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boneblushed · 1 month ago

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Queen when you say all the delicious euro trip writing is gone… does that include the dad! Rafe headcannons 🥺🥺🥺

Omg this is all I have saved !! 😭

As it was

12-week sonogram held in shaky hands, and you felt a little foolish for ever thinking your first trimester would drag out.

Having made Rafe promise, twice, with twined pinky fingers and a good old-fashioned blood oath (alright, maybe that last one was a bit of an exaggeration), you were more than a little relieved that the two of you had managed to keep this secret for so long. It certainly wasn’t easy — your keen avoidance of the Island Club a dead giveaway, but you knew that the risk of jinxing something so special was worth far more than circumventing suspicious text messages.

“Anyway, that’s all from me,” your obstetrician, Dr Winters concluded, having given a moment’s pause for you and Rafe to just — stare. Take in every inch of the ultrasound scan as though your lives depended on it; and really, didn’t they? Once a bundle of cells, now a tiny fetus, and soon, a little someone that would grow and grow and grow. Equal parts you and him, and there was something innately wonderful about that.

“And everything else looks okay?” You questioned finally, peeling your eyes away from the black-and-white image with an anxious furrow to your brow.

“Absolutely,” Dr Winters assured, her voice patient and gentle. “The two of you are doing everything right.”

Rafe murmured an acknowledgement, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“Rafael,” you reproached, meeting Dr Winters’ introspective gaze with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a worrier.”

“It’s completely normal to feel a little stressed during your first pregnancy,” Dr Winters responded, giving your shoulder a comforting pat. “Can I count on dad to make sure you feel heard throughout the process?”

Dad. The address held certain, heavy connotations for his younger self, and he would be lying if he said they didn’t still affect him, a little bit. That wasn’t to say the thought of being a father didn’t bring a wonderful warmth to his chest — it did, and his heart soared at every mention of the unborn baby growing in your uterus. But with the prospect of parenthood came a heavy weight on his shoulders; what if he didn’t do enough, was as forbidding as Ward Cameron was when he was growing up? Or worse — what if he came up short, couldn’t meet the insanely high expectations his mother Lillian had set before her unfortunate death?

“Of course,” Rafe nodded after beat, sending you a soft smile. If his love for you was insurmountable before, it had only grown ten-fold since he had found out that you were pregnant. “Always.”

“Great,” Dr Winters responded, turning off the ultrasound machine and discarding of her white gloves. “Any more questions?”

“I think we’re okay for now,” you answered, absently chewing on your bottom lip. “Thank you, Dr Winters. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me,” Dr Winters dismissed easily, a gentle twinkle in her eye. “Just doing my job.”

She guided you out of her office with the promise of another check-up in a few weeks, her constant reassurance managing to assuage your anxiety, if only just a little. Rafe took over once you were back outside, tucking you into his side protectively lest you trip, or lose your step, or get hit by a parked car or another pedestrian or — the world was a fucking scary place, okay?

“You know,” you grumbled, pushing away from him with a huff, “being pregnant doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to walk.”

Rafe frowned a little at the insinuation, wasting no time tugging you right back into his side. “I just want to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

“You,” he took a pause here, placing a large hand on your stomach. There existed the tiniest swell, fairly imperceptible, but it was enough for him to want to keep it there, “and whole-jar-of-pickles, in here.”

How you felt about Rafe addressing your unborn child as your weirdest pregnancy craving, you weren’t quite ready to say. But if the unshed tears in your eyes and tell-tale pout on your lips were anything to go by, all you had needed was a few weeks to properly warm up to it.

The wonderful life you shared with Rafe was growing to make space for whole-jar-of-pickles, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the fact that everything was changing so quickly. A sonogram, an announcement, and a due-date looming over your head, and the way that it had been for so very long would become the way that it was, past tense.

“Hey,” he murmured, registering the gleam in your eye with a slight knitted brow. “Are you okay, baby?”

“This is real real, now, Rafael,” you managed to croak out, feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble. “Like — getting the go-ahead to tell people, real.”

“It’s just…” you added shakily, allowing him to pull you into his chest. “…aren’t you scared?”

He buried his head in your soft curls, voice muffled, but impossibly soothing all the same. “Of course I’m scared.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, resting your chin on his sternum. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Rafe affirmed, brilliant blue gaze meeting yours in earnest. “Shit-scared, are you kidding? But…”

He trailed off then, nudging his nose against your cheek. “…but I’m also excited, and crazy happy, and baby — you’re carrying my fucking baby. Sure, I’m fucking scared, but I’m also just… constantly pinching myself.”

“Because I truly lucked out,” Rafe explained, still as hopelessly enamoured as he was in Mr William’s math class, way back when. “And that’s exactly what everyone’s going to say to me when we do finally tell them that you’re pregnant.”

