military!rafe coming home from deployment routine:
first thing: he doesn’t even take his boots off at first. he drops his bags in the entryway, scans the house out of instinct, and then zeroes in on you. he’s kissing you before you can get a word out, a little too rough, holding your face like he’s trying to remind himself you’re real.
second thing: shower. and it’s not optional. he drags you with him because he needs to wash the desert/dirt/sweat off, but he also needs your hands on him to convince himself he’s not dreaming. it’s half cleaning, half him pressing you against the tile, forehead on your shoulder, just breathing you in.
third thing: food. he’s starving. after MREs and mess hall slop, he raids the kitchen. pulls leftovers straight out of the fridge, heating them up while still shirtless with a towel around his waist. he eats standing up, one hand still on you—like hooked around your hip or tugging your nightgown up absentmindedly.
fourth thing: the kids. if they’re awake, he’s dropping down on the floor immediately, letting them crawl all over him while he pretends like he’s not tearing up. if they’re asleep, he goes into their rooms quietly, kneels by their beds and just stares at them for a few minutes, hand brushing over their hair, whispering promises they can’t hear.
fifth thing: bed. except it’s not really sleeping right away. it’s him finally stretching out in sheets that don’t smell like sandbags, pulling you right on top of him, refusing to let you move an inch away. you’ll wake up with his arm still locked tight around your waist, his nose buried in your hair, like he’s terrified you’ll be gone when he opens his eyes.
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c/w ੈ✩‧₊˚ loosely inspired by that trend ↑, minor drinking mentioned, father/son tension + yelling, language, pet names, possessive!rafe, praise, needy!rafe, mutual obsession, sitting in front of the shower watching you as foreplay, body worship, rough shower sex, dirty talk, begging + bicep around neck
4,233 words
“So how much was it?” Max asks, casual as ever. “The whole… situation.”
He grins when Rafe stays silent, the man choking the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing the same to his own flesh and blood, his blue eyes locked on the road ahead.
“That bad, huh? How much we talkin’?” Max goes on, words dragging and slurring together from too many shots. “Four? Five hundred bucks? Shoupe probably cut you a deal,” he adds, stretching out in the back seat, pulling his girlfriend in closer. “Can we stop for food—”
“Stop,” Rafe’s voice cuts through the car, making Max’s glazed eyes double, a nervous smile stretching across his lips with an uneasy laugh to go with it. “Stop. Talking.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Max adds, leaning forward, squinting, trying to get a better look at him through the dark. “What, you didn’t miss me?”
Rafe laughs, tight and cold. The obvious answer is yeah. The other answer—don’t push it. Not after blowing up my phone the second the wheels hit the ground, beggin’ for a get out of jail free card.
Nothing’s free. Not here.
“M’sittin’ on pins and needles, old man. What was it? Less than the sales tax on that watch you got on your wrist? Relax. You’re goin’ home to mom. That’s your thing, right? Focus on that. Forget about all this. You’re fine. I’m fine. She’s—” He squeezes his girlfriend’s hand, turning toward her. “She’s perfect, actually—”
“Shh—shut up, Max,” his girlfriend begs him, clamping her hand over his mouth, half-laughing, half-horrified, barely holding it together.
Max just smiles against her palm, pressing a lazy kiss into the center of it, utterly unbothered.
“A couple hundred? You got no clue, do you? You’re payin’ me back, Max.”
“Whatttt?” He chuckles, drawing out the word tipsily. “Probably wasn’t even that much—”
“Minor in consumption. One thousand dollars. Jacked it up to five to get it wiped off your record so you can play ball in the fall.”
“Damn… I mean, Kildare County’s finest is bendin’ over for five? That’s nothin’—”
“Nothing? Then take out your wallet. If five thousand isn’t a lot, let’s see it, kid. Hell, my pocket’s five K lighter—hand it over.”
Max lets out a short laugh, disbelieving, rolling his eyes. “I don’t just walk around with cash. Perks of bein’ old as fuck—SHIT!” Max yelps as Rafe slams on the brakes, sending the two of them jolting forward, your eldest getting clotheslined by the belt before thumping back against the seat with a thud.
“Enough,” Rafe’s warning breathes through the silence. Max buttons his lips, trying not to laugh, nodding his heavy head in compliance. “You’re thinkin’ about opening your mouth right now. Don’t fuckin’ do it. The only thing leavin’ your lips is a goddamn apology to your mother when we get home. You understand?”
Max nods again, exaggerated, shoulders shaking with laughter he’s biting back as he mimics zipping his lips shut.
“You called your mom?” Rafe asks, pressing down on the gas, glancing back through the rearview mirror.
Max gets smaller in his seat, letting his reaction speak for itself.
“WORDS,” Rafe barks.
“You told me to shut up,” Max howls. “I’m too drunk for this shit. What do you want from me, huh? You see? He’s acting unreasonable,” he pouts sarcastically to his girlfriend, who’s trying her best to check out of the situation to keep from laughing herself.
“Answer the damn question, Max.”
“I mean… yeah,” he mutters.
“In the middle of the night,” Rafe continues, eyes still forward, voice worn thin. “After she worked all week. After she had your friends at the house all spring break.”
Max drags a hand down his face, groaning tiredly. “I panicked,” he mumbles. “She’s… she’s nice to me.”
Rafe scoffs, sucking his teeth, letting his head fall back into the headrest in mental exhaustion. “Told you I was landin’ at midnight this afternoon—”
Max’s laugh cuts him off—like that’s when it clicks for him.
“I was busy,” he chuckles.
“Busy?” Rafe almost chokes on the word.
“Yeah, I wasn’t payin’ attention, alright? I was doing someone—SOMETHING,” he corrects himself, but his girlfriend’s face is already burning with embarrassment, Rafe’s blood boiling at your son’s response.
“Shut up, Max,” he breathes. “Just shut up.”
Rafe turns into the neighborhood as Max’s eyes sink lower, his heavy head resting against his girlfriend’s shoulder.
“Next time you screw up, you call me. Not her,” Rafe mutters bitterly, Max mumbling something that almost sounds like an apology.
“There’s still time,” he slurs from the back. Rafe doesn’t respond, just looks through the mirror, waiting for whatever dumb shit comes next. “McDonald’s is open for another two hours—”
“Oh, my god. Help me,” Rafe whispers, taking a sharp turn into the driveway before cutting the engine.
Rafe’s out of the car before Max can even lift his eyes, jaw still set, shoulders tight as he pops open the back.
Max, on the other hand, has no intention of getting out yet, still half-sprawled across the backseat, turned toward his girlfriend, his hand sliding up her neck, fingers catching in her hair as he leans in. “You’re—” He stops, laughing under his breath, shaking his head as he looks at her. “Like, do you know how hot you are? S’fuckin’ crazy. This is, like—”
“Out,” Rafe grunts.
The two stumble out a moment later, Max reaching for her again, but Rafe has other plans. His leather duffle bag hits Max square in the chest—knocking the air out of him, killing the moment. He lets out a short, offended scoff, slinging it over his shoulder.
