Baby Fishie 🐚
in which you find out you’re with child, and the first thing that comes to your mind is how to break the news to your husband
aka you messing with soon-to-be-dad Rafayel’s head
tags: fluff, crack
wc: 1k
ri's note: made this on a whim hehe i love them your honor i love papa raf, dad ayel :<
When you found out that you were with child, you had two things you became overly excited about: number one, your baby (of course), and number two, Rafayel’s reaction. Now, you knew simply telling your husband about it would already elicit such a satisfying reaction from him, but… unfortunately, you were just as over the top as him.
While mulling things over, you decided to start the game by cutely hinting at things — from buying those things that come with full-size along with mini-sized ones, to reposting short videos of cute and adorable babies (sometimes fishies).
Most of the time, however, you hinted in a not so cute way.
“Raf.”
“Yeah?” He isn’t looking at you yet, his back still turned towards you as he faces his canvas while you lay reading on his couch.
“Do Lemurians give birth or do they really lay eggs?”
You hear his tall, ladder-like wooden chair creak as he quickly turns to your direction. “Huh?”
“What?”
“Why are you asking that?!”
You slightly raise the book you were currently reading, the words ‘The Land of Lemuria’ elegantly embossed on the hardbound cover. Rafayel scoffed.
“Cutie, you know that book is a complete scam, right?” He whines. “Don’t easily believe things you read, even if it’s in published books… Especially about ancient and long-lost civilizations.”
A feigned sigh comes from your lips. “Well, I’m asking you, a true-blooded Lemurian, aren’t I?”
Seeing your poor husband flustered, you kindly decided to press him more. You simply can’t help it! That cute little pout of his, the adorable furrow of his brows, and the scarlet that slowly seeps through his ears — they all make it a little hard for you to stop teasing him.
“I’m just being a good wife, wanting to know more about my own husband’s origins. I saw something about how fishies laid eggs and I just got curious about how your people reproduce but no,” you dragged the last syllable on, seemingly whining. “The husband in question lectures me instead.”
He grins. “Aww. Wife, is this your way of saying that you’re missing me in the comforts of my own company because I’m busy painting?”
‘When did I even say that?’ You thought.
Rafayel was met with no response as you only rolled your eyes before pretending to give your attention back to the book. Soon, light sounds of his footsteps against the steps of his ladder reached your ears.
The next thing you know, the book serving as your prop was quickly snatched away.
“I’m all yours now.” He beams as he lays down beside you. You feel his arms wrap around your waist, his hair tickling your cheeks as he buries his head between your neck and your shoulders.
“So what was the answer to my question?”
Rafayel only huffs as he snuggles closer.
Little did he know, it was only the first of several similarly-lined questions. On a particular Sunday morning, he was woken up with another question of yours: what did he look like when he was a baby. The next Tuesday, it was, “Is Reddie like our first child or our first pet?”
It wasn’t even just mere questions.
Once, Rafayel accidentally saw you browsing through baby shops on your phone, your phone that you totally did not purposely leave on the couch when you had to go to the restroom. Another afternoon, he was minding his own business, locked in and painting in his studio. The next thing he knew, you were now telling him off for leaving his things around again.
“This is why we have eyes, my dear wife. So we can see things and avoid them accordingly!” He flamboyantly declares, whipping his paintbrush up to accentuate his point.
You raise a brow. “Oh really? Then why were you hospitalized that one time for tripping on your paintbrush after getting out of your bath tub?”
“That was one time!”
“And? It still happened!” You let out a dramatic sigh. “What would you do if your child trips on your paintbrush?”
He stills. And as if he was one with nature, the gentle breeze and waves do too.
You turn away, hiding your triumphant smile.
“What?”
And more inarticulate noises of confusion flooded the entire studio when he realized you already left before he even got his clarification.
Now, Rafayel is not at all naive.
He definitely had his suspicions, alright. He got a hunch, but then he picked up on how you started having mood swings and how you had your sensitivity heightened (during these days he learned how to pamper you even better than he regularly does). Unfortunately, the timing coincided with his estimates of your cycle dates, so your husband was a little saddened that his initial theory of you being with child was debunked.
Little did he know, his pretty little wife was already being impatient with how he’s been failing to pick up the clues left and right.
You want him to be with you in your next appointment.
Meaning, you had to tell him very soon.
And doing so while he was cooking up one of your pregnancy cravings might just be the perfect timing, you think.
“Do you smell something fishy?” You say as you approach and watch Rafayel as he confidently displays his culinary prowess.
“Are you talking about the seafood dish you requested that I am currently making or your behavior lately?”
“No, actually, I was referring to my belly.”
“Huh?” He says, amusement evident in his voice. “What, did you eat fish earlier or something? Swallowed some of my fishie friends, cutie?”
You laugh.
“Rafayel, are you serious?”
Your husband furrows his eyebrows and pouts, turning back to the stove. You merely smile before heading behind him, gently snaking your arms around his waist after. Rafayel, feeling his beloved tiptoeing, instinctively crouches and slacks down a little, making it easier for you to rest your chin on his shoulder.
“Rafayel.” He smiles at your cute voice.
“Hmm?”
“If you’re a fishie, does that make the little one inside of me a baby fishie?”
You grin as you feel him freeze.
He then rapidly turns toward you, dish currently simmering in the pot now forgotten, granting you the pleasure of watching his face as he vividly expresses how the gears in his head are turning. Then freezing. Then turning again.
You cup his face, and Rafayel immediately melts against the warmth of your palms as his glassy eyes softly mirror yours.
“Congratulations, papa fishie.”
