thebolterx

[thebolterx]

i'm in the business of losin' your interest | s 3 | rafe & sofia

request: @dulcecherub requested what sofia and rafe's relationship was like between s3 and s4, and maybe when he fell for her. This is the moment he decided to actually pursue something. I'm sorry that he is so selfish and so this isn't super fluffy. also i know sofia might have some "pick me" energy, but i do see her as having purely good intentions. she's into him. sue her. for some reason this graphic hates me. i hope it doesn't look like shit. based on come over by noah kahan and rafe being alone at tannyhill. contains: 2.5k slightly proofread. purely rafe's pov, nsfw, mdni, religious imagery, death and decay imagery, shower sex, grief and guilt. lies, probably some other things i can't remember. drug use mentioned. rafe's a selfish prick that wants to feel like a good person.

"Are you free?"

Rafe bowled right through any pleasantries to what he needed.

Her.

Here.

Now.

His fingers tremored around the smooth metal frame of his phone as he paced up and down the length of the dining room in total darkness. His eyes strained against the blue moonlight, and swift, urgent steps thumped against Rose's thick Persian rug.

The house was too cold, too vast, too barren. His throat felt like it was closing in, and nails itched deep and unreachable in a way that made him want to tear them from his skin. He needed to fill Tannyhill with light and sound and laughter...and quickly.

"Rafe?"

Her words echoed in his head as he clung to this last ounce of sanity. This one mast in the storm. You don't even know me. I know enough. She thought she knew him. She thought she had him all figured out. She'd been fooled by his golf clubs gathering dust in the garage, and all his new heavy responsibilities weighed on his shoulders. Like he was some tortured artist. Some noble king. Sofia had been lulled into a false sense of security, which he could take no credit for.

"Yeah. Are you?" he insisted again, short and sharp.

It wasn't his fault she looked up at him with stars in her eyes and this unwavering sense of belief. She probably looked at everyone that way. Always so determined to find the good. To make things better.

"I-" he could hear the shuffling of her bedsheets on the other end as she spoke through a yawn "....I can be. What's wrong?"

If she knew how bad things had gotten with his Dad at the end, would she have feared or pitied him? Would she have realized the actions she'd set in motion with their conversation, and once she had, would she have replaced the bruises on his cheek with kisses and licked the blood off his hands?

What if Ward hadn't made it off the plane? What if he'd bled out right there on the plush cream floor between the bar cart and the leather seats? How much red could dribble and leak into his ledger until it was soaked through? Until it was unsalvageable? Buzzing questions circled in his mind on repeat. Always lingering in the back like a coffee stain in a metal mug. Stubborn and immovable.

"Shit..." he itched at has freshly cut hair at her husky tone "You were asleep."

There'd been no word from Sarah or John B. Stupid incompetent idiots! What did they expect him to do? Just sit around and wait for them? Pacing and huffing and clawing at the bars of his enclosure?

The sound of her light, easy laugh glided down the centre of his chest, warm and thick and intoxicating. "Yeah, Rafe. Like most people."

He flicked his eyes to the clock on the oven: 2:04. Her evening was long over, whereas his had vanished in a blur of spiralling thoughts and self-medication. Fuck, she must be pissed.

"Not all of us are nocturnal like you."

His brows dropped at that simple response. No scolding. No grumbling. She was...she was joking and flirting as if he hadn't just given her the fright of her life by shaking her awake with the violent vibrating and bright light of her phone.

He should've come to expect this behaviour from her, and yet it still stopped him in his tracks every time. She'd dropped off frozen meals, baking, and fresh flowers. She'd called her cousin when his garage door stopped working and used her staff discount at the club when she wanted to make sure he ate something with his liquid dinner.

And he hasn't even given her anything in return. He hadn't even touched her again since the string of nights they'd spent together after the party. This was all just "what you did" to her. This was normal. In her eyes, his dad had died, and this is what she naturally did in response. You crowded in support when people went through a tragedy.

"Rafe...."

Was he going through a tragedy? Was that what this was supposed to be? Was he supposed to feel grief instead of relief? Was he supposed to refer to himself as some kinda estranged lonely orphan instead of the man of the house that finally felt free?

A flicker of fierce jealousy sparked in his gut and crinkled across his brow. The only reason she had all those resources to give him that kindness to begin with was that she had a whole entourage standing waiting. Always reliable. Always available. Nothing was ever too big, or too much, or too small. Family, colleagues, congregations, community. He... had no one.

"Are you...." he stopped pacing at that tenative hitch in her throat. "Rafe...Is this call what I think it is?"

His fingers tightened around the phone as his wild eyes searched the patio outside for the right response. It hadn't been initially. He called her purely on instinct. A snap decision of desperation. Needing to not think. Not feel. Neeing her calming presence and easy way of doing things.

Sex definitely sounded less humbling right now than doing a line hunched over like an idiot in the cramped butler's pantry.

"Would..." he swallowed down hard on a lump in his throat and tried his best to lace his voice with velvet and smoke, letting his lip curl into a smirk against the receiver. "If it were....would you say yes?"

His free hand curled into a tight fist, his heart pounded in his ears, and anticipation swirled in his gut as he heard her breathe. The silence that followed felt like an eternity. In, Out, In, out. Fuck, he wanted to hear her breathe again. Hear her gasp, and hitch, and cum. He wanted to hear it even out into smooth, shallow huffs in her sleep as he lay awake beside her.

"I would"

"I'll come get you."

"No!" he recoiled at the sudden lurch of panic in her voice, pulling back to frown at the phone for a second before she laughed sheepishly and carried on. "No, I mean I'll come to you."

By the time she arrived, he'd gotten changed into a nice black shirt and a fresh layer of cologne. He tidied the essential areas of the house and hid the messy ones. His room was straightened to an extent, but the low soft lamp light did most of the work to hide any clutter or filth in shadow and haze. Thankfully, the cleaner had come recently or else his ensuite would've been uninhabitable.

He buzzed her in the gate and left the front door open while he poured them two glasses of red in the kitchen. Soft footfalls padded carefully in the hall, and he heard the large wooden doors close and lock behind her.

Always so careful.

"I'm usually a white wine girl..." Sofia appeared smiling in the doorway and his shoulders loosened. Her pink two-piece set of gym clothes hugged her curves and her hairline was slick with sweat. Her bangs were clipped back, but baby curls escaped in all directions and stuck to her skin. Any other questions died on his tongue as he waved her in.

"Did you run here?"

Someone's eager.

"I biked," she corrected with a pointed finger as she crossed the room towards him, stepping into the soft, cool white tones of the kitchen island lights.

"Sof..." he sighed.

"I wanted to. My parents would've noticed the car gone in the morning, and despite all your machismo." She scooped up the red wine and stared up at him over the rim of the glass as she tasted it, a glint in her brown eyes. "You're not ready for the Cut"

"I've been to the Cut!" he defended, instinctively.

"Oh, have you?" she grinned into her next sip as he immediately fell into her trap. "When?"

Touche

"You know when"

"Mhm! The only reason Kooks ever have to cross enemy lines. Barry... and Pogue girls"

"No girls."

"None?"

He shook his head as he met her focused stare,

Just you

His blue eyes took her in up close now with no hint of subtlety or remorse. Dark hair, smooth skin, cute round cheeks, and big soulful eyes that were looking at him with anything but wholesome intentions. God, she was beautiful. Even now. Even when she was sweaty and flushed, and he'd practically dragged her out of bed

To be fair, sweaty and flushed was the best look on her anyway.

She broke first in their unspoken staring contest, and a chuckle rumbled through his chest. Her cheeks burned as she ducked her head to gulp another sip of wine. "Did you want white instead?" he offered polite and cherry, fighting a victorious grin, as if nothing had ever happened. As if she were the only one struggling to contain herself.

"No. Red suits the mood."