“What the fuck,” Max chuckles, side-eyeing Rafe as he steps around him to grab his briefcase. “That felt targeted—”
“It was,” the words leave Rafe cold and final as Max rolls his eyes.
He glances back at his girlfriend, immediately reaching for her again, his hand finding hers. “Such a bitch when he’s mad, holy shit.”
Rafe’s hands come up in defeat. The solace waiting on the other side of the door is the only thing keeping him from boiling over. The pressure in his head throbs, tension wound tight through his shoulders.
He pinches his eyes shut, then looks back, blowing it out slow as the two of them follow behind, all six-foot-four of your son swaying with each step on the cobblestone.
“Tomorrow,” Rafe calls over his shoulder, “you’re cleaning out that fucking boat.”
Max groans immediately. “Oh my God,” he drags out, head tipping back. “No, I’m not. That’s biohazard-level shit. Here—” Max stuffs his hand in his back pocket, fishing out his wallet, thumbing through his cash. “How much is the cleaner, like twelve? Fifteen hundred?”
Rafe looks back at him, disgusted—that little jab about being “old” and carrying cash instead of cards still tasting sour.
“What?” Max chuckles teasingly.
“You’re unbelievable, kid. Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Rafe spits as he tugs open the front door. “Your money doesn’t mean shit to me. You will work. You will sweat. Manual goddamn labor. Do you understand me?”
“Manual labor?” Max asks like the words are foreign. “Shit’s gonna take all day. I got obligations—”
“A thank you,” Rafe cuts in with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, I’m sorry, and yes sir is all I should hear leavin’ your lips right now for savin’ your ass.”
“You’re acting like that isn’t the first thing I said. Ain’t I supposed to shut up anyway?”
“I don’t know how you do it. Run,” Rafe mutters, glancing at Max’s girlfriend—and for the first time all night, it lands. Max scowls back at him.
“Thank you,” Max mutters, shuffling his feet along the marble floors. His girlfriend jabs him in the side, forcing an “I’m sorry” out of him as the three of them move into the kitchen.
“You need to apologize to your mother. You better hope she’s awake—” Rafe stops mid-threat.
On the counter sits a note.
It is placed right where he would see it the moment he walks in, next to a bottle of something expensive with a tumbler already set beside it.
He reaches for it, a smile already curling at his mouth when he sees the handwriting.
The tension does not break—it rolls out of his shoulders all at once, his head tipping back as that smile cracks clean through everything.
Max lets Rafe’s bag drop with a thump, gripping the banister of the staircase for balance as he looks back at his girlfriend, muttering about only taking a minute.
“Don’t,” Rafe says.
A groan leaves Max from somewhere deep in his chest as he braces for another lecture. “What, Dad? Oh my God—”
“Don’t go up there.” Rafe lets out a quiet chuckle under his breath as he folds the note in half and slips it into his pocket before grabbing the glass and the bottle, pouring himself a double as he heads in the same direction Max was going.
“You told me to apologize like five seconds ago—”
“Yeah,” Rafe cuts in easily, “and now I’m telling you to get lost.”
Max looks back at his dad, baffled and wasted. “What the fuck is happening?”
Rafe does not answer. The amber liquid catches the light as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a slow sip.
“Did you talk to your mother?” Rafe asks. “Or did you just call her?”
“She didn’t answer.”
“Good,” Rafe hums, the liquor already warming his throat, the weight of the night lifting off his shoulders.
“Can I just apologize—”
“I’ll give you five hundred dollars,” Rafe interrupts, “if you make this easy and don’t ask me one more fuckin’ question.”
Max blinks at him. “You’re serious?”
Rafe lifts a finger to his lips, silencing him with a sharp, sarcastic look.
Max bites his cheek, holding it in for the moment.
“It’s killing you, I can tell,” Rafe adds, amused now. He reaches into his wallet, pulls out five hundred dollars, and flashes it between two fingers. “One of the many perks of bein’ an old fuckin’ man. The others are waitin’ upstairs, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Rafe does not slow as he moves up the steps, his stride noticeably lighter now. Max’s mouth opens as Rafe walks past him, heading up the stairs, tapping the cash against his chest on the way by to make his point clear.
“You should get some sleep,” Rafe adds, taking out his phone to let you know that he's on his way, the text sends, and the next few words leave his lips like an afterthought. “You’re still cleaning the boat tomorrow.”
“What the fuck,” Max mutters, shifting his focus to his girlfriend, looking for sympathy from anyone at all.
She shrugs and steps toward him as he mutters something under his breath that makes her roll her eyes while he reaches for her. Max, being Max, is already over it, trying to salvage what is left of the night.
“Hey,” Rafe calls down one last time.
Max freezes, his arm already wrapped around her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her neck, halfway to a kiss.
“Yeah?” He answers, distracted.
“She’s got the guest bed,” Rafe says, nodding toward Max’s girlfriend. “You’ve got the floor in the twins’ room.”
“No. Dad—”
“Good luck tonight, buddy,” Rafe continues. “You’ve got monsters under the bed, glasses of water at two a.m., and a wake-up call at five.”
“You serious?”
“And if you even think about knocking on our door before ten a.m.,” Rafe adds, almost friendly now, “I’ve got five cars, a bucket, and some soap waitin’ for you. Don’t fuckin’ test me. I missed you.”
The last two words land softer, more honest than anything else he has said all night. Max lifts his hand and flips him off from the bottom of the stairs.
“Love you too, buddy,” Rafe chuckles.
He takes the stairs two at a time out of habit, but by the time he reaches the landing, he slows, his hand dragging along the railing as the house finally quiets behind him. The noise from downstairs fades out, replaced by something softer.
Light music floats through the hallway like a whisper, pulling him the rest of the way without much thought. His phone buzzes once in his hand, the screen lighting up with the message he already knows is there.
The text—𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢.
By the time he reaches your door, the music is clearer, warm light spilling faintly from underneath, cutting a soft line across the floor.
He slows, his shoulder angling toward the frame as he listens. He doesn’t go in right away. There’s movement on the other side, the soft scrape of something being dragged across the wood.
He exhales quietly through his nose as he lets himself settle into it. His mouth pulls at the corner, something restrained and knowing, because whatever you are doing in there, it’s for him.
He pushes the door open slowly. The room is still dark except for the light from the bathroom. He leans into the doorframe, shoulder braced against the hardwood, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you.
You’re already moving, beckoning him closer with a look, positioning the chair at the threshold. No hesitation in the way you move, no second-guessing what you want, like the fantasy’s already been playing out in your mind.
Your hands fall away from the chair once it’s set, and as you straighten, the robe slips from your shoulders, fluttering to the floor, knocking the breath out of his chest as you slip out of sight.
He walks across the bedroom. Music hums low, the sound of the shower cutting through it.
He rounds the corner as you test the water, pointing to the marble floor right in front of the glass shower door.
A quiet chuckle slips out of him under his breath as he reaches for the chair and drags it forward by the back two legs, scraping softly against the floor. His focus doesn’t shift once—unwavering as he watches every move you make behind the glass.
