So We Won't Forget

So We Won't Forget

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

warnings: 18+, sensitive topics such as death and mourning, use of Y/N, fluff and flirting, challenging sibling dynamics, smut (P in V, size kink, lots of praise, some teasing), mentions of past drug use, rafe is reforming (?) lol

word count: 7.7 k

Rafe didn’t know what he was thinking.

He knew Barry had given him the bright pink flier as a joke more than anything else. And he’d taken it as a joke, at least after the initial roll of his eyes, too. Ended up crumpling the sheet of paper and chucking it into the garbage can near his bedside, muttering some iteration of ‘yeah man, that’s real funny’.

His dad was dead. For real, this time. He didn’t need some corny grief support group where people sat in a circle and sang their sorrows.

He needed a fucking time machine.

Still, he had done it.

Sleep was getting harder and harder to find these nights. The temperature never felt right.

Too hot when he pulled white sheets up and over his bare hips and too cold when he let them slip down to his feet.

He rolled his body over to his side with the intention of scrolling through his phone which had become increasingly dry since his return from Guadeloupe.

But then his hand was reaching down into the garbage can and he was squinting in the dark to make out an address he’d never seen before.

It was no wonder why. The Church was so far in the outskirts of Figure 8, it might as well have been on the Cut. But it wasn't, and that was one of the only reasons why he'd reconciled with making the drive.

It was a shoddy building with peeling paint and a slanted roof, and it took him a whole twenty minutes to step outside of his truck and through the front doors.

The place gave him the chills. He felt better thinking it was because it was so run-down and he was a Kook through and through, but a part of him knew it was for a different reason entirely. He wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t burst into flames upon entry. It wasn't long ago that he’d melted a fucking cross for Christ’s sake.

Like the man standing at the entry-way can read his mind, he claps a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and flashes him a reassuring smile. He must've been staring guardedly at the blocked off pew.  

“We just use the space on this side of the building.” The man says, gesturing to the large room with groups of scattered chairs and a long table at the back with pastries and refreshments. “There’s no, uh,” he clears his throat, then continues with a knowing glance, “religious affiliation.”

Rafe manages a nod, his fingers feeling numb and jittery all at once. His eyes rake over the room once more. More specifically, the people in it.

Some of them look like they’re itching to talk, while others look so boxed up it makes the silence in the room more chilling. Rafe decides he connects more with the latter, but there’s a spot he can’t quite reach at the swell of his shoulder blade that suddenly feels like it could use a good scratch.

“I’m Leon, by the way. The program manager.” The man, Leon, introduces himself. “Help yourself to some snacks, then grab a seat. We’ll start shortly.”

Leon shoots Rafe another smile, then saunters over to the front of the room where he sits down by a dingy whiteboard. 

Briefly, he wrestles the impulse to sprint out through the double-doors and scrub the very essence of the place off his body in a scalding shower. Sterile and dizzying, just how he likes them. 

But then his feet are trudging clumsily toward the snack table, and he downs a hot cup of coffee that splashes uncomfortably against the acid in his stomach before filling an empty chair at the back. 

"Let's see. As you take your seats and feel out the room, some of you might be asking yourselves why you even bothered to show up. Why don't we take a moment to remind ourselves why?"

To you, the introduction by the man you now know as Leon leaves something to be desired. A reminder wouldn't be necessary because forgetting wasn't the problem. 

The problem was your best friend was gone, and nothing in the world could get your mind off it. It was a strange kind of irony, really, talking about her so you could end up talking about her less. 

What better place and time was there to mourn than the beautiful Outer Banks in the summer?

At least, that's what your mother had said in a chipper tone as you rode the ferry off the mainland together.

Taking in the ambience of your surroundings, you seriously doubt she's right. The AC is blasting and you still feel sweat beading on your forehead. The place had the humidity of a greenhouse and none of the natural light. 

"We'll start our conversation small. With a partner." Leon says, breaking you out of your trance. "I'll walk around the room and pair you up."

The friendly man that Leon is, it takes him a while to get to the back of the room where he pauses in front of you.

"Alright, so that leaves... you two!"

Leon points vaguely to a figure sitting at the far corner, who lifts his head for a second to meet your eyes. A flash of blue before he looks back down again. You notice that he's not moving a muscle and probably doesn't intend to. 

"Guess I'll come to you." You mutter shortly under your breath, dragging your chair behind you as you move closer. 

Taking a seat in front of the quiet stranger, the first thing you notice is that the top of his head is pretty. Then he lifts his chin and you come to realize that the rest of him is even prettier. 

Dirty blonde hair that seems to be growing out after a cut sticks to his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Angular jaw, beautiful blue eyes, soft pink lips pressed into a frown. He gazes at you suspiciously. 

"Rafe." 

Your eyebrows furrow, temporarily stalling your ogling. "What?"

"My name." He squints at you, pointing a slender finger to the whiteboard on which Leon has messily scrawled the words: 'introduce yourselves and explain why you're here'. 

"Rafe." You repeat, trying the name out in your mouth. It feels harsh but satisfying. Like a swear word. "I'm Y/N." 

He nods, but doesn't say anything else, his eyes flickering between the floor and a black truck you can make out through the window - like he's worried it might disappear. 

You steal a glance at the pairs around you who seem to be getting far deeper into conversation than the two of you. 

"I think we're supposed to talk." You mumble.

Rafe nods again, and his lips part for a moment, but then they close again. You fight the urge to glare at Leon for dooming your progress before it could even begin.

"I can go first." You offer with a shaky breath. "I'm here because my best friend, Stacy... died. It was, um, a car crash." 

Hating the way the silence intensifies between you, you continue. 

"I don't really know what to say. Just that she was kind of my favourite person. And she, uh... always made me feel like I was the only one in the room, you know? She just wanted to make you laugh and it was like nothing else mattered. Just us, living in our own little world."

Rafe feels a certain tightness in his chest, pressing down on his sternum.

"You're lucky." He scoffs.

It makes your face fall.

He'd tried to make it sound like a good thing, but it came out ugly, like it always seemed to. 

"I'm... lucky that my friend died in a violent car crash? Gee, Rafe. Your empathy has no bounds.” 

