phoebepruitts :

“-Oh.” Phoebe says, nodding once. The only thought she can manage is holy shit. He’s fucking serious about this- a whole fucking hour with his parents, right before the first date. Is this normal, for Rafael? Is he trying to scare her off? She’s baffled. “Did you, uh, tell your parents anything about me? I don’t want to have them be, uh…” She trails off, frowning at her hands. Disappointed. Surprised. Those were the words Phoebe had been thinking. “-I just don’t know if I’m like, the best option to take home. To parents.” Despite Rafael’s smile, Phoebe feels a burst of mild panic, a strong kick of inadequacy. What kind of impression would someone like her have, anyway?  

Rafael didn’t mean anything bad by arranging a meeting with his parents right before their first date. For Raf, this was normal. If his mother didn’t like the girl he was dating, there was no use in taking things any further. He wasn’t going to tell Phoebe that, though. There was no use in stressing her out, and he knew that mama would love her. “Uh, kinda,” Rafael shrugged, casual. He’d told his parents about Phoebe. A lot. Samuel had heard a lot of it, too. Sam thought it was annoying. Mama loved it. At her next statement, Rafael frowned slightly. “Whoa, why do you think that? I think you’re great. You’re a good person. But we don’t have to,” he clarified, making it very clear that if Phoebe was uncomfortable, the plan was out the window, no matter how much it mattered to him. She could always meet the parents later, when they’d been dating for longer than a few weeks. “We don’t ever have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? I’m serious.”

phoebepruitts :

Phoebe bites at the toast’s corner, sets the remainder back down on the counter. “Just practice. And extra sugar.” It was good- even better since they’d made it together. Sort of. ‘Meet my parents.’ Her lips quirk into a small, almost dry sort of smile. That’s a good one- meet the parents. It’s a funny joke, and Phoebe’s about to tell him as much until she gives pause. Watching him, there’s something in his tone, in the expression that Rafael is wearing that makes her think otherwise. Phoebe blanches. He isn’t- he can’t be serious, right? God.“-Wait. Like, for real?” Her voice is neutral, careful, a little higher than normal. They haven’t been together a month- and there’s nothing about Phoebe that seems take-home friendly. Not her age, her occupation, her living situation. Which is why this has to be a joke. Obviously.

She was smiling. That was a good sign, Raf decided. Over the years, he'd learned that bringing a girl to his house for the first date wasn't always the best idea. But if mama didn't like who he was dating, then what was the point in pursuing things further? He wasn't worried about Phoebe, though. Mama would love her right away. "Of course," he said, turning around to place her on the counter. He rested a hand on the side of her waist. "It shouldn’t take too long. Maybe, like, an hour. Tops. Then we’ll finally go on a date. Just me and you,” Raf said, placing a free hand on the side of her face.

phoebepruitts :

Phoebe tilts her head, exhales softly. “Yeah? Maybe you’ll find out soon.” 

She sets the peach core on the counter, moves a spare hand to flip the stubby oven knob to “off”. It smells done- just shy of burnt. It’s hard to do any of this with his lips on the hollow of her neck, back again at her mouth. Very hard. (But she’ll survive). When Rafael pulls away, there’s a distinct sense of absence where his lips were, a loss of warmth. It’s funny, how someone who once flinched away from physical contact on instinct now craves it so intently, associates it with comfort. But from one person specifically. Phoebe picks at the toast in the pan, dips a corner in the container of powdered sugar on the counter before offering the first bit to Rafael. It looks amazing- just the right mix of seasoning. “So, uh, can you tell me what the pit stop is? Or is that a secret too?” She licks at the bit of white dusting the inside of her thumb, lips smudged with sugar.

The french toast hadn’t burnt. Good. It would’ve been a little pathetic if they’d ruined it twice in one morning, but he found it incredibly hard to do anything but focus on her. Rafael took an average sized bite from the toast, chewing slowly. He closed both eyes, made a satisfied sound with his mouth closed, and swallowed. “That’s so good. How’d you do that?” He said, tempted to take a second bite. He decided against it, letting her finish the rest if she wanted. Rafael contemplated whether or not to tell her that the pit stop was actually a meet the parents pit stop. From the moment he developed feelings for Phoebe, he realized that she was special. Different. He didn’t want to throw anything her way that she couldn’t handle. Maybe a few day’s notice was good. “Uhhhhh,” Rafael trailed off, fighting to keep a serious face. “I want you to meet my parents,” he finally said, completely unaware of how ridiculous that sounded to someone he’d only been dating for a short amount of time.  