He positions the chair where you told him to, adjusting it until it feels right—lined up the way he wants it, before he sits. He leans back into it, one arm draped loosely over the backrest as he settles, already halfway gone just looking at you.
He takes a slow sip of the brown liquor, letting it sit on his tongue for a breath before swallowing. The bottle rests on the floor as his hand comes up to his tie, loosening it without looking, pulling it open just enough to breathe easier.
He leans back further, legs spreading, head tipping just enough to get comfortable.
The water hits your body, running down in little rivers as he takes another drink, soaking in the moment that you built just for him.
He threads the silk the rest of the way open—tie laying loose against his chest—his fingers moving to the top button of his shirt first, popping it open, then the next. Each one undone with the same steady pace.
“Look at you, huh?” He asks through a proud smirk. “All this for me?”
Your eyes fall, catching the glint of gold at his throat, your initials resting against his skin, dewy from the heat of the room, sitting right where they belong.
His shirt opens further, exposing more of him. He shrugs it off his shoulders, his tanned skin on display; black slacks fitted to perfection still slung around his hips, black loafers tapping ever slightly to the sound of the music playing overhead.
He tips his chin toward the soap, subtle, like he doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand exactly what he needs.
You reach for it, fingers wrapping around the bottle as he pours himself a little more, the sound of the liquor hitting the glass soft under the music.
The soap hits your palm, pooling in your hand, the sight of it enough for his hand to drop to his belt, big fingers working it loose.
You work the soap between your hands slowly, letting it build before you bring it to your skin. Your hands move over your arms, your shoulders, slower than it needs to be.
You trace your collarbones before drifting inward, circling your tits before you squeeze. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes fall with your hands as they move down your waist, circling your hips.
A smile breaks across his mouth, tongue gliding along his bottom lip as he watches the suds rinse away, that steady beat he’d been keeping with his foot, now moving faster than the tempo as anticipation builds.
He lets out a low whistle when his finger comes up, twirling it just enough to let you know he wants the picture of you from the back. The look on his face is smug and hungry when you do just that—a look in his eye letting you know that he’s getting off on the power too. The idea that no one else gets this version of you—no one has it as good as him.
Your back arches, water sliding down your spine.
You look over your shoulder, watching as he sets his tumbler down, glass hitting the marble with a clink.
He leans forward slightly in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he watches you, gaze dropping briefly before lifting again, heavier now.
You turn around and step closer, closing the distance between you and the glass, your hands coming up to rest flat against it, body following until you’re pressed into the cool surface.
He looks at you again—then lets out a breathless, lust-laced laugh, his head dropping between his shoulders. Shivers run down your spine, nipples tightening against the cool glass.
You hold his gaze as your fingers spread against the glass. He lifts his hand and taps once against the glass. “Jesus, baby…” He mutters, his voice deep and rough. “I fuckin’ missed you.”
You let out a soft laugh, seeing just how undone he is, the heat of your breath catching against the glass, fogging where it hits.
You drag your fingertip through the fog, slow and deliberate, curving it into his initials. “You’re killing me,” he groans like something so simple did more damage than anything else you’ve done so far, his hands tightening like he’s holding himself back from breaking—wondering how much longer he can just sit there and watch.
You turn around again, ass sliding along the glass as you look into his eyes, giving him a shameless glimpse of your pussy. He lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff of a laugh, shaking his head once.
“That’s not—” He sighs, cutting himself off, dragging his hand down over his face before he looks back at you, harder now. “That’s not fair. I’m being so good for you.” His voice dips. “Don’t make me come in there.”
You smile, and he does too like that’s a threat you’d cash in on in a heartbeat, your body physically aching for contact—for his lips on yours.
Your hands move again, raking up your ass as you walk away, and he swears under his breath, the steam thickening between you.
“I can’t sit here and watch you like this,” he breathes. “I need you. You hear me? I need you.”
You hold his gaze as his hand comes up flat against the glass.
“I hate leaving you,” he adds, deep and needy. “Doesn’t feel right when I’m not here.”
You step a little closer to the glass, lip tucked between your teeth, water rolling down your curves. Your fingers curl around the glass shower handle, and that’s more than enough for him, the man rising to his feet, kicking off his dress shoes, shoving his slacks down his thighs in one motion.
“You’re mine,” he says, steady and certain, his forehead almost brushing the glass now as he waits.
You look down at him, cock stretching the material of his briefs, chest rising and falling fast, and you know he’s done waiting. You crack the door and his hands curl around the band of his boxers, heat spilling into the bathroom, hitting him all at once.
He steps in, closing the distance between the two of you, consuming you completely—his big body tangling with yours, cupping your cheeks in his rough hands, kissing you hard and deep as the water rushes between you.
His bare skin presses against you—warm and firm—his stiff cock nestled between your thighs as his tongue slides between your lips, your mind going hazy with it.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, his hands following the water lower, landing on your hips.
“I missed you,” you breathe between kisses and he smiles against your lips.
“Yeah?” He asks. “You got no idea how much I missed you.”
Rafe turns you around, pulling you back into his chest, his mouth already finding your neck, your shoulder, the space just under your ear, making your knees weak.
“Let me have this, yeah?” He asks as he takes his cock in his fist, tracing your folds like you wouldn’t have begged for it anyway if he made you wait.
You arch your back, giving him the perfect angle to trace your pussy, lips falling open as the thick head of his cock presses at your entrance, teasing you before pushing himself in fully.
Your moans fill the shower, bouncing off the walls as his long, thick dick stretches you wide—filling you to the brim. He squeezes your hips in his hands; his body flush against yours, pinning your body to his.
He exhales against your skin, warm and heavy, feeling the weight of you in his arms. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “How do you—” He cuts himself off, burying himself in your neck like he doesn’t even have the words for it. “How do you always feel this good?”
“Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh, like you finally got your fix, head falling back to rest against him. “I needed this—I needed you.”
He groans as he tips you forward a little, drawing back his hips, rolling them forward again, stroking deep. “You got me all fucked up,” he mutters, wet skin clapping against yours. “Couldn’t even sit out there for five fuckin’ minutes without losin’ it—”
The squeal that leaves your lips cuts him off, eyes rolling back at the sound as your pleasure courses through you.
“That’s it, huh?” He asks, a wicked smile pulling at his mouth as his hips snap a little harder.
“I’m close,” you manage, your voice catching on the way out, barely steady.
“Yeah,” he breathes immediately, low and rough against your ear. “Me too.” The words break past his lip, his control thinning down to nothing now. “You feel too good.”
He reaches his hand down, wrapping an arm around your chest, the other sliding around your hip, making you gasp when his big fingers press and circle your clit, the arm across your chest moving higher—binding around your neck as he fucks up into you, the pressure around your throat making you see stars.
Your head turns to the side, finding his mouth, and he’s right there for it, swallowing his name as it whimpers out of your lips.
“C’mon,” he mumbles into it. “Give it to me.”
Your body gives, finally, the tension snapping all at once, your breath breaking as you let go, and he’s right there with you, his grip tightening, his head tucking close as he floods you with his release.
He holds you through it, his arms softening just enough for you to breathe fully, pulling out with a heavy sigh, not giving you enough space for you to get away—but you wouldn’t imagine it. He just keeps you there, breathing against your skin as you do the same.