The turn of your voice makes Rafe's spine stiffen, his brows stiffly pinched together as he attempts to soothe over his words.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, okay?" 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Suddenly, the lips that you once thought were pretty look more like what they really are. Annoying, when they move. His crisp blue polo and stupidly expensive watch are starting to get on your nerves.

"I just meant that you - look, at least you had her. That's more than a lot of people can say."

That was rich coming from a guy that looked like he had everything in the world at his disposal.

"Who'd you lose? Your gardener?" You quip. 

Rafe stares bitterly then looks down at his lap where his fingers are fidgeting.  

"My dad."

You feel your stomach churn with guilt, face getting hot.

It's the way he says it that pains you. Like it hurts him physically to get the words out. You know that feeling like the back of your hand. You wish you didn't, but you do.

Suddenly, Rafe's rigidity feels less abrasive and more heartbreaking. You wonder how long it's been, hesitant to ask because it might make you feel worse. Maybe you deserved it for leading with pettiness instead of compassion. You remind yourself that you're grieving and messy, too. 

"Oh." You choke out when an apology feels tight on your tongue.

He lifts his head up to meet your eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. "Yeah. Oh."

"I shouldn't have said that, Rafe. I'm sorry." 

"No, I get it. I shouldn't have said that either. That way, at least. I'm trying to be better at... not saying the wrong thing." He breathes, shoulders falling. "I fuck it up constantly."

"You're not, you didn't." You shake your head. "I'm just on edge. Plus, I get really cranky when I'm hot, and it's boiling in here. Promise." 

You feel a sense of relief when he cracks a smile at that, wanting to savour it. 

"And...," you trail off, catching his attention. 

"And?"

Your gaze runs over him, from the top of his handsome face, down to his shiny designer boots. 

"You're textbook Kook. I guess my whole 'eat the rich' thing got the best of me." 

Rafe laughs softly, feeling a rush in his chest. For a second, he's not thinking about a certain series of events that looms over him everywhere he goes like some sort of 'never off the clock' paralysis demon. Nor any of the bad decisions he made that led him up to that point and drove him deeper into the ground after the fact. He remembers back when he was just a regular asshole. An arrogant rich kid with poor impulse control and penchant for adrenaline. 

He's debated if he would choose to go back thousands of times. 

Part of him wants to.

He had a lot less to worry about. More parties to throw, more girls to take up to his bedroom after very little flirting on his part, more blow to keep him heady and distracted.

Help keep his mind off of the arguments with his dad.

His dad, who blew a hole in his life, and now, was gone... forever. It's something he'd imagined more times than he could count, but he would have never guessed this feeling. 

Nothing felt good anymore. Like he didn't deserve any release because his dad wasn't here to give him shit, so he'd endured nothing to deserve it. He'd started feeling guilty, more than usual, and in a more physical sense. He could feel it when he woke up. Maybe it was the guilt that woke him up every day, gasping for air and clutching his chest. It was starting to sink in and sometimes he spent the whole of the night crying. It was like his soul was being reformed. He drove to a Church, instead of calling Barry, to feel something again. 

He secretly hoped for a big, ambiguous power that would slap him awake and help him trek forward like a strong wind behind his back. But believing took a certain lack of resistance and if his father's eyes were anything to go by, Rafe was stubborn like a grease stain.

Then there was the risk of believing and still watching everything spin into chaos around you. Feeling stupid that you hoped for something different.

But things are different now. 

He's still an asshole, sure. But he's trying to work on that. 

"You're not wrong." He admits, grinning slightly. "You been to the island before?"

"Couple times. I know how you guys talk." You shrug, amused at how the jargon piqued his interest. "It's been a pretty long time, though. Don't think we've ever met."

He nods, like that makes sense to him. You shiver when his blue eyes run you up and down. 

"I would've remembered you."

Before you can respond, Leon makes his way over to the two of you, smiling to himself, mostly, because the conversation he'd manufactured appeared to be a success.

"You two look chatty." He says brightly, eyes flickering over Rafe's posture, far more laid-back than when he first walked in. 

"Just doing what you asked." Rafe replies shortly.  

"Yeah, 'course. Just that you two seemed quiet, but turns out, you're chatty. It's nice, that's all. Keep up the good work, folks!" Leon says the last part loud enough for the room to hear, enthusiastically clapping his hands together while he does it. 

"Dude's weird." 

You chuckle at Rafe's comment, watching as Leon eagerly prods at another pair. You turn back to him and shrug. 

"Definitely weird. Kinda sweet, though?"

The rest of the session continues with Leon speaking to the group, promising that next time, sharing would take place in a larger circle for deeper community. You don't miss the way Rafe's knee bounces up and down next to you. At one point, you gently put one of your palms on his knee to keep it still. You feel his stare burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don't look at him. Just a hint of a smile on your lips. 

It makes Rafe nervous. He feels something different, and he likes it, but it makes him nervous. 

"Hey... you gonna come next week?" You ask him as you sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to make sure your voice doesn't sound so hopeful. 

He pauses for a second. 

"Uh, maybe. Maybe, I'm going to have to check on a few things first." By a few things, he meant Barry. Though they'd unloaded most of the cross gold, they still worked together sometimes. Mostly because they wanted to.

He was an unlikely friend. Gruff and hard to control, but in his corner.

If Rafe was going to show up again, he didn't want Barry finding out. He'd never hear the end of it - 'you're getting soft on me, Country Club!'.

"Okay." You chirp, turning to leave and taking all of three steps before stopping again with your bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

Fuck it. 

"Hey Rafe?" You spin back, sounding hopeful and a little desperate, but honest, at least, because you are those things. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes falling all around you. 

"I really hope you come."

Quickly, you turn back around and make your way to the door, hand barely gripping the knob when you finally hear his voice.

"Y/N."

You look over your shoulder to meet tender blue eyes. 

"I'll be there."

Turns out, sharing circles are harder than they look. For Rafe, at least. 

You spoke about Stacy so easily. You spoke well of her so easily.

When Rafe heard your shaky exhales next to him, he clamped his warm, calloused hand over yours on instinct, listening thoughtfully to the way you described her favourite hobbies. The ones you loved along with her, and the ones you loved to make fun of her for. It was a good reminder for him, that the fruits of his instincts could be tender. An animal with at least some softness. He wasn't always so sure.

