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recent works ⋆୨୧˚ masterlist⋆ ˚｡ anon emojis ੈ♡˳
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Oliver's struggle with emotions turns serious when he consoles with Rafe about his internal conflict with another girl.
(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)
Years ago, you would have said that the toddler phase was the worst. The mess, constant need for attention, and constant tantrums. Now, at this stage of parenting, you can surely say that the pre-teen stage is your least favorite. Your eldest son, Oliver, had just turned twelve. Still so innocent, but suddenly drowning in the lack of clarity.
You understood him in a way he didn’t, having experienced pre-teen years with a painful accuracy to your son’s. Rafe, on the other hand, had worked with his dad all throughout his younger life, too busy with helping on the farm to take a second thought when a gut wrenching emotion passed through his stomach. So when Oliver came home crying and didn’t leave his room until the morning, Rafe’s lack of understanding hit you hard.
“Honey, he’s twelve.” You softly coaxed as Rafe sat in bed, fuming again when his own son ignored him.
“I don’t care! He needs to figure this shit out..”
The days dragged on, just more conflict arising as you tried desperately to help Rafe understand. Oliver needed space and reassurance, not yard work and rides in his cruiser. The one time that Oliver approached Rafe with a question, the conversation was short and broke something inside of you.
“Dad? Can I talk to you?” Oliver had asked one night, fidgeting with his hands and stumbling into the room. His sudden growth spurt had given him yet another thing to adjust to, so for the next year you had a clumsier Bambi slipping around the house.
“Mhm, sure buddy.” Rafe said with a hopeful nod as you left the room, giving them space.
“Dad, there’s this girl.” Oliver started, his voice shaky, “A-and I tried to talk to her but she just.. ignores me.”
Rafe nodded, trying to extend same the grace that you reminded him to. He had repeated what you said to him during the late nights that he doubted himself over and over again in his head. But when it was time to apply the words, his mouth was dry and body tense with nerves.
“You and mom.. you did it right, you know? I want the same thing. I think she’s the one.”
You sighed, listening through the doors, realizing just how lost your eldest was. Rafe stuttered over words, trying to figure out the best way to approach the conversation.
“Well, son. You’re twelve.” He said hesitantly, watching as Oliver’s reaction turned sour, “It’s hard for you to understand your emotions.. and-“
Oliver bolted up from his place on the bed, feeling Rafe’s lack of understanding hit him like a truck, “Really?”
“Oliver, listen!” Rafe got up too, reaching an arm out to try and recenter the conversation, “It’s just your feelings, they’re getting all mixed-“
Your son didn’t give him a moment before turning to yelling, uncomfortable with sharing sadness with Rafe.
“I hate you!” He yelled, shoving the doors open and running to his room, slamming it just the same.
Tears welled in your eyes as you watched from the opposite side of the hallway, just clear enough to watch Oliver’s run, knowing it all too well. You softly walked back to the bedroom, finding Rafe standing in shock, his head in his hands.
“I tried..” He whispered, fighting off tears.
You walked up to him, gently pulling his towering frame into you, “I know, honey. I know.”
“I said what you told me! I- I thought that was what he needed.” Rafe’s voice was hoarse, trying to keep up his strong facade.
“He doesn’t need solutions, just to be listened to.” You whispered, guiding him back to the bed and hugging your husband tighter.
The night dragged on, but Rafe couldn't shake it. He got ready for bed like normal—until, at the last second, he stepped into the hallway. You let him without a word, waiting patiently. Part of you expected an apology, but when there was no other movement besides the floor, you got more curious. After about 15 minutes, you gave up and retreated out to the hall.
Your eyes fell on Rafe’s body, supported against the wall outside Oliver’s room. He sat on the cold hard wood floors, head in his knees. Tears stung at his eyes, trying to forget Oliver’s words. You observed silently, trying to decide if you should comfort your distraught husband or let him learnt the lesson on his own.
Oliver’s door opened slowly and he crept out, his eyes wide and red. He noticed Rafe, instantly succumbing to sobs at his side. Rafe turned to face his crying son, bringing him into his arms without a moment’s hesitation.
“I didn’t mean it.. I’m sorry Dad.” Oliver cried into his father’s arms.
“I know, buddy.”
The two remained the ground for another hour until Rafe stood up, carrying Oliver’s sleeping form to his bed, tucking him and promising to understand him better in the morning. You were already asleep in the shared master bedroom, but Rafe’s soft footsteps stirred you awake.
Without a word, Rafe got into bed and held you close to his chest, kissing your forehead.
teacher reader overworking herself and sheriff rafe coming to the rescue?
➸ Protecting You from Yourself
Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
You're working yourself to the ground, and Rafe is not having it anymore.
Warnings: Mentions of not eating (one day), fear of disapproval
(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)
The end of the year was approaching quicker than you had thought. You were already overwhelmed with the piles of ungraded papers from your class, but on top of that, of course you had to volunteer to help another teacher. Mrs. Rhodes, the first grade teacher from the class beside you, had been working for decades longer than you. Apparently that means she thinks she can dump papers on your desk and expect you to grade them for her.
But as you were sitting at the kitchen table, drowning in paperwork, you found yourself taking on the job anyways. You’d been sitting for five hours, not letting yourself get any breaks. Your three kids were making a mess somewhere in the house, surely. They came to ask the occasional question, and as much as it physically hurt to have to prioritize something over them, you couldn’t find a way around it.
“Mommy can I have a popsicle” your youngest, Lucas, asked with wide eyes.
You weakly looked up, nodding, “Sure, sweetie.”
Eventually, each of them found their own hobbies and went about their day, focusing their Saturday on playing board games, racing cars up and down your hallway, and you daughter’s idea of fun; reading quietly on the couch. You had promised her a library trip sometime this weekend, but you were feeling ready to admit defeat.
Rafe’s key clicked in the lock, shocking you back to reality. It was 9:00pm and none of the kids were ready for bed. The feeling made you sick, but no matter how hard you tried, the red pen stayed in your hand.
You observed Rafe’s body language in your peripheral, trying to ignore the way that his eyes fell on your huddled body with pity. A sense of gratefulness took over when he made the decision to ignore the sad sight that you were and instead worked to get each kid ready for bed.
Another hour passed, and you felt your stomach bubble in hunger, the same way it had all day. Every time you tried to pull yourself away from the grading, emails, and preparations, you were reminded of the first graders and their parents. Your fear of disapproval rung in your ears like a siren.
The only feeling breaking your trance was Rafe’s strong hands weighing down your shoulders, his voice tight in your ear, “You’re pushing too hard.”
You couldn’t count on both hands just how many times you’ve heard those same exact words. The feeling of guilt consumed you as he slowly tugged you back to reality. Your face hit the desk, unable to go further but craving to finish the next paper, satisfy the next student and their families.
“Honey, stop.” Rafe said, jaw clenched with a sense of sympathetic disappointment, “I can’t watch this and do nothing.”
“Rafe.. please.” You groaned, your own voice feeling strangle on your tongue.
“Get up, let’s go.” He said, pushing your chair away from the table and picking you up by your waist, “You must think I’m a fool, letting yourself run into the ground like that.”
Your legs wobbled the second he lifted you, muscles aching from being stuck in the same position for hours. A sharp pang ran through your lower back, but you didn’t care—you finally let yourself collapse against him, the warmth of his chest replacing the cold ache in your bones. A surprised gasp left you as he let your body hit the plush bed, and soon after you felt a soft washcloth on your face.
“Gotta get this makeup off,” Rafe whispered, trying to figure out how to properly erase the smeared mascara from your cheeks.
Your voice was hoarse and hesitant, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He mumbled, torn between being strong and teaching you a lesson or succumbing to your wide, apologetic eyes time and time again.
The deep sound of your stomach craving food broke the silence, and Rafe moved back, realization setting over him uncomfortably.
“Don’t tell me.” He said, voice gruff and hesitant, not ready for the answer, “When did you last eat a real meal?”
You rolled over, trying to ignore the question, craving sleep like never before. Rafe forced you to look at him, his touch strict but still gentle.
“You can’t do this. You can’t shut down.”
Tears stung your waterline, threatening to fall. A sigh left you, knowing deep down that he was right, but not ready to admit your wrongs.
“You are so stubborn, do you know that?” Rafe asked, a chuckle of disbelief leaving him as he continued to care for you, brushing your hair and helping you to take off your glasses.
“You’re eating tomorrow, and you sure as hell aren’t getting stuck in that hole again.” He said, voice decided and closed-minded, not taking no for answer again. You hummed, agreeing.
“I’ll help you, okay?” Rafe promised softly, leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead.
“Okay. I love you.” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“I love you too. Even when you dig yourself deep.” Rafe said, pressing you into his chest and letting his face rest in the mess of your hair, “Don’t do it again. You know I’m here.”