He hums along with the music playing overhead, barely heard under his breath as he rocks with you ever so slightly, the sound of his voice vibrating against your skin.
“We’re sleepin’ in tomorrow,” he murmurs, his voice low and close.
You let out a breathless laugh, feeling his smile spread along your own because you don’t believe him—that’s wishful thinking. “Are we?”
He hums out a yes. “Max said he’s got ’em in the morning,” he adds.
“Our Max?” The words leave your lips like the punchline to his joke, whispered against his lips.
A quiet chuckle slips out of him, his hands sliding down your body, taking hold of your hips. “Kid’s got a girlfriend. He’ll survive breakfast.”
He pulls back just enough that his eyes find yours—smiling like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
“So…” You start, his eyes falling to your lips.
“So,” he echoes.
“Guess we’re not in a rush then.”
He tilts in, pulling you to him like a magnet, kissing you tender and soft. “Does it look like I have any plans to rush tonight, baby?” He murmurs as he turns you toward his chest.
“No,” you whisper, reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck, guiding him back in again.
summary: when your son punches a bully at preschool, you’re ready to scold him. rafe? he’s trying (and failing) not to be too proud.
wc: 1.7K
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it started with a phone call from your little boy’s preschool.
at first, you thought it was just another routine message from the school—maybe a reminder about an upcoming event. but the second you heard the tone in the teacher’s voice, your stomach dropped.
“there’s been an incident with your son.”
not exactly the words any parent wants to hear, right? so that’s how you and rafe ended up here, squeezed into tiny plastic chairs in the preschool office, waiting for your four-year-old to be brought in.
rafe was calm about the whole thing. way too calm. at that point you didn’t know if it was a façade or if he was hoping for the best and trying not to panic, since it’s barely your son’s second month at preschool. meanwhile, you were still trying to wrap your head around what, exactly, your child could have possibly done that required you two to be called in.
“so… your son got into a little altercation today,” the teacher finally said, her voice carefully measured.
your brows pinched together in confusion. “altercation? what happened?”
“he punched another student,” she clarified.
you looked at rafe, eyes wide in surprise. in all honesty, you were shocked to hear that your four year old son had it in him to throw a punch. sure, he throws tantrums every now and then, but throwing punches? it seemed crazy, to you.
but your lovely husband? he just sat there, lips twitching like he was holding back a smirk.
“alright,” rafe said, nodding slowly, hands folded over his knee. “so, what’d the other kid do?”
the teacher blinked, caught off guard. “mr. cameron, we—”
“not saying it was right, of course,” rafe added quickly, shooting you a glance, like he definitely saw the way you were staring daggers into his skull and is trying to make sure you know he’s not encouraging it. “just wanna understand the situation.”
the teacher hesitated before sighing. she had expected something like this to happen—it was only right to explain the full situation, even if she wasn’t exactly eager to. usually, in cases like these, parents reacted with embarrassment or concern over their child’s behavior. but rafe? he didn’t seem the least bit ashamed.
“your son and a few of his classmates were playing during free time when the other child approached them. from what we gathered, this boy started taking their toys without asking, telling them they were ‘his now’ and calling them names when they protested.”
oh, it was one of those types of situations.
“your son didn’t pay him much attention at first. but when the boy snatched a toy from your son’s friend and made her cry, that’s when your son stepped in. he told the boy to stop—but when the kid pushed him and went for his toy, too…”
she gave you both a pointed look. “that’s when your son decided to handle it… physically.”
you sucked in a breath. rafe, on the other hand, exhaled through his nose, nodding like that made sense and fully approved the logic behind it.
the teacher continued, “our staff intervened immediately, and no one was seriously hurt. but as you can imagine, we want to make sure that all our students understand that hitting is not the right way to solve problems.”
you felt rafe shift beside you, his knee bumping against yours, and without even looking, you just knew he was holding back a smirk. the air around him practically buzzed with poorly concealed amusement, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh like he was fighting the urge to justify your son right then and there.
before you could say anything, the door creaked open, and in walked your son. your tiny, messy-haired, miniature version of rafe. his little lip was jutted out in a pout, brows furrowed just like his father’s when he was irritated. his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his too-big hoodie, shoulders stiff like he was expecting a full-blown lecture.
“well, i think we’ve covered everything,” the teacher said gently. “i’ll leave you all to talk. just make sure to discuss the situation at home and let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.” she gave a brief nod before exiting the room, closing the door softly behind her.
now, it was just the three of you.
your son walked up, his little feet dragging as he plopped down onto the chair beside you, his feet barely brushing the floor. you could see his little brow furrowed, his pout deepening, and his shoulders sagging in frustration.
“baby,” you sighed, turning toward him gently. “what happened?”
his frown only deepened as he kicked his little feet back and forth, clearly still upset. he looked like he was struggling to put his words together, but you could tell from his sad little expression that whatever had happened really bothered him.
“hey, it’s okay,” you reassured him softly, reaching over to ruffle his messy blonde hair. “you can tell us.”
“we’re not mad, buddy. just tell us what happened.” rafe gave him a soft nod of encouragement too, his voice quiet but warm.
“he was bein’ mean,” he muttered, his voice small. he sniffled and looked down at his lap for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet yours, his lower lip trembling slightly. “he took mary’s truck… and made her cry. he was bad, mama.”
your heart broke a little hearing that. your son had been trying to do things right, even at his little age, when emotions can clearly feel so overwhelming. you squeezed his little hand tenderly, trying to give him the reassurance he needed.
“he took my plane too,” he continued, his tiny hand gripping yours. “i told him it was mine, i said you and daddy gave it to me f’my birday’, but he didn’t listen, mama…” His lip quivered slightly as he finished. “i told him to stop but he wouldn’t.”
rafe’s hand instinctively rubbed his back, the proud look on his face barely hidden, but he said nothing. he was waiting for you to handle this.
“so you hit him?” you pressed gently, your voice soft but firm.
your son hesitated, his little lip jutting out even further as he looked down at his hands. then, he nodded slowly, the smallest, most reluctant nod you had ever seen. at least, he didn’t seem to be entirely proud of what he did, which is good, but he also didn’t seem too sorry about it, which is why it’s important to talk with him about it.
you sighed, taking a few seconds to formulate your thoughts correctly, you didn’t want to be too harsh, but you also didn't want him to think it was okay to do such things, even if the other kid’s behavior was wrong.
“sweetheart, you can’t just go around punching people.”
he looked up at you with those big blue eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “but daddy does! to the mean bad guys!”
oh. oh no.
your eyes slowly slid over to rafe, who was sitting there way too smug for a man who knew he was in trouble. his lips twitched, and his posture stiffened, but he still looked oddly proud.
the moment your eyes locked with his, his face went stiff. you could practically see his throat bobbing as he swallowed, trying (and failing) to maintain his innocence.
you didn’t even have to say a word. just the look alone was enough to make him break eye contact. he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearing his throat.
