#singledad!rafe

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader m.list

✿ You’re Hired

✿ I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

a/n: i physically can’t write smut with a straight face

warnings: 18+, pure smut, not very nice language

After Dark

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The house was quiet when he got home.

Too quiet.

Rafe stepped through the front door, keys still in hand, shoulders heavy from the day. No cartoons echoing from the living room. No markers scattered across the table. Just dim light and the faint scent of something sweet in the air—something familiar.

And then he heard it.

Bedroom door creaking open. Bare feet against the hardwood. A breathy little voice calling his name.

“Rafe?”

She stood at the end of the hallway, barefoot, hair down, wearing nothing but one of his old T-shirts and a look that had heat curling in his spine before she even said another word.

His eyes dragged down her body. Her thighs were bare. Her lips parted.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “She’s asleep.”

“How long ago?”

“An hour.” She stepped closer. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

He tossed his keys to the counter. “Yeah?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her voice dropped. “I’m ovulating. I want you so bad it hurts.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed. His body tensed.

“You walked around all day like that?” he asked, stepping toward her slowly. “Knowing what it does to me?”

She whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been aching for you since this morning.”

He didn’t wait any longer.

He had her pinned against the hallway wall in seconds, hand gripping the back of her neck, mouth on hers like he was starving.

She gasped when his knee slipped between hers, spreading her legs open through the shirt. He didn’t even touch her yet—just breathed against her mouth.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Need you to fuck me,” she whispered, hips pressing forward, grinding against the denim at his thigh. “Please. I need it deep. I need it hard.”

He groaned. Low. Rough.

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes.”

“You want to take it all, dripping, messy, soaked through—just like that?”

She nodded frantically. “I’m already wet. You can feel it. I didn’t even wear anything under this.”

Rafe didn’t hesitate.

He picked her up—hands gripping her thighs, dragging her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.

The second her back hit the mattress, he was on top of her, pushing the shirt up, dragging his mouth down her stomach.

“You beg so pretty,” he murmured, sliding two fingers through her folds, groaning at the slick. “Fuck. You’re soaked.”

“Then stop teasing,” she whined. “Please, Rafe.”

He undid his belt with one hand, pulling his cock free, hard and flushed, leaking already.

And when he pushed into her—slow at first, just to feel how tight and warm she was—she cried out, clenching hard around him.

“Take it,” he growled. “Just like that.”

She did. Over and over.

Every thrust was harder, deeper. He had her legs up over his shoulders by the third minute, one hand on her throat, the other gripping her waist to keep her still while he fucked her into the mattress.

She choked on every moan, nails dragging down his back.

“More,” she gasped. “I want it all.”

“You’re gonna get it.” He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. “Gonna fuck you full. Gonna leave it dripping down your thighs.”

She came with a scream—shaking, breathless, his name broken across her tongue.

And when he followed—grunting into her shoulder, burying himself so deep she swore she could feel it in her chest—he didn’t pull out.

Just stayed there. Inside her. Breathing hard. Hand in her hair.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

And she was.

Every needy, aching inch of her.

I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter Fourteen

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The sun was going down, soft gold spilling across the backyard like it had been poured just for them.

The grill was cooling. The plates were scraped clean. Ellie had gone inside twenty minutes ago, too full from dinner, mumbling something about cartoons and stretchy pants.

It was quiet now.

She sat on the back step, legs tucked to the side, dress bunched around her knees. The air smelled like cut grass and warm cedar. Her hair had slipped out of its clip. She didn’t bother fixing it.

Rafe was standing barefoot in the yard, two beers in hand, shirt untucked like it always was when he was home. When he was real.

He crossed the grass and held one out to her. “You always drink half and forget about it.”

She smirked, taking it anyway. “You love that about me.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

She blinked up at him.

He didn’t sit. Not right away. Just looked at her with that quiet kind of affection that had never once asked her to be anything but herself.

“One year,” he said.

She smiled. “Since the job interview?”

“Since the night I realized I didn’t want you anywhere but here.”

She tilted her head. “And the interview?”

He chuckled. “That was just luck.”

He sat beside her finally, knee pressed to hers. They didn’t speak for a moment. The kind of silence that comes from knowing someone long enough that words aren’t required.

Then, slowly, he reached into his back pocket.

Pulled out a ring box.

Set it in her lap like he wasn’t going to beg or explain or push. Like he already knew her answer.

She stared at it.

Then looked up at him.

His voice was steady. “There’s not a version of life I want where you’re not in it. Not just in this house. In everything. I want the fights and the soft mornings and the weird grocery runs and you humming when you fold laundry. I want your moods and your opinions and your laugh in my bed for the rest of forever.”

Her hands shook a little. “Rafe…”

“You don’t have to be anything,” he added. “You already are. You’ve been ours. Now I just want you to be mine, too.”

