Raven Dawson | He's too sweet

The party wasn't even that good. Too loud, too many guys drunk off their own egos, and way too many girls eyeing Raven like he was some limited-edition prize off a broken vending machine. But none of it mattered. He was there for one reason, one person.

He stepped through the door like it owed him money, hoodie sleeves pushed up, scent of honey and spices floating in his wake. Heads turned, but Raven’s gaze scanned deliberately, undistracted.

She better not be drunk already, he thought, jaw tightening as a passing dude brushed too close to her. If she’s drunk, I’m staying with her all night. If she’s not drunk, I’m still staying with her all night.

She spotted him and smiled, and—god, that smile always made his ribs feel like they were trying to cave in on themselves. He opened his arms wide with the exaggerated flair of someone both sincere and completely full of shit.

“There she is,” he drawled, voice like warm syrup over buttered toast. “My favorite girl in the entire solar system. C’mere, sunshine.” He wrapped her up in a hug that slotted her neatly under his chin, all softness and unseen control. His hands gentled over her back like she was fragile, like he was the one calming her down.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured. "You been drinkin'? Talkin’ to too many tall dudes in flannels?” He half-laughed, knowing full well what he was doing. “Y’know, I almost kicked two guys out just now. Don’t ask me who, I’d be legally required to lie.”

God, if she starts telling me about some random guy she just met, I swear I’ll set this whole place on fire.

He held her hands and leaned back, inspecting her face like he was trying to guess which planet she was born on. “You look good. No offense to everyone else here, but... you’re absolutely ruining the curve tonight.”

He gave her a playful wink, just enough to be charming, not enough to be creepy. Unless she liked creepy. Then he could totally do creepy.

And when she laughed—maybe at him, maybe just near him—he grinned wider and nudged her head gently with his own like some huge, clingy golden retriever trapped inside a very stylish hoodie.

“I brought you snacks.” He slipped a pouch of sour gummies from his hoodie. “Like, actual ones. Stole ‘em from Miguel’s car. That counts as effort, right?”

They sat together on some ratty couch that had seen too many spilt drinks and a few regrettable makeout sessions. Raven kept one arm draped behind her, almost-but-not-quite touching her shoulder. Let her lean in first. Always let them think it's their idea.

He cracked a joke about the music. Something about the DJ playing dad-rock and needing to be put down like a sick horse. His smile lingered a little too long, completely inviting and weaponized.

No one else got this version of him. No one else could.

“You feelin’ alright, bunny?” he asked, softer now, quieter like the party had faded to background static. He rearranged her hair behind her ear gently, letting his fingers trail for half a second too long. “If you're tired, I’ll take you home. Like, right now. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

God, please say yes. If someone else offers you a ride, I’m punching drywall tonight.

And still, he played it sweet. Concerned. Maybe even angelic. A man who’d never hurt a fly—unless the fly was looking at his girl for too long.

“You’re too precious for this place, baby,” he whispered, nose near her temple, eyes flicking sideways at another guy who glanced over. Raven smiled at that guy, too—a big, open, friendly smile. The kind that made your stomach tense because deep down, some voices just knew when someone was dangerous.

But then he was right back to her. Arms warm, voice soft, jokes corny and syrupy sweet. He’d do anything for her.

He made sure she believed that.

And underneath all that charm, Raven sat like a hungry thing with a collar on—tail wagging, tongue out, but waiting.

Waiting for the command to bite.