

he was frozen for half a second, eyes widening at how forward you were. “you really wanna just—”

“i’ve been walking around like a balloon for weeks. so unless you’re gonna pop it—"

rafe hissed in response, eyes closing for a second as your hand tugged him closer. he shifted, one hand on your hip, steadying you both.

"okay, baby," he breathed out, clearly trying to get his head in the game, “okay.”

just like that he was inside you, the sudden fullness making you gasp, your body immediately tightening around him. his hand gripped your waist harder, holding you as he did all the work, thrusting up, deep and hard. you were gripping his clothed shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

the sensation of him filling you exactly what you’d been craving. no slow buildup, no teasing touches—just straight to it, like you’d demanded. rafe wasn’t holding back now, his movements deliberate as he pushed into you again and again, his breath ragged in your ear.

“oh, fuck,” you whispered, nails dragging across the skin in his thighs, as your hips tried to meet his thrusts. it was exactly what you needed, your body already trembling as he hit that perfect spot. 

once you lifted your head, rafe was the one falling forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as much as your belly allowed him to, as he drove into you harder, grunting against your skin.

“god, baby—feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbled, his voice all breathless. "how are you still so tight—"

Rafe Cameron had never cared about New Year’s Eve—never cared about anything that came with it, really.

No resolutions, no countdowns, no stupid superstitions. For years, the only thing NYE had ever been to him was an excuse to get high, shit-faced, or both. Another party, another distraction, another night to drown out the noise in his head. 

This year was different, he had you.

“Tell me if it gets too much, okay?”

“Baby, I’m fine,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his chest to calm him down.

Rafe nodded, but you could see the gears turning in his head. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye every second, quietly assessing if you were comfortable, if you were happy.

You leaned against the marble kitchen island, sipping something fizzy from a crystal flute, half-listening as he introduced you to another one of his college buddies. He had his arm slung low around you, the tips of his fingers brushing the hem of your dress like he couldn’t help himself.

“You still good?” he murmured, leaning close so that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. 

You tilted your head to look at him, catching that pretty face that never failed to make your knees weak. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, though the truth was you felt a little out of place. You still weren’t used to this crowd, their polished laughs and overpriced cologne. Maybe you’d never be.

But Rafe made it bearable, he always did.

His eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way the fairy lights strung across the patio reflected in your eyes. You didn’t notice, busy scanning the room, but to him, you were the only thing worth looking at.

“You’re lying."

Your brow furrowed as you looked back at him.

“What?”

“You’re not fine.” He moved impossibly closer, his free hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “You always do that little thing with your mouth when you’re uncomfortable.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “I’m fine, really. It’s just...not my scene.”

His hand dropped from your face to your hip again, pulling you a fraction closer, like he needed to feel you against him to believe you were really there. 

“Okay, let’s leave,” he said, his tone so earnest it made your chest ache.

“Baby,” you sighed, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from spiraling into full protective mode. “You’ve been looking forward to this. I’ll survive a few hours of rich-kid bullshit. Promise.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Don’t care about the stupid party,” he murmured against your skin. “Just wanted to spend the night with you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time it was more for show.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” The words slipped out so easily, like they’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue all night. He meant every damn syllable.

The night wore on and he stuck to your side like glue. It was endearing, in a way, as he introduced you to his university friends, always with some kind of proud little flourish—like saying your name was his favorite thing to do. 

“This is her,” he’d said more than once, his chest puffed up slightly, like just having you on his arm made him the luckiest guy in the room.

The way he looked at you made it hard to stay annoyed. Everyone was polite enough, but Rafe didn’t let any awkwardness linger, always guiding the conversation, nudging you in with a soft “Tell them about that time…” or offering a quick compliment like, “She’s way better at that than I ever was.”

And when one of his friends said something vaguely pretentious, you felt his hand tighten ever so slightly on your waist before he cut in with a sharp, “Yeah, okay, Benji, but tell them about the time you puked on your mom’s Birkin.” His grin was all teeth, but his tone was light—he was still playing nice, but only because of you.

By the time the countdown was close, the party had spilled outside.

The chilly night air nipped at your skin, but you didn’t mind—especially when Rafe shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you. It smelled like him—clean, with just a hint of that cologne you loved.

He didn’t respond, just tugged you closer, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned down to look at you. “What are you gonna wish for?”

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the question.

“At midnight. What are you gonna wish for?” His blue eyes so intense they made your stomach scream.

You laughed, trying to brush off the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Don’t know. A winning lottery ticket, maybe? Health?”

But he didn’t laugh, just kept looking at you like you were the answer to every question he’d ever had.

“What about you? Do you know what you’re gonna wish for?”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Already got everything I need.”

“Be serious."

He shrugged, the gesture almost sheepish, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on your heart.

“I, uh...might’ve wished for you last year,” he admitted, “Didn’t know it was you at the time, but...yeah. Turns out the universe actually listens sometimes.”

You stared at him, completely floored.

“You’re such a fuckin' dork.” You shook your head, trying to tamp down the stupid grin spreading across your face. “You really did the whole thing last year?”