"Good," he nodded firmly, and then, without any more stalling, he grabbed the rest of the bottle by the neck and her hand and marched them both straight out of the kitchen. "Let's get you cleaned up."

That pretense didn't last long. Before he knew it, she was pressed between him and the damp tiles, and he was buried deep within her. Impossibly close and yet demanding more.

His knees buckled briefly beneath the strain of keeping her from falling. Clutching her tightly to him, his fingers digging deep into her ass and shoulder as hot water pounded down against his skin, making everything slick and unruly.

He pulled those sounds he'd been craving from her lips with each swift snap of his hips. The muffled grunts, the desperate whimpers, the dreamy moans. They popped from lungs, and hummed against her lips and melted into his skin. He lapped them up eagerly, twisting their mouths together and tangling their tongues so he could capture every sound. Soaking in that reverence as his name fell from her lips in tender whispers and her limbs encaged him.

Her head fell back against the cool wall, and her nails bit into his skin. Steam and heat and pleasure choked the air from his lungs as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, and he thrust up into her, so close to breaking.

With his back taking the full brunt of the water, he was free to stare in wonder at the way her skin rippled with every movement, with how she moved in sync with him, and at that angle, he could feel her slick and tight and silky around him with each roll from base to tip. Fuck, she was heavenly. Like something out of a dream. Too perfect to be real. Too good to be left out in the wild for someone else to come along.

Sex was always a moving target. Some days it was everything. Other days, he was so numb Eva Longoria herself could walk in and offer to suck his dick, and he still wouldn't feel a thing.

Whatever this was, it was working, and he needed more of that. More of her. And so he threw himself haphazardly onto this pyre and prayed for mercy. Entangled in the shower, on the bed, on the floor. His head between her thighs in the night, and her lips brushing his hips in the morning. It all blurred into a stirring, satiating, surprising little dream. Like he'd been visited by some creature with a blessing to bestow.

He let her sleep while he ran errands, half expecting her to want to get on with her day, but when he got back, she'd made herself right at home. Sitting curled up at the outdoor table with tea and toast and one of Rose's old paperbacks. Her hair was damp and curly, and her feet tucked up under her as she wore a makeshift outfit pulled together from his white linen shirt and blue boxer shorts.

"You're still here?"

"You left a note?"

"I...well yeah but...."

"What?" she met his gaze with soft brown eyes and a compassionate smile, shaking her head gently at his surprise as if it was obvious. "Did you think I'd just bounce?"

She really was surprising. Each out he gave her, she didn't take. Each time he compared her to any one of his Kook friends, they paled in comparison. She had done more for him in a number of days than some people had done in years. If he was lucky, he could keep her around for a very long time.

He sank down into the chair across from her, and she watched him as he moved. There was that look again those same wandering brown eyes and contented subtle smile. Peaceful. Unguarded. Appreciative. Admiration without possession. Adoration without submission. How could she be so relaxed when he felt like he was going everywhere at once? How was he supposed to live up to that kind of perfect picture she'd painted in her head?

He couldn't. He knew that, but where Ward's expectations had felt like an anchor on the ocean floor, Sofia's trust felt more like a siren call. He'd happily drown in that trust until it came true. Until he morphed into some perfect boyfriend who opened doors and walked on the right side and shit.

If she found out about Peterkin he's pretty sure she'd whitewash that too.

She didn't need to know. She never needed to know. He could start fresh. Delude himself for just a little longer and soak in the soothing salvation of her milk and honey and bury Peterkin's bones in the shadows beneath his father's bed.

All that could wait. His Dad was home free, and he had a business to run. He didn't have time to deal with Shoupe and his nagging.

"Did you get food?" she turned back to her book.

"Nah," he drummed the armrests of his chair, and stillness only worsened his restlessness. He tried his best to contain it, he really did, but when she turned the page for a second time, he slapped the arms of his chair and suddenly sprang to his feet. "Let's go out."

"What? Now?"

"Yeah. Get dressed"

"You put my clothes in the wash!"

"Shit. I'll lend you something."

"You'll lend me something... to wear...at breakfast...with you, Rafe Cameron, in public?"

"Ah...Yeah"

She eyed him sceptically for a moment, her half-eaten toast paused partway to her mouth. Then, slowly, a bright beam crept onto her face, and she dragged him upstairs and gave him the corniest little fashion show/strip tease any guy has ever asked for.

[thebolterx]

12. Say less.

Masterlist.

Previous chapter: 11.

A/N: narration at the end ;).

“Do you think that scared them?” Rafe asked, his grip tightening around her waist.

Sofia laughed, tilting her head back. “I literally saw them jump out of the boat.”

He smirked. “Why’d you even invite them?”

She shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. Thought it’d be fun.”

“Or maybe…” he leaned in, his voice lower, “you’re afraid of being alone with me?”

“Not even a little,” she shot back, steady.

“Good,” he said, turning her gently to face him. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes met his.

“So, about—”

Before she could finish, his mouth was on hers — urgent, hungry. A soft moan escaped her lips.

“You were saying?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Nothing. Just… keep going.”

He let out a low, teasing laugh. “You’re so eager, huh?”

Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, and he lifted her slightly off the ground.

“Oh, come on.”

He spun her playfully, then pressed light kisses along her cheek, down her jaw, trailing toward her neck — slow, intoxicating.

Outside, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow on their skin, making their eyes shine brighter and their smiles stretch wider.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Rafe said, his voice low, his fingers slipping beneath the thin red straps of her bathing suit. “Red’s your color.”

“Yeah?” Sofia breathed, her pulse quickening.

“Yeah.”

The top slid down slowly, pooling at her waist before falling to the floor. Her hands moved on instinct, but not fast enough to stop the way his eyes darkened as he took her in.

His gaze was shameless, hot, lingering.

“Are you just gonna stare?” she asked, her voice teasing, but her breath caught in her throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Can you blame me?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

The ocean rocked gently beneath them, but it was the heat between them that made the world tilt.

He stepped in closer, one hand trailing up her side, slow and deliberate. “I’ve seen you before,” he whispered, “but never like this.”

“The other day—”

Rafe shook his head, cutting her off gently as his hands gripped her waist. She let her arms slide around his neck, her legs following in a slow, natural motion to wrap around him.

Without a word, he carried her into the small bed, the sheets slightly rumpled, the air heavy with salt and summer heat.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice husky, eyes flicking down to the last barrier between them.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Her gaze stayed locked on his face, studying every flicker of emotion—desire, sure, but also something else. Something deeper she couldn’t name.

He kissed his way along her thighs, still tasting of ocean and sun, each touch more reverent than the last. Her fingers curled tightly in the sheets, breath shaky as he traced a path up her body.

Clothes came off in pieces, slow and clumsy and hungry, until there was nothing left between them. Just skin and heat and a breathless grin passed between tangled limbs.

[thebolterx]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⸝⸝ the eyes, chico. ⸝⸝

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⸝⸝ they never lie. ⸝⸝

[thebolterx]

I'M SAT!!!

LOVE AND LEVODOPA (and other drugs) - A RAFIA "LOVE AND OTHER DRUGS" AU

"I am a shithead. Trust me."

"Because if you turn out not to be a shithead, it would be bad."

"No chance of that."

-Love and Other Drugs (2010)

Rafe Cameron, an ex-practitioner in medicine, is a firm believer in no strings attached: either leaving his medicine practice to cash in tons of money or serenading women every ten hours, he does it hard and fast. His family considers him the pariah of the family, and he wears it like a badge of honor right next to his carefree attitude in life. He is, as it comes, reckless with a smug-ass grin on his face and panty-dropping quips on his shoulder all the time.

Enter Sofia Garcia. A woman with fire on her tongue and too many painkillers and broken camera lenses and smart-ass remarks on her medicine cabinet. She may be chronically tired, but never enough to throw an eye roll at a man.

What will happen when these two souls have a not-so-meet-cute; find out in this "Love and Other Drugs" AU.