He spent a fair amount of time comforting Sarah and Wheezie when they cried as kids, but he was also usually the reason they started crying in the first place. 

After that first meeting, you awkwardly made your way out of the Church and Rafe followed behind you shortly after. When he watched you undo your bike lock, he puffed his red cheeks out and approached you with a slight shake in his knees. He wasn't nervous, it was just hot out - is what he tried to convince himself. 

He offered you a ride back to the house you were staying at with your mom in exchange for your number. You strapped yourself in his passenger seat with a smile on your lips and a special kind of spark flared up in your chest, the kind that makes you acutely aware of the sweat coating the back of your neck, sticking the hair to the skin, when your eyes met his in the rearview mirror. 

Rafe didn't look like the kind of guy that seemed well-intentioned when he asked for a girl's number. But he surprised you when he texted you once he got home. Then again all through the evening. And, in the days that followed. 

Between the texts and the phone calls, you covered a lot of ground. Now, Rafe knew about the time you peed yourself at an elementary school book fair, and you knew that he slept with his first dog's collar months after she died. You gushed about your favourite kinds of junk food while he raved about the hand-spun milkshakes at the club. 

Rafe's turn to speak in the circle was a mess, to say the least. He could hardly spit a few words about Ward, too busy navigating pregnant pauses and his newfound habit of stuttering. He thinks he might've called Ward 'nice', then very quickly grimaced after. When he heard his own voice through the rush in his ears, he thought it sounded nothing like him. He could barely even feel your gentle hand rubbing at his back when his words broke and cracked, leaving his throat with a nasty burn. 

Though Rafe knew his relationship with his dad was strained, he loved him.

It wasn't a comforting feeling, but it was the truth, and all he had. They both could have done better, he reminds himself. God knew that was true.

But at one point, he'd just been a kid. He needed help. He needed his father who always seemed to find business elsewhere. It made sense that talking about Ward was hard.

It made mourning him harder.

A perpetual flurry of emotions that kept his mind up at night and his hands restless. Anger and sadness always dominating the rest, but fighting their own fight with each other.

Anger when he thought about the ways his dad favoured Sarah.

Sadness when he remembered those rare early mornings Ward woke Rafe up for a surprise boat trip, just the two of them.

Back then, Rafe used to stay up entire nights in excitement at the prospect of spending some time alone with his father. Eventually, he had to force himself to accept that their last trip together had long passed, and right under his nose.

"Was it bad?" He groans, eyes screwed shut as he rubs a hand over his taut jaw, working lazily on a piece of gum.

He's still sitting when the room clears out. You stand to haul your bag over your shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile that he absorbs fully. Bright blue eyes drinking you in. 

"No, Rafe. It was fine. Everyone's too busy focusing on their own shit. You got through it just fine."

He gives you an unconvinced look, quirking a brow. Then he tugs at your bag, holding it instead. 

"You're lying." He frowns. With a hint of amusement in his voice, "God, and you're a bad liar, too."

Biting your lip, you take Rafe's hand in yours and drag him towards the exit, giggling quietly to yourself. He trails behind you, slowly shaking his head. He grins when you skip past the metal rack at the front of the building and pull him into the parking lot. You didn't bring your bike today. 

"C'mon, big guy. Let's get you a milkshake." You tease. "I know a place."

He rolls his eyes and laughs, letting you lead him in the opposite direction of his truck.

"You're going the wrong way, dumbass."

"I don't know, Rafe. It tastes kinda funny."

"That's because you mixed chocolate, vanilla, and peach. Who the fuck does that?"

Rafe sips on his chocolate milkshake as he sits across from you in the booth, an amused smirk tugging at his pink lips. The Island Club is somehow nicer inside than it is outside. The cherry-wood of the tables shines under the mood lighting and even near capacity, there's enough room for decent conversation. 

You pout, stirring your paper straw around in the metal cup. You perk up with an idea. 

"Let me try yours."

Rafe starts to laugh, eyes widening in protest. You're sweet, he thinks. He'd probably give you anything if you asked.

But that didn't mean he'd do it. He liked to think he was a little more challenging than that. 

"No, you made your bed." He shakes his head, gulping down another sip. It makes his Adam's apple bob. You stare mostly unashamed and lick your lips without thinking. "Now lie in it."

He watches your eyes get big for all of three seconds before realizing he'd lie right beside you.  

"Fuck, fine." He relents, taking his lip under his teeth, pang in his chest. "Don't look at me like that."

With two fingers, he pushes his cup in your direction and you hum happily as you sip from it. A sort of warm feeling in your stomach as you realize Rafe's mouth was on the same straw you're sucking on just moments before. 

"Do you know that guy? He's staring at you really hard." You mumble through the milkshake, but Rafe's eyes are fixated on your saliva-coated lips. 

"Huh?"

You turn your gaze to a guy at the bar. He's been staring at the back of Rafe's head for the better part of five minutes, squinting his eyes every so often as if to confirm it's really Rafe he's looking at. As he starts to come closer, you begin to understand why - his button-up shirt is half undone, his tawny brown hair disheveled, a far-away look in his blue eyes - he's drunk off his ass. 

Rafe turns to look. 

"Shit. Yeah, he's my sister's... long story." He sighs, forcing a smile as the guy approaches your table. "Hey, Top. What's going on, man?"

"Rafe!" The guy, Top, slurs excitedly. "I never see you around anymore, man. Where you been?" 

Then his eyes run over you and he chuckles. "Maybe I should be asking who you been with." 

It was true, Rafe had been sort of MIA since Sarah had returned with the news about his dad.

Well, except for that one incident. He hoped Topper was too drunk to remember that. In any case, he hadn't felt that guilty about their fading friendship - Topper had been MIA, too, ever since he went 'Rafe-crazy' and lit up the Chateau. He supposes that was his fault, too. 

Maybe he was avoiding him on purpose.

Topper reminded him of all the skeletons in his closet. It was hard enough living with the shame without a walking, talking reminder of his past. A lot of bravado and hair gel, is what it was. He regretted nearly everything now but sometimes he worried that if he spent enough time in the same places he used to, with the same people he used to, he'd somehow switch back. 

