oh hello this is me all over! requests are nowwww open for rafe btw
The party had gotten out of hand hours ago, but you — all warm and flushed and leaning way too close to him— didn’t seem to notice. Your hand kept searching for his arm, your head tipping onto his shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear when you spoke, saccharine sweet and slurred.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?” you mumbled, fingers trailing over the hem of his shirt like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Like, annoyingly pretty. I hate it.”
Rafe tensed, glancing around the crowded room, sharp jaw ticking like he was holding back a full-body flinch. He wasn’t used to this — wasn’t used to you like this. All soft edges, big eyes, clingy hands and no filter. You were usually the one who kept your cool, you were the one always reenforcing the casualness of the agreement. But tonight? You were drunk on cheap liquor and whatever leftover affection you’d been bottling up between hookups, and it was driving him totally nuts.
You bring your red solo cup up to your lips, pink hued lip gloss staining the rim. His hand wrapped around your wrist, steady but firm. “Think you’ve had enough,” he muttered, guiding your wandering hands off his chest before they could test his self-control any more than they already had.
You only giggled, swaying into him anyway. “Don't be like that, Rafey. You love me,” you teased, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You just don’t know how to say it.”
His throat bobbed, the nerves creeping under his skin like static. You were too close, too sweet, too easy to want. And the worst part? You were right. Bang on, in fact.
“Love you, huh?” he tries to tease, but his tone is gruffer than usual and his eyes are darting around, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t you. “Barely like you half the time. And don’t call me Rafey. Making me sound like some simp, or something.”
Your eyes are still all big and glassy, and your smile doesn’t waver. You’re used to his antics by now. “You’re funny.” You giggle tipsily. He sighs. Then you pout, and he softens.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, voice low and uneven, smoothing a hand over the back of your head before he’s steering you toward the door — because if you keep looking at him like that, he’s unsure what the hell he’ll do.
He pushes open the front door, one hand firmly on the small of your back as he guides you down the driveway.
The night air hit you like a second wave, cool against your flushed cheeks, contrasting the heat on your lower back at the feel of his hand, steady and constant.
The stars were spinning, or maybe that was just the alcohol, but either way you didn’t seem too concerned — too busy humming under your breath and bumping your shoulder into his every few steps.
“I can’t deal with you sometimes,” Rafe muttered under his breath, yanking open the passenger door of his truck. “Get in.”
You blinked up at him, head tilting like you were trying to figure out if he was serious — even though the door was wide open, the seat waiting, and he was clearly two seconds from losing his mind.
“No, you’re warm,” you argued lazily, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, like you had no intention of letting go.
Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. His nerves were stretched thin, your closeness short-circuiting the part of his brain that usually had control. You were so soft like this, no sharp comebacks, no teasing bite — just pure, unfiltered affection. And it was throwing him off. Big time.
“Baby,” he said, the word slipping out before he could catch it, rough and quiet. “C’mon. Get in the truck.”
Your brows lifted, a slow, crooked smile pulling at your lips like you’d just uncovered a secret. “You never call me that. Not unless we’re— y’know.“
His jaw tensed, the tips of his ears burning. “Yeah, well” he grunted, “you’re not usually this… clingy.”
You finally let go, but not before pressing a lazy, tipsy kiss to his jaw — barely there, but enough to leave him blinking hard, stomach flipping.
“‘M not clingy,” you mumbled as you climbed into the passenger seat, curling up like you belonged there. “That makes me sound like I’m some crazy lady. I just like you. And I think you’re cute when you’re all flustered.”
“Seatbelt.” He ordered quietly, trying to glaze over the fact you’re staring up at him like he was the most important thing you’ve ever breathed near. He closed the door a little harder than necessary, gripping the top of it for a second before shaking his head.
He took a beat before walking around the front of the truck, stifling a breathy laugh as he watched you wave at him lazily through the windscreen.
The second the door shut, the truck felt too small.
Rafe slid behind the wheel, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, jaw locked. You were curled up in the passenger seat like you’d always belonged there — legs tucked up, head resting against the window, watching him with that sleepy, lovesick little smile that made his chest feel like it was caving in.
The engine rumbled to life, but his mind was still stuck on the way your lips had brushed his jaw before you got in. The way you’d called him cute like it was the easiest truth in the world.
“You good?” he asked, voice rough, eyes flicking over to you as he pulled out onto the dark, empty road.
You hummed in response, stretching your arm across the console, fingertips brushing over the back of his hand where it rested on the gear shift. Light, absent-minded — but every pass of your fingers was another hit to his self-control.
“You’re so serious all the time,” you whispered, voice soft and slurred with affection. “You don’t have to be, you know.. Not with me.”
His throat tightened. “Somebody’s gotta be,” he shot back, trying for sharpness but it came out too low, too strained.
You just smiled again, like you could see straight through the front he was barely holding onto. Your hand slipped fully into his, fingers lacing with his like it was nothing. Like this wasn’t new and confusing and dangerous for both of you. Too casual, too intimate.
And Rafe just… let it happen.
He didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when your head tipped toward him, voice all soft and sleepy.
“You take care of me,” you murmured, eyes half-lidded. “I really like that about you.”
His fingers curled tighter around yours, gaze fixed on the road but his mind miles away — stuck on the feeling of your hand in his, the weight of your words, the slow, terrifying realisation that this was a hell of a lot more than just hooking up.
And for the first time, Rafe wasn’t sure if that scared him or if it was the only thing that felt right.
