something something babysitter!reader, price calling you to pick you up earlier because his shitty ex wife made sure he has the wrong time for the court hearing, you rush over to his house. hes incredibly thankful while horribly stressed, quickly tying his tie around his neck while on the way to the door. you, being the sweet thing you are, follow him around to help, baby on your hip, keys in the other. he takes them while you're standing in the doorframe and without thinking; call it force of habit; he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before speeding off.
Warnings: Angst with Smut, Cheating, age gap (not explicitly stated), failing marriage, drinking, emotionally draining relationships, divorce discussion, possible power-dynamic? Leering, Cock-warming, leaving spouse for affair partner.
It was mid October in the Outer Banks when you met Rafe Cameron. In your tight-knit sweater and black leggings that hugged your hips too tight. You missed the way his eyes dropped when you walked past him, too enthusiastic about the new job.
“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Cameron.” you said, looking around the expensive living room. His eyes lingered on your ass, meeting your younger ones when you turned around. “Please, call me Rafe.” he smiles, holding a hand out for you to shake.
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
Fall came and went, as did you in the Cameron home. Sofia, Rafe’s wife, gave you tight-lipped smiles and let you stay for dinner most nights.
To your surprise, you fit in with the family. Lorelei, 5, and Inez, 18 months, were well behaved. They latched onto you quicker than anyone expected, and demanded your attention with every little thing.
Sofia trusted you enough to care for her children, but she kept an emotional wall up. Your happy-go-lucky approach to life left her feeling jaded, that she’d lost a spark only a young woman can have. It grated her at times, wishing she could just form an opinion on you and keep it. You hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing worth this feeling. But every time you put her at ease, left an open invitation for connection, there was a voice in the back of her head whispering, “not yet.”
Ironically, Sofia missed the signs in the beginning. She thought it was innocent, felt relieved even. She knew Rafe was a hard man to please, so not having to deal with complaints of childcare lifted a weight off her shoulders. But there were still times she felt her gut clench at the thought of Rafe’s behavior. The way he interacted with you raised flags. She couldn’t tell if those flags were red or yellow, thus pushing it down and carrying on.
But to an outsider, one would easily spot Sofia’s fears becoming a reality.
It began with eyes. Rafe’s meeting yours before Sofia’s when he returned home. How the two of you stared at each other from across the dinner table while she focused on the kids. Things furthered with lingering touches. His hands grazing your hip instead of your back when he slid past you. Or how he threw you over his shoulder, twirling while you stayed limp, just to make the kids laugh.
Sofia had become busy with work, leaving that voice to drown with upcoming projects and meetings. She started coming home later, worn out and uninterested in small talk. Dinners decreased, leaving you to pick up the burden of her family. Your initial two days a week became five, but you didn’t mind.
It left you with him.
That’s when Rafe really paid attention to you. He’d watch how you cradle his children, as if you were their mother. Your maternity permeated his thoughts, dragging up a primal attraction he hadn’t felt in a long time. And the nights his wife was late, you had dinner ready, with his plate made and on the table.
Life was steady, quiet and peaceful. For you.
But with seasons fleeting and arguments behind closed doors, Rafe and Sofia grew distant. He stopped kissing her, she didn’t hug him anymore, everything about their relationship became a show. A responsibility they shared for the sake of their kids and his image.
He stopped initiating intimacy and she started frequenting upscale restaurants for ‘business dinners.’ By December, Sofia was taking work trips with her boss. She’d be gone for weeks at a time, only making short calls to check on things.
Rafe had his suspicions, but he kept a cool facade and a glass in his hand. Drinking kept his anger away, at least enough for him to not destroy everything. He’d get tipsy and flirt, then wasted and fuck, but the one night stands never relieved him. Part of him even felt worse at having to walk away from those women too. Then he turned to you, confiding his dying love for his wife, and his empty sex life.
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
Your first serious conversation with Rafe ended in his bed. Sheets twisted, a bottle of whiskey, and his arm around your waist. Neither of you addressed it that following morning, beyond you telling him it would never happen again.
But it did. A lot.
Sofia, when she was home, pretended not to see it.
She didn’t question the faint, purple bruises on Rafe’s neck. Nor did she pull you aside to ask why you looked like you’d been crying. On the surface, her trust in Rafe was naive, as her ignorance bliss.
Another sad story of the wife and the hot babysitter.
And Sofia knew it.
The reason she kept quiet was because she wasn’t a saint either. Not when her boss held her in his arms the same way Rafe held you. Her quiet phone calls, the new password, expensive jewelry Rafe knows he didn’t buy. It all slowly sank in over time, then it settled like a dust cloud of acquiescence. A loveless marriage faded into a roommate situation. Where staying for the kids felt better than just signing papers.