The soft reminder was all you needed. The fear of disapproval faded, the weight of the red pen finally slipping from your mind. You let yourself rest.
Rafe's only daughter brings home her first boyfriend, and he isn't taking any bullshit.
(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)
“Daddy..” Your sixteen year old daughter, Samantha, groaned as Rafe gave her a hard time all over again.
“Sammie, I’m being real. You’re too young for a boyfriend.” Rafe grumbled, yanking a flannel over his shoulders.
His movements were stiff, jerky—like getting dressed for this dinner was physically painful. You’d already fought him on what was appropriate to wear for tonight, but his mood was set in stone.
Rafe had always been possessive of his baby girl, but this was different. This was real.
Lucas, your youngest son of 14 years, was sitting down awkwardly at the table. Your eldest was away in college, another hit that your family had taken this year. But Samantha's new boyfriend, James Shipley? That was a whole other problem for Rafe.
“Daddy, he’s nice!” Samantha protested, trying to fix her makeup using your mascara before you swatted her hands away.
With a dramatic eye roll, Rafe responded, “I don’t care if he cured fucking cancer… I dont want any guys around you, much less in the house.”
“Watch it.” You warned, trying to hold back laughter at his typical way of blowing situations out of proportion.
However, thoughts of the night before flashed through your mind, remembering how Rafe had nearly broken down in your arms at the idea of Samantha leaving your home. He was the same way with Oliver, but Rafe had always kept his only daughter in a special pocket of his heart. You couldn’t laugh at him, much less mock his closed mindset. He was taking his hard, and somehow he was still getting ready for the dinner. That was all you could ask for.
A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts and you glanced at Rafe, watching him tense up and stand without hesitation.
“Daddy!” Sammie protested, but you held her hand and walked with her out to the living room, watching in curiosity as Rafe opened the door.
Standing before you was a teenager, not much taller than six feet, cowering below your intimidating husband. The flowers he was holding were now crunching in the midst of his nervous grip
“And you are?” Rafe asked, voice gruff, his sheriff’s badge shining against the plaid shirt.
The only way you could convince him to not attend dinner in full uniform was the badge. You figured James would be grateful, if he wasn’t so terrified.
“J-James, sir. James Shipley.” He said, awkwardly moving the flowers towards Rafe.
Rafe peered down, glancing at James’s subtle attempt at peace, “I don’t want your flowers. Are those for my daughter, or my wife?”
“U-um Samantha, sir.” James said, tripping over his words.
“Hm.” Rafe said, opening the door and rolling his eyes as he watched Samantha’s face light up.
“Hi James, I’m Samantha’s mom.” You said, properly introducing yourself before compensating for Rafe, “You’ve met my husband, Rafe. Her father, of course.”
James politely shook your hand before he walked up to Samantha, giving her a hug. Without a moment’s hesitation, Rafe pulled the two apart and let his hand rest on the skin on James’s neck.
“Let’s eat.” He said, softly pushing the teens towards the table.
You served dinner with a smile, letting your arm linger on Rafe’s shoulders when you passed by, a subtle comforting touch. Lucas gave you a look of premonition, already having a bad feeling. Of course, you returned it.
“Thank you ma’am.” James said politley, taking his seat across from Rafe and next to Samantha.
Once everyone was seated, Rafe cleared his throat and began the interrogation. Rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“What’s your plan?”
James blinked. “Sir?”
“After high school. Where are you going? What are you doing?”
James shifted, hands tightening around his napkin. “Uh… probably working for my dad.”
“Probably?” Rafe scoffed, sitting back. “Hmph.”
A brief pause, before he was attacking again, “And your intentions with my daughter?”
You resisted an eye-roll as James stuttered out an answer, “U-um I.. I’m not sure, sir.”
The answered made you perk up, and you turned to meet Samantha’s similar expression.
“Hm.” The same condescending sound left Rafe’s lips.
“James, what do your parents do?” You asked, trying desperately to re-direct the conversation.
“My father owns the shoe repair downtown, and my mother stays at home.” He responded with a polite nod, giving vague hints of information.
“And you?” Rafe asked, pouncing right back.
“I- I don’t work, sir- yet.” He tripped over his own voice, again.
The table went painfully silent again, making you turn to Lucas and watch as you mutually winced in the awkward nature of the dinner. Right as you tried to open your mouth, Rafe smiled and opened his instead.
“So, you love her?”
James went bright red, his voice unsure and strained, “I- I suppose so, sir.”
Rafe’s eyes moved to Samantha, furrowing when she softly kicked his leg. She stared at him, silently begging him to ease up. He ignored her protest.
“And what happens when you break her heart?” Rafe said, not leaving room for teenage hope. The question wasn’t and “if.” He was betting on the failure of James Shipley.
Silence again, this time for a few seconds until James found an answer, “That’s not my plan, sir.”
Rafe leaned back, curious at his reactions, “You know what I do for a living, yeah?”
James remained silent, just nodding while taking Rafe’s judgement with all that he could.
“Good.” He smiled.
The rest of the dinner was quiet, only the soft clicking of silverware against porcelain. As quickly as he could, Lucas got up and strolled to the kitchen. Tonight was the only time you had ever seen him excited to do the dishes. Rafe stared down James as he ate, watching each movement, observing his scrunched shoulders and hesitant bites. Samantha sat, utterly mortified.
James understood his queue, so when he finished the meal he thanked you, did his dishes, and started for the door. Of course, Rafe met him by the entrance of the family home.
“If I ever hear you so much as look at her the wrong way, you and I will be having a real serious talk—down at the station.” Rafe growled, opening the door and watching as James scurried away like a wounded animal.
That night, Rafe held you closely as he resisted the lump in his throat.
“She’s getting so big. I don’t want her to grow up.” He whispered.
You sighed lovingly, letting your palm rest on his chest in reassurance, “I know, Rafe. But watching her grow up is the best gift we could be given.”
He sighed, knowing you were right.
But he was sure of one thing, if anyone was going to be around his daughter, it damn sure wouldn’t be James Shipley.
a serious threat to reader and sheriff rafe responding immediately? you’re amazing at emotional portrayal
➸ Through the Dark
Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
When a pressing threat enters the neighborhood, Rafe runs to her side. But what happens before he can get there?
Warnings: Panic attack, mention of threats and stalking
(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)
“Mommy! Can you read with me?” Your tired daughter, Samantha asked from her place in bed. Oliver and Lucas, your two sons, were already asleep. They both had soccer that day, and their tired bodies quickly succumbed to the usually chaotic bedtime.
“Mhm, sweetie! What did you pick out?” You asked, voice gentle as you set next to her, covering your legs with the blanket draped over her bedpost.
“Junie B Jones!” She said happily, holding up her book proudly.
Pride swelled in your heart as you noticed her bookmark, much further than the first page, “Oh Sammie, you’re so good at reading! How far have you gotten?”
Your daughter beamed, glowing after your praise, “Page 26!”
“That’s so good! Do you want to read to me?” You watched as she opened the book, shedding the sparkly bookmark of its usual duties.
“Yes please!”
Just like that, you were teetering on the edge of sleep as Samantha focused on the words, tapping your shoulder for help occasionally.
Her finger would point at the page as she tilted her head, “Mama what does that say?”
“Available, sweetheart.” You said, fighting a yawn.
She would sigh, resisting sleep and flipping to the next page. Eventually, she started to doze off and could barely keep her heavy eyelids open, nonetheless understand the words on the page.
With a whisper, you coaxed the book from her hands, “Sammie, time for bed.”
You kissed her forehead softly, heart melting when she mumbled a soft, “Love you mommy.”
Leaving her bedroom put you on edge, no longer so comfortably surrounded by your daughter’s love. Your home was silent, the living room clock ticking softly and reading 8:30pm. On most days, Rafe got home at 9:00pm, so you weren’t incredibly worried. Throughout the next hour, you got ready for bed, taking an extra long shower to calm yourself down.
The screaming feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t leave you, even when you had settled under the blankets. 9:45pm. Turning on the tv and closing the doors to the master bedroom slightly, you settled in to watch a background sitcom and grade some extra papers before bed.
10:30pm and you jumped, hearing the sound of your ringing phone. Pausing the show, you quickly turned to the glowing light on the nightstand.
Incoming Call from: Rafe 💗
Your eyes went wide at the innocent ringing of his contact. This sight would be natural at any other point of the day, but you knew one thing about your husband: He didn’t call you on shift.
You could hear the overwhelming sound of your heart pumping through your head, rattling the blood in your veins. With a shaking hand, you answered, silently praying that it was as innocent as it should have been.
“Hi Rafe.” Your voice was hoarser and more nervous than you intended, but even if you did it over a million times, it would always hold the same anxious shake.
“Baby? Can you hear me?” He asked, tense and urgent.