Chapter Index

Aesthetics (coming soon)

Prologue (coming soon)

Chapter 1 (coming soon)

Work of @allthedamnlove

[thebolterx]

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY as ELIZABETH BENNET and ROSAMUND PIKE as JANE BENNET

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) dir. JOE WRIGHT

[thebolterx]

11. She does!?

Masterlist.

Previous chapter: 10.

Next chapter: 12.

[thebolterx]

THE PRINCESS DIARIES (2001) dir. Gary Marshall

[thebolterx]

10. Where are you?

Masterlist.

Previous chapter: 09.

A couple months later...

“I need to tell you something,” Rafe said, his voice unusually tense as they drove toward Sofia’s place.

She turned to look at him. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

“Okay…”

He let out a long sigh. “I was kind of the reason you lost your job at the club.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I mean—indirectly,” he said quickly. “I gave a statement to Ruthie’s college about the racist shit she said. She got expelled. And, well… she figured out it was me. So, in revenge, she got you fired.”

Sofia blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I didn’t know it would get to you, Sof,” he said, rubbing a hand through his already short hair. “I just… I don’t think people should get away with that kind of talk. I stand by what I did, I just—I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle.”

She didn’t respond right away. She didn’t even move. Just stared out the windshield, letting the silence settle.

Rafe glanced at her, then back at the road. His foot pressed heavier on the gas. “Are you mad at me? You’d have every right to be.”

After a long pause, she finally spoke.

“I’m not mad.”

He exhaled, easing off the pedal. “Okay. Good.”

Sofia looked out the window, thoughtful. “So… that’s why Ruthie disappeared?”

“Yeah. I heard her parents weren’t happy about the whole thing. Think they sent her off somewhere to cool down.”

“Good,” Sofia muttered under her breath.

Next chapter: 11

[thebolterx]

Two Ghosts — Rafe & Sofia one shot

What if... Sofia left ten years ago without leaving any trace of her.

words: 2.6k

Ten years.

It had been ten long years since the last time they saw each other. Not a single day had passed without Rafe wondering why she did it—why she betrayed him.

Every night, the same nightmare haunted him. She’d explain, and he’d forgive her. Because no matter how much time had gone by, he never stopped loving her. And he hated that. Hated that he still wished he’d handled it differently—wished he hadn’t screamed at her over the phone like that. He should’ve talked to her. Tried to understand.

But he didn’t.

And when he got back from Morocco, she was already gone. No note, no trace, not even her family remained in town. It was like she’d never existed.

And yet, she haunted him. Every room in that house reminded him of her. After a few years, he sold it. But it didn’t matter—she’d already made a home in his mind, the version of her he fell in love with. Young. Kind. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He wondered sometimes, if he saw her again… would he even recognize her? He didn’t feel like he’d changed much, but ten years is a long time. She probably looked different now. Older. Stronger.

He tried to forget her.

He tried to move on.

But no one compared. No one had that thing that made her so special. And eventually, he gave up searching.

Because deep down, he knew.

She was the one.

And at twenty-three, he was damn sure of it. That’s why he proposed.

“Hey,” Sarah’s voice snapped him out of the hole he’d spiraled into.

She was pregnant again—third kid in ten years.

The thought hit him like a punch: What if Sofia has kids of her own now?

His stomach turned.

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again,” Sarah said, unimpressed.

He raised an eyebrow, still not really looking at her. “Doing what?”

“Getting lost in your head.”

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Would you mind babysitting the kids Friday night? It’s John B’s and my anniversary.”

He loved his niece and nephew, but he’d never been good with kids.

“Can’t Wheezie do it?”

“She’s out of town. You’re my last option.”

“Fine. I’ll put a movie on for them.”

“Great!” she beamed.

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

…

Friday night.

“Why are we watching this?” Valerie—Sarah’s eldest—groaned as an animated movie played on the TV.

“Your brother is five,” Rafe said, passing her the popcorn.

“But I’m a big boy!” the kid shouted proudly.

“No, you’re not,” Valerie replied, rolling her eyes. “You just heard Uncle Rafe—you’re five.”

The boy turned to Rafe, on the verge of tears.

“I— I’m just being honest! That is your age... but yeah, of course you’re a big boy.” He gave a quick thumbs-up.

Satisfied, the boy turned back to the screen.

Later, over dinner, Valerie spoke up.

“I have a new teacher.”

“Who?” her little brother asked.

“Miss Sofia.”

“No, who asked you.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”

But Rafe wasn’t paying attention anymore.

His heart stopped.

Miss Sofia.

It could’ve been a coincidence. It had to be. There were thousands of Sofias out there.

Still—his chest burned.

“Miss Sofia?” he repeated, voice low.

“Yeah! She started today, which is kinda weird ‘cause its Friday. But she’s really sweet!” Valerie explained, clearly excited.

“What does she look like?”

“She’s brunette. Her eyes are kinda green... or brown?”

“Hazel?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“No reason.” He forced a smile. “Hey, what do you guys think about getting ice cream after school on Monday?”

“We never do that.”

“Well, maybe it’s time we start.”

Valerie shrugged. “Sure.”

…

Monday morning.

Rafe was driving to work when Sarah called. He answered through the car’s Bluetooth.

“What’s up?”

“You tell me,” she said. “The kids said you’re picking them up today?”

“Yeah. We’re getting ice cream.”

There was a pause.

“You... want to spend time with them?” Sarah asked, genuinely confused.

“Why do you sound so surprised? They’re fun.”

“This isn’t about Valerie’s new teacher, is it?”

He parked outside his office. “Have you met her?”

“No.”

“So, you don’t know if it’s her?”

“No. And don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. Pick them up at two.”

“Noted.”

He hung up and stepped out of the car.

But she was wrong.

He was getting his hopes up.

He was already picturing the moment.

Her face. Her eyes when she saw him.

Because after ten years, if it really was her—he wasn’t going to lose her again.

He spent the day working on a new project, but nothing went right. Mistake after mistake. His mind was somewhere else—stuck in the past, stuck on her.

By the time the clock neared 2:00 p.m., he shut his laptop, grabbed his keys, and drove to the school.

He picked up Jack first. They walked together down the hallway toward Valerie’s classroom, the little boy chatting nonstop.

“And we drew airplanes today! I want to be a pilot when I grow up!” Jack said excitedly, his small hand gripping Rafe’s.

“Wow, that’s awesome, kid,” Rafe replied, though his voice sounded distant even to himself.

“Uncle Rafe!” Valerie’s voice rang out from ahead.

He looked up—

And there she was.

Standing beside Valerie, clipboard in hand, was her.

Time stopped.

His heart seemed to forget how to beat, his muscles stiffened, and without realizing it, he let go of Jack’s hand.

Their eyes locked.

She looked almost exactly the same. Maybe softer. Maybe stronger.

But it was her.

It had to be her.

It was her.

There was no way this was real. No way this was happening.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice gentle. Familiar. Like no time had passed at all.

Rafe blinked, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” he said, almost breathless. “I just… I can’t believe it’s you.”

“C’mon, Uncle! I’ve been waiting!” Valerie said, trying to shove him forward.

Rafe glanced at Sofia, hesitating. “Can I… have your number?”

Valerie groaned. “Stop flirting with my teacher and let’s go!”

Rafe shot her a look, and she immediately straightened, suddenly very serious.

“You better get going, Rafe,” Sofia said softly.

He blinked. Of all the things he missed, the way she said his name hit the hardest.

“Yeah, yeah. These kids are so impatient,” he mumbled with a half-smile.

Sofia nodded and turned back toward her classroom.

Rafe lingered for a second before finally turning on his heels, his chest tight.

She was back. Really back. After ten years.

“You’re drooling,” Valerie said flatly.

“Uncle Rafe loves Valerie’s teacher!” Jack giggled at full volume.

“Jack,” Rafe hissed, “no ice cream for you.”

