Pairing: BlueCollar!Rafe x Tradwife!Reader
Warnings: swearing, horror movie mentioned, calling Rafe daddy, married couple fluff!!
After dinner, Rafe stepped outside to smoke a cigarette and let Winnie run around while you started the dishes. You only had the two plates and a glass to scrub, placing them in the dishwasher with the pots and pans you’d already put in there from earlier.
By the time you finished, Rafe came back in with the dog. He tossed Winnie a treat and watched as she pranced over to the couch, curling up with her honey-yellow blanket. You leave the kitchen a moment later, glancing at your fur-baby before turning to look at your man-baby. “Ready to shower?” you ask with a little cheeky smile. He smirks, biting his bottom lip and grabbing your hand to drag you upstairs.
Rafe pushes the door to your room open with care, a demand you made after he used his boot one time and left a mark you spent the next day having to scrub. “I’ll get the water going, grab towels.” he says, stepping into the bathroom. You pull two from the towel rack, then two washcloths and hang them up on the little hook next to the shower. Rafe stands up straighter, having gotten the temperature just right, pulling the curtain closed and letting the shower run long enough to heat up the room.
He turns his attention towards you, taking a lazy step closer. “You’re still in your boots.” you remind him, looking down. “Fuck.” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and pushing past you to take them off. You huff a laugh.
He’s always forgetful, always ruining little moments like these with something so trivial. That’s one reason why you fell for him. Rafe isn’t perfect and never tries to be.
He re-enters the bathroom, boots gone and belt unbuckled, running a hand over his head. You take a moment to get a good look at him, seeing the way his bicep flexes, the subtle tension in his jaw from the stressors of work, and the small scars on his rough hands caused by careless work accidents that weren’t always his fault.
“What?” he mutters, feeling self conscious under your gaze. His tiredness momentarily unmasks his cool, confident facade, revealing the unguarded, not-so-confident Rafael you know. “Nothing.” you reply, lifting your short dress to pull it over your head. Rafe stands back, watching, taking in the site with admiration instead of lust. It’s why you have no hesitance standing bare for him. His hands go to your hips with a light squeeze, eyes trailing from your face to your chest before meeting yours again with quiet reverence. “You’re so beautiful.” he praises like a secret.
You smile, hands going to the waistband of his underwear beneath his jeans. “Yeah, yeah, hurry up.” you roll your eyes, trying to hide the butterflies in your stomach. He scoffs, playing the part of an annoyed husband, tugging his shirt over his head anyway. You let out a moan, something playful but maybe involuntary, making his face scrunch with amused disgust. “What’s your problem?”
“You, daddy.” you tease him with a grin, and he rolls his eyes again, shaking his head. “You’re fucked up.” he scolds, pretending he doesn’t love when you call him that. You kiss his peck, playful but affectionate and he pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head. “We need to hurry up before the water gets cold.” he murmurs against your hair. You tug at his belt loop, and he finally drops his pants, the belt still in the loops, leaving him in his boxers. You smirk, moving your hand quickly to scare him into thinking you’re gonna grab him down there. He jolts, nearly jumping back, “Hey!”
You giggle, pulling your panties down with ease and leaving them discarded on the tile. He follows in suit, climbing into the shower after letting you go first. Once you’re under the water together, Rafe holds you tightly against him, an excuse to steal your body heat since he’s letting you get hit with the majority of the water. “Ew, now I’m sticky and gross.” you complain, feeling his previously dried sweat cling to your skin. “Just enjoy it.” he jokes dryly, holding you even closer just to get on your nerves. You huff, wrapping your arms around his muscular waist, allowing yourself to have this moment with him. Quiet, no worries, no responsibilities or past anxieties resurfacing like they often did in your shower spirals before bed.