Eyes wide and mouth dry, you mumbled, “Mhm..”
“Listen very close, okay?”
Silence filled the house as you waited for his next instructions, heat filling your chest.
“Baby, I need you to lock the doors and stay inside, do you hear me? Check the windows, lock the doors. Keep the lights on.”
Lightheadedness spread through every inch of your body before filling you with an uncommon sense of adrenaline.
“Rafe? Why?” Your voice was afraid, but you forced yourself to stand, instantly checking the front door.
“Close the blinds. Stay calm.” Rafe responded, obviously not here to give you reassurance or answers. He was talking to keep you safe.
You breathed tightly, fighting off the lump in your throat, “Okay..”
The front door was locked shut, so without another moment of hesitation, you staggered to the back door, flicking the knob shut. Anxiety coursed through your body as you entered each of your children’s rooms, locking the windows and closing their colored blinds. Your eyes lingered on their faces, realizing all that you had to lose, all that you were so blessed with.
Then the kitchen, living room, your room. You even walked into the bathroom, knowing there was no entrance through the small room. Rafe remained on the phone, the only sounds coming from either ends being your frantic footsteps and panicked breathing.
“Okay.” You said, panting and trying not to sob loudly, “Rafe. What is happening.”
“I’m on my way home. I love you.” His voice was whispered, but you could hear his stinging eyes through his strained vocal cords.
The seconds ticked by endlessly. Your lungs felt trapped and you were torn between leaving your post outside of your kid’s rooms and grabbing Rafe’s gun. You remained, feet rooted into the ground, eyes glued on the ticking clock.
When Rafe’s key turned, you collapsed in fear of what it could have been instead of your husband. Fear consumed you until Rafe’s hands were on your face, then your waist, and you cried quietly into his shoulder as he cradled you. The ringing in your ears only stopped when you heard his voice, strong and reassuring.
You shook, taking a long breath and clinging to him, “What’s happening?”
“There was a man, a stalker. In our neighborhood.” He whispered softly, being the strong and comforting anchor that you so desperately needed, “I got the call before my shift ended. I came right home.”
Another sob slipped and he gently covered your mouth with one hand, muffling your cries as to not alert your three sleeping babies. His other hand held you close, pressing your body to his chest as he carefully set you on the shared bed.
“Listen, you gotta listen.” Rafe said, his voice low and quiet as he cupped your cheek in his hand, “It’s okay. We found the guy, he wasn’t at our house. It’s safe, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
A hoarse sob left your lips, melting into his touch without another word. The two of you laid in bed, not another word passing. He kissed the top of your head and you buried your face into his uniform. Eventually, you let yourself sleep. Your body relaxed with the knowledge that you were safe, that Rafe was here and you were okay.
Rafe stayed up for the rest of the night, barely blinking. His only job was to protect your family during the dark hours of the day. His mind wandered with mental images of your family, Samantha’s high-pitched voice stuttering over her books, Oliver and Lucas racing cars outside, the grass stains and smell of life. Those thoughts faded, focusing more on you. Your soft hand in his hair and how they shook when you locked the back door, your laugh and how quickly you sobbed, craving him. He realized what he had to lose, and how closely he had to protect it.
could you do a part 2 to parent teacher conferences and rafe sees the parents somewhere and goes up to them telling them to never speak to his wife like that again
➸ Confrontation
(Pt. 2 of Parent-Teacher Disaster)
Sheriff! Rafe x Teacher!Reader
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
The impact of the parent-teacher conference with Noah Hillian's parents spoke loudly on your life. Rafe was tired of seeing you so affected.
Warnings: Swearing, confrontation
(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)
Rafe’s heart hurt every time that he saw your small, exhausted expression. Whatever you were concerned about, he knew you were already working on a way to find the perfect solution. He was beyond proud, his beautiful wife and her tendency to solve the world’s problems. However, the parent teacher conference with the Hillian’s shook something inside of you, something you couldn’t resolve.
He saw it in the way you hesitated before leaving for work, the newfound hesitation when you were approached conflict, and your teary eyes whenever you graded one of Noah’s tests. Your internal conflict spoke louder than anything else, and Rafe was done seeing you so disturbed. The moment you’d told him the full extent of how those people spoke to you, Rafe was on alert.
The Hillians weren’t new to Rafe’s life. He’d had the occasional run-in when they called the police on their neighbor’s birthday part, and again when they tried to report a break-in without any sign of evidence. It was painfully obvious that their intentions were anything but in good faith.
The idea of someone threatening and trying to spin power with you, his perfectly poised wife? It stirred something inside of him that Rafe had barely felt before. A sense of protectiveness that made his jaw clench whenever he saw you struggling.
“Rafe, we gotta go to the store.” You mumbled, eyes wide at the growing list of demands that your three kids had scribbled onto the grocery list, “Look, Sammie put ‘Rainbow Goldfish’ five times.”
Rafe chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the list, “Yeah, let’s get them packed up.”
You set out to gather Oliver and Samantha as Rafe got your youngest, Lucas, ready. Once everyone was dressed and Samantha had grabbed her favorite doll, you were off. Rafe’s hand laid on your thigh as you leaned against the passenger’s seat, scanning the list with a pen in hand. He was rubbing reassuring patterns into your leg, trying to sooth your impending stress.
Getting into the store was easy, put keeping each kid contained while shopping was a whole other battle. Lucas was squirming in the shopping cart’s small seat, and Samantha insisted on sitting in the basket. Oliver was giddy, skipping around the store and grabbing anything that was in his reach. Mid-way through, Rafe went to the deli to get meat cut, already having a meal in mind for the weekend. As he approached the counter to grab a ticket, he spotted Salish and Nevan Hillian in line beside him.
They both avoided his eye contact, silently praying that Rafe wouldn’t say anything. But Rafe was done sitting around, tired of watching you break under the pressure that these parents put on your shoulders.
“Hey!” Rafe said, approaching them without hesitation.
“Oh! Rafe um- Hi!” Nevan said, standing up a little straighter.
Salsih looked ahead at the line, not even glancing Rafe’s way.
Rafe was already over it, cutting straight to the chase, “How was the parent teacher conference?”
Their faces went bright red, Salish finally looking up, “Good!”
“Yeah?” Rafe chuckled with a grin on his face.
“Hey man, we don’t mean any trouble-“ Nevan started, putting his hands up in surrender. Salish tried to walk away, grabbing onto Nevan’s arm in a false portrayal of their innocence.
“That’s my fucking wife. Speak to her like that again and we’re going to have a real problem.” Rafe growled, his fingers flexed at his sides, his breath slow and controlled—barely.
Salish instantly perked up in defense, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is a misunderstanding.” Rafe laughed in disbelief, holding eye contact, “Really? It didn’t seem like a misunderstanding when you were raising your voice on her, trying to manipulate her. I fucking know your methods.”
You were approaching Rafe, huddled over the list as you checked things off. Lucas had finally gotten his way and was playing with Samantha in the basket while Oliver had been leashed in. You made him promise to keep one hand on the cart, exhausted by his tendency to run off mid-sentence.
The situation at hand didn’t click until you were already at his side, looking up at him. You felt two pairs of eyes staring back, and you made direct eye contact with the Hillians. With a knowing glance you looked up to Rafe.
“Honey, I can’t read your handwriting. What does this say?” You ignored them, only looking at your husband.
“Bananas, sweetheart.” He softly put his hand on the small of your back, ruffling Samantha’s hair.
“Thanks!” You said, smiling as he pressed a kiss into the side of your head.
With a final warning glare, Rafe walked off with you and his beautiful family. You let your body relax into his touch, never speaking a word about the confrontation.
When you got to work the next day, the endless emails from Salish had stopped. Relief crashed over you like a wave, finally letting yourself back into your normal routine.
You made sure to hold Rafe closer that night, thanking him with subtle kisses and his favorite meal.
Rafe, on the other hand, was rewarded plenty when he saw your confidence return.
i miss sheriff!rafe.. and i’m sure reader does too
➸ Midnight Radio
Sheriff!Rafe x Reader
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
Rafe gets home much later than expected, leaving reader with gnawing anxiety.
Warnings: Mention and description of separation anxiety
The night was eerily quiet, your body tense and anxious. It was 4 hours past when Rafe was expected to come home, and while you knew that the Sheriff’s badge didn’t come with time restraints, you wished despretley that it did. The bed was cold and empty without his warm, comforting touch.
You tried to transport yourself deep into your mind, seeking solace in his pillow as you wrapped your arms around it. His lingering scent usually lulls you to sleep, but tonight, you can’t even blink.
Anxiety crept up your spine and spread itself throughout every part of your ever-waking mind. Your skin crawled, thinking about everything bad that could happen to your wonderful husband, every horrible person who wishes the worst on his gentle, strong body.
