Drew Starkey Imagines

Empire State of Mind

GOSSIP GIRL
Spotted: The OBX's golden boy, Rafe Cameron, trading in the sand and surf for the Manhattan skyline—hand in hand with his mystery girl. Word on the street? He's not just daddy's plus-one this time. Looks like the Outer Banks heir has found himself a Queen. But will the Upper East Side welcome the Southern charm, or will they eat them alive? Stay tuned. You know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

The city glowed beneath you, the lights of Manhattan stretching endlessly from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the venue. A grand ballroom at The Met, filled with New York's wealthiest and most elite, all draped in designer and dripping in old money.

It was nothing like home. No crashing waves, no late-night boat rides, no sneaking out to The Cut just to feel alive.

And yet, standing in the middle of it all, Rafe's arm snug around your waist, his breath hot against your skin every time he leaned down to whisper something in your ear—this felt just as intoxicating.

"You look like a dream, Y/N," Rafe murmured, voice husky, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly so your cheek brushed against his. "You're just saying that because you like seeing me in something other than cutoffs and one of your stolen t-shirts."

Rafe chuckled, but his grip on you tightened. "Nah, baby," he said, eyes trailing over your dress. "You could wear anything, and I'd still lose my mind. But this?" His fingers traced the delicate fabric of your designer gown, lingering at the curve of your waist. "This is dangerous."

And he wasn't wrong. The dress—deep navy, hugging you in all the right places, with a slit running high up your thigh—was meant to turn heads. You knew it when you slipped it on. You saw it in Rafe's expression the second he laid eyes on you in your hotel room.

Now, hours later, he still hadn't recovered.

Not that you minded.

"Rafe Cameron."

A smooth, familiar voice cut through the air, and you turned to find Chuck Bass standing in front of you, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Chuck continued, eyes flickering to you before landing back on Rafe. "Then again, nothing about you showing up in my city should surprise me."

Rafe tensed slightly, though his own smirk never wavered. "Just broadening my horizons," he said smoothly, pulling you even closer. "Figured it was time for the Upper East Side to get a taste of the OBX."

Chuck huffed a laugh, then turned his full attention to you. "And who's this?"

Before you could introduce yourself, Rafe's hand slid from your waist to rest possessively on your hip. "Y/N," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She's with me."

A flicker of amusement crossed Chuck's face. "I can see that." His gaze lingered for a second too long, but before Rafe could do something reckless—something Rafe—another voice joined the conversation.

"Well, well," Blair Waldorf purred, appearing beside Chuck with a flute of champagne in hand. "You must be the talk of the town."

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the way Blair's sharp eyes assessed you, taking in every detail. She was stunning, poised, radiating the kind of effortless confidence that only came from being born into a world like this.

"She is," Rafe confirmed, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip.

Blair arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Hmm. I like her."

Rafe let out a small, satisfied chuckle. "Good."

Before the conversation could go any further, the grand doors to the ballroom opened, signaling the start of the night's main event.

The crowd moved, and Rafe guided you effortlessly through it, never letting you stray too far from his side. You caught glimpses of familiar faces—Serena van der Woodsen in a golden gown, Nate Archibald charming a group of socialites, Lily Bass exchanging pleasantries with Ward Cameron.

Rafe only had eyes for you.

"People are staring," you murmured as you accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"They can stare," Rafe said, his blue eyes dark with something possessive. "I don't give a damn about them. I care about you."

You felt the warmth spread through your chest, mixing with the buzz of champagne. "You sure you don't care?" you teased, tilting your head toward a group of Manhattan's elite clearly whispering about you. "Not even a little?"

Rafe smirked, setting his drink down before slipping a hand beneath the slit of your dress, his palm warm against your bare thigh. You sucked in a quiet breath.

"Let 'em talk," he murmured. "They don't get to touch you. They don't get to see you like this." His fingers trailed higher, and your skin burned under his touch. "Only I do."

Your heart pounded, the heat between you crackling like a live wire.

"Rafe," you warned softly, though you didn't actually want him to stop.

He leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear. "What?" he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "Something wrong?"

You turned in his arms, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck. "You're playing a dangerous game," you whispered.

Rafe grinned, brushing his nose against yours. "Baby, I am the dangerous game."

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, warm and insistent. You melted into him, champagne forgotten, the buzz of the gala fading away until there was only Rafe—the way he tasted, the way his hands gripped you like he never wanted to let go.

You didn't care who was watching.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the two of you were lost in each other, oblivious to the cameras flashing, the whispered gossip spreading like wildfire.

Across the ballroom, Blair nudged Serena, watching the scene unfold.

"Well," she mused, taking a sip of her champagne. "This is definitely going to be on Gossip Girl."

GOSSIP GIRL
Breaking news, Upper East Siders: Looks like Rafe Cameron and his Southern Belle are here to stay. And judging by the way our favorite bad boy can't keep his hands off her, we'd say he's found his newest obsession. But be careful, darling—New York has a way of chewing people up and spitting them out. Can the OBX golden couple survive the Upper East Side? Only time will tell. You know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

A/N: Wow I have not written anything in so long and i need to start again! I hope you guys like this and welcome back babes!!!