Dirty Water,Dirtier Hands (Rafe Cameron x reader)

Y/n is a pogue. a real one-fishing for dinner, patching her own tires, saltwater in her veins. she's nineteen, she's tired, and she's been stealing crab traps from cameron property for three weeks just to keep her aunt's freezer full.

rafe cameron is everything she hates. entitled. cruel. heir to the island's ugliest legacy. he's also twenty-four, which means he's been running figure eight since she was still stupid enough to believe in happy endings.

when he catches her red-handed at 2am-wet jeans, a trap in each hand, ready to run-he doesn't call the cops. he doesn't even yell.

he just leans against his truck, lights a cigarette, and says: "you're gonna work for me. all summer. and maybe i won't tell my dad about the other four traps you took."

y/n scrubs his floors. cleans his pool. folds his laundry like some kind of live-in maid while he watches her from doorways with an unreadable expression. she fantasizes about pushing him into the deep end. about keying his truck. about telling him exactly where he can shove his cameron money.

but late nights turn into strange conversations. he asks about her life-really asks. he remembers that her aunt's knee is acting up. he leaves extra cash in her jacket pocket when she isn't looking.

and strange conversations turn into rafe defending her when topper makes a joke about "pogue trash" at a country club party. rafe's hand on topper's chest. rafe's jaw tight. rafe's voice low: "say that again. see what happens."

y/n doesn't understand. she's supposed to hate him. he's supposed to be the villain.

"you're supposed to be the villain, cameron."
"maybe i'm tired of playing the part."