The boy looked up at him, lip trembling, eyes glossy.

“He’s gonna cry,” Valerie warned.

Rafe sighed. “Fine. We all get ice cream.”

“Yay!” Jack shouted, instantly cheering up.

Rafe smiled faintly, but his mind was still back in that hallway—with her.

After fulfilling his ice cream promise, Rafe dropped the kids off at home. Sarah was waiting on the porch, arms crossed, watching them pull into the driveway.

The kids ran straight to her, shouting over each other as they disappeared inside.

Rafe stayed behind, standing by the car like he couldn’t move.

“It was her,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. His chest felt tight, like he could cry, scream, or sprint back to the school all at once.

Sarah blinked, then rushed to hug him. It was always a little awkward when they hugged, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

“No way,” she whispered against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” Rafe muttered. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

“Did you talk to her?”

He shook his head, annoyed. “Barely. Your kids need to learn some boundaries.”

Sarah laughed. “You’re the one who bribed them with ice cream. I don’t even let them have sugar on weekdays.”

“No wonder they’re so unhinged,” he teased.

“Shut up.” She smiled. “Wanna stay for dinner?”

“Nah. Do you think she still lives in her old house?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re actually going to see her? What if she’s married?”

“She’s not a Mrs.,” Rafe said, casually shrugging.

Sarah snorted. “Fair enough. In that case… go for it.”

“Already gone,” he called out, practically jogging to his car.

He didn’t wait for her to respond.

The drive to the Cut was a blur. He couldn’t remember a single turn, barely registered the red lights. His body was on autopilot.

It had been years since he let himself drive this way—down those familiar backroads.

But the way to her house? That, he still knew like the back of his hand.

The house looked lived in again.

But it was quiet.

Still.

He knew she wasn’t there.

Not yet.

Not long after, a car pulled up to the curb.

Sofia stepped out, and Rafe’s heart skipped a beat—again.

He got out of his car without thinking, his feet moving before his mind caught up. He had rehearsed this moment for years. Words. Apologies. Questions. Over and over in his head.

And now that she was here—he couldn’t remember a single line.

“Sofia,” he called out.

She hadn’t noticed him at first. When she turned around, her eyes widened slightly.

“Rafe.”

Her voice still did something to him. Something dangerous.

“Can we talk?”

She studied him for a moment. Her gaze lingered on his face, his shoulders—he was broader now. His hair a little longer. She barely hid the hesitation in her eyes.

“Uh… sure,” she said quietly. “Wanna come in?”

He nodded and followed her up the steps.

The house looked different than he remembered—brighter, warmer. She’d made it her own.

“You want something to drink?” she offered, standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway.

“No, I’m good.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What—”

“Why—”

They both spoke at once, then paused.

“You go first,” she said, a soft, almost nostalgic smile tugging at her lips.

“Why did you leave?” Rafe asked. His voice cracked slightly. There was a burn rising in his throat—grief, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.

She looked down, hands fidgeting. “We—uh… my dad died. Not long after you…” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I meant to explain. Why I did it. Why I helped Hollis. But then—”

Rafe shook his head gently. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

She shrugged. “That’s life.”

He let the silence settle between them, eyes drifting around the room—until they landed on a framed diploma on the wall.

“Looks like you got your degree after all,” he said, pointing to it.

“Yeah. Five years ago.”

“That’s great.”

And this time, the smile he gave her was real.

She nodded, almost shyly. “How’ve you been?”

“Not bad. Things are better with my sisters now.”

“I’m glad,” she said, scratching the back of her neck like she used to when she didn’t know what to say.

His eyes flicked around the room again, scanning for signs of someone else. “You living here alone?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just me.”

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked, motioning toward the living room.

He followed her, sitting beside her on the couch.

Too close. Too far. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

But she was here. And so was he.

After all these years, that was a start.

“I’ve missed you,” he blurted out.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

She looked at him, surprised, but not entirely caught off guard.

“You know…” she said quietly, “lately I’ve been thinking about you too. Must be something in the island air.”

“How long have you been back?”

“A couple months,” she replied, her fingers nervously folding and unfolding in her lap. “I started subbing at the elementary school here in the Cut… then I got a full-time offer over in Figure Eight.”

He nodded slowly, eyes still locked on her. “I tried to find you after I came back. I really thought I’d never see you again.”

She offered a small, guilty nod. “Yeah… sorry about that. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t know how to—how to explain.”

He hesitated. The question burned in his throat. “Why did you do it?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Sofia drew in a shaky breath. “My dad told me about the deal. I told him I wouldn’t go through with it. I swear I said no. I even went to find you—to tell you. But then I overheard you at the club… saying things. About me. About us.”

Rafe frowned, trying to remember. “What things?”

“That I was just a hookup. That you’d never actually live with a Pogue… because you had standards.”

The words cut through him like glass.

And suddenly—he remembered.

The day. The drinks. The posturing in front of people who didn’t matter.

“I didn’t mean any of that,” he said, voice thick. “God, Sofia—I never meant it.”

“I figured that out eventually. Especially when you proposed,” she said, her tone soft but still laced with hurt. “And I didn’t mean for you to lose your money, Rafe. I swear to you, I never wanted things to end that way.”

He looked away, blinking hard. His voice cracked when he spoke again.

“It wasn’t even about the money. Not really. Not at the end. But when I came back and you were just… gone—no note, no explanation—it wrecked me. I was so mad. At you. At me. At Groff. At everything. And there was nothing left.”

The tears stung at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t fight them.

Sofia didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with something that felt like grief and recognition, both.

“I’m sorry, Rafe,” she said softly.

She didn’t move. Just sat there, frozen.

All these years, she’d carried the weight of what happened—of how it ended. She blamed herself for his pain, for the way he ended things. And now, here he was. Sitting beside her. The man she had once loved so deeply.

Still did.

She never thought she’d see him again.

And she certainly never thought he’d want to see her. Not after everything.

Rafe cleared his throat, nervous. “Are you—” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Sofia looked up, meeting his wide, familiar blue eyes—the ones that had haunted her dreams for a decade.

“No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Are you?”

He shook his head. “No. It was never the same.”

His words stung like a fresh wound. They had something once. Something rare. Something real. But bitterness and pride had pulled them apart.

And now here they were, wondering the same thing:

If she hadn’t walked away… would they be married by now?

Or would life have torn them apart some other way?

“I tried,” she admitted quietly. “But I never felt that thing again. That spark. And after a while, I realized I needed to stop comparing everything to us.”

Rafe tilted his head. “Did it work?”

She gave a sad smile and shook her head. “No. Not really.”

And then he did the one thing he’d wanted to do since the moment he saw her again.

He turned to her and pulled her into a hug.

For a moment, the world faded. No time. No past. No pain.

At first, she didn’t move—caught off guard. But then her arms wrapped around him, and she held on tight.

Just them.

Breathing the same air.

Forgiving.

Finally.

Divider by: cursed-carmine

A/N: I didn't know what to name this, I think that if it was a song 'from the dinning table' fits better. Also, at first I didn't want this to have a happy ending —it's an open ending— but I kinda wanted Rafe to imagine everything and that Sofia never returned lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy it! <33

[thebolterx]

Loved every second of this 😭

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 28: Lost yet Found

It’s dark and damp and so uncomfortable, surrounded by strangers as they file through the narrow mountain caverns one by one. Groff had ordered Dalia's men to separate them, supposedly to keep them from conspiring. Not that it matters. At this point, it feels like there isn’t much of a chance at all to get out of this.

Groff's voice echoes up ahead, loud and smug. He won’t shut up about his future—how the world will react when he announces he knows the secret to everlasting life. "For a price, it could be yours," he crows.

Sofia thinks about billionaires and celebrities with more money than they know what to do with. The kind of people who would jump at the chance, trampling over history and culture just to dip a toe into some magic water.