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
You walk downstairs as Rafe is pulling off his tie. He undoes the first two buttons of his white dress shirt, sighing in relief to finally have a break. “How was work?” you ask, holding his youngest, Inez, who sleepily rests her head on your shoulder. Rafe’s eyes soften at the scene, his stress easing at the sight of his baby girl.
“It was a lot of bullshit.” he says, running a gentle hand down his daughter’s back. “Language.” you correct, twirling a curl on her head around your finger. “Yeah, sorry.” He mumbles halfheartedly. His eyes meet yours, looking heavy with faint dark circles. He’s been tossing and turning these past few nights. You’ve felt it.
“Were they good?” he asks.
“Always.” you answer, looking upstairs as his eldest crosses your mind. “Lorelei is taking a nap. She fell asleep while watching Frozen.” Rafe huffs, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “That girl doesn’t give my ear a break when it comes to that movie.” he complains fondly.
The corners of your lips curl, “I made dinner.” you remember.
“I’m hungry for somethin’ else.” Rafe smirks, kissing your forehead before giving Inez one last look. For a moment his face freezes with guilt. She doesn’t know. Not yet.
You ascend the stairs with him behind you now, both of you taking opposite directions so you can put the toddler down for bed and he can have a glass of bourbon.
Minutes pass like hours while your mind conjures up what words the walls will capture. Which secrets the mattress will hold onto this time. If he’ll open up or resist you knowing him again.
Rafe’s own brain is tormenting him in the other room. It’s why he grabbed a glass and poured his problems into it, in a pathetic attempt to drown the other problems.
His nearly nonexistent marriage.
His affair with the babysitter.
His miserable job taking, taking, and taking.
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
Rafe groans quietly when you sink down onto his cock. His body relaxes back into the couch, hands holding your hips as you adjust to his size. “Y’feel so good.” his rough fingers slip under your shirt, dragging up your back. A soft moan slips past your lips, head finding a place on his shoulder as you get comfortable.
The two of you enjoy each other’s closeness before he admits, “This is all I look forward to anymore.”
Lifting your head, your eyes meet his. His shade of blue is glassy like the ocean, and dark with shame. You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Part of you is thrilled, of course, feeling a sense of sick accomplishment. Buried deep under, however, is a smaller, yet more powerful sense of pity. “Is that so?”
He nods, “Yeah.” is all he says. You sit there quietly for a moment, considering the weight behind his lighter words. But Rafe doesn’t notice. He’s already leaning back with his eyes closed. The tension in his body releases with a slow exhale, his fingers pressing into the small of your back. “You’re so good with them.” he begins quietly, “The kids… they love you.”
“Don’t, Rafe.” you shake your head, shutting down the conversation he’s been trying to have for a week now. A small ache settles in your chest, while your stomach clenches with anticipation. Things are never meant to go so far in affairs. You know that.
But then his eyes crack open, his face remains unchanged and his voice hums low.
“I think I’m gonna leave her.”
a/n: i condensed what probably could’ve been a mini-series into a oneshot, which is why it’s jumpy with the timeline.. could’ve been better but at least i made something! i hope you enjoyed my first dilf!rafe fic :)
uhm that’s literally dilf!chris when babysitter!reader shows up in a short dress and he has to sit through date night with his wife for hours and act like he’s not hard
contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios
You had never been interested in tennis before Art.
You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else.
But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway.
You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire.
Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis.
It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks.
You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa.
“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for.
Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning.
(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).
It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits.
“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”
We she’d said. As in her and Art.
You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel.
From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation.
The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in.
It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out.
You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready.
You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together.
He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her.
But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left.
But.
But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back.
You were evil. Truly. The guy was married.
But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave.
The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.
(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).
But tonight was different. In more ways than one.
In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned.
You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night.
Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”
He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”
“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble.
He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”
You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”
“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.”
Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.
The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out.
Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing.
“Lily likes you.”
You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.”
“Tashi likes you.”
You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths.
“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”
“What?”
“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?”
“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.”
“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.”
“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.”
He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it.
The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car.
But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal.
“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”
Out of all the things…
“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards.
“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”
“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now.
He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face.
“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”
“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth.
He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you.
You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes.
“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning.
Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”
Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”
He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far.
You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own.
His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair.
When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches.
You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it.
Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared.
You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up.
Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours.
“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.”
(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).
W: Use of petnames, Biting, Unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), dean being dean, oral (f receiving), DBF!Dean, Age gap (reader is 20, dean is late 30’s), Angst, Hand kink, Creampie, Size kink (if you squint), I think that's it!
A/N: Dean would be such a girl dad you CANNOT change my mind. I'm a Dean girlie so I feel like it's easier for me to write with him opposed to Sam. That being said, I hope you enjoy this. I had a blast working on it.