Rafe stiffens a little, but he gazes at you warmly. "This is Y/N. We met at, uh... she's...," 

"New." You finish for him. "Rafe's been showing me around."

At that, Rafe gives you a look. It made it sound like...

"Ah, that famous Cameron hospitality." The guy snorts. "I'm Topper."

The words 'Nice to meet you, Topper' die on your lips when he rams a hand aggressively on Rafe's shoulder and starts to laugh to himself, as if recalling memories. "Me and this guy? We go way back, Y/N. Best of friends, really."

You nod half-heartedly, shifting awkwardly in your seat. The leather of the chair underneath your bare thighs is starting to stick to the skin uncomfortably. 

"Alright, man, well it was good seeing you-," Rafe attempts to wave him off, but Topper doesn't let up.

"Look, dude." He whispers, lowering his head to Rafe's ear. He's not being as quiet as he thinks he is, and the next part of what he says makes you shudder. "I heard about your dad."

Rafe feels a wave of defeat wash over him. So, Topper wasn't too drunk to remember. 

It was one of the first nights after he'd heard about his dad. He'd spent as long as he could in the Island Club, ordering drink after drink, until he stumbled outside and spent a good chunk of the night puking his guts out. Unfortunately, that wasn't before letting his tongue fall a little too loose, and explaining to Topper how his dad hadn't really died on My Druthers because he was in Guadeloupe swimming in gold. But now, now he was really dead. And he wasn't coming back. And he'd barely said goodbye. 

"I'm really sorry, man. I know things have been really fucking weird, to say the least. But I'm sorry you're going through that. Again." Topper spills, feeling completely uninhibited. "Well, I guess it's only real this time around. But... you wouldn't have known that at the time." 

Topper winces at himself. He rubs a hand down his red face and stumbles away from the table. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just gonna-,"

"See ya, Top." Rafe cuts him off dryly. 

You look at Rafe cautiously as Topper makes his way, albeit clumsily, back to the bar. He lets out a deep breath and then slowly starts to shake his head, lifting his chin to meet your eyes with a look that seems to say - 'are you seeing this shit?'. 

"That guy used to be your best friend?" You ask with a hint of a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. You spare a glance at Topper who's slurring through his order of another drink. 

Rafe shrugs, letting out a wispy laugh. "We had our moments."

Moments he wasn't particularly eager to tell you about, but moments, nonetheless. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"  

"What, Topper? Fuck no." He laughs harder. 

"No, not Topper. The meeting." You say sincerely. "Why you feel like you can't talk about your dad."

You feel your heart race a little at the question, wondering if Rafe is going to use it to be vulnerable. His face falls for a moment, but then it recovers. For a second, he considered it. But there's something bigger that's been weighing on his mind. 

"I was kinda hoping we could do something else." He says softly and moves in closer, cupping your cheek.

"Yeah?" You whisper, meeting his intense gaze. Hot breath fanning over his face. "And what's that?"

He tenderly moves a strand of hair out of your eyes, trying so hard to be soft that his hand is shaking. His blue eyes have specks of something else at this distance. It's the best colour you've ever seen. 

"I really need to kiss you."

He nods while he says it, like he's giving himself an affirmation. Then he's closing the space between you and pressing his lips over yours with a controlled kind of pressure you're really tempted to see snap one day. The way your mouth opens for his tongue nearly immediately almost makes it happen right now. And that'd really be a shame, he thinks, because he wants to ruin you when he has time and space to play with. 

"Stay with me tonight?" He mumbles breathily as you pull apart, and you nod as his thumb cradles your cheek.

You think you can maybe make out Topper whistling, but it's hard with all the blood rushing to your ears.

Rafe kisses like affection has been missing from his life for a long time. 

His hands are almost frustratingly gentle as they caress your jaw, but his lips, which haven't detached from yours since you entered his bedroom, more than make up for it.

They're hungry and wet with spit, entirely unsatisfied until your panting underneath him and have to bury your face in his neck to take deep, deep breaths of oxygen and his fading cologne.

He bites at your mouth and neck in the meantime, then soothes over the tender spots with his tongue while you whine and claw at the silky material on his still-clothed back.  

"This. Off." You murmur throatily, parting from his lips to tug up on the hem of his shirt. You stare unabashedly at the defined v-line that peaks out from underneath, tongue darting out to wet your lips in anticipation.

Rafe laughs, but humours you, throwing the garment off over the side of the bed so that it hits the floor somewhere. 

Still hovering over you, he leans down to press several kisses to your lips, and you take the opportunity to run the flat of your hand down his warm and muscular chest, the other hand curling around the sweaty strands of his dirty blonde hair. 

Rafe actually moans out when you tug on his hair, and the pretty sound brings a rush of heat to your core.

You squeeze your thighs together and plant open-mouthed kisses along Rafe's jaw, when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table. 

You turn your head to glance at the bright screen and Rafe scrunches his eyebrows together, fingers pinching at your chin to turn your focus back on him.

"I don't give a fuck who it is." He laughs breathily. "I'm not picking up. I'll break the stupid thing if I have to." 

You playfully roll your eyes before Rafe's lips attach to yours again, and you hum happily against his lips as he works them raw. Then his phone starts buzzing again.

"You wanna reconsider?" You giggle. Rafe slumps his face into your chest and groans loudly, arm extending to the table to pick up the device. He lifts his head up and glances at the notification, face twisting in what looks like shock.

"It's my sister." He says, confusion evident in his tone. "My sister never calls me."

He moves to stand up and passes you an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He mumbles in a stray kiss to the crown of your head. "Gimme a sec." 

A few seconds turns into something much longer. 

It turned out that Rafe's sister, Sarah, was calling him because of some kind of commotion that was happening at a bonfire she and her friends were at.

Apparently, the person causing the commotion was someone Rafe knew.

Based on Rafe's initial surprise and the way he's been chewing through his bottom lip the whole way to the beach, you assumed Sarah calling was a last resort for her. You got the sense she and her brother didn't talk often.

"I'm gonna handle this, alright? I need you to stay right here." Rafe says sternly, nervously running a hand through his hair.

You sit in the passenger seat of his truck, which has quickly become one of your new favourite spots, with a frown on your pretty lips that makes Rafe's chest hurt. He reaches up to cup your cheek. 