"Sounds to me like you're all talk," he finally said, his mind very briefly wandering over to the subject of breakfast. Specifically toast. In the pan. On the stove. He probably should've mentioned it. Or at least turned it off. But he was so focused on Phoebe that he didn't really care if the second batch ended up burnt and in the trash, like the first. It was difficult to talk about his intentions whenever his lips were moving gently against her neck, down to her collarbone, then back up to her jaw. "I promise they're good intentions," he said softly, his tone sweet, patient, completely contrasting his actions. He finally kissed her on the mouth, delicately, though it could be argued that there was some urgency behind it. Raf had to remind himself to cool it. He pulled away, licking his lips, intense gaze finding hers. “You just have to be ready by six. We have to make a pit stop before we go.”

“I could throw you down hard, but you’d regret it.” Phoebe says, wrenching herself more upright, still wearing a playful smile. "It’d make your head dizzy. ” This is- a lot, this has escalated a lot, but there’s still a smile tugging at Phoebe’s lips. She feels good with Rafael, comfortable, enough to act like this in a way that’s genuine. So unlike the fake sexuality she parades at work. Phoebe is okay with surprises. She’s even more okay with Rafael’s mouth against her neck, against the more sensitive parts of her body. She doesn’t quite moan. But it’s a close thing. “That’s uh, very, mysterious, Raf. How do I know you have good intentions.” It’s arguable that neither of them do, wrapped up together like this. But she’s trying to keep the situation somewhat composed.

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try. Put me on the floor," he dared, though his words lost a fraction of authority the second that she began to kiss him. It was hard to think about anything else (like the fucking toast) but what was implied, even when the conversation shifted to their first date. As excited as Rafael was to talk about it, he blanked momentarily. "It's a surprise," he finally said, gently pushing back a strand of hair over her shoulder. He leaned forward ever so slightly, placing his mouth against her neck. “But it’ll be really good. I don’t think you’ll want to miss it,” he said, his lips dragging over her skin as he spoke. 

Phoebe’s brows raise a fraction of an inch. “Uh. Wrestling?” She echoes, blinking incredulously. Bad idea. Even without the foot advantage of height, Rafael would kill her. Which is why the conversation turns down a different road. “…There’s no contest, Raf. I’d just body-slam you.” Her arms shift from where they are slung across his neck, tighten minutely at his words. “Y’know, I could do that now from this position. Put you on the floor.” It’s said innocuously enough, like she’s just boasting, but the innocence behind her words is ruined in the way she bites at her tongue, leans in to kiss the sticky peach off his lips. Definitely with more than enthusiasm than strictly necessary. This is likely going to lead to Burned Toast 2.0, so Phoebe tries her hardest to school her face into an expression of piousness when Rafael divulges his plans. It’s hard, however. There’s a flush to her cheeks, an arch to her back. A heat in her stomach. “-Yeah. I might be interested. Depending on what your big plans are.” 

"Mama will send you home with a week's worth of leftovers," Rafael promised, propping the chair he sat in back on its hind legs. A stupid habit formed somewhere in middle school that drove his teacher's crazy. "Not really," Rafael shrugged. "Excited's the word. They'll love her. And everyone loves mama, so..." Rafael trailed off, shrugging. "It'll be fun. And, speaking of, man. We gotta get you back in the game. I'm still counting on that double date.”

Jackson smiled a bit. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I run out of groceries,” he promised, although it wasn’t really sure if it was one he was intending to keep yet. He’d always liked Mr. and Mrs. Dahar, and hadn’t seen them since getting back into town, but family dinner – even with a family that wasn’t his own – felt a little bit too close to ‘normal.’ “You nervous for her to meet them?”

"You're very distracting. I mean, have you looked at yourself? It's so hard to focus on anything else," he chimed in, biting on his lower lip as she squeezed his bicep. Working out religiously had its benefits. Not only did Rafael enjoy it, but it helped with work and the women. "Maybe we can settle this the old fashioned way. You know... wrestling. I'm practically a pro," Raf said, poking her side gently. "We'll see how rock-like you really are." It was incredibly difficult to focus on anything else when the sight of Phoebe taking a bite of the peach was so suggestive. The juice had trailed down her mouth, leaving Rafael's mind a little preoccupied with other things. He took a rather large and obnoxious bite when the fruit was offered to him, chewing slowly as she brought up the technicalities of first dates. Raf shook his head, unable to speak because his mouth was so full. "Absolutely not. Breakfasts don’t count as first dates," he said, swallowing the last of the peach. “I did check our schedules, though. And we’re both off next Friday. Which is kind of perfect, since I already made plans for us. Big plans. If you’re interested.”

