Rafe Cameron x Female!Pogue!OC
SUMMARY she was just living her life. paycheck to paycheck. she never really cared what anyone thought of her. but when her new job pushes her towards a certain cameron boy, she can't stay away anymore.
DISCLAIMERS swearing, stealing, domestic violence, underage drinking, men being weird
Rent was three weeks late. Again.
The fridge was empty aside from ketchup and baking soda.
The envelope from the landlord sat unopened on the counter, right next to an empty beer bottle and a cracked mug. Y/N didn’t bother to open it. She knew what it would say. Words like “late fee,” “final notice,” and “eviction.”
The worst part was she almost made it this month. Until Mrs. Franklin from the country club caught her pocketing a half-eaten grilled cheese on her break and decided it was reason enough to fire her.
She didn’t regret it. She hadn’t eaten in 4 days, and she probably would’ve been fired for passing out on the job anyway.
So that was that. Fired. Again.
She spent the next two days calling every marina, bait shop, and beach shack she could think of. No one was hiring. Not for cash, not without paperwork, not someone her age. And definitely not somebody with her last name and a reputation for being mouthy and just a little too pogue for Figure Eight.
By the third night, she was sitting on the curb outside of a gas station, head in her hands, trying to remember if the water bill was due too. John B offered to help—to ask Big John—but she couldn’t take his money. And she didn’t want to owe anyone. That’s how her mom ended up the way she did.
Until she remembered Ward Cameron. Rumor was he hired “help” under the table when he didn’t want to bother with paperwork. She didn’t want to. But when her stomach rumbled again, she swallowed her pride and called.
Just by standing outside of Tannyhill, she already felt small. She could see her reflection in the shiny windows. Dirty, worn shoes, an old shirt, and shorts that she had already outgrown. She didn’t belong there, and she knew it. But she knocked anyway.
Ward didn’t ask many questions. He looked over her once, asked how she was doing, and asked a few questions.
He showed her around, also making it clear that there were cameras around the house and not to try anything, which felt a little targeted, but she let it go. Then he handed her a list of things she needed to do. Clean the kitchen every day, keep the boat clean, polish the boat, clean the cars, take out the trash, etc. $30 under the table every other day.
It wasn’t great. But it was money. Money that she desperately needed.
She was elbow deep in a trash bag by the patio when a voice cut through.
“Shit. They’re really hiring anyone these days. I guess the country club finally realized you weren’t country club material, huh?” Rafe remarked.
“I guess your daddy still needs someone to clean up after his lazy, spoiled son,” She muttered through gritted teeth.
He scoffed, low and amused, “Cute.” She could feel him behind her now. “You beg for crumbs and talk like you have authority. Real pogue syndrome.”
She grabbed the trash bag and shoved past him with her jaw clenched.
This was hell. But it paid.
Another week had passed. A week of working for the Camerons. The sun poured in through the windows in Tannyhill, and she wiped down the marble counter with an old rag. The voice she dreaded speaking to buzzed through the speakers of her phone.
“Yes, I know the rent’s late,” She said in her most practiced adult voice, mimicking her mom’s southern drawl. “I’ve been out of town for work, but I’ll drop it off tonight, Mr. Jennings. I swear.”
There was a pause on the other end. She turned her back to the door, chewing on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I-I understand, Mr. Jennings,” she said, pushing her voice deeper. “No, no, no. You don’t need to contact CPS, please. My daughter’s fine, she’s fed, she’s living with me. Please don’t call CPS.”
More silence. Then a beep.
She exhaled hard through her nose and dropped the cloth with a slap. Her bottom lip wobbled before she bit down on it.
Then she pressed on the contact named “Mama” and called.
“Well, look who finally called,” Her mom answered, her voice laced with cruel amusement.
She closed her eyes, “Hi, mama. I just need some help, okay? Rent’s late, and I got fired from the club, and I’m working this job, but it barely pays, and I just—”
Her mom gave a sharp laugh, “You think I’m rolling in cash just cause Jeff’s got a boat? It’s not my money, babe.”
“I’m not asking for a yacht. Please, ‘ma. I just need some help. I’m barely hanging on here,” Her voice cracked with desperation, eyes glossing up.
Her hands trembled in her pockets, and she dug her nails into her palms, chewing on her bottom lip.
“You want advice?” her mother offered with an exaggerated drawl. “Find some rich Figure Eight boy. Shut your mouth and open your legs.”
“Jesus Christ, mama,” she choked out. “I’m not doing that.”
Her stomach churned at the thought that her own mom would suggest something like that.
“Didn’t say you had to like it,” her mom said dryly. “Just saying… you’re already working on their property. Might as well make it count.”
She reached over to grab her phone and ended the call without saying goodbye.
She stood there, frozen, heart pounding. Her throat felt dry, like she might throw up.
Behind her, tucked just out of sight by the shadows, Rafe. He had been on his way out by the dock when he heard her. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he’d never heard her like that before.
She didn’t know he was there. And for once, he didn’t announce himself.
But he saw the way she wavered. The way her lip trembled like she wasn’t going to consider it… but also like maybe, if it got worse, she would.
The Chateau was a mess — the scent of old pizza and burnt toast lingered in the air. But it felt like home. Like a place where no one expected her to be more than she was.
JJ was shirtless, as always, balancing on the couch’s arm and trying to open a beer bottle with his flip-flop.
“Dude,” Pope deadpanned, not even looking up from the phone he was sharing with Kiara. “You’re gonna slice your toe off, and we’re not taking you to the hospital again.”