He'd tried to convince you to stay in his room while he dealt with the situation, but you were adamant about coming with. You needed to make sure he was safe. It didn't feel like there were many people that had his best interests at heart. 

"If you think I'm going to let you go out there by yourself, you really don't know me, Rafe." 

His lips twitch at that, his thumb caressing the skin under your eye.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" He murmurs softly. "Fine. C'mon."

The beach is pretty at this hour, too. The sky is dark, but not completely so - an expansive dark blue that blankets the moon. In the distance, you can see the reddish-golden flames of a bonfire that illuminate a group of people. 

"You had the cross!" An exasperated voice yells. "How was that not enough for you?!"

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's old news." Another man with long dark hair retorts humourlessly. "I'mma need my fucking my money. The money your punk asses stole from me, or did you forget that shit?!"

Getting closer, you can see that this group is separated from the much larger crowd behind them. Four guys, and two girls. One of the girls has shiny blond hair that glows under the light of the bonfire flames. Sarah, you guess. 

Three of the guys stand beside the girls. The other one stands opposite the rest of them, hands smoothing over something his pocket.

A soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize it's a gun.

Rafe stops suddenly. He turns to gaze at you with an intense look in his eyes, pupils hard as one of his hands grips your shoulder. The other reaches for your face, thumb brushing over your lip tenderly. 

"Don't move." He whispers. "Promise me." 

You feel your stomach churn at the request, wanting nothing more than to tug him by the hand all the way back to his truck. But you nod, hoping it helps alleviate the tension in his forehead. 

"Barry!" Rafe calls out as he turns around and approaches them. 

The man with the gun tucked in his jeans, Barry, looks over his shoulder and huffs. Rafe roughly pushes him away from the rest of the group and they divulge into a heated conversation. Rafe's jaw ticks as he listens to Barry and receives a firm shove to the chest. But he manages to placate the other man by whispering something into his ear. Barry ends up nodding, and he casts one more angry glance at the rest of the group then begins to retreat. 

"Y'all have a good night, now." He chuckles grudgingly before leaving. 

Rafe makes his way back to the rest of them, nodding at his sister. You slowly come up behind him. 

"Thanks." Sarah seems to hesitate to say. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and there are frustrated tears in her eyes.

The relationship between Rafe and Sarah has been strained for a long time. They seemed to fundamentally disagree with each other.

It wasn't always that way. Or at least, Rafe thinks, it wasn't always that way. One day, his sister upped and left it all - the big house, the fancy clothes, the nice cars - for 'Pogue life'. It still made his nose crinkle in disgust when he thought about it. But the truth was, he hadn't thought about it in a while... their dad dying worked to break them out of that feud. There were bigger things to worry about, and despite everything that went down in the last few years, they'd lived a whole life together before that.

That still meant something to Rafe. 

It meant something to Sarah, too, he thinks, because she'd been less appalled by him lately. She checked in every once in a while. A few months back, he'd formally apologized to her, and of course, it would never be enough, but he felt a weight off his shoulder when she accepted it. When he realized she wasn't scared of him anymore. 

Maybe they could move passed everything. It would take a long time, sure. But he could wait for family. The only family he has. 

One of the guys nexts to Sarah, wearing a backwards baseball cap, stiffens.

"Don't thank him. He's Barry's bitch." He bites like Sarah's words are absurd, then stares hard at Rafe. "In fact, he's probably just here to score some more coke."

Rafe's grits his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. He opens them and shakily exhales. 

"I'm clean, now." 

Your heart clenches at how raw his voice sounds. You watch with wide eyes as the same guy scoffs at him.

"Yeah, like anybody believes that." He mumbles under his breath. Before you can try and defend him, Sarah steps in. 

"Guys, I called him." She admits, fatigue evident in her voice. It makes you wonder how long the confrontation between them had gone on before you and Rafe showed up. Another guy, one wearing a bandana across his forehead, casts Sarah a sour glance and she sighs. "You know I had to, John B. Did you want Barry to leave, or not?"

He didn't have anything to say to that. 

Sarah steps away from her friends in an attempt at some privacy. She approaches Rafe, and by extension, you, while the rest of the gang diffuses around the bonfire. Whatever had gone down in the past between these people, it was clear they wanted nothing to do with Rafe moving forward, and it was perhaps only because Sarah was family that she even entertained speaking to him. You appreciated her for that. 

"It's been a while." Sarah comments. "You've been... doing okay?"

Rafe shuffles nervously in front of her, nodding without meeting her eyes. 

"Yeah, I've been good. You?" 

Sarah nods and a silence falls between them. 

"You're still hanging around Barry?" She asks, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that when he's not threatening me and my friends for 25 thousand dollars."

Rafe shakes his head with a new-found confidence, raising his chin to meet her stormy and inquisitive eyes. "Nah, I talked to him. He won't bother you guys anymore."

Sarah nods again, and another silence falls between them. 

"You're really doing good?" She asks again, bottom lip wedged beneath her teeth.

"Yeah, I am. I'm, uh, getting help. Got this... group thing."

At the mention of a 'group', Sarah's eyes sweep over to you, drinking in your slightly turned face and averted gaze as you try to give the siblings some space for their conversation. She feels her lips twitch a little. So much had happened. A lot she didn't think she would ever forgive, maybe should never forgive. But she couldn't deny that it was more complex than that, nor could she deny that she missed her older brother. The one from before. Who she'd make eye contact across the dinner table with when Rose waxed poetic about their new marble counters. If they could find their way back there, she'd be lying if she said the idea didn't make her happy. 

"I'm really happy to hear that, Rafe. Honestly." 

Rafe smiles weakly. They say their goodbyes and manage an awkward side-hug with each other. When he turns around, you silently take his hand in yours, and you walk along the roaring beach back to his truck. 

Back at the truck, you lay your head on Rafe's shoulder as he sits in the driver's seat, still parked at the side of the road. Rafe keeps his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before he starts to speak. 

"My dad scared me." 

Instinctively, you reach your hand over the console and tangle your fingers together. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"I fucked up a lot, embarrassed him. And I, uh, I don't blame him for that. I was high all the time. Angry. Violent." He continues, sniffling slightly. "He wasn't scared of me, though. Never was."

"I guess I just wanted him to look at me and not be ashamed, you know?"