—

You wanted to start with an easy one.

It was how you found yourself on Noah’s large porch, at present, Rafe’s arm draping the back of your wooden chair protectively. Having exhausted all possible topics of conversation (Noah was planning on getting a husky soon, White & Co Finance was doing well, Daisy was visiting family in Vermont at the moment but he was hoping to ask her to move in with him when she got back), you knew it was probably time to confess to Noah the real reason for your visit.

“…anyway,” Noah finished with a sheepish grin, clinking his beer bottle against Rafe’s before taking a sip. “Enough about me. How goes the married life?”

He cocked his head to one side, surveying you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Managed to catch a break from Cameron at all, Y/n/n?”

“Not even once,” Rafe smirked, no longer able to help himself. “And now, she definitely fucking won’t, because —”

“Rafael,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “That’s how you’re going to tell him?”

“Tell him?” Noah echoed bemusedly, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

You straightened a little awkwardly, sending Rafe a meaningful glance. He was grinning roguishly, eyes alight with anticipation, and it was as his arm found its way around your waist that Noah White finally clocked it. There was something about the tenderness of his touch; normally, Rafe was nothing if not incessantly handsy — near manhandling you in an attempt to keep you close. Today, however, his movements were careful, purposeful. Like you were expensive china he couldn’t afford to break, and Noah straightened a little as it registered, his eyes darting down to the space below your stomach, right on cue.

“Fuck off,” he breathed, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck — wait, shit — I mean, uh… shoot, can I swear in front of the unborn kid? Will it hear me? What if it’s first fuc — word is f — a swear word? I’m —”

“Noah,” you interrupted, letting out a small laugh. “Stop. How did you clock that without us saying a single word?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Noah responded absently, far too busy grappling with his sheer astonishment at the revelation to give you a meaningful answer. He turned toward Rafe, the slightest gleam in his irises, wasting no time standing up and tugging him into a tight hug.

“I’m so fucking happy for you, brother,” he said sincerely, voice thick with happy tears. “Such incredible news.”

“And you,” he added, beckoning you over with bright eyes and a brighter smile. “C’mere.”

He pulled you into the embrace with a strong arm circling your shoulders, grinning wide before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “He’s going to be even worse, now, you know that right?”

You breathed a laugh, crinkling your nose a little. “Unfortunately.”

“And hey,” he continued with a cheeky smirk, beginning to get over the initial shock of the announcement. “You know what else?”

You furrowed your brow, eyes darting between Rafe and Noah bemusedly. “What?”

“He’s finally going to get to call you mommy.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling Rafe’s chest rumble as he laughed. “You two really share a single brain cell, huh?”

“Yeah,” Noah affirmed, grinning appreciatively. “Don’t worry, though. I know exactly how you can make sure he never does.”

He pulled away just as Rafe flushed your figure against his, settling back in his wooden chair with you in his lap.

“I’m listening,” you responded, quirking an eyebrow at his mischievous features.

Noah leaned in close, softening at the way Rafe’s hand had found home on your lower abdomen. “You get everyone else to call you mommy, and Cameron will get sick of hearing it all the —”

“Noah,” you interrupted, knowing exactly where this was going. “I’m not letting you call me fucking mommy.”

“But Y/n/n,” Noah teased, biting back a laugh. “Rose has set the bar pretty high, which means becoming the newest Cameron milf comes with certain expectations —”

“Like I said,” you glowered, levelling him with a playful glare. “Single. Fucking. Braincell.”

—

You decided to tackle Kelce and Topper the next morning, and it felt right asking them to meet you at Daily Bread. You framed the catch-up as an innocent, triple date, encouraging them to bring Chloe and Amber so you didn’t have to make the same announcement, twice.

Caffeine and pregnancy hormones didn’t mix well in your stomach. You hadn’t managed to keep the beverage down at all in your first trimester — it was why you passed on an iced latte, today, purchasing a green juice and chicken and halloumi salad (at fucking 9am?) instead.

“Wait — you’re not even getting a coffee?” Kelce questioned, bewildered. “I thought you liking the coffee from this place was the whole reason you picked it for the triple date.”

“Not the whole reason,” you argued with a frown, a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks. “Daily Bread also holds a lot of cute memories from when we were kids.”

“That’s weirdly sentimental of you,” Topper snorted, raising his eyebrows. “What are you, pregnant?”

Your eyes widened at the question, mouth agape. He was definitely kidding, of course he was. But he was right, this time — life moved at the pace of light-speed internet, and things weren’t as they were when he would make stupid jokes like this back in high-school.

“Holy shit,” Chloe gasped, Amber matching the sentiment with her lips slightly parted. “You are, aren’t you?”