She barely has time to shiver at the thought before the end of an automatic rifle jabs into her back. She must’ve slowed her pace a little too much.

Her fist curls, but she speeds up, closing the gap between her and the mercenary ahead. She catches a glimpse of John B, Rafe, and Sarah at the back. She and Pope had been shoved somewhere in the middle. Cleo and Kiara are up ahead, practically burning holes into the back of Groff’s greasy hair. Too bad they took Cleo’s knife. 

The air gets cooler the deeper they go. Water drips from the walls, flashlights bouncing off slick surfaces. Sofia’s shoulder brushes damp stone on one side and Pope’s backpack on the other. There’s barely room to move as their footfalls are muffled by centuries of dirt and dust, silent but steady.

Somewhere ahead, a faint crack in the wall catches Sofia’s eye. It’s darker than the rest, just barely noticeable when a beam of light hits it. She glances toward Pope and feels him tense beside her. They don’t say a word—just share a quick look.

The tunnel ceiling drops suddenly. She ducks, heart thudding as the stone brushes the top of her head.

Then, they spill into an open cavern, rock walls stretching up a few stories. Jagged stone litters the path ahead, leading toward a crater. There’s a glow coming from it. A faint blue hue that beckons them. 

Slowly, they all crowd around it carefully, glancing at least a story down. 

The cenotes.

A blue hue shines up, casting light across every face. The water below looks almost inviting—crystal clear and impossibly deep. A noticeable vapor hovering just over the surface. The others murmur to each other, full of awe, questions on their breath. She glances up briefly to find Rafe's gaze pinned on her. A flick of his eyes asks, You good? She gives him the slightest nod, barely a smile. He doesn't look wholly satisfied, but she can sense him accepting it all the same. What else is he gonna do?

A shove to her shoulder reminds her to there’s not time for rest. They begin descending a set of spiral steps that leads down toward the pools. The air shifts as they go down, steam rising from below, warmer than the cold stone around them.

Groff keeps talking. Grand plans. Delusions. All until he finally stops in front of the largest cenote. 

“This is my magnum opus,” he announces.

"Of course you would think so." John B remarks with disdain. Groff doesn’t seem bothered.

"And this is to ensure that history knows my name."

Sofia's never thought she'd ever be this close to witnessing a narcissist's hopeful downfall… if only there were a way to foil whatever plan Groff has cooked up in his jumbled and hot-headed brain. 

"You don't deserve it." Cleo snaps.

Groff laughs momentarily before all humor wipes completely from his face, “And you do?" 

No one responds. 

"You think because you believe you have more humanity, maybe you're more deserving. That you're owed." 

"That's not—"

"In reality, we're all searching for the same thing, no? Notoriety? Money? A sense of belonging in a story that was never actually yours?" 

"You're projecting," Sofia adds. 

"Am I?" Groff questions incredulously, "Rafe Cameron here shot people. He would do whatever it took, bad and all, to get what he thinks is his."

Her eyes flicker as Rafe's muscles tighten. She breathes through it. They already discussed it. It's over. It's not him… anymore. 

"The Pogues went after Blackbeard's treasure, the Royal Merchant, the Cross of Santo Domingo, and even tried to find the road to El Dorado." A satisfied smile blooms across his face. "Were they doing that for world peace?" He directly turns to John B and Sarah, "Were you?"

"I was searching for my dad."

"Oh, come on, John. Sure, maybe at first. But as soon as you realized what it could mean for you. To find something that could bring you money. To better your life. You can look any of your friends in the eye and say it was all for unselfish reasons?"

John B blinks silently. He, too, readjusts. As if somewhere deep down lies the stunning truth of it all.

"And trust me, I kept up with what my deadbeat son—" 

Kiara's body lurches, fists clenched, but Cleo grabs around her middle, pulling her back.

"— and his friends were up to after the cross. Pope can't deny he felt some sort of draw to prove himself. To show the world he mattered, no?"

Pope's jaw grinds, but he stays still, Cleo's hand wrapped gently around his wrist. 

"And the girls just follow like puppies."

"That's what you reduce us to?" Sarah argues. 

"That's all you are."

As dark as it is, Sofia kind of hopes someone gets a damn good reason to shoot at this man, if it weren’t for his dozens of mercenaries surrounding in protection.

Her eyes breeze over Dalia standing amongst it all. The woman's face contorts at the assertion, as if she has a problem with that opinion. Out of everything, sure, Dalia's been ruthless, but she's not quite unkind. At least not outwardly presenting. And the woman is wise. Or at least as smart as one can be when you find Groff to be your partner in whatever all this has come to be. 

"So what now?" Rafe grits out.

"I get what I want, and I get rid of you."

"We held up our end." Kiara seethes. 

Groff nods casually, "You did. Yeah, I'll admit that. You did." He steps closer to the larger azure pool, the blue reflecting off his eyes, filled with wonderment. "But now I have no need for you."

"Fuck you." Pope spits out. The rest of them agree wholeheartedly. 

"You really trusted I'd keep up my end of the bargain." The man laughs. "I'm shocked you don't know me. We've only spent our cat and mouse game uncovering each other's wants."

"It's not gonna pan out for you like you want,” Sofia vocalizes. Her volume doesn't quite carry. 

Groff squints, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"You're not gonna get what you want."

Groff stares her down. Analyzing before expelling his breath in amusement, "How's that?"

"You want notoriety. You want people to beg to know what you know. To have what you have." She teeters nervously on her feet. Dozens of pairs of eyes are trained on her curiously. "And all you're gonna end up with is people questioning why you brought them to water."

"Water?" Groff blinks incredulously.

"Something they can find anywhere else on this planet.” She pauses for a second, lets out a sigh, “Just water."

"Do you know what these are?"

"Yeah," Sofia remarks, "they teach you all about them when your culture."

Groff shakes his head but smiles like he's about to have a time. "Eternal life."

"Yeah, we heard you mumbling the whole trek down here," Kiara adds. 

Groff's eyes flicker between her and Kiara. He's processing. Trying to absorb. 

"I will live forever." Groff breathes happily. 

He didn't just want to live forever. He wanted to matter forever.

"Until your bones shrivel up with age and you die as normal a death as anyone else." Rafe volleys back easily. 

Groff's face reddens, a look of mania in his gaze, eyes wild as he takes in the agreement from the other.

"I will change the fabric of society as we know it," Groff argues with clenched teeth.

Kiara scoffs, "You were so jealous that your son might discover an artifact that people for generations only thought was fiction. A myth. A legend. The fact that he could’ve been known for more than Kildare was too much, wasn’t it?”

For just a moment, if a pin hundreds of feet away dropped, you may have been able to hear it.

"But no, you couldn't take that. You couldn't fathom someone better than you, someone you gave up so easily, may get the credit. The applause. So you stabbed JJ and stole the crown like a coward." Tears run down Kiara's face as Cleo clutches her to keep the girl standing, "You killed him for what? Did you feel important? Did you get the notoriety and appreciation you so desperately crave? No." Kiara almost whispers, "So why would this be any different?"

Sarah adds, shaking her head, "Man claims eternal life with pool of water." She jabs the final stake, voice dripping disdain, "Everyone else says you just get wet."

Groff flinches as if struck. He starts pacing in tight, frantic circles, muttering to himself, chest convulsing with each shallow breath.

“Naive… small-minded… stalling… you just want it for yourselves…"

Dalia tries to reason, "Chandler. Calm down." 

It only seems to infuriate him more, "You think you can take it from me…"

"Trust me," John B growls, voice cutting through the rising mania, "we don't want any of it."

Groff stops dead. His face contorts, eyes bugging, breath ragged. As if somehow they are betraying him in some way. Eyes wild.

"FUCK YOU!" he shrieks, spit trailing from his lips, voice echoing off the cavern walls.

He wheels around in one jerky motion, arms flinging outward as he faces the cenote.