She opened the box.

The ring wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t some Pinterest-perfect showpiece.

But it was beautiful. And it was him. And it was theirs.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Of course yes.”

Rafe exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a year.

He slid the ring onto her finger—hands shaking just a little—and kissed her slow.

When Ellie peeked through the window a minute later, she gasped, then bolted for the back door.

“I knew it!” she shouted. “Does this mean I get to wear a dress with sparkles?!”

They both laughed, pulling her into the hug without hesitation.

And in that small backyard, under the lazy sunset and a thousand shared memories, everything felt right.

The end.

And the beginning.

I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!reader x babysitter!reader

a/n: i’m so bad at writing smut so it’s not detailed😭

Chapter Thirteen

𖦹˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𖦹

She knew it the second he walked through the door.

Not from the sound of it. Not even from how hard it shut.

It was the silence.

The kind that slipped in behind him and hung heavy in the air.

She looked up from the couch, legs tucked under her, book still open in her lap.

Rafe didn’t say a word as he walked through the front room. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff. The muscle in his neck jumped when he saw her looking.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Just tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter, peeled off his jacket, and leaned against the edge of the island like it was holding him up.

She got up slowly, crossing the room in socked feet. “Rafe.”

“Don’t ask,” he muttered. Voice low. Rough.

She paused. “Bad day?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No.”

So she didn’t push.

She stepped in front of him, curled her hands around his arms, and waited until he looked at her.

And when he did—dark eyes, tired, guarded—she didn’t ask again.

She just reached up, kissed him slow, and whispered, “Then let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched.

It only took one more kiss to get him to move.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

He backed her into the wall like he couldn’t wait. Like every part of him was already breaking and she was the only thing keeping him together.

She let him pin her there, fingers digging into her waist, lips on her neck.

“I don’t want to think,” he rasped. “Just—need you.”

“You have me,” she whispered, pulling his shirt over his head, dragging her nails down his spine. “Right here.”

She undid his belt slowly, eyes never leaving his. Watched the way his breath stuttered, the way his hands twitched against her hips.

“No one else gets this part of me,” he muttered, forehead pressed to hers. “No one else sees it.”

“I know.”

She helped him out of his jeans. Slipped hers off just as slow.

And when he sank to his knees in front of her—hands still trembling from whatever the day had done to him—she curled her fingers into his hair and held him there.

Let him kiss her thighs like it grounded him.

Let him bury his face between her legs and lose himself.

He wasn’t soft with it. Wasn’t gentle. He devoured her—licked and sucked and groaned like he was chasing relief through her body.

She gasped, grabbing for his shoulder. “Rafe—”

He didn’t stop. Not until she came with her back against the wall and her fingers in his hair.

When he stood, she pulled him in by the waistband of his boxers.

“You want to be rough?” she whispered. “You want to let it out?”

He kissed her like yes.

She reached down, stroked him slow, then guided him in—right there against the wall, no words, no pretense.

He thrust hard, fast, every motion like a release he couldn’t ask for in any other part of his life.

She took it all. Whispered his name. Clawed at his back. Told him she had him.

And when he came—biting down on her shoulder, panting, trembling—she held him through it.

Until his breathing slowed. Until his body went heavy. Until the tension started to bleed out of him.

Only then did he speak again.

“Thank you.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Always.”

And that was it.

No explanations.

No apologies.

No need.

Just two people in the dark, holding each other together.

I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter Twelve

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was the kind of afternoon where nothing really needed to happen.

Rafe had stepped out for a while—something about a hardware store run that would “only take twenty minutes” and had clearly turned into an hour. Ellie didn’t seem to mind.

She’d claimed the living room floor with all the authority of a tiny queen, laying out her blanket, two throw pillows, a tray of snacks, and an entire nail polish caddy she dragged down from upstairs.

“You’re getting sparkles,” she declared, uncapping a glittery bottle with purpose. “No arguing.”

She laughed, wiggling her fingers. “I wouldn’t dare.”

They were both cross-legged on the floor, leaning over each other’s hands like a secret ceremony, Disney playing softly in the background and a bowl of peanut butter pretzels slowly disappearing between them.

Ellie was focused, tongue peeking out slightly as she painted. “You always let me pick the colors,” she said thoughtfully.

“I like your taste.”

“You don’t even like pink,” Ellie said. “But you let me do it anyway.

“I like how you like pink.”

That made Ellie smile. Just a little. She ducked her head, brushing polish across her pinky.

They didn’t talk much for a while after that.

The movie kept playing. The polish started to dry. Ellie scooted closer, half in her lap by the time they hit the third coat.

Then, very softly: “Do you think I’m allowed to have two moms?”

The question stopped her completely.

She looked down. Ellie wasn’t looking up. She was fidgeting with the bottle cap now, fingers twitching in nervous patterns.

