babe… she’s literally dead. like gone. rip
bimbo!reader x mechanic!rafe
WARNINGS: suggestive, language, fluff, lightdom (also this is a bit short, its my first one hehe)
Your pink BMW jerks once—rudely—then makes a noise like a dying animal before cutting off completely in the middle of the road. You blink at the dashboard. Try pressing the start button again. Nothing.
“She’s literally… dead,” you whisper. “Like, not even joking. RIP to my baby.”
You sigh dramatically, flip down the mirror, and reapply your lip gloss like it’s a form of CPR. Then you grab your phone.
[rafe 💕💓💝 💘 ] babe babe babe she died my car died like she literally just flatlined i think it’s serious
You attach a selfie just to soften the blow—pouty lips, heart-shaped sunnies, the little “I’m helpless and hot” face you know he loves. You’re already sitting on the hood in your tiny pink skirt and matching tank when Rafe’s truck pulls up to the usual emergency garage spot ten minutes later.
He parks with the engine still running, steps out slow, and just stares at you. There’s a pause. Like he’s buffering.
Then: “You called me like it was an actual emergency.”
“It is an emergency,” you huff. “She’s not purring. She’s like… silent. It’s scary.”
He looks at your car. Then back at you. Then at the car again.
“Did you mash the gas like a psychopath again?”
You tilt your head, confused. “I just tapped it a little. To, like… hype her up. But then she made this sound—like hkkhhhkkk—and then it was just done. Over. Like when I run in heels for too long.”
He stares at you. Unblinking. “You compared your car dying to you running in heels.”
“Well, yeah. I relate to her.”
Rafe drags a hand down his face, clearly trying not to laugh. “Baby,” he mutters, walking toward the front of the car, “your brain is an actual wonderland.”
“I’ve been saying that!”
He pops the hood, and you trail behind him sipping your iced pink drink, your sandals clicking softly on the pavement. You lean on the side of the car, swaying gently, watching him work. You don’t know what any of it means—but he looks hot doing it.
“You look so hot when you’re annoyed,” you say softly.
“I’m always annoyed around you.”
You gasp. “That’s so mean.”
He glances up, smirking. “It’s also not true.”
You light up instantly. “You like fixing her. Admit it.”
“I like you.”
You grin. “So you do like fixing her.”
“Jesus Christ.” He lets the hood slam gently and turns to face you, hands still stained with grease. “You flooded the engine. Again.”
You gasp. “That is not my fault. She’s just emotional.”
He blinks at you. “She’s a car.”
You furrow your brows in protest. “She’s my girl.”
He stares at you with this look—half amusement, half disbelief—like he cannot believe he’s in love with you, but unfortunately, here he is.
“You can’t keep driving like it’s a Mario Kart level and expect her to survive, baby.”
You lean closer, your glossed lips pouting dramatically. “So… you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad,” he sighs. “I’m just—so deeply aware that I am the only man on earth who would put up with this shit.”
“You love me.”
He doesn’t even try to deny it. He just steps forward, crowding you against the fender, his voice low. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
Your back arches just a little. “Even though I’m dramatic?”
“Mhm.”
“And I break her, like… once a week?”
He smirks. “Every three days, but who’s counting.”
“And I don’t know what an axle even is?”
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
He huffs a short laugh and brushes your hair off your shoulder. “I am. Now get in the damn truck. I gotta take this back to the shop and figure out what kind of chaos you unleashed this time.”
You blink. “I can sit on your lap while you drive, right?”
“No.”
You blink again, slower. “What if I say please and give you head?”
He gives you a long look. Then sighs, already folding. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
You skip toward the truck with a proud little wiggle in your hips. “And you’re in love with me anyway!”
He follows behind you, shaking his head with a smirk, already knowing—whatever part she broke, whatever nonsense she pulls next—he’ll fix it.
Every time. Because you’re his.