“The whole thing,” he nodded, completely unashamed. “The grapes, the red underwear, the running around the block with a suitcase—”

“No,” you said, giggling now. “You did not.”

“Swear to God,” he shook his head. “Felt so fucking stupid at the time, but...worked, didn’t it?”

You arched a brow, fighting back a chucke. “It didn’t work. It’s all just superstitious bullshit.”

He shrugged, pulling you even closer. “You’re here in my arms, I’m pretty sure it did.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the countdown began. 

Ten seconds, then nine, then eight…By the time it hit one, his lips were on yours, the sound of fireworks and cheers fading into the background. All you could feel was him—his hands on you, his breath mingling with yours, the quiet hum of contentment settling in your chest.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the universe had been listening.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hardly audible over the cheers and music around you. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes still closed, he couldn’t pull away just yet.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice teasing. “Though I guess you’re feeling pretty smug right now, huh? Thinking you manifested all this.”

He hummed, his hands trailing up your sides. “Damn right I am. How else do you explain it?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, “Maybe it’s just dumb luck. Or—crazy idea—you charmed me all on your own.”

“Nah,” he said, beaming now. “Luck’s never been my thing. But you? You’re somethin’ else, baby. Don’t think I stood a chance once you walked into my life. If this is what I get every year, I’ll eat a whole fuckin’ vineyard’s worth of grapes next time.”

You snorted, “Don’t push your luck, Cameron. The universe might get tired of your whining.”

“Not whining,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “Just thinkin’ about how lucky I got. Don’t know what I did to deserve this, but...shit, I’m glad I did it.”

“You’re just lucky no one got that on video. Kook Prince Cameron running around like a maniac? The scandal.”

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his tone so sure it made you pause. “Would’ve done it ten times over if it meant finding you.”

He didn’t how someone could be so completely themselves and still feel like his, you were made just for him.

“Rafe…”

“I mean it. You’re everything I ever wanted, baby. I didn’t even know it until you came along. Can’t imagine my life without you.”

Your breath hitched, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around your heart and squeezing. When he kissed you again, the fireworks in the sky had nothing on the ones between you.

For once, he didn’t need the haze of a party or the numbness of a bottle to feel like he belonged, with you, he already did.

“You’re such a fucking romantic,” you whispered against his lips, your tone soft enough to take the edge off the words.

His cheshire grin returned.

“Guess you bring it out of me.”

You weren’t just someone he loved—you were it for him. His north star, the one thing that made the chaos in his head quiet. When he pulled back from another kiss, his eyes searched yours, a flicker of insecurity showing up.

“Was it dumb?” he asked suddenly, his voice hesitant.

You blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “What?”

“All that shit I said. The universe, the grapes…all of it. Was it too much?” He tried to laugh it off.

You shook your head, smiling in that way that always knocked the wind out of him. 

“Not dumb. Kind of crazy, maybe, but sweet. Really sweet.”

His lips turned into a lopsided grin, relief flooding his features. 

“Good,” he said, his voice firmer now. “’Cause I meant every word. Don’t tell anyone, though. Gotta keep up my rep.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a balm to his soul. He’d fight the whole fucking world to keep that laugh in his life. Your hands slid up to rest on his chest, your touch soft, familiar.

Safe.

“Tell me about this rep of yours.”

Rafe smiled to ear to ear, the devilish glow in his eye making your heart race.

“Y’know, bad boy, troublemaker, heartbreaker…” He trailed off, his smirk turning cocky. “And, uh, not to brag, but pretty great in bed.”

You froze for half a beat, pushing at his chest.

“Oh my God. Why would you even—ugh, you’re impossible.”

“What?” he asked innocently, though his expression betrayed him. “Just stating facts, baby.” 

The teasing in his tone enough to make you groan.

“You’re disgusting,” you shot back, biting your lip to keep from squealing like an love sick fool.

“Disgustingly good-looking,” he corrected, leaning closer. “And disgustingly in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

“Nope. I take it back. I take all my kisses back.”

“You can’t do that!” He straightened, looking mock-offended.

“I can, and I just did.” You crossed your arms, stepping back just far enough to make him frown.

He followed instantly, tugging you back by the waist. “That’s not how it works, baby,” he said, dipping his head so his lips hovered just above yours. “You give ‘em to me, they’re mine. No refunds.”

You tried to glare, but the way his voice dipped on the last two words made your entire body shudder.

“See,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another. And another. He trailed them down to your jaw, his grin widening with each one, “All mine.”

You raised a brow, trying to act unimpressed even as his voice sent shivers down your spine. “If this is your way of trying to get laid, it’s pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” he repeated, mock horror lighting up his features. “Baby, you were literally begging for it last night—”

Your jaw dropped, your cheeks flaming. “Rafe!” you hissed, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“What?” he said, all fake innocence, even as his face turned downright wolfish. “’m just being honest. You said you liked it when I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned, but he could hear the laugh bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours as his lips finally, finally captured yours. 

The kiss started slow, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you gave in, parting them for him.

The second you did, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. He tasted like whiskey and mint, your favorites. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just right as he claimed your mouth like it was his job.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into the lapels of his shirt to keep yourself standing. He took that as encouragement, biting down gently on your bottom lip before soothing the sting with a slow, wet drag of his tongue.

