Drew Starkey Imagines

All I Need

The dinner table in the Cameron household was always stiff, set like a showroom, not a home. Perfect silverware. Napkins folded into triangles. Rose sitting upright with a Chardonnay glass that never emptied. Wheezie poking at her food, earbuds dangling around her neck. Ward at the head of the table, talking like a man giving a press conference instead of eating with his family.

And Rafe—Rafe Cameron sat across from his father, unusually quiet, jaw ticking like clockwork, already tense.

"So," Ward said, casually slicing into his rare steak, "I heard you've been spending a lot of time around that Pogue."

The word dropped into the silence like a rusted anchor. Not your name. Not even "girl." Just that Pogue, like you were dirt on his yacht shoes.

Rafe didn't look up at first. He kept cutting his food, his movements slow, deliberate. Then, his knife clattered against the porcelain.

"That Pogue," he said, voice cold, "is my girlfriend. And her name is Y/N."

The table fell silent.

Wheezie looked between them with wide eyes. Rose blinked as though she had misheard. Ward's hand froze mid-air, wine glass inches from his lips.

Rose recovered first, her tone sharp and disapproving. "She's dangerous, Rafe. She hangs around with those other Pogues—John B, JJ, that girl Kiara—"

"Cleo and Pope," Rafe cut in. "Yeah, I know their names. I know them better than you ever tried to."

Rose leaned forward. "They're trouble, Rafe. She's trouble."

"Really?" he shot back, lips curling into a bitter smile. "Aren't I trouble? Or have we forgotten that part already?"

Ward's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone, son."

"Why?" Rafe scoffed. "Afraid I'll start talking about all the secrets? Or do you just hate the fact that the girl I'm dating doesn't fit your perfectly polished life?"

Ward slammed his palm on the table. "That's enough."

"No," Rafe stood his ground, voice rising. "No, it's not. You think just because she's from the Cut, she's beneath me? Let me remind you, before you got rich off of everyone else's backs, you were a Pogue too."

That struck something. Ward's jaw clenched, and for a second, there was silence again—except this time, it was angry, choking.

"We don't want you getting involved with them," Ward said, his voice low and deliberate. "Not the way your sister has."

That did it.

Rafe stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor. The table rattled from the force, silverware clinking and Wheezie flinching.

"Oh, you mean your favorite child?" Rafe laughed, bitter and unfiltered. "The one who left this family because her friends actually treat her like a person? You mean her? And now that she's out of your control, she's a problem too?"

"It's for your protection," Rose said sharply. "You're being reckless."

"No," Rafe snapped. "This isn't about protection. It's about the Cameron name. It's about your obsession with keeping everything neat and pretty while you lie to everyone's faces. You don't give a damn about me—you care about how I look to the world. Well, guess what? I don't care anymore."

Before anyone could stop him, Rafe turned on his heel and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.

⸻

The night had fallen heavy over Poguelandia, the sound of cicadas buzzing softly in the trees. You were sitting on the dock, legs dangling off the edge, water rippling beneath your feet, when you heard the sound of tires crunching gravel.

You didn't turn right away. You knew that car. You knew that stride—the way his shoes hit the planks with frustration pulsing behind every step.

Rafe dropped down beside you, exhaling hard like he'd run here on foot.

You looked over, eyes scanning his face. He looked tired. Red around the edges, like he'd fought every word to make it out of that house.

"What happened?" you asked, softly.

He didn't speak at first, just ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until they stood up.

"They found out," he said finally. "About us. At dinner."

Your heart clenched, not out of fear—but because you could see how much it had cost him to leave.

"What'd they say?"

"They didn't say you," Rafe muttered. "They said 'that Pogue.' Like you were a stray dog I brought home. And then they talked about your friends—our friends—like they were criminals, like I was dating some kind of disease."

You turned slightly, brows furrowed, "Rafe..."

He looked over at you, eyes softening. "I told them. That you're my girlfriend. That your name is Y/N. And I told them I didn't give a shit about the Cameron name."

His voice cracked slightly.

"I told them I was done."

You blinked. "You... walked out?"

"More like stormed," he said with a small smile, then shook his head. "I don't care what they say. I'm not going back. Not if it means pretending you're not the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You didn't know what to say. You reached over and slipped your hand into his, fingers threading together. His grip was firm, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he didn't hold tight.

"They're still your family," you said quietly.

Rafe turned to you, something fierce in his gaze. "Look at Sarah. She left, and she's better. She smiles more. Laughs more. You think that's a coincidence?"

You didn't answer.

"She left because of them," he continued. "Because of how Ward lied. Manipulated her. Tried to control her. And now she's finally free. I want that too. With you."

"Rafe..."

"You're all I need, Y/N," he said, voice raw and honest. "You, and Poguelandia, and late-night beer runs, and bonfires that never end. You make me feel like I'm not just... some broken piece of their legacy. You make me feel real."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It wrapped around the two of you like a blanket, the water gently lapping beneath your feet.

You turned to him, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Are you sure you're ready for this? Being with me means dealing with the people your family hates."

"I'm already hated," Rafe said. "At least now I'm hated for something that makes me happy."

You smiled, just a little. "You make me happy too."

He looked at you like he needed to remember the moment forever. The stars reflected in his eyes like little bits of hope that hadn't been stomped out yet.

"You really mean that?" he asked.

"I do."

Rafe leaned forward, gently touching his forehead to yours. "Then I'm staying. Here. With you."

You rested your hands on either side of his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. "And if Ward comes looking for you?"

"Let him," Rafe whispered. "He'll never understand what love looks like unless it's framed and airbrushed."

You chuckled softly. "We're kind of messy, huh?"

"The best kind," he replied, grinning.

You kissed him then—slow, grounding, the kind of kiss that made you forget the world. When you pulled back, Rafe looked lighter. Like he'd left more than a house behind. Like he'd shed a version of himself that never fit.

He rested his head on your shoulder as you both stared out at the moonlit water, the dock creaking beneath you.

And for the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron wasn't pretending.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.