"Watch me!" he shouts. "Watch me claim it first! Watch me prove you all wrong!"

Groff jumps. 

Screams.

Terrible, ear-piercing screams echo off the cave walls, bouncing and warping in the cavernous dark. Rafe jerks Sofia back a few steps, his grip tightening around her arm like it might shield her from the sound. From the sight. The others recoil too, horror rooting them in place.

The water churns violently, arms flailing, kicking up spray. Steam rises, boiling.

Groff's head thrashes side to side, then back and forward with a sickening urgency, like he can shake the pain out. His howls grow sharper, almost inhuman.

Dalia lurches forward with a few of her men like they might dive in after him. But even she freezes, stuck between instinct and dread.

And then the pitch of his screams crests into something awful. A sound none of them will forget. Even Rafe flinches.

The air stinks of scorched skin.

Groff's mouth is still open, his face twisted in agony—until suddenly it isn't. He goes silent.

Eyes frozen wide. Skin peeling in patches. Groff's body slackens, limbs slowing, head sinking beneath the surface with a hiss that makes Sofia's stomach turn.

He disappears into the depths of the cenote. 

Gone.

Pope moves first, pulling Cleo and Kiara behind him, away from the guards next to them. He produces a jagged-looking rock he must’ve swiped at some point as a weapon.

Rafe, in turn, goes for the guard next to him, grabbing at the shocked man's automatic gun, managing to wrangle it from the guy's grasp. Sofia steps behind him. John B alike has another, standing protective of Sarah.

The mercenaries meet them with the same fervor, even as their eyes still reflect some of the horror they all witnessed. 

"Don't be stupid." Dalia exasperates. 

The boys still keep their found weapons trained. Uneasy. 

Dalia motions to her men. They drop their weapons to their sides easily.

"I think we've concluded this was a farce." Dalia reasons, "and we can all agree to walk our separate ways. You don't see us, we don't see you."

"You're surprisingly calm about all this." Pope states. 

"I wasn't really chomping at the bit for him," Dalia admits. 

"Okay." Pope says, "You leave first."

"No—"

"Yes." John B backs his friend up. "You first. We'll follow up when we deem it's clear."

"You're really going to stand there and try to give me orders?" she says, voice sharp but laced with reluctant amusement.

Pope retorts. "I think we're all a little off-script now."

Dalia exhales, "Fine. Have it your way. We'll go first."

The woman lifts her hand, signaling to her remaining men a silent command. One by one, they gather up, moving slowly, weapons still lowered. A few keep glancing at the cenote as if half-expecting Groff to claw his way out. She can’t blame them.

Sofia watches them file past, her shoulders still tight, Rafe's fingers brushing her arm now and then like he's making sure she's still there, next to him.

Silence fills the cavern when the last of Dalia's group disappears up the old stairs.

For a few long seconds, none of them move.

John B runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I can't believe he actually jumped."

"What the fuck was that?" Cleo asks. 

"He's just," Sarah swallows absently, "gone."

"He decided that for himself," Rafe says. His hands drop the automatic gun, and then he wraps his arms around Sofia. She leans into the embrace. Still a bit out of it.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Pope deadpans, though his eyes still look haunted.

Kiara swallows, her voice small. "He really thought… he really believed it."

Sofia's gaze drifts to the water's surface, now eerily calm yet still steaming. "Some people would rather chase a myth than face themselves."

Cleo squeezes Kiara's hand. "At least it's over. At least he can't hurt anyone else now."

Rafe steps forward. "We should move before they change their minds."

Sarah looks to her brother, “The money?”

Rafe shakes his head, a brief disappointment running through his eyes, “I’ll figure something out.”

Sarah leans into John B, her forehead pressed to his arm accepting her brother’s answer. "Let's go home."

They slowly move toward the stairs, casting one last look over their shoulders at the cenote that swallowed Groff. As they reach the top and start back down the caves toward the entrance, Pope stops abruptly, slightly glancing behind them.

"What's wrong?" Cleo asks, worry tightening her voice.

Sofia follows his gaze until it lands on the hidden crevice in the wall from earlier — that faint seam they'd both noticed.

"What do you think it is?" she asks.

Pope just shakes his head, stepping forward slowly. "I don't know."

Sarah slides up next to Sofia and Cleo, peering into the crack. "Another way out?"

"Maybe," Pope murmurs, fingers brushing along the seam. He hesitates, then presses against it.

To their surprise, it shifts easily— a quiet groan of ancient rock sliding against rock echoing in the dark. Pope gasps audibly.

They rush over, crowding around as the stone recedes to reveal a narrow entryway and steep steps descending into deeper darkness.

"Never construct something with only one entrance and exit," Rafe mutters, almost to himself, as if recalling some half-forgotten lesson.

Sarah sighs, rolling her eyes. "And somehow, Dad's always involved."

Sofia catches the siblings' knowing glance but doesn't interrupt.

"Who wants to go first?" Pope asks, voice tight with anticipation.

Sarah eyes the black stairwell warily. "We can barely see. Are we sure this is even a good idea?"

"All we can do is try," John B says, flicking on his flashlight. Its beam cuts through the gloom, illuminating the rough stone steps leading down. Without waiting, he starts forward. Sarah doesn't hesitate to follow, and the rest of them fall in behind.

Might as well stick together through everything at this point, Sofia thinks.

It's just as damp and eerie as the caverns above. Water drips somewhere out of sight, echoing off the narrow walls.

They reach a wooden door at the bottom. It’s thick, ancient, and marked with faded carvings that hint at warnings or blessings; it's hard to tell.

Pope and John B try pushing, but it barely budges. They try a few more times but it bulks against their tries.

"Step back," Rafe directs, gesturing to the others. "Run and hope for the best?" he asks Pope and John B.

The guys exchange a glance, then both shrug.

On the count of three, the three of them charge.

————————————

The door gives way at the last second, bursting open in a shower of splinters. A blast of warm, musty air rushes out. He rubs his shoulder just a little from the impact. 

Light floods his vision, and he squints against it, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust.

When he looks again, his breath catches.

They step into a vast chamber, easily the size of a large chapel. Sunlight pierces through cracks in the ceiling far above, streaming down in bright columns like spotlights.

Massive stone columns rise on either side, intricately carved with Mayan and Spanish hybrid motifs— sun gods intertwined with conquistador helmets, jaguar paws merging with Spanish shields.

On the floor, mosaic tiles shimmer in patterns of gold, turquoise, and jade. Wooden chests lie cracked open, spilling coins and gems across the tiles like a river. Elaborate pottery pieces, stacks of ceremonial masks, and golden relics half-buried in layers of dust.

Above, a partial second floor encircles the room, balconies sagging with age. From there, delicate tapestries hang, their colors faded but still vibrant enough to hint at stories— epic battles, royal lineages, ancient rituals.

He turns to the others as if they'll give away if this is real or not. Sofia's fingers flutter to her mouth as she takes it all in next to him. 

"Whoa." John B breathes, head on a swivel, much like the rest. Rafe exhales as his eyes reflect the golds, greens, reds, and purples. The wooden containers glint beneath the dust, somehow still gleaming after centuries. Overflowing.

Coins.

Bars.

Gold.

Jewels.

All artifacts from a long-forgotten, long-lost civilization.

"How?" Cleo asks, blinking. "The Mayans had gold?"

"Can't be," Pope says, shaking his head. "Must've been from the Spanish."

"They just left all their precious gold?" Sofia murmurs. "Or maybe they thought they'd be back for it."

"And Groff had no idea this was here," Cleo adds.

Rafe grunts. "We didn't know this was here."

Pope calls out from the top of the stairs leading to the door, which is already cracked ajar, "Guys." He turns with a smile, "There's more sunlight."

John B throws an arm around Rafe's shoulder as they share a laugh and smile of relief.