Slowly, you nodded, wordlessly pulling your sonogram out of your handbag. It was more than a little crumpled, having been handled by Rafe a million times over — a gentle reminder that yes, this was indeed real life, he had made his dream girl his dream wife, and she was six months away from giving him the gift of new life. God, he wasn’t ever going to get used to this feeling. You and him and whole-jar-of-pickles, and so much fated love that it illuminated constellations.

“Oh my god,” Amber breathed, stunned beyond belief. Her eyes were trained on the black-and-white ultrasound image, requiring a moment to take it all in before a predictable squeal escaped her lips. “Oh my god!”

She wasted no time standing up and wriggling out of the booth, tugging you into a warm embrace with Chloe close behind. They circled either side of you, squeezing you tight, features still painted in raw astonishment when they did both pull away.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Chloe managed through a watery smile, wide eyes brimming with tears of joy. “Like — happy for you is a major fucking understatement.

“Chlo,” you pouted amiably, feeling your heart swell at the sentiment. “Stop. I’ll cry.”

“No, seriously,” Amber piped up, irises a little glassy. “Happy for you sounds so lame. We’re so, so much more than happy, Y/n/n. This is the best fucking news we’ve heard in ages.”

Your felt your features melt at her sincerity, registering Chloe’s vigorous nod before tugging them both back into the hug.

“I love you guys,” you sniffed, words muffled by the embrace. “So much.”

“Oh, and nice work bud,” Amber grinned when she pulled away, catching Rafe’s eye with a playful twinkle in hers. “How hard would fourteen year old Rafe be going right know if he knew that in ten years time, he was going to knock Y/n up?”

“Forget fourteen year old Rafe,” Topper said then, meeting your gaze with a soft gleam in his eye. “Fourteen year old Y/n would probably end up murdering him if she found out.”

You breathed a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. “Don’t start.”

“And,” Kelce added thickly, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. “If she were to tell fourteen year old Kelce, he would definitely end up pulling out a big fat ‘I told you so’.”

Perhaps it was because they had known you far longer than Amber and Chloe had, but Kelce and Topper required a beat longer to digest the surprising announcement. Once over the initial shock, they wasted no time suffocating you in a tight, three-person embrace, ignoring Rafe’s protective grumbles of “don’t fucking squash her, she’s growing a baby” in favour of pulling you even closer.

“Dude,” Kelce whispered, pulling away a moment to take in your gentle features. It was more than a little overwhelming, realising the ten-year-old with nerdy glasses who had once read Harry Potter on his porch was exactly six months away from becoming a mom. “You’re fucking pregnant.”

“I know,” you laughed, understanding exactly what he meant. “It’s so weird. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Doesn’t look like you are,” Topper grinned, bumping your chin affectionately. “It suits you, you know that?”

You pouted a little at that, crinkling your nose appreciatively. “Hey, thanks.”

“No, thank you,” Kelce responded, mussing your curls with a wistful smile on his lips. “We’re going to steal that kid as soon as it’s potty-trained.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “He’s the group’s kid now. I get it.”

Chloe nodded a response, Amber humming an agreeable “You’re not wrong.”

Only Rafe appeared to register exactly what you had said, eyebrows raised as he cracked a roguish grin. “He’s?”

You blinked. “I didn’t say he’s.”

“You did, baby,” Rafe insisted, circling your waist as you separated from Topper and Kelce. You were scowling, and God — he had always been down fucking bad, but something about your pregnancy glow fluttered through his chest like he was seventeen again. “But it’s algood, it was an honest mistake.”

“Honest mistake?” You echoed, surveying him with amusement. “What? You think it’ll be a girl?”

Rafe grinned a little wider, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple. “I know it’ll a girl.”

And though his tone was lilted playfully, sure to just be another joke, there was something about the twinkle in his eye that willed a pause, features softening. You had never had the pleasure of meeting Lillian Cameron in person, but you were sure, in that moment, that her gaze was the same brilliant blue as her son’s.

—

A get-together at your house on the Eight seemed the only plausible way you could wrangle both of your families into one space. Having done so on occasion enough times for it to not raise any suspicion, you requested their company that very same evening, still misty-eyed and sentimental from telling two lots of Very Important People.

There was expensive wine, this time around, beautifully decorated cheese platters that were sure to give Rose a run for her money. You wanted it to be a little more special than the rest — you hadn’t yet managed to make the announcement yourself, you see, frustratingly perceptive friends figuring it out before you had so much as opened your mouth.

“So,” Rafe started, standing up in his chair. Everyone was gathered in the living room with drinks in hand, yours conveniently left in the kitchen lest someone question why it was orange juice and not white wine. “There is a reason we asked you all here tonight.”