In a desperate attempt to find condolence, you got out of bed. Tears dripped down your face as you turned back, grabbing his pillow and your shared blanket. You tried to maintain the silence of the house in light of your three sleepy kids, tiptoeing across your creaky bedroom and sitting at the corner desk. Sitting in the center there was a police scanner that Rafe had brought home from the station after you admitted your suffocating anxiety.
His words ran through your mind, comforting and soft, “Even if I’m not here to talk, you can always hear my voice.”
The box of a machine looked confusing, but you had tuned into his signal more times than you’d like to admit. The dials and switches came natural to you as you waited, ears ringing as they tried to pick up any hint of his voice.
Through the impending silence, you felt a disturbing sense of unease. Static crackled and you perked up, hearing a broken “Cameron” through the service. Clear as day, you heard your husband’s voice.
“10-4, Headed home to the wife now.”
Relief coursed through you as your body finally relaxed, resting on the dusty desk. Finally, you allowed your eyes to close, half-promising yourself that you’d resist sleep until he got home.
The next thing you remember is the gentle hand of your husband, and then his voice, soothing you awake.
“Sweetheart? I’m home, let’s go to bed, hm?”
The warmth of his palm on your cheek pulls you from the depths of sleep. His words, low and full of affection, anchor you back to reality.
field trip with chaperone sheriff!rafe and teacher!reader? i love ur work!!!
➸ The Field Trip
Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Teacher
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
Teacher!Reader is lacking on chaperones for the first grade field trip, so naturally, Rafe volunteers. He got on the bus with confidence, and left it questioning which was more difficult; rounding up six year olds or arresting criminals?
Warnings: Brief swearing!
The Children’s Science Museum field trip was a yearly event that had you clinging to your sanity for dear life. Being on the trip is one of your favorite things, the beauty and wonder that your students expressed gave you the rare ability to live vicariously through them. However, the preparation gave you a sense of stress that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
Rafe picked up on your distress the moment he got home, and after the two of you got the kids ready to sleep, he instantly moved to help.
“Honey? What’s bothering you?” He asked, getting changed into his pjs as you crawled into bed.
You sighed, letting the stress evaporate from your body as he laid next to you.
“No one has signed up as a parent chaperone.”
“What? Not even one?” He asked, his hand finding your arm and gently rubbing it, coaxing the tense muscles out of your shoulders.
You shook your head, tears crawling into your eyes.
“No- honey it’s okay, trust me.” Rafe instantly pulled you into his body, cradling the back of your head against his chest.
“They just don’t care.” Your voice muffled into his shirt.
Rafe ran a panicked hand through his hair, “Um.. fuck- I’ll do it.”
“What?” Your voice rang out, soft and hopeful.
“I’m the sheriff, you know?” He said, smiling in relief as you wiped your eyes, “How hard could this be.”
You settled back into his body after thanking him profusely. A small smile crept onto your face, knowing your loving husband had no idea what he was in for.
“There’s.. so many.” Rafe said, trying to keep track of each first grader loading onto the bus.
You nodded, supressing a giggle, “The whole grade, honey.”
Rafe looked like his mind was blown, having taken the day off of work for the impending chaos. He wore some of his ‘weekend jeans,’ as he called them, and a simple white shirt. Samantha walked past the two of you, eyes lighting up when she saw Rafe.
“Daddy! Why are you here?” She asked, instantly moving into the seat next to him.
Rafe laughed, propping her up on his lap, “Your mama wanted me to help out, is that okay with you, Sammie?”
“Yes! Mommy can I be with Daddy?” Your excited daughter asked, eager to start her first field trip.
“Mmm if you go sit with your friends, maybe!” You said with a supportive smile, your real intentions hidden. You’d much rather be sitting next to Rafe.
Samantha pouted before seeing one of her friends getting on the bus and lighting up again, racing to sit next to her.
You quickly sat down next to Rafe, pulling a clipboard out of your backpack and preparing to take role. Knowing that your husband, the sheriff of the county, was watching you work as a teacher felt comfortably abnormal. His arm was slung over your shoulders, sunglasses reflecting your attendance sheet. As your students got more riled up, you stepped out into the isle and commanded their focus.
“Okay everyone! Let’s take roll and then we can continue our conversations! But for now, silent mouths please!” You shouted in a classic teacher voice, one that Rafe had heard on the rare occasion.
As you shouted out each child’s name and got a high-pitched “here!” each time, the bus driver started safety checks. When you finished, the ignition was on and the bus lurched forward, beginning your journey. Rafe’s arm returned to your shoulder, subtly putting a curious hand on your roll sheet and observing the itinerary for the day. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head as the drive dragged on.
Fifteen minutes in, you were already popping up and reminding students of their manners, “Alex and Paislee! Please use inside voices!”
Rafe chuckled, feeling out of place seeing you so in your element, but gravitating to your professional demeanor.
“You make a good teacher.” He mumbled into your ear, grinning as your face flushed.
“God, I’d hope so.”
The journey was bumpy and filled with distractions and constant questions from the curious first graders, but you held your place well when faced with any conflicts. When the doors finally opened outside of the Children’s Science Museum, your voice rang out again.
“Find your chaperone please! Their name will be on your lanyard!” You said with a raised voice, gaining their attention quickly.
The kids all lined up, walking out of the bus with minimal accidents or pushing, which to you, was a success in itself. You met with Rafe and the three other last-minute chaperones, reminding them where to go before releasing the eager students.
“Thank you Mommy!” Samantha’s voice chimed out, a bright smile on her face as she saw Rafe’s name on her lanyard.
“Sammie!” He exclaimed as she hugged him, “Did your mama let you be with my group?” But of course, he already knew the answer. He’d pestered you about it for about half an hour.
The field trip began the moment that you opened the doors for the class, their little faces showing pure awe as they walked in. As you snuck a glance at Rafe, you watched the same expression seep into his face. The fossil of a Tyranasaurus Rex stood strong in the central circle, demonstrating the strength and importance of history.
However, the trip officially started for you the moment that Julius, a well-known troublemaker in your class, ran up to the same structure of bones and instantly tried to jump over the rope and climb on it. Without hesitation, you grabbing him and corrected his behavior with a strict voice that made Rafe raise his eyebrow with a grin.
As your group seperated, you kept a close eye on the behavior of your students. You had previously sacrificed yourself, taking on some of the more difficult kids to spare Rafe and the other parents. The experience you’d accumulated over the years paid off as they stepped out of line and you efficiently corrected and forgave them.
The trip went by quickly as you toured them around, letting them learn and experience the history and science around them. A part of you grew each time that their mouths widened in astonishment, revealing their missing teeth and other innocently childlike features.
Rafe, on the other hand, was having a hellish time.
“Alex- wait, what’s his name? Adrian! Get off of that!” He would call out, trying to keep his own group in line. The kids took advantage of his clueless state, even his own daughter was found giggling when Rafe was faced with more trouble.
“Sammie!” He said, chuckling and rolling his eyes dramatically before trying to regroup.
“Hey! We don’t say that!” After another child said that the field trip was “butt.” He was grateful you weren’t around to hear that one.
Rafe found himself to be more on edge than he thought, trying to keep his cool when he was asked "why is the sky blue?" for the fifth time by the same student. He hated to admit it, but his shoulders sunk with relief the moment their group had finished the tour, wrapping back around to the front doors.
Once everyone met up and you put each student in their respective lines, you double-checked their attendance.
“Um.. Hayden? Does anyone know where Hayden is?” You asked, panic setting in as you looked at Rafe, knowing he was her chaperone.
The kids all tried to chime in with soft attempts at helpfulness,
“I saw her at the dinosaur!”
“I thought she was in the bathroom?”
But your eyes stayed trained on Rafe.
“Shit!” He exclaimed when the realization washed over him, instantly turning and jogging back up the steps.
Two minutes later, Hayden and Rafe walked out of the building. She was smiling from ear to ear, and he was sheepishly walking down to greet you, eyes glued to the floor.
“Hm.” You grinned, guiding Hayden into the bus where each of the other students were waiting, all accounted for.
Rafe took his seat next to you, sighing dramatically and slouching on the uncomfortable cushion.
“That was..” He started, pinching the bridge of his nose.
You giggled, looking at him in surprise, “Really? I thought it was super fun.”
“You know, my job is tough.” He started, looking at you with a smile when he heard you begin to laugh, “But that was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do.”
His claims were unbelievable to you. Rafe was the county sheriff and the strongest man you had ever met. You were always hearing about his days, the endless case work, evidence logs, criminal encounters, and occasional chases. There was no way that a group of first graders broke him down so quickly. But looking at your husband, his body practically glued to your side, you realized that he was telling the truth.