"What do we even do with all of this?" Sarah asks, crouching. His sister grabs a handful of gold coins and lets them slip through her fingers. The clatter echoes off the walls, bouncing through the old room. "We couldn't possibly…"

"We could," Pope says as he practically buzzes back down the stairs, though it's barely conviction; it's awe. The Pogue turns slowly at the bottom, taking in the room that is, quite literally, filled to the brim. Crystal, jade, obsidian—everything gleams under the thin beams of sunlight.

"We'd be rich for life," John B mutters, holding up an intricate necklace. Rubies sparkle around the circumference of the pendant, catching in the light like fire.

"It's gonna be hella hard getting back to the U.S. with bricks of gold," Kiara warns.

Pope offers an immediate solution: "We find a way to sell it before we even get back."

"Oh?" Cleo raises an eyebrow. "You got some contacts hanging around?"

John B sighs. "We could ship it to the Bahamas."

Rafe turns. Shoulders tense.

John B meets his gaze. "Your dad had connections, right?"

"We couldn't," Sarah snaps, stepping forward. "We'd be no better than Ward. Profiting off a society long gone? We can't stoop to that."

"Sarah. Baby." John B grabs her biceps, leaning down until he's in her eyeline. "They're long dead. It's not like we haven't profited off something like this before."

"They won't miss it." Cleo reasons. "At least not a small portion of it."

"At least we'll have something to show for everything we've gone through," Kiara also reasons. 

Pope adds, holding one of the gold bricks and directing it at Rafe, "One of these would take care of the debt Groff put you in."

His eyes zero in on the yellow tinge coming off the heavy object. Two of them would take care of the money Groff stole and pay off the company credit card. The leftovers would be a great investment.

It would set him and Sofia up for at least the next five to ten years. If not more, to be honest.

His brow raises with the suggestion, "I could make a call—"

"Rafe." 

Sofia starts to protest softly.

"We'll only take what we need." Rafe blinks at her. 

Sofia's bottom lip disappears between her teeth as she analyzes their surroundings. He waits for her methodical internal argument to come to a conclusion. Her hand grips her backpack strap as she sighs. 

"Only what we need."

John B says, "Really, it'd be only what we can carry."

"We do have a two-ish day hike back." Pope supplies before stuffing a handful of doubloons into the front pocket of his backpack. 

They try their best to keep restraint as they load up the guy's backpacks with the heaviest, though Rafe keenly spots Cleo stuff a gold bar into the bottom of hers. He finishes testing the weight of his pack, throwing about his final handful of gold coins into his bag before spotting Sofia a few feet away. 

He ambles over slowly, surveying her as she holds a delicate gold chain between her fingers. An amethyst is set in intricate gold webbing, housing the gem. It's small. Dainty. 

Her. 

"Take it."

She glances over to him, "I can't steal it."

"You're not… stealing." 

The look she shoots him could've set him on fire if she were able to.

He replies, "It's, in a way, unclaimed. You taking it would be giving it a second life at this point."

"This stuff belonged to people. Centuries ago."

"And it'll belong to you for however long you choose to hold onto it."

————————————

She side eyes him before fingering the gem with her other hand. He's pretty convincing, especially when he bats those blue eyes. 

She tightly grips the chain between her fingers before regarding the rest of them, packing away treasure beyond their wildest dreams. It's wrong, she knows. But she also can't deny the deep-seated sick thrill of finding this and potentially benefiting from it. She could go to school. She could help send her little brother off to school if she wanted. She could do a lot with just a handful of the gold coins. 

And who's she to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

She stashes a handful of those gold coins lying about under her water bottle in her pack's side pocket. She can't fault that whatever they get for this would, in a way, be life-changing for her. Her parents taught her the importance of money. Watching her parents struggle to save with four kids and a house mortgage, her brother's soccer dreams, and her grandma's health needs has taught her intrinsically the importance of saving what you can. It's why she managed to save ten percent of each paycheck. It's why, if this money comes through, she would, whatever cut that's decided to be awarded to her, it's going into an account of some kind.

~~~~~

The trek back to civilization feels longer in some ways. Not having had a decent shower in days. The sun having scorched her skin over the past week. Her feet are killing her despite how well her boots have held up. Her back aches— she can only imagine Sarah's— and she'd love nothing more than a home-cooked meal from her mom. And a hug. She could do with a hug as well.

The rainforest is still as ominous as ever, but the slight hop in Rafe's step makes it worth it, she guesses. The awe as John B recounts what they discovered to an equally chatty Cleo. The triumph she feels radiating off Kiara, having witnessed the man who killed his own son meet his just demise at his own hand. Even if it still lives unwarranted in the recesses of Sofia's mind. 

And after a day and a half of trekking back through the wilderness, where John B accidentally leads them off track for thirty minutes after he managed to wrangle the map away from Pope, and a wish for actual food later, the large lake they had started at a few days ago comes into view— a welcome sight.

There's a collective sigh of relief. A weight finally lifts, one that Sofia had felt heavy on her shoulders since the start. They made it out, all in one piece.

Back at the Airbnb, there's no big celebration. Just the quiet joy of running water and clean towels. Everyone's too exhausted to talk much and shower she takes renews her spirit more than anything in the past week. That and maybe Rafe's offer for celebratory sex in the shower. That helps.

Swathed in one of Rafes clean t-shirts, she wrings out her hair in a towel as she stares at herself absently in the mirror. They managed to achieve something she never imagined possible. Something you only ever see in movies.

"Hey. Everything okay?"

Arms curl around her waist as Rafe's eyes meet her in the mirror, the dim light of the bathroom casting more shadows than light.

"Yeah." She murmurs, leaning back into him.

Rafe smirks softly, "You know I don't believe you, right? I know you better than that."

She hesitates, eyes flicking away.

"Yeah," she repeats, softer this time. It's the only word she can seem to find.

Rafe doesn't say anything at first. Just stands behind her, his arms warm and steady where they wrap around her waist. She can feel the damp cotton of his shirt clinging to his skin, the steady beat of his heart against her back. It should be comforting. It usually is.

But her chest feels too tight, like the air hasn't fully come back yet.

They made it out. Somehow. They survived.

And yet… now what?

The adrenaline's worn off. The danger at is over. But Sofia's brain hasn't caught up. Her body still feels like it's bracing for something. Her thoughts keep circling back to the gold, to the cave, and the fact that they'll all be back in real beds like nothing happened. 

"It's weird," she finally says. "Going from… that to regular life again. Like, how am I supposed to go back to pouring drinks and grocery shopping like we couldn’t have almost just died in the jungle?"

Rafe smirks gently, his arms tightening just a little. "I mean… could be worse. You could've almost died not finding treasure."

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it."

"I tolerate it."

His grin widens, but then it softens again as he watches her in the mirror.

"We don't have to figure everything out tonight," he says. "We've got time. Normal can wait."

She nods slowly. That was the part that felt hardest to admit—how much everything had changed, how nothing would slot back in the same way. But he says we, and it makes it feel less overwhelming.

"We're still us, right?" she asks, half joking, half not. “When we get back?”

"Always," he says, brushing his lips against her shoulder. "You and me."

And just like that, the tension in her chest starts to ease.

She trusts that they'll end up okay.

~~~~~

Sleep comes too easily for Sofia, wrapped up in Rafe's arms, sheets bundling her into better dreams. 

It's the next morning when they plan, one, how they're going to sell off the ancient artifacts they managed to carry over miles and miles of wilderness terrain, and two, who and how they're going to get home. 

Pope and Rafe decide they shouldn't all travel to the Bahamas; fewer bodies to invite scrutiny, the better. So Rafe, Cleo, and Pope decide they would travel by a boat that they managed to secure for a hearty sum along with their loot to the Bahamas, meet Ward Cameron's "guy", and put the money into the bank there. Fewer eyes than if they were to deposit it in the States, per John B's suggestion. 

The rest of them would be on a flight back to the Outer Banks, Sarah in need of civilization and a doctor's appointment.