“I know I have a real one,” she added quickly. “Even if she’s far away. Even if she doesn’t call a lot. I know she still counts.”

“She does,” she said softly.

“But…” Ellie glanced up. “If I wanted to feel like I had two, is that bad?”

She swallowed, heart tugging tight in her chest. “No, baby. That’s not bad at all.”

Ellie nodded like she already knew. But her voice cracked a little anyway. “You do mom stuff. You brush my hair and check my closet for monsters and fix my glitter pens when they dry out. And you know the song I like before bed. The real one. Not the fake version Dad sings.”

She smiled. “His version is pretty bad.”

“It’s terrible.”

Ellie leaned closer, pressing her cheek to her shoulder. “You make it feel like our house.”

She blinked quickly, trying not to cry.

“I don’t wanna make Dad feel weird,” Ellie added. “Or her either. I just… I didn’t know if it was okay.”

She wrapped an arm around the little girl, holding her steady and safe. “You get to decide what people mean to you, El. You don’t need permission for that.”

Ellie whispered, “You feel like mine.”

She held her tighter. “You feel like mine too.”

For a while, they just sat like that—knees touching, polish drying, movie playing faintly in the background.

Ellie reached for her hand again. “I don’t have to call you anything different. But if I say it by accident again, can you not go away?”

She kissed the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ellie’s shoulders finally relaxed. “Good. Because we haven’t even done glitter toes yet.”

I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter Eleven

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The rain had been steady all day. Not storming, not loud—just soft and constant, tapping against the windows and soaking the sidewalks until everything felt washed clean.

Inside, the house felt smaller. Warmer.

Ellie had been unusually quiet since breakfast. Not cold. Not angry. Just… quiet.

She wasn’t avoiding her, exactly. She still asked questions. Still handed over the remote during cartoons. Still offered half of her fruit snacks without being asked. But there was a difference in the way she looked at her now—longer glances. Like she was checking. Measuring. Waiting to see what would change.

She didn’t press.

Rafe gave her a soft look across the table around lunch, brushing his thumb across her knee under the table. Give her time.

So she did.

They painted in the afternoon—Ellie had asked, half-mumbling it while staring at the carpet—and she’d said yes immediately. They spread out across the living room floor, old newspapers layered beneath their feet, Ellie’s tiny hands already covered in purple streaks by the time they opened the second color.

“You made me a princess in this one,” she said, holding up a lopsided watercolor sketch.

“I made you a queen,” she corrected. “Look at the crown.”

Ellie tried not to smile. “Looks like a muffin.”

“That’s a powerful muffin.”

Rafe chuckled from the kitchen. “I’m not touching that one.”

By evening, Ellie’s usual chatter had returned—but something softer sat beneath it. Like she wasn’t just testing how things felt with her still there… but how it felt with all three of them in the same room.

The sun had barely set when Ellie climbed onto the couch and leaned into her side. “Are you going home?”

The question was quiet.

She blinked. “Did you want me to?”

Ellie shook her head immediately. “No. I just…” She fidgeted with her shirt sleeve. “I didn’t know if you had to.”

“No one’s making me leave.”

Ellie paused. Then said, even softer, “Would you stay?”

She turned to face her. “Tonight?”

Ellie nodded. “Only if you want to.”

She smiled. “I want to.”

Ellie let out a breath. A full one. Like her little body had been holding it in all day.

“Okay,” she said, sliding closer. “Can we do a movie night?”

“Of course.”

“With popcorn. And the caramel sprinkles.”

“Yes.”

“And no kissing.”

She laughed. “Definitely no kissing.”

“And we all have to sleep in the living room. It’s a rule.”

“I like your rules.”

When Rafe came back in, Ellie looked up at him with that same cautious hope. “We’re having a sleepover,” she said. “All three of us.”

He glanced at her, something soft passing between them. “Yeah?”

Ellie nodded, already pulling the big blanket off the back of the couch. “But I’m picking the movie. And no scary stuff. And you both have to be here when I wake up.”

Rafe crouched in front of her. “We’re not going anywhere, El.”

She looked between them, almost serious. “Promise?”

“Promise,” they said at the same time.

And just like that, the quiet from earlier faded.

They made a nest out of blankets and pillows. Ellie picked a movie she’d seen a hundred times but still laughed at. Rafe didn’t protest when she poured half the caramel sprinkles directly into the popcorn bowl.

Somewhere during the second movie, Ellie fell asleep with her head in her lap.

Rafe was already half-dozing too, stretched out beside them, hand resting against her ankle.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loudly.

Because in that moment—with rain still pattering outside, the movie still playing, and both of them curled against her—she didn’t feel like the babysitter.

She felt like she belonged.

And when Ellie mumbled in her sleep, fingers reaching for hers and whispering her name like a comfort…

She knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.