That night, when he told you about all of his ridiculous experiences of the day, you just laughed along. His eyes shone with pure admiration, suddenly aware of the strength and endurance you need just to make it through the day. In turn, your eyes lit up the same, but with pure love.
When an aggressive parent-teacher conference ruins your night, Rafe is always there to ground you.
Warnings: Swearing, panic attack. Hurt/Comfort!
Late nights in your cozy first-grade classroom almost always meant one thing: parent-teacher conferences. Your eyes fought to stay awake as the final group walked in. With a bright, false smile, you greeted Salish and Nevan Hillian, the parents of Noah.
Noah was generally shy and quiet, but he got good grades and interacted well when asked to. In all reality, you weren’t concerned about the meeting.
However, your heart sped up when you noticed their body language—stiff, closed-off, practically radiating irritation.
Hesitantly, you forced your polite facade back on.
“Good evening! I’m Mrs. Cameron, and you must be Salish and Nevan Hillian!” you said, standing up from your desk, reaching out eagerly to shake their hands.
“Mhm.” Salish barely acknowledged you, her grip weak, her expression unreadable.
You swallowed hard, convincing yourself that they were just tired. Maybe they forgot to cancel and begrudgingly showed up anyway.
“Okay! Noah is really doing amazing in class—he’s ahead of the curve and is such a genuine little boy. Is there anything specific you’d like to go over?” You kept your tone professional, graceful, as you all returned to your seats—Salish and Nevan sitting stiffly across from you.
Salish’s lips pursed before she finally spoke, her voice sharp.
“Your methods of teaching are an utter disappointment.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
You sat frozen, stunned, as humiliation crawled up your spine.
“Noah is the smartest kid I’ve ever met in my life, and that’s purely because I made it that way,” she continued, her words laced with condescension. “You have no urgency with his education. He needs to be catered to.”
She was raising her voice now, her tone growing sharper. You struggled to choke back the inevitable tears stinging at your eyes.
“I’m so sorry you’re disappointed in the curriculum, ma’am. However—”
She cut you off with an aggressive flick of her hand.
“Shut up about that. This is your fault.”
A loud thump rang through your ears as she slammed a thick folder onto your desk. Papers spilled out, disorganized, demanding attention.
“Inside here, I have exactly how you should be teaching my son. I made it all myself.” A smirk pulled at her lips, as if she was proud of herself. It made you feel sick. “This is not a suggestion. It’s an expectation.”
You felt paralyzed.
Before you could gather your thoughts, they both stood abruptly. Nevan glanced back at you for a brief second, almost looking apologetic, but Salish was already striding toward the door—leaving him no choice but to follow.
The moment they disappeared, the dam broke.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you sat frozen, the weight of their words pressing down on your chest. You had held it together as long as you could.
The walk to your car felt endless. The drive home was worse.
By the time you stepped into your house, the familiar silence told you Rafe had already put the kids to bed. A fresh wave of guilt twisted in your stomach. You stopped outside their rooms, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing, grounding yourself in the innocence of their tiny, sleeping forms.
Then, Rafe’s voice called to you.
“Sweetheart?”
You barely had time to process it before your body gave in.
You stepped into your bedroom, shut the door, and felt your bag slip from your shoulder.
“Rafe…” Your voice cracked.
“How was it?” he asked, toothbrush in hand, looking at you through the bathroom mirror.
Your lips parted, but instead of words, a choked sob escaped.
Your knees buckled before you could stop them.
In an instant, Rafe was there, catching you before you hit the floor.
His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you close as you broke down in his hold. Your body trembled with sobs, breath uneven, as if the room itself was closing in on you.
“Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I got you,” he murmured against your hair, his hands grounding you, his voice steady against the chaos in your mind.
You gasped for air, struggling to match his breathing, but his warmth—his presence—was enough to start pulling you back.
“M’sorry…” you managed to mumble against his chest.
“Don’t,” Rafe said firmly, but gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Minutes passed before your breathing slowed, the crushing weight easing just enough. When you finally lifted your head, you realized he had moved you onto the bed, his hands still tangled in your hair.
“Honey, tell me,” he urged softly, wiping stray tears from your cheeks.
“It was my last conference…” Your voice wavered. “They yelled at me, Rafe. Said I was a disappointment. A bad example.”
Rafe tensed immediately. “Fucking assholes.”
A broken laugh slipped past your lips at his instant response.
“I just… I don’t know what to do.” You swallowed hard. “She gave me a whole binder of separate work and concepts to teach Noah.”
Rafe frowned, trying to recall. “Noah? I thought he was doing great?”
“He is! He’s one of my best-performing students. Apparently, that’s not enough.” Your voice cracked again, frustration seeping through.
Rafe huffed, pulling you even closer. “Sweetheart, you’re amazing at what you do. That woman? She’s crazy. You knowyou’re doing the right thing.”
You sniffled, the knot in your throat loosening slightly.
“It’s okay,” Rafe murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We don’t have to talk. Just rest.”
His fingers played lazily with your hair, his warmth pressing against you like a shield.
And, for the first time that night, you felt safe enough to close your eyes.
Rafe had been fighting with his new rookie for a month, until it finally seemed to turn around. Just as he was gaining Rafe's trust, the accident happened.
Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, curse words, and life-threatening situations. hurt/comfort!
Rafe came home, his usual confident stride weighed down by frustration. The second he stepped through the door, though, Oliver barreled into him, hugging his legs like a vice.
“Daddy!”
The others weren’t far behind, swarming him with excited chatter about their day.
From the kitchen, you glanced up from your book, The Communicative Patterns of Our Upcoming Youth, stirring a simmering pot of soup with one hand.
“Hi, Rafe!” you called, swaying lightly to the soft music in your earbuds.
He spent a few minutes indulging the kids, the tension in his shoulders slowly unraveling. Eventually, he found his way to you, arms slipping around your waist from behind.
“Hi, sweetheart…” He exhaled against your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo, grounding himself in the warmth of home.
“What’s wrong?” You turned, already sensing the shift in his mood.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes before leaning on the counter.
“Got a new rookie.”
You quirked a brow. “Your problem this time?”
“Mhm. Can’t pawn him off on Smith anymore.” Rafe scrubbed a hand down his face. “22 years old. Name’s Miles.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Kid’s exactly like me at his age. Painfully. Same mistakes, same big mouth, same damn attitude.”
A slow smile tugged at your lips. “A taste of your own medicine?”
Rafe huffed. “God, how did you even put up with me?”
“You figured it out,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Only for you.”
Before you could respond, your daughter tugged at his sleeve, holding up a crayon drawing with a proud smile.
“So beautiful, sweetie!” Rafe said, scooping her up effortlessly.
The night carried on as usual, dinner filled with laughter, the morning routine its usual chaos. But when Rafe walked through the door that evening, something was off.
The kids swarmed him again, and he smiled—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You wiped your hands on a dish towel as he approached, the usual romance of your evening greeting weighed down by stress.
“What’s up?” you asked softly.
Rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Miles. What a dick that kid is.”
That became the routine. Every night, the frustration mounted:
Miles almost wrecked a car during training.Miles was smoking on the job.Miles sat on his damn phone all day.Miles cussed out an officer.
And yet, despite everything, Rafe didn’t give up on him.
And then—the shift.
Slowly, the complaints dwindled. The frustration softened.
“You know, Miles is finally catching on,” Rafe admitted one night, almost surprised at himself.
And suddenly, Miles wasn’t just the problem anymore.
Now, Rafe came home talking about how the rookie was sharp, how he was improving, how he was getting his act together.
Then—just as quickly as things had improved—the worst happened.
Rafe walked in that night with his jaw clenched so tight it could crack.
“I gotta take dinner to go,” he muttered, voice hoarse, strained.
Your stomach dropped. “Rafe?”
He barely looked at you as he shrugged on his jacket.
“Miles… fuck. He’s in the hospital.”
The words sucked the air from your lungs.
“What?” You grabbed his face gently, making him look at you. “What happened?”
“I was stupid,” he ground out. “Let him drive the car. It was just across town, nothing serious. But then—this group of kids… they came up on him.” He swallowed hard. “God, they hit him. Head-on.”
You felt cold all over.
Rafe’s eyes darkened as the memory hit him like a freight train. The crumpled wreckage. The blood. The silence when Miles didn’t respond.
“I got the call seconds later,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I was there in minutes. He was barely breathing when I pulled him out.”
His shoulders slumped, heavy with guilt.
“I shouldn’t have let him drive. I should’ve been there.”
“Rafe, no…” You reached out, pressing your palm against his chest.
But he shook his head. “I gotta go help him. I’m not letting him sit in that hospital alone.”
You packed his dinner in a to-go container, pressing a kiss to his lips before watching him kneel down and hug each of the kids a little tighter than usual—a silent reminder of what he had.
One last apologetic glance your way, and he was gone.