“okay, uh—technically? he’s not wrong—”
“rafe.”
he immediately straightened up. “—but! that doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”
your son just stared at him, unconvinced. rafe sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees to meet his son’s eyes.
“listen, buddy,” he started, his voice softer now. “i know you wanted to protect your friend, and i get it. i really do. it’s like when i wanna protect your mom and make sure no one makes her sad, you know?”
your son perked up slightly at that, his pout getting smaller.
“but the thing is, there are better ways to handle it,” rafe continued. “you gotta tell a teacher, okay? or talk to me and your mom about it. fighting should always be the last option. got it?”
your son’s little face scrunched up as he clearly thought it over, his tiny brow furrowing in deep concentration. after what felt like a small eternity, he nodded solemnly. “m’kay.”
you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a wave of relief washing over you. he seemed to understand, at least a little bit. but then, of course, your son looked up at rafe, eyes wide and full of innocence. he whispered in his best serious voice.
“but if the kid is really really mean…”
rafe barely held back a grin, clearly trying to fight off his pride, his lips twitching as he met your gaze. you could already tell this was not going to end well. without thinking, you elbowed him lightly in the ribs, shooting him a warning glare.
“no fighting, baby, please.” you reinforced, giving your son a soft pointed look before shooting another glare at your so-called husband.
“yeah, yeah. no fighting.” rafe sighed dramatically, even if deep down, he was incredibly proud that your little man was standing up for himself.
“only if really necessary,” your son added, eyes wide with innocence.
rafe snorted and you swatted his arm, trying your ultimate best to keep a smile off your lips.
with that, you grabbed your son’s tiny hand, gently pulling him toward the door as rafe trailed beside you, way too pleased with how this whole thing went.
as soon as you were outside, you turned to your son. “okay, we’re going straight home, and we’re gonna talk about why hitting is bad.”
“and how to throw a better punch?” rafe teased.
“rafe!”
“okay, okay!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “i’m kidding, princess.”
your son giggled, already looking up to his dad like he was the coolest person on earth. you sighed. this was going to be a long couple of years.
but as you watched your son happily grab onto rafe’s hand as well as yours, looking up at him with those big, bright blue eyes, you couldn’t help but smile.
because, god help you, the two of them were exactly alike.
Summary: inspired by the who’s your daddy tiktok trend!!!
Warnings: noneeee
Word count: 1,193
MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)
You and Sarah were perched on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light across the wooden floorboards. A faint breeze rustled the trees, carrying with it the scent of grilled meat and summer grass.
Mabel sat contentedly in your lap, her tiny fingers wrapped around her pastel rattle, shaking it with quiet concentration. You bounced her gently on your knee as her soft baby giggles mixed with the hum of conversation from the backyard.
Rafe had invited a few of his friends over for a backyard barbecue—Topper, Kelce, John B, and a couple of others. From where you sat, you could see him, shirtless and sun-kissed, standing by the grill next to Topper.
His back glistened with sweat as he flipped steaks, laughing at something Topper said, his head thrown back, relaxed and in his element. You couldn’t help but stare—your man, the father of your child, effortlessly good-looking even in the most mundane moments. Beside you, Sarah snorted a laugh, breaking your gaze.
“Okay, you have to do this with Rafe and the guys,” she said, turning her phone towards you with a mischievous grin. On her screen was a video of a current TikTok trend—women passing a baby around to a group of men while the comments guessed which one was the father.
You blinked at the video, then smiled slowly, already knowing where this was going. “This is going to be hilarious,” you grinned, adjusting Mabel in your arms as you stood. Sarah was already walking ahead, phone raised and recording.
The two of you made your way down the steps and onto the lawn, Mabel nestled against your chest. Topper was the first target. He was mid-conversation with a few guys, but his eyes immediately caught yours as you approached. You held Mabel out wordlessly, and without hesitation, he reached for her.
As always, Topper used both arms, supporting her head and back like a pro, his hands big and gentle. He patted her back a few times, and she let out a happy squeal. “She loves him,” Sarah whispered behind the camera, making you giggle quietly. Next up was Kelce, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously as you approached, Sarah filming openly now.
“Okay, what are y’all up to?” he asked, though he still took Mabel when you offered her over. He held her with one arm, comfortable and confident as she blinked up at him, clearly unimpressed. “Just a TikTok thing,” Sarah shrugged with a smirk. “You’ll thank us when you go viral.”
Kelce rolled his eyes dramatically, bouncing Mabel a little. “Y’all are trouble.” “John B’s next,” Sarah said, tugging your arm. You turned toward the porch, where John B stood with a beer in one hand, talking to someone. “Hey babe,” Sarah called sweetly. “Mind holding Mabel for a second?”
John B raised an eyebrow but smiled, putting his drink down and reaching for your daughter. He held her cautiously, like he was afraid she might break, but he was gentle, whispering a soft, “Hi Mabes,” as she gurgled back at him.
You smiled at the sight, the sound of her babbling making your chest warm. “Have you seen Rafe?” you asked him. “He disappeared.” “I think he went inside—probably grabbing more food or a drink,” John B replied, shifting Mabel in his arms.
You took her back with a soft thank you, brushing your lips across her forehead before heading back toward the porch. Sarah followed, still filming. “Rafe? Baby, where are—” you started to call out as you reached the top of the stairs, but your voice cut off when the door opened.
Rafe stepped out, balancing a plate stacked with food in one hand and a beer in the other. He paused when he saw you and Mabel, immediately setting everything down on the outdoor table. He didn’t need to be asked—didn’t even hesitate.
He wiped his hands on the front of his shorts and came straight over, eyes flickering only to Mabel before settling on you. There was something instinctive in the way he reached for her, something intimate and practiced.
He took her from you with a kind of reverence, carefully adjusting her so she lay against his forearm like a natural extension of him. His gaze lingered on your face as he spoke, his voice lower than before. “Have you eaten yet?” Before you could answer, he glanced sideways and spotted Sarah’s phone still pointed at him.
He gave the camera a slow, amused smirk. “What’s going on?” he asked, but he already knew. You couldn’t help but laugh, brushing your fingers through your hair. “We’re doing a TikTok trend—passing Mabel around to different guys and seeing if the comments can guess who her dad is.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Think they’ll figure it out?” “Guess we’ll see,” you teased, folding your arms. Rafe looked down at Mabel, who gurgled up at him, then back at you. “I mean… she does look like me.” His tone was light, but there was unmistakable pride in his voice.
You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing your hand over Mabel’s fuzzy head. “Maybe. But I’m betting it won’t be her face that gives it away.” Later that night, curled up in bed with Mabel sleeping soundly in the bassinet beside you, you and Sarah watched the final cut of the TikTok.
From Topper’s practiced hold, to Kelce’s casual cradle, to John B’s awkward but sweet attempt. But when it got to Rafe—the way he reached for her without needing direction, the way his eyes were only ever on you, the softness in his smile when he held his daughter—it was clear as day.