A/N2: I posted this, no joke 30 minutes later i was in an ambulance 🥴
part two
You had just gotten off of work. Your 9-5 has drained you. Same papers, day after day. If you were honest you could have just skipped dinner, and went to sleep. God knows you need it, but here you are.
Walking into the grocery store to pick up a few things for a quick dinner. Deciding to roast some chicken, you stopped by the produce to pick up a few odds and ends for your lunch the next few days. While you were scoping out the best cantaloupe to buy, brown pigtails adorned with pink bows came into your vision. The little girl tugged on your blouse, “I think I lost my daddy.” She mutters shyly. Immediately dipping down to a crouch you tried to comfort her, “Well sweetheart what does he look like? Where did you see him last?”. The girl, who couldn't have been more than 6 years old, began to describe her father to her best ability. During the little exchange, her father came from the chip aisle, seemingly anxious. He breathed out in relief when he finally saw her again, “Babygirl where did you run off to?” He picked her up, setting her in the cart. “I wanted strawberries, then you were gone.” She pouted, “Sweetheart we could’ve gotten you strawberries you just have to ask.” he looked up from the girl to you, “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” You smiled at the man, “No problem she wasn’t a bother.” looking down to the girl you smiled again. He thanked you again and you both went about your shopping.
That night in the midst of making dinner, he was all you could think about. You didn't even know his name yet the thought of him consumed you. Dinner was silent that night, the sounds of your fork against the ceramic, too caught up in your thoughts to turn something on. You went to sleep later than normal, since you had opted to make food instead of ordering out. Your wallet needed a break, and so did your stomach.
---
Traffic was bad the next morning when you left to go to work, just what you needed. You were already running late due to your phone being dead. No phone = No alarm. You were finally able to clock in, sliding your card through the scanner to get in. Dull boring day was going by like usual when you got a call from your dad, “Hey is everything okay? I’m at work.” The man sighed over the phone, “Yeah sweetheart are you off tomorrow?”. He sounded happier than usual. Odd. “I can be, what’s up?” you questioned. “Nothing, just me and a buddy of mine going fishing tomorrow.” You relaxed as he spoke, “Okay this relates to me how?” You asked. “Well his babysitter flaked on him so he needs someone to watch his little girl.” There it was. You began to realize the relation. “So this is you calling me to ask to babysit?” You sighed into the phone, “C’mon honey it’s the first fish of the season.” He begged into the speaker. “Fine, but you totally owe me.” You reluctantly agreed. “Love you too pumpkin.” He hung the phone up, pleased. You slumped into your rollie-chair. Before you clocked out that night, you were sure to brief them of your absence, despite your affliction.
It’s not that you didn't like kids, truth be told you couldn't wait to start a family. It’s just you haven’t had a day off in over a month and here you are using it to babysit one of your father’s friend’s children. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you thought.
You woke up around 6am, the same as always. Only this time you were switching blouses and skirts, for sweats and a t-shirt. After showering, you got dressed in a simple black pair of sweatpants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Thinking nothing of it, you threw on your red converse and headed out the door. The drive there was peaceful. Slow easy Saturday morning. Fog covered the road in a thin haze. Despite your gps failing halfway through, you had gotten it to boot back up and continue to give you directions.
Pulling up to the house it was beautiful. Gorgeous white house with a wrap around porch. Adorned with an American flag hanging from the banister. Charming baby blue shutters hung by the windows. This wasn’t just a house, no this was a home. Pulling up into the driveway, you are met with a familiar sight. Your father’s red Ford pick-up, parked right next to an intense black Chevrolet Impala. Parking a bit off to the side, you grabbed your bag and headed to the front door. Chatter muffled behind the door as you knocked. Your father was quick to greet you. “Sweetheart you made it! Come in.” He slid to the side and ushered you inside the home. “This house…It’s so beautiful.” you muttered, setting your back on the table by the door. “I helped build it, a long long time ago.” Your father smiled at the reminiscence as you both walked into the kitchen. An oddly familiar voice shouted from atop the steps, something directed at your father. Where have you heard that voice before? God it felt like it was on the very tip of your tongue and you couldn’t spit it out for the life of you.
Heavy boots stomped down the steps followed by a softer pair of slippered-feet. As the figure came into view, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you.
That’s where you knew him from.