That night, Rafe sat beside Miles’s hospital bed for hours, the rhythmic beeping of machines the only sound in the sterile room.
He barely moved. Barely blinked.
Waiting.
Thinking about all the things he wished he’d done differently.
At 2:14 AM, Miles finally stirred under the thin sheets.
Rafe jolted upright, the movement snapping him out of his half-asleep trance.
“Shit—Miles, how do you feel?” he asked, gripping the kid’s hand instinctively.
“Fuck…” Miles groaned, eyes barely opening. His face was littered with cuts, bruises, regret.
Rafe swallowed hard. “Listen, I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have let you—”
“Dude.” Miles cut him off, voice raspy. Their eyes met.
“You saved my life, man,” he muttered. “Don’t give me that apology bullshit.”
The breath Rafe had been holding finally released.
He huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. After a beat, he reached into his bag, pulling out the container of food you had packed.
“My, uh… my wife made spaghetti,” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Figured you might want something that isn’t the shitty hospital food.”
Miles perked up immediately.
“Fuck, yeah.” He took it without hesitation.
The next morning, when Rafe finally stepped through your front door, the exhaustion was still there—but for the first time in days, so was the relief.
You shot up from the couch. “Rafe? Is he okay?”
A tired smile tugged at his lips as he wrapped you up in his arms.
When your youngest son gets a midnight fever, Rafe is happy to take the burden from your shoulders.
A quiet creak in the floorboards made you stir, blinking blearily as you adjusted to the dim glow of the nightlight. Rafe’s arms were still tangled around your waist, his steady breathing warm against your shoulder.
“M-mama?”
The small, trembling voice shattered the sleepy silence.
“Luke? Honey?” You murmured, groggily rubbing your eyes.
Standing near your bedside, your youngest, Lucas, sniffled, his lower lip trembling.
“Mama, I don’t feel good.” His voice wavered, tears already welling in his eyes.
Your body jolted awake. "Is it your tummy?" you asked, sitting up and reaching for him.
He gave a weak nod, small hands gripping yours as you guided him closer. Pressing your palm gently against his forehead, you felt the unmistakable heat radiating from his skin.
Your stomach twisted. Fever.
"Rafe..." you whispered, nudging his shoulder.
He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes, but the moment he saw Lucas’s pale, miserable face, he was instantly alert.
"Luke, what’s going on, buddy?" he asked, voice thick with sleep but steady with concern.
"My tummy," Lucas whimpered, his face turning greener by the second.
Rafe shot you a panicked look before throwing back the covers and scooping Lucas into his arms. You followed close behind as he rushed into the en-suite bathroom.
"Lucas, sweetheart, do you need—" But before you could finish, his little body lurched forward.
"No!" Rafe said quickly, steering him toward the toilet just in time. He held Lucas up, one strong arm wrapped securely around his small frame, while you brushed his damp curls back from his forehead.
"Honey, it’s okay," you whispered as Lucas collapsed against Rafe’s chest, his tiny body wracked with exhausted sobs.
“Daddy…” he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rafe’s grip tightened protectively. You could see the exact moment his heart broke.
"It’s okay, buddy," Rafe murmured, rubbing slow, steady circles on his back. "Let’s take your temperature, alright?"
The night stretched on in a blur of fever checks, cold compresses, and restless sleep. Rafe barely left Lucas’s side, his exhaustion showing in the way he sank against the headboard, one arm draped protectively over his son’s sleeping body.
“Rafe,” you scolded when you caught him pressing another kiss to Lucas’s overheated forehead.
He sighed, looking up at you with tired blue eyes. “Sweetheart, he’s so sick.”
“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “But you’ll get sick too.”
Rafe just shrugged. “Worth it.”
You exhaled, pressing a kiss to his temple before sinking into his embrace.
“I don’t know how I’m going to take work off tomorrow,” you admitted, tension creeping into your voice at the thought of rearranging your lesson plans.
“I’ll do it.”
You pulled back slightly. “Are you sure? I can—”
“It’s okay," Rafe interrupted, his voice firm yet gentle. "I promise.”
The next morning, you found them curled up on the couch—Rafe still in his pajamas, Lucas tucked against his chest beneath a blanket, a cold towel pressed gently to his forehead.
"Okay, guys, say bye to Daddy and Lucas," you told Samantha and Oliver, ushering them toward the door. "But don’t get too close."
Work dragged. You checked your phone constantly, desperate for an update, but the house remained silent.
Rafe, however, wasn’t resting. Logged into his laptop, he scoured the internet, searching for answers:
"How long does food poisoning last in kids?""102 fever when to worry?""How to hydrate a sick child?"
Every hour, he made Lucas open his mouth for the thermometer, meticulously tracking the fluctuations in his fever. He ran purely on logistics and data when it came to emergencies—because if he stopped to think about how small and pale Lucas looked, he’d break.
By the time you got home, the wave of relief was immediate. Rafe stood in the kitchen, pressing an ice pack to Lucas’s flushed face, his movements careful, gentle.
"Oh, honey…" you whispered, guiding Samantha and Oliver to their rooms before joining them.
“He’s been getting better,” Rafe said, his voice soft from a full day of whispering. “But his temperature’s still at 102.”
You cradled Lucas’s warm face in your palm. “I think it’s food poisoning…”
Rafe exhaled sharply. “God… I’d do so much for this kid.”
You watched as he kissed Lucas’s temple, then effortlessly picked him up, carrying him back to the couch. Lucas curled against him without hesitation, small fingers fisting into his t-shirt as they settled in to watch his favorite LEGO show.
You leaned against the doorway, watching them—knowing you needed to make dinner, help Samantha with her homework, clean up.
But just this once, you let yourself soak in the moment.
hey girl!! i love your sheriff rafe x teacher reader trope!! i was wondering if you could do a blurb where reader is in trouble and rafe had to save her? nothing huge but it could be cute!
a/n: yess!! i love this!!
➸ The Note
Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader
➸ Masterlist!
Requests open!
The morning was unbearably hectic. Rafe woke up late and grumpily trudged around the house, making his cup of coffee and helping your daughter, Samantha, pack her lunch. Your two sons didn’t want to get up, whining in their beds about how there should be no-school Fridays.
“Get up. Now. Go help your mother,” Rafe said, glaring at them and pointing toward the kitchen, where you were struggling to get your papers in order.
They reluctantly stood up and got dressed, walking over to attempt to help you make lunches. However, one misstep and Lucas, your youngest son, spilled his glass of milk. Oliver slipped in it, hitting his elbow with a pained cry. You comforted him and helped Oliver up while Rafe cleaned the spill and attempted to lecture Lucas.
Everyone was late. You took Samantha with you to your class ten minutes before the bell rang, and Rafe took Oliver to the middle school and Lucas to daycare, getting to work past the expected time.
Walking into the classroom with Samantha, she took her seat at her desk, waiting for her friends to walk inside.
With a sigh, you sat at your desk, turning on your computer and setting up the lesson.
“Mama, what are we learning today?” Samantha asked, having the privilege of the question as your favorite student.
“Compound words, sweetie,” you mumbled, writing on the whiteboard before opening the classroom doors and letting in the bubbly first graders.
The day went by long and uneventful, your students either too hyper or too tired to focus on your efforts to teach. Your head hurt, and you had a weird feeling in your stomach as you left your classroom for lunch, locking the door and heading outside.
“Hi, dear. How’s your class?” your teacher best friend, Lilia, asked.
“Too much,” you groaned, sighing and slumping down into the uncomfortable chairs of the teacher’s lounge.
“I’m sorry. Tough morning?” Lilia said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as she walked by to the fridge.
“No lunch?” she asked, frowning.
“Lucas spilled all over the kitchen… we were already late. I didn’t have time,” you admitted as your stomach growled. Lilia looked at you with pity.
“Here you go…” she said, handing you a granola bar and some apple slices.
“Thank you, Lilia. You’re my hero,” you said with a smile, taking your phone out and checking your messages.
Rafe: Got them to school on time. 10 mins late over here. Are you all good?
You: All good. Thank you.
Another sigh left your lips as lunch wrapped up and you retreated back to your quiet classroom five minutes before your students would be lining up outside the door.
Reaching for your key, you leaned on the door handle of your classroom, but your arm slipped, and the door opened—already unlocked.
“What…?” You looked around your class, turning and closing the door behind you.
Returning to your desk, you found a note taped to your computer in messy kid’s handwriting.
Mrs. Cameron, watch out. I know where you live.
The note struck you with surprise—more amused and curious as to how they got in rather than concerned about the threat. You pulled out your phone, snapped a picture, and sent it to Rafe, hoping to bring him a similar reaction.
You: Attachment: 1 PictureYou: 12 in the afternoon, and I’m already getting threatened.
He started typing immediately, but his bubble stuttered before disappearing altogether. Instead, he left you on read.