You hit post. Two hours later, the video had already gone viral. And the comments? They didn’t guess Rafe was the dad because of how he held her. They guessed because of the way he looked at you.
nerd!dad!rafe who still wakes up some mornings, looks at you, with your ring on your finger, luca down the hall, and has that quiet, disbelieving thought of ‘how did i get this lucky?’ or ‘we made him, we made this whole life’ like even now, he hasn’t fully processed that this is his life, but he’s sure as hell not complaining.
nerd!dad!rafe who is way more physically affectionate than he used to be, always finding some way to be touching you. his hand resting on your lower back when he walks past, fingers brushing yours in the kitchen, or pulling you into him absentmindedly like it’s instinct now.
nerd!dad!rafe who still gets a little nervous around you sometimes, like when you look especially pretty or laugh at something he says, he’ll smile, but there’s this slight flush to his face like you still have that same effect on him. and he’ll get a little shy when you flirt back, like you’ll tease him and he’ll look away for a second, adjusting his glasses, but there’s this a satisfaction in the way he smiles.
nerd!dad!rafe who sees himself in your son luca so clearly it almost throws him off sometimes. the same eyes, the same focus, even the tiny glasses perched on his nose. and it makes him emotional without even realizing it.
nerd!dad!rafe who spends hours on the floor building legos with luca, fully invested like it’s a real engineering project, explaining things in the simplest way possible, “okay, if we add more weight here, it might collapse, so we need better support” and luca is just staring at him like he hung the moon.
nerd!dad!rafe who absolutely cannot help himself and starts teaching luca the world. he’ll talk about, little concepts way too early. like gravity and matter, catching himself halfway through like “you might be slightly too young for this, but we’ll revisit it later.” just because he likes talking to him like he will understand one day.
nerd!dad!rafe who loves picking luca up from school more than anything, showing up a few minutes early every time, standing off to the side with that soft smile, posture relaxed in a way it never used to be
nerd!dad!rafe who works in psychology now, studying the brain and human behavior, and it bleeds so much into how he loves you. always trying to understand and analyzing. which causes him to sometimes overthink your emotions. because he tries to solve them instead of just sitting with you. “okay, so if we break this down, the root cause might be-” and you have to gently remind him you don’t need a solution, just him
nerd!dad!rafe who has a picture of you and luca on his desk, so when his coworkers ask, “is that your family?” he always corrects them with, “no, they’re my world.”
nerd!dad!rafe who adjusts instantly when you tell him that, nodding, a little sheepish, pulling you closer instead. “right. i’m sorry. okay. i can do that.” and just holds you, learning as he goes.
nerd!dad!rafe who still takes care of you in those quiet, thoughtful ways, bringing you water, making sure you’ve eaten, fixing little things around the house before you even notice they needed fixing.
nerd!dad!rafe who loves you in a way that’s steady, intentional, and deeply rooted, maybe not always perfect in expression, but so undeniably real that you never have to question it.
nerd!dad!rafe who might not always get emotions perfectly right. but he will always try, every single time, because he’s changed, like he’s fully stepped into loving you out loud, just in his own nerdy, intentional way.
nerd!dad!rafe who the moment luca was born, something in him just clicked. like his entire sense of purpose sharpened overnight, and suddenly all he cared about was making sure you and your baby were okay.
nerd!dad!rafe who wakes up instantly at night when luca cries, like he’s wired for it now, sitting up at 4am without hesitation, gently lifting him from the crib, whispering soft, sleepy “hey, hey, you’re alright” while rocking him back to sleep so you don’t have to wake up.
nerd!dad!rafe who insists you stay in bed when that happens, quietly telling you, “you need the rest more than i do,” like it’s not even a discussion to him.
nerd!dad!rafe who makes it a routine to wake up early anyway. running on minimal sleep but still in the kitchen making you breakfast, something warm and filling, because in his mind recovery equals nutrition plus rest, and he’s going to make sure you get both, everytime.
nerd!dad!rafe who always makes sure you and luca get the necessary amount of vitamins you need everyday, always looking at the ingredients because “my family will only get the best.” but is so quick to stuff his face in your favorite sweet treats at night after luca is put to bed.
nerd!dad!rafe who loves standing in the bathroom with you while you get ready. with luca on the counter, as he leans against the counter, arms loosely crossed, just talking, rambling about some random scientific concept or historical event he read about. both making you blush with how in awe they are with you.
nerd!dad!rafe who pauses mid sentence sometimes because he gets distracted watching you, like the way you concentrate on your makeup, and the small movements of your hands. and he just smiles a little to himself before continuing like nothing happened.
nerd!dad!rafe who drives an old sleek black 1973 jaguar e type car. because it’s beautifully mathematically engineered. he’ll geek to you over the car, muttering a “careful,” as he circles the front of the car. “the interior heats faster because of the angle of the windshield.”
nerd!dad!rafe who automatically opens your door, adjusts your seat, asks if the temperature’s okay, mutter a “i’m sorry love” because last time he drove luca was in the car and had to adjust everything. and he loves you being his passenger princess, watching you sit comfortably with a small smile, as the wind blows in your hair.
nerd!dad!rafe who loves your body in the quietest ways. like when you’re standing between his legs and he just wraps his arms around your waist, pressing his face gently against your skin, breathing you in like it’s enough to calm him down.
nerd!dad!rafe who doesn’t even realize he’s taught you a whole new kind of intimacy. one that isn’t rushed or intense, or even sexual. until you start leaning into it just as naturally as he does.
nerd!dad!rafe who keeps a mental and probably physical, log of luca’s routines. feeding times, sleep patterns, little behavioral changes, like he’s studying him, but not academically, instead with so much love behind it, because that’s how rafe shows he cares.
nerd!dad!rafe who reads parenting books and research articles in his free time, highlighting sections, occasionally going “this is actually really interesting, listen to this” while you’re half paying attention but smiling anyway.
nerd!dad!rafe who has gotten a little more confident with you, but in a subtle way, like murmuring things under his breath when it’s just the two of you. “you look so breathtaking today,” he says, because it’s his favorite compliment for you. with an occasional “perfect integer”
nerd!dad!rafe who because he speaks so highly of you around luca, when you’re getting ready, luca will say, “you’re so bweaf taking mommy!” randomly, and you look up at rafe, to see him smiling saying “she is, isn’t she?”
nerd!dad!rafe who gets quietly distracted by you more now, especially in basic moments, like watching you move around the kitchen, then stepping behind you, hands settling on your hips. “i think i’ve identified a problem,” he’ll say softly against your shoulder. you glance back, amused. “what problem?” “i’m significantly distracted,” he replies, completely serious
nerd!dad!rafe who kisses you more now, but still randomly. like he’ll lean in mid convo, cut himself off just to press a soft kiss to your lips, then pull back like nothing happened. “uh, sorry, i lost my train of thought,”even though he absolutely knows what he’s doing.
nerd!dad!rafe who always does this thing where he pauses in the doorway when he sees you and luca together. like you’re on the couch reading to him or helping him with something, and he just stands there for a second, quietly smiling because he’s so proud, before walking over.
nerd!dad!rafe who has a habit of narrating small things to luca. “okay, we’re putting on your shoes now, left foot first,” and you catch him doing it and smile because he’s been like that since day one.