Rafe gulps, trying to let the sound of your soft hums and the warmth of your body keep him steady. 

"I did some really bad things to people. Things I'm not proud of." He whispers with his head hanging. "They didn't deserve it... and now, I have to live with that."

He shuts his eyes and exhales. 

"It's, uh... it's really hard living with that."

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you bite your lip as you take in Rafe's words, fingers reaching forward to brush away the spare tears that collect on his cheeks. He leans into your touch, finding comfort in it. 

"Hey." You say softly. "Look at you, talking about your dad. You're doing a really good job, Rafe."

He smiles weakly, his eyes trained on his lap. "Sorry tonight was a bust."

"It wasn't." You protest. "Plus, it's not over yet."

Rafe lifts his chin to look at you, his curiosity piqued.

You lick your lips and trace your fingers along his jaw, maneuvering yourself over the console to firmly grip the sides of his face and pull his lips to yours in a long and messy kiss. It's clumsy, with your noses bumping, and teeth scraping - but it's hot and it makes you feel tingly.

Rafe nips at your bottom lip shamelessly, kisses trailing down the column of your throat. "In the truck?" He asks, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice.

"In the truck." You breathe, holding back a moan when Rafe sucks on your skin. 

One way or another, the two of you find your way into Rafe's backseat. He's sitting with his legs wedged apart while you grind on top of him, muttering obscenities under your breath and weaving your fingers through his hair.

The sounds of your pleasure do more for him than he'd care to admit. When you unzip his slacks and stick your hand into his briefs to pull out his leaky cock, he throws his head back against the headrest and hisses at the contact. He is so fucking sensitive already.

"No, don't." Rafe protests breathlessly when you stroke his hard cock a few times, his hand slipping from your hip to wrap around your wrist and pull it away. Your eyes widen and you unfurl your hand immediately, only to smile when you realize why he wants you to stop. He tries to calm himself down, but can feel it building. 

"It's been a while." Rafe defends, and you giggle on top of him, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"Honestly, Rafe. That's really fucking hot." 

You pull your top over your head and toss it to the floor, then quickly unclasp your bra. Rafe groans immediately, half-lidded eyes so pretty and pitiful as one of his hands reaches up to grope you, while his mouth latches on to one of the hardening buds. You raise your hips to pull down your shorts, but it's not quick enough for Rafe. He tugs impatiently at the lace of your panties. 

Rafe sits you down on him, letting you control the speed as he enters you. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to take him fully, eyes screwed shut, gasp after gasp leaving your lips. 

"Fuck." You pant as he bottoms out, unable to move for a second as your head slumps in his chest. Rafe chuckles underneath you, large hands squeezing your hips. 

"You okay, baby?" 

"It's just big." You murmur, taking your bottom lip under your teeth. "It's really big, Rafe."

"I know," he coos softly as you begin to rock your hips on top of him, his own face twisting in pleasure as your pelvises kiss. "But you're doing so good, huh?"

You can barely respond, too taken by the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around him. By the sound of Rafe's deep thrusts, pistoling up into you as your hips knock into each other sloppily. Your slick dripping from where you're connected down to your thighs, squelching obscenely inside Rafe's truck, definitely staining the seats. 

"Taking my cock so well." He praises. "Splitting you in half, and you're taking it like a champ." 

You moan brokenly as Rafe hits your spot, his hand trailing down at the same time to rub circles on your aching clit with his thumb. 

"My good girl, huh? Always will be?"

You reach your climax as he presses searing kisses on your shoulder, shuddering with the kind of white hot pleasure that has your toes curling and a high-pitched whine vibrating from your throat that Rafe is sure he'll never forget. 

He comes shortly after, the way you clench around him through your orgasm enough to send him reeling. He groans, pumping his hips a few more times before he stills completely and fills the condom with his spend. He holds you tightly as you both come down, the sounds of your heavy breathing overlapping with each other.

Before his cock softens, he pulls out slowly and disposes of the latex. He presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone when you frown at the loss of contact, whimpering sweetly.

"Don't pout, princess. You need to get filled up? Right here?" A slender finger trails down to your slit, bumping your sensitive clit in the process, and it prods at your wet hole. 

He chuckles, brushing the sweaty hair from your face with his other hand. "I got that. Just gotta be patient and wait 'til I get you home. You can do that for me, right, pretty girl?"

The next morning, you strap yourself into the passenger seat of Rafe's truck as he drives to a busted Church at the outer edge of Figure 8. He takes his seat amongst a circle of foldable chairs and you take your seat next to him. His hand reaches out to grip yours not different from how it did last night, through fucking and sleeping alike.

When it's his turn to speak, you squeeze his hand encouragingly and he takes a deep breath.

"My dad, Ward Cameron, passed away about a year ago. He was a lot of things...,"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

blasting my silly little music and creating my silly little daydreams so i don’t lose my silly little mind

drew with a porn stache was NOT on my 2023 bingo card but i am beyond grateful

✩ — SINEMIES

PAIRING‧₊˚  Rafe Cameron x Kook!Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚  [2.8k] Returing to Kildare after years away, your mentality may have changed but you still have some old habits...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚  swearing, mild p*rn without plot but the plot was fun to write, smut

A/N‧₊˚ part of my angstober event!

˗ˏˋ rafe masterlist ˎˊ˗

A COMPACT MIRROR WAS HELD UP TO YOUR LIPS AS YOU TOUCHED UP YOUR LIPS, blotting them together before clamping the small object shut. You could feel the car finally come to a halt before the driver turned to face you.

“We’ve arrived, miss.” He announced, tone chipper and bright as always. You pulled a neatly folded one-hundred dollar bill from your bra and held it out to him, watching as he took the bill as humbly as possible.

“Thank you, Martin.” You thanked your personal driver, the man who had fathered you possibly more than your own, who was always gone on 'business'. Business being running around sleeping with women who were half his age and sipping Martini’s in a hot tub on a skyscraper rooftop 500 miles away. 

“My pleasure. You stay safe now.” He insisted, raising a brow as you offered a smile and reached for the handle. 

“Will do. Have a nice night.” You bid farewell as you swung the door of the sleek, black vehicle open, taking extra care to make sure your legs were never too far apart as you stepped out. The dress you picked out was just brushing what was considered ‘business casual’. You held your matching clutch close to your side and tried your best to ignore the way your heels made the arches of your feet ache. 