A part of your heart sank, but you didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on it before you had to open your class to the tired first graders lined up outside your door.
“Hi, Mama…” Samantha groaned as she walked into the class, obviously unexcited.
“Hi, honey. Go sit, m’kay?” you said, smiling and greeting your other students.
“Okay, friends! Usually, we would do math after lunch, but I think it’s time for some quiet time,” you said, turning down the lighting and flicking on the small star projector Rafe had gifted you after mentioning you wanted the environment to feel more relaxing.
Students laid on the carpet with books, quiet toys, coloring books, and more. Their little minds got a calming refresh as you sat at your computer, preparing an easier worksheet for your class.
Suddenly, a rough knock rattled your door. With a concerned look around, you hesitantly opened it to see Rafe, in full uniform, standing in front of you with a serious expression.
“Rafe? What are you—” you started before he gently moved into the classroom, watching as your students stared at him.
“Where’s the note?” he asked gruffly.
“Rafe, it’s not a big deal…” you whispered, concerned with his serious expression.
He walked to your desk, picked up the note, and paused the calming music before standing in front of the class.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said, sticking the note to your whiteboard.
“This note? This isn’t funny. This is serious. We don’t threaten people—especially our teachers.”
His eyes scanned the classroom, pausing on his daughter before shifting to the back, where one little boy looked like the guiltiest criminal Rafe had ever seen.
“No. It’s not. If Mrs. Cameron doesn’t get a proper apology, I’ll have the school look through the cameras,” Rafe said, locking eyes with the young boy.
“Does everyone understand?” He waited for the child to nod before taking the note and walking to the door.
“Mrs. Cameron, can I talk to you briefly?” he requested, guiding you outside.
“Rafe, really?” you asked, smiling softly.
“There’s nothing happening today. Had to make sure my wife is safe,” Rafe said, kissing your cheek.
“It’s not a huge deal…” you murmured, melting into his touch.
“It’s a threat on my wife. I don’t care if a six-year-old wrote it,” he said, beginning to walk away.
With comical timing, the guilty little boy ran out of the classroom toward you.
“Cameron, you gotta get inside!” you said, kneeling down.
“M-Mrs. Cameron, m’sorry! Julius told me to!” he said, crying and hugging your legs.
Rafe turned back to you, a proud smile on his face as he walked back to his cruiser.
Rafe was drowning. He was up to his head in paperwork at the station—reports, affidavits, evidence logs—everything he dreaded in life. The worst part? He couldn’t go home to you, his precious wife, and three kids. His eyes wandered to the family photo on his desk, focusing on your faces as he tried to muster up the motivation to keep writing.
On the other side of town, you had just finished dinner, and your daughter, Samantha, had pulled up a chair to the counter. She was clumsily measuring ingredients as you guided her, always stepping in after a few seconds to help. The curiosity that fueled your daughter was so much like Rafe’s, it made your heart melt.
Your other kids, Oliver and Lucas, sat in the cozy living room, their eyes glued to the Candy Land board. They had begged you to get it out of the game cabinet, eager to play.
You looked up at the clock as you served plates, knowing Rafe wouldn’t be home in time to even kiss his babies goodnight. His apologetic text still shone brightly on your phone screen.
Rafe: I’m sorry, honey.
Rafe: Going to be late. Home around 11 pm.
You: No worries!
You: Attachment: 1 Video
“Okay, guys! Sammie, get in the video!” You giggled, coaxing your kids into making a small message for their dad. You felt horrible for how hard he worked, so this was the least you could do.
“Alright! One... two... three! Go!”
The camera in your hands started recording the faces of your young children.
“We love you, Daddy! We miss you!” they said, somewhat in unison.
“Okay! Say, ‘See you in the morning!’” you gently reminded them.
“See you in the morning!”
You stopped the recording, revealing your smiling face as you quickly sent the video to Rafe.
“Good job, my loves! It’s time for dinner. Olie and Luke, please find a stopping point!” Your voice was gentle as you used their nicknames, coaxing them to the dinner table and away from their intense Candy Land session.
Each family member sat in their unspokenly assigned seat, but the head of the table remained empty. Your eyes lingered on the wood for a moment before you turned to your meal, suppressing the loneliness as you interacted with your kids. Every so often, your eyes flicked to your phone on the counter, waiting for it to light up with Rafe’s contact.
Rafe: You’re killing me. Tell them I love them too, and I’ll be home soon.
“I miss Daddy,” Samantha pouted. She had finished dinner and craved Rafe’s comfort.
“I know, sweetheart,” you said, trying to extend some grace toward her.
Suddenly, as Oliver and Lucas finished their plates and sat patiently to be excused, an idea struck you.
“What if… we visited Daddy and brought him dinner?” Your heart fluttered with relief at the thought, knowing Rafe would do anything to see his family.
The dinner table exploded with excited “yes’s,” and your kids instantly got up, helping you package his portion of dinner in Tupperware. Samantha grabbed a juice box for him while Oliver sneakily stuffed a pack of gummies into his pocket as you opened the pantry. You pretended not to notice—after all, you had just slipped a sparkling water into your purse for Rafe, balancing out Sammie’s juice box in a way that would surely devastate her.
Eventually, all four of you piled into your shiny white car, listening to kids' music as you drove the ten minutes to the station.
Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion as he heard a car pull into the parking lot, but the moment he caught a glimpse of your curly hair helping Lucas out of his car seat, the tension in his shoulders melted away.
Sammie ran up to the station doors, opening them like she owned the place. The other men working late smiled at her as she power-walked—because she knew better than to run—straight to her dad’s office.
Just like that, Rafe’s boredom and lack of motivation were gone.
“Sweetheart!” he said, instantly getting up and kneeling down to hug his daughter tightly.
You stumbled in not long after, Tupperware in one hand and Lucas in the other, scolding him for picking his nose. Oliver squeezed past you, his eyes lighting up as he looked around his favorite place—Rafe’s office. Oliver, your oldest, always dreamed of being the sheriff just like his dad. Small moments like these felt surreal to his nine-year-old mind.
Rafe’s eyes shot up to you in gratitude. “Thank you, honey.”
“Of course. We brought you dinner—Sammie brought you juice!” You nodded toward your daughter as she pulled the juice box out of the pouch of her purse—one of your old ones that you had handed down to her.
Rafe kissed you deeply, feeling Lucas hugging his leg tightly and listening as Samantha and Oliver toured his office.
“Thank you,” Rafe said again, his hands lingering on the small of your back as he rested his forehead against your neck.
“Always.” You leaned down to kiss his head, letting him grab his dinner.
“Daddy, can we eat with you?” Samantha asked, her eyes wide with curiosity as always.
“Of course, sweetheart. Oliver, can you grab your mama a chair from outside?”
Oliver rushed off, trying his hardest not to show his struggle as he lugged the chair in. You pushed it closer, kissing the top of his head in thanks as he settled into the seat beside Sammie. Lucas remained in your lap, happily playing with your necklace.
The next hour—well past their bedtime—was filled with sleepy conversations from your kids and quiet looks of gratitude between you and Rafe.
After finishing his meal and kissing each of you goodnight, he reluctantly shuffled back to his desk, watching through the window as your car left the parking lot. However, his paperwork was finished just two hours later, and he was on his way home.
When he walked through the door, his eyes landed on you, curled up on the couch and watching TV quietly in the living room. He set down his bag and took off his boots before collapsing next to you, scattering kisses across your face and neck. Eventually, he settled in, and you gravitated toward him, smiling as you rested against his chest, listening to his deep, exhausted breathing.
“I love you,” Rafe whispered, just as you drifted off against him.
“I love you too,” you murmured, your voice soft and muffled against his body.
The ride in Rafe’s cruiser was intimidatingly quiet as his arm rested casually out of the window, country music humming softly from the radio. He had rounded up three of his men from the station, heavily implying that they should abide by his request for a favor. And what did he ask? A small task, really.
You, his perfect wife, had been working late nights to convince parents to attend the class’s career day—practically begging grown adults to contribute to their children’s education for just ten minutes. So, Rafe’s solution? Introduce your kids to himself, the sheriff, along with men from different positions at his station.
"The more variety of positions, the better," you’d told him just a few hours earlier, pressing a kiss to his lips before hurrying off to take the kids to school.
Luckily, your efforts had paid off, and by the end of the week, you had somehow convinced 20 parents to sign up for different time slots. The pride you felt when you secured the 20th RSVP was unmatched, though you had always kept the very first slot open for Rafe and his men. Your class was always giddy with excitement and nerves when real-life police officers visited.
A faint wail of sirens outside your classroom made your students freeze, eyes widening as they rushed to the windows. You let them have their moment, biting back a grin as they whispered in awe, tracking the movements of Rafe and his officers.