nerd!dad!rafe who keeps one of luca’s tiny drawings folded neatly in his briefcase, completely unprompted, and if anyone ever asked he’d just say, “it seemed important to keep it safe.”
nerd!dad!rafe who lets luca sit on the kitchen counter while he cooks, explaining everything he’s doing step by step, occasionally glancing over to make sure you’re watching too, like he’s teaching both of you at the same time.
nerd!dad!rafe who will absentmindedly reach for you while doing things, like pulling you into his side while he’s stirring something, pressing a quick kiss to your temple without interrupting whatever explanation he’s giving luca.
nerd!dad!rafe who takes way too long putting luca to bed sometimes because he gets caught up explaining random things in the middle of the story, turning a simple bedtime into a mini lesson about stars or dreams or how memory works.
nerd!dad!rafe who always checks on luca at least once after he’s asleep, standing in the doorway quietly, like he just needs to confirm everything is okay before he can fully relax.
nerd!dad!rafe who sits with you after long days, not always talking, just sitting close, one hand resting on your leg, thumb moving slowly back and forth like a calming habit he doesn’t even realize he has.
nerd!dad!rafe who notices when you’re overwhelmed before you say anything and will subtly take luca off your hands for a bit, “we’re going to go…run an experiment,” already leading him away so you can breathe.
nerd!dad!rafe who has little inside jokes with luca that don’t fully make sense to anyone else, but you hear them repeat something he said and it makes your chest feel warm every time.
nerd!dad!rafe who who looks at luca at sixteen and still has moments where he can’t believe that’s the same tiny kid he used to rock to sleep. now taller, with his eyes but your features, his childhood blond fading into your hair color. and he’s amazed at what your genetics made.
nerd!dad!rafe who bonds with luca over dirt biking in the most him way possible. standing off to the side with a notebook or his phone, quietly calculating angles, speed and timing. “hey bud, if you hit that turn a little earlier, by about 0.3 seconds you’ll have better control on the landing,” he says, completely serious. and luca will always listen.
nerd!dad!rafe who shows up to every single competition, always early. but you can tell he’s nervous in the way his arms cross tighter, or how his eyes track luca’s every move.
nerd!dad!rafe who doesn’t cheer loudly like other parents or like you, but the second luca finishes a run or race, there’s this look on his face of quiet pride. like ‘yes! that’s my kid!’
nerd!dad!rafe who doesn’t raise his voice easily, but when he does, it’s rare enough that it means something, so deep and sturn. and luca straightens a little every time, because he knows his dad doesn’t do that lightly
nerd!dad!rafe who struggles when luca shuts him out, giving rafe short answers, or closed off energy, because connection is how he shows love. but insead of pushing he adjusts, because he know luca is like you when he’s upset, saying, “i’ll be in the living room if you want to talk,” leaving the door open instead of forcing it.
nerd!dad!rafe who genuinely lights up, when luca starts talking about something he’s passionate about, even if it’s completely different from his own interests. he’ll listen fully, nodding, asking questions like it matters, because to him, it does.
nerd!dad!rafe who sometimes exhales hard at the end of long days, pulling you into him. “this is more complex than i anticipated,” he admits, and when you laugh a little, he smiles too, because even if it’s complicated, he wouldn’t trade being luca’s dad for anything.
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synopsis: rafe appears on his girlfriend’s doorstop, badly burnt and in need of care and affection
Rafe stood in front of the guest room, body stiff and hand frozen against the wooden door. He wanted to knock, he really did, and yet he was hesitant. Only the day before had the couple fought, screaming and shouting until both were out of breath. Rafe had watched his sweet girl leave with teary eyes and he’d felt bad, his heart twisting as she had slammed the door in his face. It was the same door he finally knocked on after realising he’d been motionless for too long. The rap of his knuckles echoed and for a moment, he wondered if she wouldn’t answer the door at all, until a creak sounded. Rafe raised his gaze to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, her fists rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.
“R-rafe? What are yo-”, she began to ask, voice heavy with tiredness, the hour late. It wasn’t until she looked at him properly that she paused, taking in his entire state. Rafe was standing there, clutching his arm to his chest protectively. It wasn’t the childlike pose that caught her eye though, no - it was the way Rafe’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbling ever so subtly.
“Are you ok?” She asked gently, as if she were talking to their son. Rafe could only shake his head side to side, slowly pulling his arm away. At the sight of the red and blistering flesh, she gasped loudly, “Oh my god! What happened?”.
“I-uh, I got into some trouble,” Rafe responded timidly, full of shame and in pain.
“Come here,” his girlfriend said, gently ushering him into the guest room, “sit down. Have you cleaned this?” She asked. Again he shook his head, leading her to hum lowly. “Ok, I’ll need to clean it. Gimme a sec.”
Rafe sat on the bed patiently as he took in the room. He’d never been in there since she began sleeping in there, now taking in all the little trinkets she had lying around. He had been trying to get her to move back into his room but she still refused, and the pair used the nursery as a mutual zone.
His musings were cut off by a gentle voice questioning him.
“What happened Rafe?”
“It’s nothing, just an accident, you know?” Rafe grumbled out as she began to wet antiseptic pads in front of him. She looked up at him, gaze incredulous.
“This is bad, Rafe. You don’t just get something like this accidentally! You said you got into trouble before - what did you mean by that?” She questioned. Rafe sighed, having underestimated just how much she would question him, but he should’ve expected that, he thought to himself. When he didn’t answer, she began to clean his arm.
The sharp stinging sensation that travelled through him as the antiseptic touched his burn made Rafe jump, his voice exclaiming in shock. It was that sudden pain that caused the unshed tears in his eyes to spill over, and it was like once he started he couldn’t stop. All his pain and worries spilled out of him, the tears streaming down his face.
“Oh baby, it’s ok, come here,” he heard her say, cleaning forgotten as she pulled his head into her chest. Whenever she had comforted Rafe in the past, this had been his favourite position, curled up against her chest and having his hair stroked. So she did just that, soothing his heaving sobs with each pass through his hair. “It’s ok Rafe, you’re ok here baby. I’ve got you, ok? Breathe, Rafe.”
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, his sobs wetting the fabric of the tank top she wore. He’d almost completely exhausted himself by the time his sobs stopped, only able to breathe deeply now. It was then his muffled voice could be heard, “it was Barry.”
He felt her stiffen before she tentatively probed further. “Barry, your dealer?”
At the feeling of him nodding, she pulled him away from her chest. Her voice was stern, as if she was talking to a small child,
“Rafe, why is your dealer burning you? What did you do?”
He looked up at her, eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looked just a like their son, she thought, his features so innocent and needy.
“I-I couldn’t pay him back in time… I tried, I really did, but I had this thing and I couldn’t get it all there in time, and I said- I said to him I would get it bu-but he didn’t care,” Rafe began to ramble, his voice pleading with her to understand him. He had been trying to do better, for her - for his family. He watched her sigh, before she returned to clean his wound in silence. Rafe wanted to speak, to explain himself more but he didn’t know what to say, and the idea of her disappointed gaze upon him once more sealed his lips. The feeling of her fingers smoothing a burn cream over his wound tenderly had him curling back into her chest.