“Nice shirt.” Was all he could mutter, sporting his signature grin. You smiled back, as the blush creeped from your cheeks to the tip of your nose. With no makeup on was a hell of a way to greet the man that consumed your thoughts. It also made it harder to hide the attraction slapped across your face. “Thanks, small world.” Was all you could find. Your father looked between the two of you confused, “Wait how do you know each other?”. He was almost scared to ask, knowing Dean’s past. “The grocery store actually, his daughter-” You started but he cut you off, “Cassie.” He corrected. “Right, Cassie wandered off on the search for strawberries was it?” You questioned, looking down at the little girl still dressed in her pajamas. Dean smiled at the two of you, as she rubbed her eyes. “Yep slipped right out from under me, and found your daughter-” He said. This time you corrected, “Y/n, nice to meet you. For real this time.” You smiled as you extended your hand, to which Dean took in his, shaking gently. You almost passed out when he took your hand, whole body buzzing with tension as his engulfed yours. “Dean.” He grinned, looking down at you slightly due to the height difference.
Both Dean and your father watched as you crouched down to the little girl, “And it is so nice to see you again Cassie.”. Smiling at the little girl, this time her tiny little hand darted out to shake yours, you were quick to return the gesture before standing back up to your regular height. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine.” Your father looked between you and the little girl and then to Dean who was staring at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, okay?” Dean pointed between you and his daughter to which she just found hilarious as she bursted out in giggles. “No promises dad.” You teased, and a spark went past Dean’s eyes as he went to speak but choked on his words. “Right. You girls be good, okay? Have fun” You and Cassie walked the pair to, and out the door. Waving at them as your father’s truck pulled out from the driveway.
—
You were told to have fun, and fun you had.
First order of business, like any, was to put on a gorgeous princess belle dress. Of course. Every princess needs a good breakfast so that you got to making. The smell of banana filled the air as you flipped the pancake, one of which was supposed to look like a crown, though ended up more like a squiggle. Cassie loved it nonetheless. After pancakes you decided to make cupcakes for your fathers’ return. A mess of sprinkles and frosting later, you have 12 well 10 cupcakes. You and Cassie had to make sure they tasted good. The two of you played for hours, swinging and running around the yard. Playing just about every game that could be played. The sun beginning to set, you had come up with one final activity. “Oh come on you’ve never built a pillow fort?” You asked the girl, and she shook her head, “Never-ever.” She replied. “Well it is your lucky day because we are about to change that sister.” You smiled down at the girl and the two of you started to round up all the pillows and blankets in the house.
One magnificent pillow-fort later, and both of you were tuckered out. Cassie had finally given up the ghost and was passed out in the fort as the credits of Princess and The Frog rolled in the background. The sound of car doors shutting, followed by the low hum of your father’s truck pulling out of the driveway filled your ears. You perked up as the door swung open and Dean stood there looking into the living-room.
You sat up against the leather of the couch as Dean walked into the living-room, “Oh you two had a blast didn’t you?” he muttered smiling down at the fort before meeting your gaze. “Best babysitter ever.” You motioned to yourself playfully. “I bet sweetheart.” He grinned while deconstructing the fort to retrieve his daughter. You started to refold the blankets and he held her close, still sleeping, and took her upstairs to her room. Folding the last blanket you grabbed your phone charger off the couch and put it in your bag, before starting to clean up the kitchen. You had just started to wash the dishes when Dean came back down the steps, this time empty handed.
“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered as you rinsed the batter bowl from earlier. “I don’t mind.” You smiled warmly. It felt almost domestic, intimate. He reached for the plate of cupcakes, picking one up and peeling back the wrapper. You watched as his hands worked at the paper before he brought the dessert to his mouth and took a bite. You swallowed hard and he noticed. “Everything alright there sweetheart?” He asked, grinning while he chewed and finally swallowed the bite of cake. “Mhm, any good?” You questioned and he nodded. “Been awhile since I’ve had somethin’ sweet.” He muttered.
It almost felt loaded.
Like he meant something other than that cupcake in his hand.
“Glad I could help.” You smiled and teased back, hoping you weren’t mis-reading signals. He smirked as you dried your hands with the dish towel. Leaning over to wipe down the sticky frosting-covered counter, Dean pressed against you. You froze as he spoke, “Now what did you mean by that sugar?”. Your face went red as you laid there against the counter, pinned between him and the cold surface. “T-The cupcakes, something sweet.” You replied in a choked stutter. Smooth. He laughed from behind you. You could feel the vibrations from his stomach against your ass as he spoke, “You and I both know damn well I wasn’t talking about a cupcake sweetheart.” His words went straight to your core, dripping with each word. You stood up, still pinned but now with your back to his chest. “You knew that, didn't you baby?” He whispered into your ear. Lips ghosting over your neck, leaving goosebumps in their path. You nodded as you melted into his touch. “I’m gonna need you to give me more than that angel.” He said as he turned you to face him. Grabbing your hips, he sat you on the counter. Barely meeting his height, he pressed his forehead against yours.