Wiggling your fingers at the man behind the wheel, you shut the door and watched as the car drove away. Turning your attention to the house you hadn’t seen in years and honestly hoped to never see again. The Cameron Residence was practically a historical landmark in Kildare. The house hadn’t aged in the years you’d been gone — walking out of it as a heartbroken eighteen year old girl and walking the path up to the door as a refined twenty-two year old woman. 

You could hear the low, classical music playing and the faint chatter of the guests inside. Shadows passing by as silhouettes in front of the curtains, the only lights that were on being on the first level of the home. 

You wasted no time, even in your careful observing, in taking strides towards the front door which would undoubtedly be unlocked, walking carefully as to not trip over your feet and make a fool of yourself. 

When your hand touched the doorknob, pushing open the only structure keeping you from the rest of the party, it was like stepping into a new reality. It was a reality you’d left behind in exchange for college campus life, which was more homey. More comforting and cozy, it kept you grounded. 

This reality was superficial, so superficial it nauseated you like never before. Art pieces on the white walls that cost way too much money and had no real meaning, sports trophies that were bought with wealth statuses and daddy’s money littered amongst coffee tables and mantelpieces. 

But you’d only have to suffer a couple hours and get what you came here for.

“You made it!” A voice beamed close to your ear, turning to see Sarah Cameron walking speedily in a pair of heels and a cream colored silk dress. Her arms were up as she made a b-line in your direction, a genuine smile falling across your face. You adored Sarah. She was probably one of the most genuine people who ever lived on Figure Eight. 

She embraced you tightly, swaying side to side as she did. “Oh, I missed you. We have so much to catch up on!” She gushed, releasing you from her grasp to grab a hold of your wrist instead. “Everyone’s in the backyard. C’mon, they’ve been waiting for you.” The ecstatic blonde girl gave you no time to greet her back or return her affections as she dragged you through the crowd of middle-aged business men and women. 

Stepping into the backyard where circular tables were set up with white tablecloths, candles placed perfectly in the middle of each one. It wasn’t long before your eyes landed on them all standing around one of the set ups. And it wasn’t long before they spotted you too, waving you and Sarah both over.

When you came to a stop in front of them as Sarah released your arm, you were pulled into another embrace by Ward himself. “Oh, honey, look at you!” He cooed, giving you a tight squeeze before pulling back and letting his hands rest on your shoulders. “You look beautiful. Where’s your father? Is he going to make it?”

You gave the man a pained smile. “Thank you, Mr.Cameron. No, he won’t. He’s in the city on ‘unofficial business’.” You spoke, spite evident in your voice. “You know how that goes.”

Ward gave you a comforting smile and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly before removing his hands. “Well, give him my best when you do see him.” With the conversation ending there, you turned your attention to the rest of the people surrounding the table. 

Rose perched under Ward’s arm, Wheezie leaned over the table with her elbows propped up on the surface while she fiddled with her phone, and Rafe. 

He stood directly across from you, hands in the pockets of his slacks as his eyes bored shamelessly into yours.

You stared back for a moment, narrowing your eyes. After a moment, you gave him a thin-lipped smile and small nod of your head in acknowledgement of his presence. “Hi, Rafe.”

“I didn’t think you’d be coming this year.” He spoke, voice deeper and more raspy than you remember. But you had to admit, he looked better. No longer strung out on drugs, mind racing all over the place. He looked tamed.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You assured him. The tension was palpable and you’re sure the rest of the Cameron family could feel it as Rose and Ward dismissed themselves to greet guests while Sarah dragged Wheezie to go eat all the sample foods in the kitchen with her. 

You and Rafe had dated practically all throughout high school. It was good until it wasn't. Rafe made you fall in love with a version of him that didn't exist and when the mask slipped there was no putting it back on. The relationship became the bane of your existence at some point during it. It couldn't even be described as toxic. Vile is probably a better word.

Once it was just the two of you, Rafe rounded the table to stand next to you as a waiter came around to hand you each a glass of champagne. You sat your clutch on the table and sipped on the beverage as he stood silently next to you, both of you facing forwards watching the party go on around you.

“Are you going to say something?” You asked flatly, tracing the rim of your glass.

“Why are you here?”

“Was I not invited?”

“You only ever come because your father asks you to just so he and my father can talk about property and money. But your father isn’t here. So why are you?” He pointed out.

You chuckled smally to yourself, finally turning your head to look at him as he did the same. “If you think I’m here for you, don’t flatter yourself.” You poked, leaning your weight on the table. “I’m surprised Ward didn’t mention anything to you.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “Mention what?”

“I came here to talk to him. About his company.” You started, taking a short sip of your champagne before continuing. “I want it and if my offer is good enough, he’s going to sell it to me.”

You'd struck a nerve in him. Nostrils flaring, fists balled on the surface of the top as he tried to compose himself. He had never been good with managing his anger. It was good to see that some things never change.

“Why the fuck would my father sell our family business to you?” He spat. “It’s mine. He said it was mine.”

“Well, it seems daddy lied to you.” You shrugged, looking Rafe in the eyes. “Like father, like son.”

Rafe’s eyes were running wild, his cheeks a deep shade of red. He took a step closer to you, placing his lips next to your ear as he spoke. “You’re bluffing. You've always been a bad bluff so, just say you missed me so we can fuck and you can go home.”

“I didn’t travel over two-hundred miles for you, Rafe.” You shot back, voice at his level now. “You never fucked me good enough for that type of commitment.”

“That’s funny. Considering all the screaming you were doing the night before you left for your fancy little Ivy-League School.” 

“You mean the night you begged me to come over? Crying about how you needed me-” You were cut off when Rafe abruptly gripped your upper arm, swiftly dragging you through the huddles of guests, into the house, and into the first open bathroom. He practically used your arm to throw you into the vacant area, closing the door behind himself.

His hands were trailing your thighs and underneath your dress before you could speak, his face only inches from yours. You didn’t think you’d ever miss his touch. It was always so rushed and rough. But now it was deliberately gentle and borderline seductive. 

“I will never forget the easiest way to get you to shut up. You're still the same.”