She began to card her fingers back through his blonde locks, feeling Rafe relax against her. When he was upset he would be one of two ways: angry and reactive, or clingy and touch-starved. Today, it was clear he was the latter. She couldn’t bare to leave him alone like this, and so she gently whispered,
“Come here baby, let’s get you into bed, ok?”
Rafe pulled away, his eyes wide as he looked up upon her face.
“Here?”
She nodded and began to pull the covers away, creating a space for him to shuffle in. Rafe allowed himself to be guided under the quilt and he couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling of her fingers tenderly brushing his messed-up strands away from his forehead. As he made space for her beside him, Rafe watched his girlfriend pull away from the bed.
“Nononono-” he began to mutter, only to be cut off. His hand was outstretched pathetically to try and keep her by his side, scared to be alone.
“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m just going to the nursery. I thought you’d want him to stay with us tonight,” she soothed, watching surprised as Rafe shook his head in response.
“No, let him sleep. Just c’mere,” he mumbled, dragging her into his side and under the blankets. Within seconds Rafe had found his position for the night, curled up into her side, his head resting on her chest once more. He was so sullen and quiet as he listened to her heartbeat, hands clutching at her waist.
“Goodnight Rafe,” she uttered sleepily, the events of the night catching up to her.
“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against her chest. He didn’t say it often, preferring to show his love for her through actions, but she always knew it. With a soft kiss against the crown of his head, she echoed those words back to him, before slipping into unconsciousness,
your favorite reality tv show played in the background as you lay out on the floor playing with your 10-month-old daughter. “those sensory skills are amazing ari girl” you cooed as she stacked the colorful rings on the rock-a-stack. she clapped her hands placing the last one. “ouuuu good job baby!” you joined in on her happy claps.
“wanna go again?” you cracked up as Ari stared at you waiting for you to knock the toy over. reaching over you knocked the toy over with a theatrical “woahhhh” ari full on belly laughed, her tiny legs and hands kicking excitedlyly. “is that funny mi amor” you giggled as you flooded her with belly kissies.
ari’s laughter died down as she listened to the front door knob jiggling. already getting into a crawling position forgetting all bout her toys. ari knew who was strolling through that door and it made her very excited. “who is that baby?” you grinned running a soft hand down her back.
“is it dada?” you gasped when rafe came through the door shopping bags in hand. ari’s squealing was precious, rafe’s head quickly veering around towards the both of you. “my babies were you waiting for daddy?” rafe grinned as he locked the front door back up. ari crawled up to him in what felt like seconds. your babe had the zoomies whenever she saw her papa. her babbles non-stop as if she was informing rafe alll about her day. rafe bent down placing a quick kiss onto her forehead. “one second baby let me go put these groceries down then ill give you and mama all the loving okay?”
ari’s lip quickly constructing in a pout. “aww baby you gonna make daddy cry stop” rafe quickly ran to drop the groceries onto the kitchen counter. ari was now full on sobbing as you soothed her. “baby, daddy is coming in a second” you giggled as she suckled on her paci. “where's my girl?” rafe came back around the corner arms open wide. “she’s such a daddy's girl” you laughed as rafe gently scooped her from your arms. her head instantly resting in the crook of his neck fiddiling with his chain.
“c’mere mama” he rasped. stepping forward your front met his chest. “you smell good” you smiled. lips meeting his in an intimate kiss. his free hand stroking gentle circles on your lower back. pulling away from the kiss when his hand gradually moved down giving your ass a squeeze. “you're so sneaky” you giggled.
“Ari baby if your mama keeps walking around looking this good” rafe licked his lips eyeing you up and down. “you might just get a little sibling sooner than later” ari's tiny hand moving towards her dad’s mouth covering it. “i don't think she wants to share you just yet!” you smirked squishing her cheeks between your fingers “isn't that right baby?” both you and rafe busted out in laughter as ari clapped her hands.
boxer!rafe can't stop thinking about you pregnant, and some would say he got more protective when you did get pregnant.
you weren't showing yet, but he was always keeping a watchful eye on you, protective hand wandering to your midsection.
after the scare you gave him at the games, he watched you all the time, willfully bringing home more food than was needed, feeling willing to come back home when he heard your whines through the phone, and buying you the most beautiful sundresses ever.
sometimes the two of you would spend more time together, looking out the balcony as he smoked a cigarette, and you looked outside with a dazed expression, hand stroking your stomach. he watched the way your nose wrinkled when a trendil of smoke reached your nose.
you made a screwed face, and then looked back at rafe with a pointed look, "i don't like that."
the next day all the cigarettes in your house were gone, and he went back to boxing. it was sweet the way your small proclamation could command him to do anything. sometimes you couldn't help but test it. test how much he loved you, and how willing he was go to. you knew it was bad the way you were acting, but you ached for the attention.
so it was all to plan when you woke up craving a burger.
not just any burger. it needed to be homemade, or even one of the burgers that rafe had made you during your first date. you remember it so clearly, the way his hand scimmed past your back as he helped you chop the cucumbers, a soft hand twirling a tendril of your hair.
it was all in your head, and suddenly you needed the burger with your life. you were pawing at his chest, soft whines leaving your mouth. he woke suddenly, taking a deep inhale of air.
"what's wrong?" he muttered, words slurred with sleep. you couldn't feel but feel bad as you pouted at him. you were wearing a pretty nightgown with a bow at the top. you watched him scan your swollen body.
you were pulling all the routes as you lowered your voice, "i need a burger."
he looked at you incredulously, eyebrows raised putting his rough hand on your shoulder, "right now?"
you frowned, before rubbing your stomach, "yes."
he groaned, falling back to head head first. you bit your tongue to stop giggles from spilling out of your mouth. he was so soft with you now, and you knew that months ago he would never act like this. but you couldn't help but tug at his arm as a grunt fell from his mouth.
"do you really need it, mama?"
now you couldn't stop your smile. you loved it when he called you 'mama,' and you loved the gentle tilt of his mouth when he called you that. and you rested your head back, nodding. finally, he gave an annoyed sigh before getting out of bed.
"goddamn it," he groaned, pulling a cleaner shirt up his head. you rested at his feet watching him put on his clothes. there was something so domestic about the whole scenario. tanyhilll was full of pictures of the two of you, small pieces of the two of you.
finally, as if he realised you were watching him, he scowled looking at you. still in your nightgown with a frenzied look on your face, he seemed to sigh again.
"ah, don't you think you should change?" he murmured, hands skimming over your top. you melted at his touch, practically hopping into his lap with eagerness. he let out a laugh before gently pushing you away, "listen. you gotta change out of that. can't have you looking like that."
you gave him a cheeky smile as if it was the middle of the day instead of three in the morning. somehow you found increasing amounts of energy and rafe was always confused about how you did it all.
"look like what?"
he shook his head, eyes flashing with slight annoyance, "nah. 'm not doing that today. get up bun, 'n go change."
although he sounded demanding you couldn't help but feel your heart drum harder at his words, biting your lip as you pulled on one of his old sweatshirts.
that night you got your burger, and he got you.
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