Rafe Leaves His Car Running, Music Still Playing, When He Comes To Pick You Up. He Knocks On The Door

rafe leaves his car running, music still playing, when he comes to pick you up. he knocks on the door to your house twice, not even bothering to send you a message to come and get him since he knows you’re not on it—you’re probably applying the finishing touches to your makeup or spraying something over your styled hair. your mom gets the door, which is good—your dad isn’t always rafe’s biggest fan. he stays down there, engaging in polite small talk for a few minutes before going up the stairs to your bedroom. 

with his hand hovering above the doorknob, wondering how much time you still need and if the two of you are gonna miss your dinner reservations, he catches the sound of music blaring from your room. it’s not the usual stuff—the lana songs you play on repeat, claiming they’re rafe-coded or the oldies you listen to softly when you’re trying to relax. no, he can hear his music coming from your room, and more than that, he can hear you singing along. 

he stays like that, listening for a few more minutes, smiling to himself before turning the knob and stepping in. true to form, you’re applying another layer of shiny lip gloss, the sticky one that always makes a mess on his face and his dick.

“ak-forty to your livahhh- oh hi rafe!” you turn to great him, looking extra pleased as he comes over to your vanity and presses a kiss to your head while looking in the mirror with you.

“the hell are you listening to?” he laughs, but you can tell he’s holding back a laugh. “y’know i have the truck running, right?”

“smith and wesson…gang reppin-” you sing along again, before breaking into a fit of giggles. you finish applying your lip gloss and then set it down on the counter, adjusting your hair and humming along.

“am i a bad influence? is that what this is?” 

you turn to look up at him from your seat, pressing your hand against the collar of his polo and dragging him down into a kiss. he deepens it, wet and messy, swallowing your moan into his mouth and hand gripping the back of your neck, before he pulls you away. 

“you’re the worst influence. now my makeup is all messed up.” you turn back to the mirror, wiping the corners of your mouth and picking up your lip-liner.

“how long have you been recitin’ drake and 21?”

“you play it all the time!” you protest, half-heartedly. “it’s catchy. and it reminds me of you.” he smirks, taking a seat on your bed. 

“hurry it up or we’ll miss the reservation.” 

you roll your eyes.

“yes, dad.” you think he doesn’t notice, but he gets up from his seat and buries his head in your neck, gripping a tender piece of skin between his teeth and sucking hard. you feel it instantly, and uncomfortable wetness spreading in your panties and the familiar want tightening in your stomach. when rafe pulls away, there’s a bright, dark red mark on your neck

“rafe!” you whine, wiping the skin of his spit and observing in the mirror. your hand goes to grab the bottle of concealer already out, but he stops your wrist mid-movement. 

“nuh-uh, that’s what you get for talkin’ back.” he kisses your cheek. “now come on, i don’t wanna be late.” you comply immediately.