You snarled at him, mumbling an insult under your breath.

You hadn’t taken notice of the way your hands balled up your dress at the sides in your annoyance, making it easier for his hands to maneuver its way to the front of your panties, pressing the lightest of pressure to your clit. 

Your words had died in your throat, all insults and jabs getting swallowed down as you eyed him up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. Your lips were parted with small breaths leaving your lips every few seconds, refusing to give him complete satisfaction. “This doesn’t change anything.”

A smirk edged on his face before his head dipped down, using his nose to tip your chin up to gain access to your neck. You put up minimal struggle — you knew this wasn’t what you planned to do once you got here. You were here to rub the deal in his face, not fuck him in the downstairs bathroom of his mansion. But that plan became increasingly harder to carry out while he was sucking and licking your neck in all the right places that made you bite down on your tongue to keep quiet while his fingers moved your panties to the side, making contact with your bundle of nerves. One of your own hands released your dress to grab the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The tips of his calloused fingers gilded easily through your dripping folds. He sighed into your neck at the contact and you could feel him smile against your skin, his fingers tracing your core leisurely. “You don’t hate me nearly as much you think you do.”

His words made your blood boil and your legs go weak all at the same time. If he was going to fuck you, then he needed to do just that and shut up while he was at it.

Your free hand ran its up his clothed back, cupping the back of his neck as he resumed his assault on yours. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from making noise that any guest within ten feet of the door would hear as he eagerly pushed two of his fingers inside of you. You were never the quietest.

Your grip on his neck grew tighter, nails digging into the skin as his thick fingers curled and pumped between your legs. You’d been with other guys since Rafe but he knew you too well, which gave him an advantage that you hated. “Oh, fuck…” You muttered when you could no longer hold your profanities in your chest.

Releasing the hand that remained on your dress, you grabbed his wrist in a desperate attempt to shove his digits deeper into your core. 

He must’ve taken this as a sign that you wanted much more than he was offering because it wasn’t long before his fingers went from carefully massaging your g-spot to ramming into you callously. Your mouth fell open, the hand grabbing his wrist now gripping his forearm, feeling the veins on his biceps through his shirt. 

His head retreated from your neck to crash his lips against yours. His kisses no longer tasted like coke how they used to —- chemical and bitter. The only thing you could taste was the fruity-sweet undertones of the expensive champagne. It made your heart clench in the slightest of ways, knowing that just maybe he wasn’t the same person he was when you left.

But you knew he also wasn’t someone you could ever be with.

You were just about to reach your climax when he pulled his fingers back, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You didn’t even have a second to complain before he was dropping you to the floor, feet landing on the hardwood floor just in time to catch yourself.

Rafe hiked up your dress above your hips, pulling your panties down like a man starved and turning you to face the wall before using a hand on your back to bend you over. One of your own hands came up to slap itself against the painted surface, keeping you steady.

You could hear him unbutton his pants before letting them drop down his thighs, hearing his shoes shuffle closer behind you before you felt the warm head of his cock, smearing precum over your heat.

He wasted little time in pushing into you, a small groan leaving his lips as both of his hands went to grip your hips, pulling you back onto him with every thrust forward. Quick breaths and low moans were leaving your lips with every slap of his hips against yours.

His pace was moderate, but he was so deep that every push back into you felt like a kick to the gut in the best way possible.

You only felt a little shame when you realized this was exactly where Rafe wanted you. But this didn’t change anything after the fact. And he didn’t know that yet.

You started to feel that knot in your abdomen wind itself tighter again, pulling and pulling until after one particularly deep, knee-trembling thrust and the unexpected feeling of his fingers rubbing circles into your clit, you snapped. Coming around him as your nails scratched against the wall and you let out a long, breathy moan.

He wasn’t far behind you, grip on your hip growing tighter as his thrusts grew more rapid and sloppy, pushing you farther up the wall as your body began to straighten itself out, trembling as his circling of your nerves hadn't let up and he rode out your own high while still fucking into you. You felt the familiar feeling of him spilling inside of you within seconds. You didn’t think you would ever forget it.

You didn’t let him bask in his post-sex haze for long, pulling your garments back on and into place after he pulled out before silently moving around him to see yourself in the mirror. You fixed your loose strands of hair and lip gloss that somehow ran down your lips and onto your chin. You could see the blur of him in the reflective surface behind you as he pulled his pants back on, hair messed and skin red.

Once you deemed yourself decent, you creaked the door open, peeking to see who was near. When you figured the coast was clear, you slipped out of the door, leaving Rafe behind.

You weaved your way through the crowd of people that had thinned out somewhat, heading for the backyard where you realized you had carelessly left your clutch on the table. Making it back to the table where Rafe had dragged you from, half-drunk glasses of champagne and your abandoned clutch on the surface, you grabbed it, ready to turn around and find Ward. 

But of course, the second you turned back to the patio doors, Rafe was just inches behind you.

“You’re leaving now, right?”

You couldn’t help but scoff humorously. “What?”

“You got what you came here for so you’re leaving.” He said as if he had it all figured out. You didn’t think he seriously thought you were bluffing about the business proposal. Poor thing.

“I already told you, Rafe,” You started, shaking your head with a small grin on your face. “I’m not here for you.”

His face morphed into one of great annoyance and mild anger as your name was called, echoing outside. Your gaze shifted behind the irritated man to find Ward coming your way.

Stopping in front of you, he spoke without really noticing his son’s presence. “I’m so glad I caught you. I’ve been busy all night but-” Suddenly, he seemed to notice Rafe’s figure in front of you, hesitant eyes whipping between the both of you to carefully select his next words, not aware of the fact that his son now knew the one thing he didn’t want him to. “...I’d really still like a chance to talk about… that thing, before you go.”

You nodded, only really wanting to conceal the childish smile on your face. “That’d be great, Mr.Cameron. I’ll be sure to stick around.”

The older man gave you a grateful nod, pitifully eyeing his son before heading back inside. Your own gaze shifted back to Rafe, you could’ve sworn you saw steam rising from his ears. And though you felt a twinge of guilt, you just couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You are a lot of things Rafe,” You started, picking up your champagne glass from the table behind you before looking at him again. “But better than me is not one of them.”

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Drew Starkey come home the kids and I miss you