Rafe leans down, kissing your neck, his lips trailing down your shoulder gently then back up. He doesn’t feel rushed or forceful, the way his hands caress you like a fragile porcelain. You exhale, feeling your body relax in his presence. “Let me bathe you.” his voice is breathy in your ear. “I’m supposed to be the one bathing you.” you point out. He doesn’t reply, instead grabbing your shampoo, squirting more than you would’ve used, on top of your head. “You son of a bitch.” you scold, he chuckles. Rafe wastes no time scrubbing the product deep into your scalp, his rough fingers forcing the shampoo to penetrate every follicle. Once he’s done, he positions you under the shower head and washes the rest of it, leaving the little shower smelling like warm vanilla cream. “Thank you.” you murmur. He doesn’t respond, but he does pick up one of the rags, wetting it.
Before he can soap it up, you grab his wrist, “No, it’s your turn.” you grab the bar of soap— because he’s a man and that’s what he uses, despite your concern of how well it works on dirty, greasy construction workers— lathering it up in the rag until it’s sudsy enough. “Stand under here.” you position him under the shower this time, letting the still-warm water hit his limbs and back.
Once he’s ready, you begin by scrubbing his chest, squeezing the cloth to gather up more of the bubbles and rubbing them all over his torso with a gentle hand. Rafe watches how you care for him, deciding to ask, “Are you gonna wash my dick too?”
You blink, glaring up at him in a silent look of, ‘shut the fuck up’. He grins, “well?”
“No, because then you’ll get hard and I’ll have to jerk you off.” You reply shortly, not in the mood for his shenanigans. “And that’s bad.. why?” he presses, putting his hands up in a playful defense when you whip his abs with the rag. “Turn around.” you murmur, unable to stop yourself from looking at his ass. “Nice butt.” you comment. “Shut up.” he grumbles. You snicker, running the rag under the water again, getting it soapier to wash his back.
“When we get out of here, do you want to watch a movie?” Rafe asks, grabbing his shampoo to hurry up and get this over with. He hates long showers when he’s already sleepy. “Yeah.” you answer, not bothering to ask what he has in mind. It’s horror. It’s always horror.
Once Rafe is completely clean, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes following the water droplets running from your forehead down to your breasts. “Those are great tits.” he states, looking at them unashamedly. “Thanks.” you reply blankly. Then he smirks, and so do you, because this is your love language.
Dry, blunt, raunchy and sarcastic. But never a lie.
“Okay, switch.” he puts his hands on your shoulders to change positions again, maneuvering you back under the stream. “Now spin.” he adds, as if he’s some kind of camera man you’re modeling for.
“Rafe this is stupid—“ he cuts you off with another, “Spin.” you roll your eyes for god only knows the time tonight, turning in a stupid, embarrassing circle for your stupid husband. He grins, satisfied and amused to see you obeying despite your earlier protest. “Okay now you’re wet.” he nods curtly, grabbing the second wash cloth to bathe you. Just then your eyebrows lift with realization. “I forgot conditioner!”
“Baby!” he groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Your fault by the way.” you mutter, grabbing the conditioner and hurriedly lathering the ends of your hair. He goes back to getting your cloth ready with your coconut body wash that he always bitches about the price of. You quickly rinse your hair for a final time, watching as Rafe already begins washing your body. His movements are quick but gentle, making sure to lightly scrub from your chest to your neck and shoulders. You hum in satisfaction, tilting your head to give him better access. The corners of his lips are curled up in a small smile, pleased to see you in bliss over him helping with such a mundane task. “Smells good.” he murmurs mindlessly. You continue to watch quietly, his hands lightly gripping and sinking into soft flesh with a careful reverence.
Rafe’s focus is solely on your form, his eyes hazy with love and strongholded hunger. “I can’t wait to go to sleep.” he murmurs, turning you around again to wash off the bubbles and scrub your back. “I imagine you are. You work a lot.” you reply, not much thought behind it. He only hums.
Out of the bathroom, now tucked in bed, Rafe turns on ‘Hostel’. You side eye him while he lays back, wrapping a muscular arm around you, his bicep lightly flexed under your chin as he gets comfortable. “Are we actually watching this before bed?”
“Yeah, shut up.” he mutters, already starting to fall asleep. You huff, because this always happens. He turns on a scary movie, falls asleep, and leaves you watching it by yourself. The worst part is you know morbid curiosity will get the better of you, you’ll watch it even in disgust. But you let it continue to happen because it’s the little moments like these that leave Rafe satisfied and you feeling safe.
