rafe treats you like you're made of glass. like you're something soft, delicate—something his.

and you let him. because how could you not? when he's always looking at you like that? when his touch is always so gentle?

like now when you pout at him from the passenger seat, arms crossed, lips pursed in that way that makes him weak.

"what?" he asks, fighting back a smirk, reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

"you didn't let me carry the bags."

rafe exhales, shaking his head. "because you don't need to. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let you carry heavy shit, huh?"

you huff, turning to the window. "they weren't even that heavy."

and that's when he knows. you're just being a brat.

so he leans over at a red light, pressing a kiss to your temple. "my sweet girl," he murmurs, lips dragging down to your jaw. "so spoiled, huh?"

you mumble something under your breath, but he catches it. "not spoiled."

he just grins. "nah, you are, baby. i made you that way."