chaotic (and a little silly) pogue reader who never fails to surprise rafe with her dumbass hot takes, even like a year into the relationship.
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sometimes you get extremely specific cravings and immediately have to get them. you wake up fairly early in the morning, rafe's arms around your waist, pressed into your back, his breath tickling your neck as he sleeps.
"rafe"
no reaction.
"rafe."
you pinch his bicep and he groans, burrowing even deeper into your side.
"sleeping. 's too early."
"i'm hungry"
"let me sleep in and i'll buy you anything you want for breakfast.... later."
“i don’t need you to buy me anything,” you insist, wriggling in his arms, “i just need you to let go of me so i can get out of bed and get some soup.”
rafe groans again, not loosening his grip around you and you start to think that he fell asleep again, before he lets go of you, huffing and puffing. you press a kiss to his cheek, before you get out of bed.
“can’t even sleep in peace” you hear rafe mutter as you pad to the bathroom to go do your morning business, before heading to the kitchen downstairs.
it doesn’t take long for rafe to get up again, not having been able to get back to sleep now that you’re gone. he’s also not sure if he heard you correctly, wanting soup for breakfast, but figures that he probably dreamt it. after taking a piss and brushing his teeth, he goes downstairs, hearing you tinkering in the kitchen. you’re sitting on the counter, knees up to your chest as you are eating out of your bowl.
“morning baby,” he sighs, kissing your head with a smack and going to make himself a coffee.
“morning grumpy”
rafe rolls his eyes, turning the espresso machine on, before he pauses, turning back to you.
“… did you say you wanted soup for breakfast?”
“I did,” you answer, pouring some more cereal out of the box into your bowl. “i am.”
rafe stares at you, a little slow. he hasn’t had his coffee yet. “what?”
“cereal… breakfast soup.” you continue on, unperturbed, as if you just haven’t said the most insane thing rafe’s ever heard.
“you’re eating cereal,” rafe repeats. “cereal’s not soup”
you lift your head, a frown on your forehead. “cereal is soup. it’s a liquid dish and you eat it with a spoon”
rafe blinks, because you’re definitely not right, but somehow you’re also not wrong, and he’s not quite sure what to say, so he just sighs and turns back to his espresso machine. as the ground coffee falls into the portafilter, he runs a hand over his head, turning to you over with shoulder with narrowed eyes.
“you should hang out less with jj, i feel like he’s starting to rub off on you, and i’m not sure if i like that.”
you only snort into your soup.
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