“Dean-” You whimpered in frustration, wanting nothing more than his hands on your body. “Haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already falling apart.” He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. Not wanting to wait any longer, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. A tangle of limbs, resulting in your sweatpants around your ankles left you craving more. “Please I need-” His voice cut yours off, “Need what baby? Tell me and it’s yours.” He tested your restraint, leaning down to kiss your thighs. The top of his head pressed against your stomach, and your hand tangled in his hair. Dean groaned against the feeling of your nails on his scalp. “Fuck.” He growled. “Need you Dean, everywhere.” You whined, and he finally gave in.
Pulling your sweatpants past your ankles, he tossed them to pool on the floor. His hand cupped your head as he leaned you back fully against the counter. Gripping firmly onto your thighs he spread you open, head immediately going to your core. Pressing open mouth kisses against the cotton of your underwear, he watched intently as you squirmed against the laminate. His skilled hands pulled the thin fabric to the side, like a cupcake wrapper. Your nails scratched against his scalp as your fingers tangled in his short hair. Groaning against you as his tongue delved inside you. His eyes, once a soft shade of emerald green, were darker and boring up at you. Dean watched your every move as his tongue worked skillfully on your clit.
It was like a bomb went off when you finally came, taking your hearing and eyesight with it for a moment. Your chest heaved as you laid sprawled out on the counter, Dean licked his lips as you sat up, resting against your elbows. “Sweeter than that damn cupcake.” He grinned as his thumb rubbed against your thigh. “I need more Dean–please.” He looked at you with hungry eyes, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to sugar.” He traced your hips, and you grabbed for his belt, “Need, Dean.” You said it plainly, not being able to simplify it anymore. With that he didn’t waste any more time and he unbuckled his belt in the midst of a messy make-out. He quickly rid himself of anything that could keep you from him. Pressing the tip of his cock against your slit, he leaned his forehead against yours and watched as your eyes widened at the intrusion. The way your face scrunched he could tell that it hurt and he was quick to comfort you.
“I know baby I’m so sorry.” He cooed as he pressed inch by inch in until you were flush against him. Soon, pain turned to pleasure and you allowed him to move. Each rock of his hips buried deeper inside you, you weren’t gonna last long like this. Whines and groans mixed together as you both approached your orgasm. What you didn’t expect was Dean to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his hips and plant his hands firmly on your ass. Gripping the flesh, he pounded into you ruthlessly. Rutting the deepest he’s ever been.
He tried to hold off as long as he could, wanting to soak in as much of this moment as he could. You cried out into his neck, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh as you came. “Oh fuck-” He groaned, not expecting the bite. That’s what dealt him in, the sharp pain of your teeth into him was too much to hold off on. One last thrust he came inside of you, painting your walls with a thick creamy off-white. Setting you back down on the counter, he pulled his softening cock out of you. Whining at the loss, he kissed your lips as he dripped out of you and down the side of the counter. Wiping you clean with wet-paper towels, he muttered with that boyish smile, “You free next week?”.
Based on this request (changed some things - hope you still like it anon!)
Summary: The cute babysitter Harry's wife hired has always tempted him, but now that his wife is away for the evening Harry might just give in.
Word Count: 2,011
Warning: smut, cheating, implied age gap (your call on how large), inappropriate relationship (both consenting adults)
|main masterlist|
. . .
Harry was so fucked.
He knew better. A married man on the brink of ruining it all just for a taste of his kid’s babysitter. Truly, outrageously fucked.
He arrived home that day, knowing he’d have the house to himself all night with his wife gone out of town for a work trip. Knowing the cute babysitter would still be there, all doe-eyed and shy smiles. She definitely had a crush on him and he couldn’t stop thinking about that.
All day at work he went back and forth with the idea of it. The whole ‘fuck around and find out’ thing was more compelling when he might be able to get away with it. But it wouldn’t be worth it, he told himself even though he continued imagining what she’d feel like underneath him.
His actions completely contradicted that sound internal advice.
Because when he saw Y/n all cuddled up on his couch, a sweater draped over her shoulders and her bare legs stretched out long he allowed himself to stare for a moment. He shouldn’t have been thinking what he was but he couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his cock. He was going straight to hell for the kind of thoughts that were running through his head right then.
She slowly blinked her eyes opened and sat up with a sweet smile, “Hi. How was work?”
God, the cute, bubbly personality on her, even after just waking up from a nap… She hadn’t been tainted by years of grueling workplace drama and a sad and lonely marriage like he had and he found it refreshing.
“Was good. Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on hers, “Everything go all right today here?”
She nodded and moved her legs off the couch, feet hitting the floor as she nodded, “He’s the sweetest. It was a good day. He kept asking for mom so I think he’s upset that she wasn’t here this morning but I told him she’d be back tomorrow night. Fast asleep now.”