“Thought you were taking all your kisses back,” he muttered against your lips, his voice taunting as he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

“Still considering it,” you panted, though the way you tugged him closer said otherwise.

His lips were on yours again, it made your head spin. His teeth grazed your lip again, and when you gasped, he licked into your mouth, groaning softly as he tasted you. When he pulled back just a smidge, a thin string of spit connected your mouths, and the sight of it made your cheeks burn all over again.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice husky as he used his thumb to wipe the corner of your swollen lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we might have to skip the rest of this party.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “You think I’m that easy to distract?”

“Don’t need to think,” he mused as his hands slid lower, resting on the curve of your ass. “Pretty sure I just proved it.”

You sighed, but it wasn’t with exasperation—it was amusement, adoration.

Your your fingers brushed the collar of his shirt as you traced his cheek, “Skipping the party, huh?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his just enough to drive him crazy. “What would we even do instead?”

His hold tightened on your skin, his voice dipping into a near growl as he answered, “Baby, I can think of a few things.”

The heat in his eyes made your cheeks flush, and this time around you didn’t attempt to hide the shit-eating smile taking over your face.

“You’re not even a little subtle, are you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours again.

rafe watched autumn, now bundled up and sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling like it hadn’t just stopped for what felt like years.

he’d talked big game, said the right things, held your hand through every ultrasound.

but nothing, nothing, had prepared him for that moment.

he’d felt like he’d been gutted alive, emptied, and only now was the relief wrapping itself around him and making him feel like he could maybe breathe again.

you lay there, propped up in bed, the exhaustion written all over your face, but you still managed to look at him with this soft, broken smile.

you took a shaky breath, still staring at him like you hadn’t yet snapped out of that agitated state, and then you started sniffling, quiet sobs you were trying to control.

rafe’s stomach dropped, the lingering anxiety coming back up all over again.

“i’m so sorry i put you through that.”

rafe blinked, stunned, “what? what are you talking about?” his thumb grazed over your knuckles.

he didn’t know what he’d expected you to say, but it wasn’t an apology. if anything, he’d wanted to tell you how sorry he was for what you'd just been through, for how he couldn’t do anything but stand there while it all happened.

you sniffed again, wiping at your cheeks, eyes still shining with this look of guilt and sadness that made him feel like he’d been punched in the lungs all over again.

“i just…she didn’t come out crying, rafe. she was just there, and you had to see that, go through that… i just, i feel like i dragged you into—”

“hey, hey,” he cut you off, gripping your hand tighter, his other hand brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face. “stop. you didn’t ‘drag’ me anywhere, alright? i’m here because i want to be. because you’re my family.”

your mouth trembled, “i’m just—i was so scared she wasn’t…” you trailed off, looking back at the baby. “i thought we lost her.”

he couldn’t lie to you; he’d thought the exact same thing.

for a few agonizing seconds, he’d thought he’d lost everything that mattered, and he couldn’t even understand that feeling now.

but she was here. you were here.

“she’s here. and she’s okay. we’re okay.”

rafe moved to sit on the edge of the hospital bed, not caring about the cramped space or how uncomfortable it was. he needed to be closer to you, needed you to understand that he didn’t see this as something you’d put him through.

it was something you’d both survived.

he leaned his forehead against yours, his hand pressed against your cheek, “you don’t have to be sorry for anything, you got that?”

you let out a wobbly breath, pressing your face into his palm, eyes fluttering closed, “okay.”

he looked over at the bassinet again, and there she was, your daughter—his daughter, your little autumn, with her tiny fists and barely-there eyelashes.

she was still sleeping, looking so peaceful like she hadn’t been seconds from scaring him shitless.

a weird, tight laugh bubbled out of his chest as he shook his head, in disbelief, still in awe.

he couldn’t stop looking at her, still couldn’t believe she was real.

“i… i can’t believe we made her,” he confessed in just a whisper, “that’s ours.” he laughed again, shaking his head, “we did that, baby. you… you did that.”

he felt your hand tighten in his, and when he looked back at you, you were smiling, tired but so proud, a little bit like him—still not fully believing it yet.

this whole thing was real, it wasn’t just a dream he’d woken up from.

he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

he looked at you, catching the way your hand shook a little as you wiped at your eyes, saying “sorry” like somehow you still thought this was on you, all he felt was this deep, gut-wrenching gratitude that you were both here.

“you’re still apologizing,” he reprimanded you quietly, squeezing your hand a little harder, as if that would get the point across.

“i was supposed to—” you stopped as you looked at autumn, lying there so still, so alive. “i was supposed to protect her.”

“you did protect her. you protected her every day before she even got here.”

your lips quivered as you nodded, even as a couple of silent tears slipped down your face, and he could tell it was a lot more than the relief you were feeling.

he wanted to tell you a thousand things—that he’d never felt prouder of anyone in his life, that you’d been braver than he ever could be, that he was just grateful, in this a way he couldn’t translate into words.

“always gonna be right here. for you and her. promise.”