It's a bit bittersweet for her. She's happy to be heading home, to see her family, whom, for a bit there, she thought she'd maybe never get to see in person again.

However, knowing that she and Rafe would be separated for a few weeks, while he’s up to doing something downright sketchy without, it her makes her a little queasy.

It's what he needs to do, though. Sofia just nods and smiles tightly. 

~~~~~

Two weeks later

She wipes her hands on her apron, catching her breath after slinging fifteen drinks in a row. A Saturday crowd, a football game roaring on the TVs, and she feels her muscles ache in that strangely satisfying way.

She's lucky her boss gave her her job back… again. Maybe she doesn't have to work anymore— Rafe would certainly protest— but her nerves need an outlet. Bartending feels like an artistic outlet and therapy wrapped into one.

She did pick up some canvases and new paints when she got back home though. Something to take her mind off feeling alone again in Kildare. 

She knows the money is coming. Slowly. Selling ancient treasures turns out to be a delicate and intricate process.

"Sofia."

She startles. "Yeah?"

"You're wanted out front," her coworker calls, already bustling away.

"Wait, why?"

All she gets is a shrug.

She hesitates. Last time she was out front alone, she was kidnapped. Every evening since, she has made sure to have an escort to her car on the off chance there’s still a possibility for it to happen again. It hasn't been easy for her not to shiver when someone random accidentally brushes by her or when she hears her name from across a parking lot. She figures, with time, it'll lessen, especially since she witnessed Groff's demise firsthand. It's just taking her fight-or-flight response to catch up to that fact.

She steps outside, heart thumping. The lot is mostly empty, occupied only by a small group of friends chatting by their cars and a family that lingers in the glow of streetlights.

And then she sees him.

Rafe Cameron. Leaning back against his car, ankles crossed, hands shoved in his pockets with a smooth, almost calculated smile on his lips.

She licks her lips, surprised. Rafe wasn't supposed to be home until Tuesday.

"Hey," he calls softly.

She swallows. "Rafe."

"I'm home."

She breaks. A short jog forward, arms launching around Rafe's neck. His arms wrap around her waist, lifting her easily. She breathes in that warm, familiar scent of him, feels the stubble of his jaw on her cheek, his lips pressing into her hair.

Despite everything they went through— the blood, the sunburns, the danger— she wouldn't change a thing. Well… maybe the kidnapping. But the rest? The rest changed her, made them stronger.

"How'd it go?" she asks, pulling back, eyes scanning his.

"Perfectly," he says, that quiet confidence radiating through every inch of him.

"What now?" Her eyes flutter between his.

The smile that takes over his mouth gives her butterflies. "We're gonna build that life together that I promised."

She smiles back.

————————————

Epilogue: Coming shortly

[thebolterx]

09. I'm hiring!

Masterlist.

Previous chapter: 08.

Sofia had walked into every place with a “Now Hiring” sign, handing over her resume with a polite smile. And she always got the same response: “We’ll call you!”

Which, of course, meant they definitely wouldn’t.

She was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. And on top of that, her car wasn’t working, so she had to walk all the way back to the Cut under the burning sun.

Earphones in, music blasting, she wasn’t paying much attention to her surroundings… until a long arm suddenly poked her.

“What the hell?” she shouted, yanking her arm away and spinning around to face the person.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sorry,” Rafe said, hands up in surrender. “I’ve been calling your name for like three blocks, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” he offered, nodding down the street. “I’m parked just over there.”

Sofia gave him a look. Her feet were killing her, and her skin was starting to feel like it might actually melt.

“Okay,” she agreed after a beat.

They walked back in silence, and the second she got into the car, she already felt better. The cool air from the AC hit her face and she leaned back into the seat with a quiet sigh.

Rafe started the engine and drove smoothly.

“Job hunting?” he asked, nodding at the empty folder on her lap.

“Yeah. No luck so far.”

There was a pause before he blurted out:

“I’m hiring.”

It was only half true. He was hiring for manual labor, but he could figure something out—something better for her.

Sofia narrowed her eyes at him. “What kind of job?”

“I need a receptionist,” he said, more confident than he felt.

He already had one, but… considering she lost her last job because of him, it felt like the least he could do.

She kept staring at him, half suspicious, half curious.

Next chapter: 10.

Don't know where I was going with this lol

[thebolterx]

Istg they're so cute!

That's when I had this sudden thought. A part of me will always love you. Belly and Conrad + Christmas | The Summer I Turned Pretty — 3.02

[thebolterx]

It's time to go — Rafe and Sofia one shot.

WHAT IF... after hearing what Rafe thinks of her and their relationship Sofia blocks him from everywhere.

The words echoed in her head like a ticking clock.

Just because we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend.

I’m not living with a Pogue — I have standards.

It felt unreal. A nightmare. There was no way the man she loved could speak so carelessly about their relationship, like it meant nothing. Like she meant nothing.

Ragged tears blurred her vision, and all she could see was the back of his head. That was enough. She turned on her heel and walked away.

Right there —in the club’s parking lot, heart pounding and pride in shambles— she made a decision: for once, she was going to put herself first.

She had gone against everything she believed in just to be with him. She had stood by him at his worst, held him when he was broken, made love to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Even when people whispered rumors, warned her, judged her — she didn’t care.

She just wanted him.

And when she fell, she fell hard.

She loved every part of him — even the ones he hated.

But now? Now, she chose herself.

She refused to be a secret. Someone to be ashamed of. She deserved more — and she finally saw it.

Pulling out her phone from her back pocket, she didn’t have to search for his name — he was pinned at the top.

She blocked him.

Then opened his profile on social media and blocked him there too.

Turned off her location.

And without looking back, she drove away from the club — away from him.

Rafe was furious — at himself, at Topper, at Ruthie. At the world for making him say what he didn’t mean.

Sofia wasn’t supposed to hear that. It was all bullshit, and he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

But she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Why the hell was she there? She said she was spending the day with her family. Why did she have to hear him?

Now, he felt numb.

One more thing he ruined.

One more person he let down.

She was never just a hookup. God, no. She was so much more — she always had been. They didn’t need a label; he knew she was his girlfriend. They acted like it every damn day. And he loved her. He had never felt this way before. He looked for her in every room, breathed easier just knowing she was near.

“Sofia, please — let me explain.”

He caught up to her in the club’s parking lot, heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear you.” Her voice cut like glass. “I’m done hearing you.”

She pushed past him, yanked open the driver’s door. Just as she climbed in, he grabbed the edge before she could shut it.

“They were being judgmental. I hated the way they were talking about you — that’s why I said it. I didn’t mean it.”

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “And you think that’s better?”

“No, of course not. It was horrible. I know that. I’m sorry. Please, baby — let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“I’m not your baby.”

The words hit him like a slap.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, panic rising in his throat. Her eyes — those eyes that once looked at him like he was the only person in the world — now stared through him, empty.

“Listen, Rafe,” she said, steady but broken. “I’ve stood up for you more times than I can count. Everyone has something to say about you, and none of it’s good. But I still defended you. Because I loved you.” Her voice cracked. “But I’m done. I’m done with this game where I’m your therapist one minute and a warm body the next.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

She shook her head, eyes glassy but resolute, and closed the door.

Then she drove off — from the club, from the night, from him.

From the very place where he’d broken her heart… all over again.

Sometimes, givin' up is the strong thing

Sometimes, to run is the brave thing

Sometimes, walkin' out is the one thing

A/N: got the idea on a sleepless night and went for it hehe.

[thebolterx]

08. Eat the rich.

Masterlist.

Previous chapter: 07.

Next chapter: 09.

[thebolterx]

BRIDGERTON + tropes (v2)

[thebolterx]

Colin & Penelope Bridgerton | Episode 3.01

[thebolterx]

I miss this show so much 😭, I needed it to be at least 10 seasons longer

DERRY GIRLS 3.08 | The Haunting