But there was something in the way she was looking at him. Like she was just waiting for him to pounce. Rounded eyes, with that shy smile as she bit the edge of her bottom lip. Like she knew what he was thinking, her own mind filled with the same filthy scenarios.
It was late. Harry always got home late on Thursdays. After dark. After his son was already asleep, and usually it was his wife greeting him.
She parted her lips as she let her gaze lower to just below the buckle on his pants and then back up to his eyes.
“Yeah. We’ll be okay without her for a night,” Harry swallowed thickly as he sat his briefcase down and moved deeper into the living room next to the couch where Y/n was still seated. “What about you?”
“What about me?” She raised her brows as she craned her head to look up at him.
“I mean… you alright too? Still seated like you’re tired. You can stay if you want.”
She blinked her eyes and then did it again, letting her pupils connect with the space at his crotch before quickly bringing them back upward to his face, “Oh… I can go. I’m sorry…”
Y/n stood up quickly but Harry caught her by her arm, “It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. Was really helpful having you stay late tonight.”
If she kept looking at him like that, those fuck-me eyes and plush parted lips, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.
“Oh. I’m glad. Was happy to help you out, Harry. I’d do it as often as you needed me to.”
He grinned and watched her moisten her soft lips when she poked her tongue out and looked up at him through her lashes. If she wasn’t begging for it he didn’t know what this was.
“You gonna stay?”
She nodded, still looking up at him as she tucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
In a moment of weakness, of sheer insanity, he raised his hand up to her face and thumbed at her bottom lip, “What’s going on, Y/n? You got something to tell me?”
She fluttered her lashes and leaned into his touch as she kept her pupils aimed right at him. But then her lips parted again and Harry found himself sliding the tip of his thumb between her lips before she wrapped her mouth around it and he felt her tongue gently lave against his pad.
Now he was the one with parted lips as he watched his kid’s babysitter suck his thumb into her mouth, eyes pinned to his still.
And before he knew it, he found himself fucked in the figurative and literal sense as he had her face down on his mattress with his cock nudged into her so deep she was keening and hissing at the bite of pain his fat length was causing.
“Shhh… be a good girl and keep quiet, yeah?”
“Mmmm!”
It was so good. It was so fucking good. He hadn’t been laid in a couple of months and the babysitter’s pussy was better than he imagined it would be. She was wet for him right away. When he got her very short shorts off her legs and buried his face between her soft thighs she was already so sensitive and dripping, wiggling and moaning like she was just as pent up as he’d been. Like she wanted it just as bad. She’d made a big mess of him and the sheets but he’d deal with clean up later.
Because when he finally pushed his throbbing dick inside of her welcoming pussy it was game over. He had her hips in both hands, tightly gripping the meat at her sides as he buried in over and over again, letting her juice coat every inch and wet his pubes with her fragrance. He watched as he stuffed her with his cock, her cute ass perked upward and she pushed back on every one of his thrusts. So pretty.
Everything was slick and gushy as he plowed into her guts, slapping his hips into her ass. He kept looking at the bedroom door (which was closed and locked) out of habit just in case, but now he was out of his mind as she trembled and drooled against the pillow his wife used.
He slowed his plunges and watched his shaft as he pulled out, “Fuck… got me all creamy, baby. Why don’t you flip over so I can see your pretty face?”
She was shaky as she dropped down to the bed, scooting herself to adjust and then spreading her thighs as he tucked right back inside of her, pelvis dipping against her own.
“Harry…” Y/n quietly breathed as she watched him. He was so thick and long, just like she knew he’d be. She never thought he’d ever step out on his wife but here he was, with his big cock driving into her, making her squelch and stretch wide for him. She almost couldn’t believe it was happening.
Harry groped at her tit, still on his knees as he steadied himself, his thighs working in, “Oh sweet girl…” he panted, quads and glutes flexing with every motion. He picked up her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing as he pumped himself through her walls and then dragging his lips down to her palm and then wrist.
“Oh my god…” she whined before draping her arm over her mouth to keep her volume down.
“Who knew you were so filthy? Look at you letting a married man fuck your brains out.”
A muffled moan sounded from her throat as she felt him jerk into her harder, the coarse hair at the base of his dick scratched at her clit before he began to grind his hips against her, adding friction like he knew that was what she was searching for with her hips rising to meet him with every thrust.
“But look at how lucky I am. So pretty… Hot little pussy, fuckin’ drenched, baby. How long were thinking about this, hmm?”
Harry did feel lucky too. Y/n was a hot little thing that he’d had some pretty dirty thoughts about since they first hired her. It was his wife’s choice. Y/n was in her senior year of university with long smooth legs and an adorable shy smile that caught him off guard the first time he saw her. So he always looked forward to seeing her every morning before leaving for work, or in the early evenings when he’d come home to relieve her.