“Relax,” JJ grinned, popping the cap off cleanly and holding it up like a trophy. “I’ve… what’s the word? Involved?”
“Evolved,” Pope said, unamused.
Y/N giggled, painting her nails with old dollar tree nail polish that smelled like chemicals and regret.
“Evolved into what? An idiot with tricks?”
“You love it,” JJ said, pointing the bottle neck at her. “Admit it. I’m the fun one.”
“You’re the feral one,” she replied.
Pope added, “He’s like a stray cat we fed once, and now he lives here.”
She broke off into giggles, standing up, “Alright. I could use a drink. Who’s with me?”
“Me,” Kie volunteered. “I know where John B keeps the beers. Too bad he’s working on something with his dad tonight. Come on.”
By the time they found somewhere outside to sit, she had already gone through 2 beers. She snorted as she sat down on the patio, looking up at the sky, “That cloud looks like a penis.”
“That’s not a cloud, dummy. It’s a tree,” Kie noticed Y/N zoning out. She nudged her with a shoulder, “You good?”
She blinked. Looked down at the bottle in her hand, then back up at Kie. “Yeah. Just tipsy.”
A beat passed. The wind kicked up, blowing small grains of sand onto her legs. Kie didn’t push. That’s what Y/N liked about her. She waited.
Maybe it was the beer. Or maybe it was the stars. But something in her loosened.
“I saw my mom out on the street last night,” she said suddenly, voice too casual.
Kie turned, eyebrows lifting slightly, “Yeah?”
She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip, “She was drunk. Had some guy with her. I think his name was Vince? Or Vic? Doesn’t matter. He called me ‘sweetheart’ and stared at my legs too long.”
She took another sip out of her beer, “I asked her where she’s been all month, and she just said she was busy and I should try it sometime instead of being lazy.”
There was a small pause. Like Kie was waiting for her to say more.
“It’s whatever,” She added quickly. “It’s not like... unusual.”
Kiara’s voice was quiet, “That’s not normal, Y/N.”
She shrugged, still smiling. Too brightly, “I mean, it is for me. She’s always like that. At least she didn’t throw anything this time. And the guy didn’t hit me, so. Upgrades, right?”
Kie turned toward her fully now, eyes soft, serious, “That’s not okay.”
She looked over. Met her gaze for a second. Then dropped it, “I said I was fine.”
But her voice wavered — just barely. The smile faltered for a blink, and Kie caught it.
She stood up, chugging the rest of her beer, tripping on her flip flops before starting to walk off, “I should get home, I have work tomorrow.”
“Wait, Y/N,” Kie grabbed her arm. “Just crash here. I wanna talk.”
She smiled, soft and strained. “Thanks, Kie. But I should really go. Wouldn’t wanna end up in some foster home because I can’t pay rent, right?” She attempted to joke.
Kie sighed, knowing she couldn’t get any more out of her tonight, “Alright. Bye.”
The house was dark when she walked in — but not silent.
She could smell cigarettes and boxed wine. Her head still buzzed faintly from the bonfire and beer, her skin sweaty and sticky from the salt air. She thought maybe, if she moved quietly enough, she could slip past…
Her mother’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was laced with venom.
She froze halfway to her bedroom, keys still in hand. She turned slowly.
Her mom was perched on the edge of the couch. Her eyes were glassy. Not drunk enough to be gone. Just enough to be mean.
The man from earlier was on the couch, shirtless and smirking, his eyes scanning over her.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Out,” she said quietly, trying not to slur. “With friends.”
“At this hour?” Her mom stood, swaying slightly.
“Real ones, or that shirtless delinquent you’re always following around?”
“JJ is more decent than anyone you’ve ever brought through that door,” she snapped.
Vince laughed. Low and greasy. “What is it with teenage girls and being so desperate for attention that you’ll spread ya’ thighs for anyone who asks? Huh, sweetheart? You got all the attention you need here.”
“You reek of beer,” her mom added. “Didn’t know you were a party girl now. Should’ve figured. You are your mother’s daughter.”
“I’m nothing like you. You’re just a drunk who doesn’t have anything going for her,” she spat.
Her mom chuckled, “Oh? And what do you have going for you?”
“More than you. You just rely on desperate old men, and when they don’t give you enough, you move onto the next like some—”
Her mom’s hand moved faster than she could comprehend.
The slap wasn’t hard, not really. Just quick. And loud.
It knocked the keys from her hand and left a sting on her cheek, sharp and hot and humiliating.
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
She didn’t speak. Her jaw locked. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t blink.
Her mother stepped closer, breath sour and sharp, “You walk around like you’re better than me. Like you’re some sad little survivor. But you’re not. You’re pathetic. Playing house with your Pogue friends like that’s gonna save you. Guess what? You’re still trash, Y/N. Just like me. Just like your father.”
Her’s chest rose and fell, her fists clenched at her sides. She didn’t say anything. She just bent down, picked up her keys, and turned around.
“Go ahead and run,” her mom spat after her. “You always do.”
She didn’t stop until she was outside. Her breath sharp in her throat. She didn’t even feel the bruise blooming on her face yet.
She kept walking. Past the corner store. Past the neighborhood signs. All the way down to the beach.
She sat on a bench near the dunes and pulled her knees to her chest.
The wind picked up. She didn’t cry.
She just sat there, hugging herself in the dark, too proud to call JJ. Too ashamed to text Kie. Too tired to care.
She pulled her knees tighter and whispered, more to the dark than herself,
“I should’ve stayed at the Chateau.”
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