“I’m not distracting. And you know, this is like, 115 pounds of muscle. Built like a rock.” Maybe a slight exaggeration. She gives Rafael’s bicep a squeeze, very aware in the difference between his musculature and her own; he’s more hard lines and muscle, as opposed to her soft curves. The french toast seems to be cooking smoothly, so Phoebe reaches for one of the wayward bits of fruit on her counter- a nicely-ripened peach. The bite leaves juice trailing onto her lips, orange and sticky-sweet. She licks at it, raises her arm up to offer the peach to Rafael. The fruit should probably be sliced as toppings, to along with the powdered sugar, but Phoebe can’t resist something that’s this delectably ripe. “So. Uh, breakfast-cooking. Does that count as a first date?” In her mind, it could count- so could anything, really. She doesn’t have a set expectation for their time together. Phoebe adores all of it. 

"I think this is about as efficient as it gets," Raf mused, watching as she placed fresh toast on the skillet. He took a few steps back, leaning back against the counter and keeping a watchful eye on the skillet. He felt her teeth gently graze his ear. Raf tilted his head to the side slightly, knowing that it'd be incredibly easy to burn the fresh pieces of toast if he wasn't careful. But in Rafael's mind, he figured they'd take a while to be ready, so if there was time to kill... he’d do it. "I didn't know koalas were so viscous. And distracting,” he admitted, tone playful as he turned his head to face her. “You weigh, like, nothing, you know that, right? I could probably carry you around all day, no problem...”

They’re moving again, and Phoebe has little choice but squeeze her limbs even tighter around his middle. Is it even practical, to cook like this? (It’s not, she knows, but she likes being held this closely). Sous chef Phoebe brandishes the spatula with a deft hand, flipping the rejected slices out of the skillet and into the nearby trashcan. Goodbye, charred toast. “There might be, uh, more efficient ways to make breakfast.” She says mildly, twisting round to place two fresh slices of toast into the skillet. At least now there’s little chance of it burning. “-And I kinda feel like a koala.” 

From this position, however, she’s actually eye-level with his face for a change. And rather comfortable. The picture of pure intent, Phoebe leans in towards his head, bites the shell of his ear with a smile. She probably isn’t helping things. 

To say that mama was excited would be an understatement. It'd been a while since Rafael had brought home a girl for mama to meet, and the last time he did, it didn't end well. He had no doubt in his mind, however, that everything would go smoothly with Phoebe. As long as Samuel wasn't there. "A little more than excited. She keeps asking how much longer. She also keeps askin' about you. You know you're always welcome to family dinners and stuff.”

Jackson didn’t necessarily think dinner was too ordinary. He’d always been the kind of person that was perfectly happy to sit around in PJs watching Netflix as long as he was with someone he enjoyed spending time with. But then again, what did he know? He refrained from saying this out loud. Given how painfully aware they both were of his track record, he was probably the last person to be giving anyone dating advice. “That’s right, the first date meet.” For other people, meeting the parents on the first date might have seemed weird, but for someone who’d known Rafael since they were teenagers, it really wasn’t. “Bet your mom’s excited.”

Rafael knew that it was too soon to really tell anything, but being with Phoebe already felt different than with other women. He'd had his fair share of girlfriends in the past, but he didn't remember feeling this excited and happy whenever they were around. Maybe because he'd never really had to put in the same work he had with Phoebe. It was like a goddamn reward every time she smiled at him. "Good," Raf said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. He wrapped both arms around her and swept her off the counter. He took a step over to the stove and turned it back on. He grabbed the skillet with one hand, his other still holding Phoebe, and gestured for her to grab the spatula to scrape the burnt toast off the pan. "Think we can still make breakfast? You can be my assistant chef- uh, wait. Sous chef."

Phoebe gives a noncommittal hum. “I guess I’m like, partially responsible. Partially.” Her teeth dig into the bottom of her lip at the touch of Rafael’s hands on bare skin, and she finds herself hitching both legs around his waist, as if to keep him close. His hands are warm, because they always are. Phoebe blinks. The conversation has transformed into something less coy and playful, a little more sincere. “-Well. I don’t wanna do that at all.” Phoebe hunches her shoulders, rolls them, before raising her hand to rest on the side of his chest, fingers twiddling a stray thread. He has a strange sort of sincerity that’s always catching her off guard. She shifts her weight on the counter, eyes flitting up towards the ceiling before returning with a smile. 

Raf's eyes widened at the mention of a baby. He'd been a bachelor for quite some time now, and he never heard the end of it from mama. Apparently, he was already supposed to be settled down with a wife, a few kids, and a respectable profession. He didn’t have either of those things down. “Uhhhhh, I don’t know. I was gonna take her home, to meet my parents. After that, maybe dinner? Dinner feels too ordinary for her, though. I gotta go big.”