Harry grabbed her other hand, moving her arm from her mouth as he brought those fingers up to his lips to kiss every one of them as he threaded their fingers together on her other hand, never stopping the movement of his hips.
With the back of her hand pressed into the blanket next to her shoulder, she inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. “Since I first met you…” she admitted.
Harry grunted, running his tongue along her wrist before folding his fingers into hers like her other hand and then pressing it down to the bed as he leaned over her, pelvis grinding against hers, his balls squeezing against her bum. And that was fucking deep.
“Oh yeah? Fuck, coulda been fucking this pretty pussy for the last few months. Making you come for being such a good girl and just for looking so fucking cute all the time.”
She moaned softly, “It feels so good…”
Harry grinned down at her, feeling her start to squeeze and pulse, “It does doesn’t it? Such a bad thing to feel this good. Might be trouble for us.”
“Mmmm…” she panted and then gasped as she was thrown over the edge, walls gripping and milking his cock.
Harry watched Y/n as she fell apart, “There you go, such a good girl, so pretty, baby…”
Harry gritted his teeth as he fucked her through her orgasm.
He was already leaking precome and practically shaking by the time he pulled himself out and pumped his fat cock right over her tummy. He’d have loved to have just come inside Y/n’s pussy but what he was doing was already dumb as it was.
He grunted and sucked in through his teeth, “Oh fuck…”
He’d gotten a little come on his knuckles as he ran his fist down his shaft, letting the last bits drip out onto the girl below him. A pretty sight. She was all fucked out and dazed, tits rising and falling with every breath, his come marking her tummy and her pussy freshly fucked, still soaked.
He was a gentleman, helped her clean up, and kissed her a little bit more before sending her on her way with a playful swat to her ass. He’d have loved to ask her to stay all night but he worried that that would just confuse things further. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone and Harry said it wouldn’t affect her job and that it would be their secret. Though he did hope he’d have another chance to feel her again one day, he didn’t count on it. His wife was returning the following day and Y/n was soon to finish off her last year of college and she wouldn’t be needing a babysitting gig anymore.
Did he regret cheating on his wife? In that moment, he couldn’t say he did. He had fun and it felt so good to have sex with someone who wanted his cock as bad as Y/n did. He only hoped he didn’t get found out and as long as Y/n kept up her end of the bargain (he was sure she would) he figured the whole thing was a win.
He’d just need to keep himself in check around her when his wife was present. But when his wife wasn’t around he couldn’t promise anything.
. . .
PART 2
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thinking about something that happened to me while babysitting and I am unable to cope with it so obviously I have to make it something for yall
thinking about babysitter!reader being hired by price, you just go to check on the little one in their nursery. the baby is sleeping peacefully, you close the door - but the handle fucking breaks off. naturally you start to panic, the baby is in there all alone and you can't get in, so you call price in literal tears. telling him what happened, desperately scrambling around to look at the baby monitor. He tells you to take a breath, trying to get you to calm down, that its okay, he'll come home.
you're sat on the couch, crying in a panic while watching the blisfully unaware baby over the monitor until Price gets home. he comes in, making a beeline to the small utility room, then to the nursery. its an easy and quick fix, you definitely could have done it yourself you think as you watch over his shoulder. he opens the door quickly and sees the sleeping baby before closing the door with a chuckle and turning to you. you're still sniffling, babbling soft apologies, telling him youll understand if he doesn't pay or ever hires you again - but he shakes his head and leads you to the couch with him, sitting you down.
"sit, love. take a breath." he murmurs, vanishing to the kitchen, from where he comes back a minute later with a cup of tea that he hands you. sits down next to you, then gently pulls you into his side. "C'mere now. its alright bird, don't cry now."
Disclaimer: This is inspired by @deergrande ’s post. Not exact to the OG idea but ye :’)
Pairing: Single!DILF!Rafe x College!Babysitter!Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: Single dad Rafe, College student reader, age gap, power dynamic, flirting, mentions of alcohol, besides that it’s fluff
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
Rafe Cameron started as your parents’ next-door neighbor. The hot, older, single dad who was always asked, “How are you not taken yet?”
He had a past, a record, but enough money to earn respectful nods from the men and small talk from the women- who’d probably cheat on their husbands with him if they could.
But things weren’t perfect behind the scenes, not that anyone noticed. Rafe was too good at looking effortless. He kept up appearances, showed up for his son’s school events, had a maid, cooked dinner himself, all while working a 9-5.
It was exhausting having no one to pick up the weight of parenting. He felt himself drowning in responsibility, but he was too prideful to ask for help, like a shark biting its own tail.
Until you entered the picture. Kind, thoughtful, and willing to bear the brunt. That’s how your mother offered you up to him, at least. He hired you for two days a week, only four hours while he still worked in the home. You realized early on that Rafe was a control freak of sorts. He didn’t like having to surrender to someone what he believed only he could do.