“And here I thought you just enjoyed our company,” Sarah sighed, pouting sarcastically. “Of course there is, you idiot. Are you guys, like, preg—”

“I’m pregnant!” You blurted out, interrupting Sarah before she could finish her sentence because you really really wanted to be able to say it yourself, just this once.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother gushed, her reaction almost immediate. She wasted no time pulling you into a tight hug, your father’s figure bringing up her rear with enough shock on his features for the both of them. “This is wonderful news!”

Rose joined the embrace soon enough, a sentimental gleam in her irises as she began planning the baby shower through poorly-timed sobs. Throwing a good old-fashioned Figure Eight party was her love language, and you knew her enthusiasm meant she was absolutely over-the-moon for you.

Your father decided to address Rafe whilst you were pre-occupied, his voice gruff as though he was trying his best not to cry. “Congratulations, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rafe responded softly, outstretched palm promptly swatted away in favour of a big, squeezing hug.

“No more sir,” Your father dismissed with a kind smile, giving Rafe’s back several firm pats before drawing backward to scan his features. “You’re going to be a father, now, Rafe. You’re one of us.”

There was something wonderfully paternal about the way he said it, and Rafe’s eyes flickered to Ward’s figure for an infinitesimal beat, far too intimidated to linger. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and he was busied with the onslaught of squeals his younger sisters had saved up for this very moment.

“Oh my god!” Sarah exclaimed excitedly, pressing her palm on your belly just like her brother always did. “I’m going to be an Aunty!”

“The best Aunty,” you affirmed, placing your hand atop hers with a twinkle in your eye. Wheezie was quick to do the same, and you felt an overwhelming sense of appreciation circle your watery irises — you may have been an only child, but that hole in your heart had long since been filled by your sisters-in-law.

“God, you finally trapped her for good, huh?” Sarah laughed when she pulled away, getting Rafe’s attention with a aptly placed punch to his chest.

“You know I had to,” Rafe grinned, tugging her into his side a moment. “She’s my only redeeming quality.”

“Rafael,” you pouted, feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble. “You’re going to make me cry. Stop that.”

“Baby,” Rafe murmured gently, sliding his hand down your forearm, the curve of your waist, resting it over the space below your stomach. “You’re going to be the best mom ever, you know that?”

“Isn’t that the truth,” your father said then, finally able to gather his composure enough to wipe away straying tears.

You softened at his strained expression, allowing him to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Dad, are you crying?”

“Hey, cut me some slack — I just found out I’m going to be a grandad,” your father reasoned, letting out a watery laugh. “To a kid who’s definitely a UPenn Law prodigy —”

“Dad.”

“Shush, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” Your father grinned, shaking his head a moment before exhaling, eyes wistful as they met yours. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m going to be a grandad.”

The rest of the evening occurred in much the same manner — teary-eyed gushing and several different hands on your near non-existent baby bump. Though everyone had managed to cycle several different iterations of “Congratulations!” and “We’re so happy for you!”, you didn’t miss the fact that Ward Cameron had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the get-together. But that wasn’t your battle to face, and you knew that Rafe would pull him aside and speak to him alone when he was ready.

When he did finally pluck up the courage to do so, it was because his father was lingering on the porch steps. The rest of the Cameron family were already making for the car parked on the driveway, having said farewell and promised to return soon enough with baby-related gifts.

“So,” Ward exhaled finally, meeting Rafe’s gaze with something akin to returning home after a long day. “Y/n’s pregnant.”

“Y/n’s pregnant,” Rafe echoed, an ache he hadn’t felt in a long while settling back in his chest. “And you’ve been pretty quiet about it.”

Ward swallowed slightly, knowing he was right. “Son —”

“No, whatever,” Rafe interrupted, his shoulders tensing on instinct. “It was stupid of me to think you had it in you to be happy for me.”

“Rafe,” Ward responded heavily, a sad gleam in his eye. “That isn’t the reason I’ve been so withdrawn.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at the admission, arms folded across his chest. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it then?”

“Lil,” and it was barely audible, the slightest whisper, but Rafe heard it clear as day. “I’ve been trying to find the words she’d want me to say, but everything I think of comes up short.”

“And,” he added, smiling poignantly. “I wasn’t the greatest dad growing up. Hearing that you’re going to be one now… I guess it feels like I’m officially out of time.”

“Out of time?” Rafe repeated, voice cracking.

“Trying to fix all the damage I’ve done.”

Ward took a small pause here, shaking his head heavily. “Son… I just need you to know — from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of your mother’s, you’re going to make a goddamn amazing father.”

Rafe’s features softened then, a little glassy-eyed when he responded. “You think?”

“I don’t need to think. I know.”

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