Jackson had mastered the art of Changing The Subject, finding it best to talk about something the other person really did want to talk about. That said, he really was interested in what was going on between the only two non-Logan friends he had. “Okay, well seeing as how she’s not pregnant with your baby before your first date, I’d say you’re probably not that backwards. What’re you thinking?”

Rafael grinned, his face still buried into her shoulder. At the tug of his hair, he tilted his head back to face her. "You're the one that mentioned doing other things..." he trailed off, snaking warm hands underneath her shirt, resting them on her back. Even if she was kidding, Rafael wasn't about to let this ridiculous scenario in which he didn't eat breakfast with Phoebe play out. "Not even if I cook the breakfasts from here on out?" He bargained. “You can keep me out of the kitchen, if you want, as long as you don’t keep me out forever, alright?” He said, removing a hand from her back and cupping the side of her face. 

Phoebe’s mouth forms an ‘o’ at the sensation of Rafael’s lips against her neck, arching her back in surprise. “-Me too.” She manages. Her arm moves from its place against the counter to wrap around his neck, finger skating against where his head now rested on her shoulders. It’d been a very peaceful morning. ‘Til now. That toast, at least, is ruined, collateral damage in their morning play. She looks at the blackened pan with only minimal disappointment, tugging at Rafael’s hair and carding playfully through the curls.“You distracted me.” Phoebe says, trying for accusatory and failing. “I don’t know if I can keep you around for breakfasts anymore….” Her smile seems to say otherwise- Phoebe doesn’t mind burning a hundred breakfasts for this. 

rafael dahar + social media

Rafael watched Phoebe intently as she tilted her head back, tempted to brush his mouth against her neck. But he didn't. She mentioned him being hungry, and Raf simply shrugged i off as if food was the last thing on his mind. And it sort of was, at that point. "I can live without it," Raf admitted, leaning back slightly to shut the stove off. The toast had started to smoke. Good thing Phoebe brought it up. "I kinda like what we're doing right now more..." he admitted, dragging his hands over her thighs. 

He smirked devilishly as his lips found her cheek, then her jaw, and finally, her neck. Nothing too risque, but Rafael dragged his lips along her skin lightly, before resting his forehead against her shoulder. 

Phoebe pulls back against Rafael’s touch, creating a long stretch of distance between the two. “Sorry.” She says, shoulders drooping in a doleful sort of apology. “I thought we were thinking of the same thing.” Before she can continue wallowing in fake disappointment she’s suddenly airborne, spun around and set on the counter before she can say another word. Jesus. There’s another spike to her heart-rate. She’s breathless, momentarily, feeling the pressure of Rafael’s thumb and fingers holding her chin, finally at eye-level. He might be better at playing along than her. Phoebe hooks one of her legs against the bottom of Rafael’s back, tilts her head away from him and out of his hands as if suddenly enraptured with the view of her ceiling. “I think we were doing something before this. Weren’t you hungry, or something?” Phoebe isn’t terribly concerned about any of that. She bats her eyes at him, keeps her mouth just inches away from his own, suddenly very aware at the bunching of his shirt. 

Rafael practically held his breath, waiting for her to follow through and do what they were both thinking about. Their breakfast was long forgotten by this point. Phoebe's lips were soft and warm from the hot chocolate she'd had. He smiled against her mouth, slowly trailing the palm of his hand to the middle of her back. Raf stroked her back aimlessly as her mouth trailed down to his jaw. "Ummm, I don't know. I guess we had different ideas? That wasn't on my mind at all," Rafael said solemnly, frowning for half a second. It was hard, to be so serious when she looked so innocent and kind and beautiful. "But, you know, now that you mention it..." Rafael trailed off, smiling as he leaned forward once more and brushed his lips against hers, snaking another hand behind her back. Gently, Rafael lifted her up and spun her around, planting her on the counter. Rafael pulled away and tilted her chin downward slightly with his hand. 

They’re both playing coy. “I don’t know.” Phoebe half-sighs, rolling her eyes upward as if she needs the time to consider. She taps her fingers idly against his skin as she draws this out, having long-since abandoned any consideration of the french toast cooking in the pan. “Something like … this?” Phoebe tilts her head, blinks. Another long pause. But then she pushes upward on her toes to press a measured kiss against Rafael’s lips, smiling almost teasingly as she pulls away. “Or maybe like this?” A series of kisses, on his lips, the corner of his mouth, just at the edge of his jaw. She’s trying to play cool, but her composure breaks rather quickly. A giggle escapes her lips, the flash of a smile. “But, like, that’s just an idea. You might have a better one?”