But he forced his ego to quiet, masking it with rigid nods and pressing his tongue against his cheek.
“You don’t have to do that.” he’d always say. “No, it’s fine.” you’d reply. It was routine at this point.
The more time you spent in the home, the more Rafe eased up. Not many would’ve been able to bear him breathing down their neck, waiting for a mistake to be made. But you were in college, which your dad refused to pay for, and Rafe was rich. You needed every penny.
Not to mention how attractive he was.
With his clean suit and big eyes and the way his mustache twitched when you said something he actually found funny.
Rafe began to dote on and spoil you in a way that’d earn widened eyes and parted lips of surprise if anyone knew.
First came the favors.
“Will you pick up Levi from school?”
“Do you mind stopping by the grocery store on the way over? I’ll send you the money.”
“Can you help me decide on a new couch? Pick out your favorite.”
Rather than focusing on his slowly blooming vulnerability, you concerned yourself with tasks and his boy. Your friends joked and shoved that he must be falling for you. Rolling your eyes, you’d scoff and, “Yeah, right.” every time.
Then came the gifts.
It started small, like offering you a glass of wine. Smooth, a bit too velvety, and way too expensive for someone used to cheap beers on Saturday nights.
Followed by extra cash, enough to buy red bottom heels with. A suggestion Rafe himself made. Of course you didn’t do it, instead putting the money in savings. He wasn’t pleased.
So he bought you the shoes anyway.
On your birthday, you expected a cheery comment from Rafe. He’d been smiling more than usual, almost like a kid with a big secret.
Which he might as well have been, because he handed you a small box with ‘Dior’ across the top in their signature font.
Your eyes widened, darting to his, where he gave you a nod of encouragement. He licked his lips, wiping his hands on his suit pantlegs as if he were nervous.
And he was.
Carefully, you opened the box, revealing a delicate but unmissable necklace. In your favorite metal, with a perfect heart pendant. Small, sleek, and yet it held promise. Possibly a confession. But you couldn’t let yourself think too far ahead.
Then you did, but only when he started flirting.
Rafe would make small comments, growing bolder when you reacted positively. He reserved them for short stints of time where the two of you were alone.
“You look real pretty in that dress, Sweetheart.”
You smiled, still wiping down the counter where Levi had made a mess with the syrup from his pancakes earlier.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, why don’t you give me a little spin?” he smirked.
He never crossed the line, only toed it. You felt respectfully wanted but undeniably curious. Nerves prevented you from asking the hard hitters. Usually, you were direct, confrontational, and never one for games… just not when it came to Rafe Cameron.
He had a way of building butterflies in your lower belly and warmth in your chest. Thoughts buzzed behind your eyes, anticipating the day he’d finally break and ask.
He never did.
𐂯 ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰ 𐂯
The front door closes with a click and a sigh. A quiet indication that he’s home and in a good mood today. Levi scurries past, the little blond with his daddy’s eyes ecstatic with excitement.
Lifting his arms, “Daddy! Daddy!” he jumps. Rafe grins, picking up the boy and placing him on his hip.
You stand back with your arms crossed over your chest, silently witnessing the domestic scene with a soft smile.
He ruffles his son’s hair, quietly asking, “How was your day, bud?” Levi returns the smile, looking just like Rafe- with a few missing teeth. “Good, I made a drawing!”
That peaks Rafe’s interest, setting Levi back down, “Alright, kid, lead the way.”
Both of you follow like lost puppies, but Rafe’s attention soon turns to you. His hand meets the small of your back, “How’s your day?”
You feel that same electric sensation shoot through your core. The one only his touch can elicit.
“It’s been good.”
He nods, bringing his other hand to run his pointer and thumb over his mustache. “That’s good.”
Levi grabs your attention again, shattering the moment with his picture up in the air, small hands gripping the page enough to crinkle the edges.
“Look!”
Both you and Rafe pause, a beat of hesitance settling over the kitchen.
“Who’s that, bud?” you’re the first to ask, pointing to the stick figure bride.
His eyes grow with pride at his artwork, “That’s you!”
Rafe stands there with a look of… well, he looks flabbergasted. Even a little embarrassed.
The two of you weren’t even dating…
For once, your hand finds his hip, giving it a little squeeze. A tease and a quiet, “Gotcha” moment all in one.
The older man’s sparkling gaze meets your more amused one. His eyebrows are raised but there’s a flicker of joy passing over his face. The two of you stare at each other for a short eternity. Both feeling your shared secret of ‘Us’ falling apart in this one little second.
Rafe’s smirk returns at once, but his tongue passes over his lips like they always do when he’s nervous.