Your daughter, Samantha, was among them. She talked about her dad like she owned the entire police force, claiming she had every officer in town wrapped around her little finger.
Suppressing a chuckle, you clapped your hands together, your own excitement mirroring that of your students.
"Alright, friends! Let’s sit down nicely and wait for our sheriff to meet us!"
The door opened, and in stepped Rafe, his thumbs tucked casually into his belt, exuding easy confidence. The other officers followed suit, making their way to the front of the class. Rafe caught your eye, his lips quirking up ever so slightly in a secret smile. You returned it with ease.
"Alright, guys! Sit quietly as these men introduce themselves!" You stepped aside, moving toward your desk but unable to take your eyes off Rafe’s uniformed stance.
"Hey kids, I’m your county sheriff, Rafe Cameron. These are some men from your police station. Here’s Detective Smith, and then we got Officer Colley and Officer Whitman—some of my best men." Rafe spoke with practiced authority, but there was a certain warmth in his tone, one meant for the wide-eyed first graders in front of him.
"We’re here to protect you and your families, yeah? It’s our job to help y’all and make sure each and every one of you is safe."
The other officers followed with their own introductions, summarizing their roles in ways the kids could understand. After about ten minutes, you stood up once again, practically glowing with pride as you addressed the class.
"Okay, friends! If you have any questions for our police officers, detective, or Sheriff Cameron, now’s the time!"
Almost every hand shot up.
"Yeah, Sammie?" Rafe asked, pointing to his daughter, whose brown curls bounced as she all but vibrated with excitement.
"That’s my daddy!" she announced proudly, looking at Rafe like he hung the stars in the sky.
A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "Mhm, sweetie, did you have a question?"
Samantha’s face scrunched in thought before she quickly covered with, "Um… did you catch any bad guys today?"
"Not yet, it’s a bit early for an arrest," Officer Colley answered with a small chuckle.
"That’s right," Rafe nodded before shifting his attention. "You? What’s your name, son?"
"I’m Noah, sir," the boy at the front said hesitantly, then bit his lip before continuing. "How long does it take to become a police officer?"
"Just about nine months of training and a lot of hours of experience," Officer Whitman responded, nodding toward the boy.
"Even longer to become sheriff," Rafe added with a teasing glance toward his men.
Another hand shot up, belonging to a girl in the center row who looked particularly determined. "I want to be a detective. Do they make a lot of money?"
Detective Smith let out a hearty laugh before responding, "It’s not a bad life."
The questions continued until time ran out, and after a final round of thank-yous and goodbyes, the officers prepared to leave. Before heading out, Rafe crouched beside Samantha’s desk, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of her head and murmuring a quiet reminder to behave.
"Goodbye, kids! Be nice to Mrs. Cameron, or she’ll call me! I won’t be so nice then, m’kay?" Rafe teased, throwing a playful wink at your students as he waved.
Once the door shut behind them, you wasted no time slipping into Rafe’s arms, wrapping him in a hug before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you, baby," you murmured, your voice full of gratitude.
He let out a soft chuckle, his arm securing itself around your waist. "Always. See you at the house tonight?"
"Mhm! Love you!" you called after him as he backed away reluctantly.
"Love you too!" Rafe shot over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
Flyers had been handed out to every student, emails sent out, and reminders posted on the school page. To say the least, career day was quickly becoming a persistent burden. While it’s a first grade tradition in Cambridge County to host parent-involved career days, there’s only been three adults to sign up for your class. The fear of letting down your students creeped in the back of your mind as you worked late at the school, brainstorming new approaches or ways of persuasion.
Rafe, just having gotten off of his day shift as the county sheriff, was at home trying to wrangle your eldest and youngest sons, Oliver and Lucas, into their pjs. Samantha, your shy middle child daughter, was curled up in her room re-reading “Stellaluna” to her stuffed animals. A sight that would normally melt Rafe’s heart and instantly persuade him to sit next to her and listen, but not tonight. With Lucas chasing after his older brother, Rafe was struggling without your comforting household presence. After a particularly difficult day, he knew better than to take it out on his precious kids. So, his guard was down. Unfortunately, your three beautiful children took quick advantage of his exhaustion.
When you finally walked into your cozy home at 7pm, the smell of Oliver’s favorite pizza hit you like none other. Your nose scrunched as you hung up your bag and took off your shoes before walking to the kitchen and strangely spotting nothing but an open box of pizza and estranged juice pouches. With a dramatic eye roll, you made your way to the living room.
Rafe was sitting on the couch, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion as he fought sleep to scold Oliver when he tried to take Lucas’s juice. Samantha was perched in his lap, pizza sauce faintly lining the corner of her mouth as she watched the TV with wide eyes, enjoying the princess show that Rafe put on just for her. Obviously, against the protest of your two boys.
You slowly creeped behind Rafe, letting yourself sink into the comforting feeling of being surrounded by your family. Your husband didn’t notice your presence until you ran a soft hand through his buzzed hair. He twitched awake, reluctantly pulling his back off the couch before excitedly getting up, realizing his wife was finally home.
“Hi baby..” You mumbled, smiling as he approached you with open arms.
“Hey..” He responded groggily, picking you up easily and hugging you tightly to his chest.
“Mommy!” Lucas called from his place on the floor beside the coffee table.
Before you could greet them, Rafe set you down and let your three kids hug your legs tightly.
“Hi babies! How are you?” You asked, kneeling down and hugging each one of them.
Their answers were jumbled with tired excitement, each kid calling out different events of their days. Rafe’s hand made its way to your back in a comforting gesture. He could feel the stress of the day pummeling you, so with a quick glance down, he began to round up the house.
“M’kay kids, your mama’s home so it’s time for bed, hm? Let’s go, brush your teeth.” He coaxed, guiding them to the bathroom before kissing you quickly and pointing to your bedroom, a silent gesture meaning ‘it’s okay, I’ve got this.’
“I’ll come say goodnight after you’re all cozy in bed!” You called over your shoulder, gratefully headed to your shared master bedroom.
The organized chaos of bedtime ensued and you visited each of their rooms, kissing their foreheads and letting them rant to you about their overdramatized days. After your rounds, you retreated to the bedroom again, sighing in relief when you saw Rafe sitting at the foot of the bed, putting on his white shirt and pj pants.
“Honey..” He mumbled, standing up and letting you collapse into his body.
“No one signed up..” You said, voice muffled in his shirt. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.
“I’m sure they will, sweetheart.” He said softly, squeezing you reassuringly.
“Yeah..” You groaned, pulling away to start getting ready for bed yourself.
“This house is hell without you.” Rafe said with a defeated smile.
“Pizza and a TV dinner?” You said, smirking at him before giggling to yourself.
“They convinced me..” He said, scratching the back of his head and following you to the bathroom.
“Wasn’t too hard, surely.” You washed your face, taking the towel from Rafe’s hand as he offered it.
“They know the way to my heart.” Rafe said, smiling again and rolling his eyes playfully.
“Tough days all around?” The grin returned to your face, kissing his cheek softly.
“I could make your day better..” He said, holding out his arms, offering his comfort.
“Tell me more..” You replied, accepting it gratefully.
“I bet I could convince some of the guys at the station to come out for your career thing.” He said, watching for your reaction as he tried his hardest to be helpful. “And me too, of course. What’s a station without a sheriff.”
“Rafe! Really? You’d do that?” You asked, suddenly all giddy smiles.
His heart warmed as he watched your mood flip, suddenly leaving soft kisses on his face and excitedly talking about the rest of your day. Rafe followed you, listening intently as you talked your way through, responding only when he knew you needed the reassurance. That night, he laid in bed with you in his arms, feeling like the luckiest man in the world as he brainstormed which of his men he would send to your energetic classroom.
Rafe Cameron and Reader have been married for years, currently happily settled in a small town with their three kids! The oldest; Oliver (9), middle; Samantha (6), and youngest; Lucas (4)! Rafe has worked as the dutiful sheriff of Cambridge County for 7 years, quickly earning the title of ‘most respected’ man in the town. Reader is a teacher at the local elementary school, teaching first graders! She’s known as an amazing teacher and all of her students tend to look up to her.
The family is looked up to by people all around the small town, known to be respectful and kind. Rafe works hard to keep the two boys in line and you cater to their kind and curious sides. Samantha, however, has Rafe around her little finger every second of the day. Oliver leads while Lucas stumbles behind him throughout all of their adventures, while Samantha craves reading and time away from the chaos of her brothers.
Reader and Rafe met during college and he followed her like a lost puppy to the first town that offered her a position. The typical small town turned into their forever quickly, seeing how perfectly it set up careers for the both of you. He proposed just months into living his dream with you, the woman he fell head-over-heels for more and more every waking moment.
More to come soon!
Requests are always open for this trope, don’t be afraid to ask!
