th0tformikasa

[th0tformikasa]

if i got my hands on drew starkey or pedro pascal….. prepare for world domination

[th0tformikasa]

just posted the next chapter of under my skin! sorry it took a while, ive been binging game of thrones and im entranced by robb and jon

[th0tformikasa]

Party 4 U

rafe x f!reader

The party didn't last long.

5th chapter of Under My Skin, masterlist | previous chapter

w/c: 5256

W: slight smut? not really it's closed door ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ 4 ᴜ - ᴄʜᴀʀʟɪ xᴄx

~~~

The tires crunched over sand and gravel as they pulled up to the edge of the party.

Juliette could already hear the pulse of music thudding through the night— one of those deep, chest-thumping beats that reached you before the car even stopped. Strings of warm, golden lights were draped between tall poles, swaying in the salty breeze like lazy fireflies. Bonfires flickered across the beach, casting long shadows over kids sprawled on blankets and leaning into each other with red solo cups in hand, skin glistening from saltwater, sweat, and spilled beer.

The Kooks always did everything louder, flashier. Like they had something to prove.

Juliette sat still in the passenger seat, watching the party through the windshield like it was some kind of mirage. Beautiful. Distant. Unreal. She already felt like an intruder, and her feet hadn’t even touched the sand.

John B cut the engine. JJ was out first, already yelling something incoherent as he tossed a beer can in the air and caught it with a grin. Kiara rolled her eyes and followed, Pope trailing behind with the leftover grilled shrimp still wrapped in paper.

Juliette didn’t move. Not yet.

Her fingers brushed the faint bruise on her cheek—the one she’d tried to cover with makeup. Under the soft glow of beach lights, it would show. Maybe not right away. But Kooks noticed everything. Not because they cared. Because it gave them something to whisper about.

She wasn’t even sure why this party was getting to her. They’d been to dozens of Kook parties before—most of them ending in some kind of disaster. Maybe it was her recent... complications with Rafe and his friends. Maybe it was the way she hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment in the grocery store parking lot.

She finally opened the door. The warm night air wrapped around her, sticky and loud. Her shoes hit the sand and sunk slightly, and she brushed her hands over her shorts, trying to will back some confidence.

“Let’s go, Jules!” JJ called over his shoulder, holding his beer high like some kind of flag. Already halfway into the crowd.

Juliette forced a smile and followed, the roar of the ocean somewhere behind the music, so distant it didn’t feel real.

She caught up to the group, linking her arm through Kiara’s. Kie tolerated it with a sigh—Juliette knew she wasn’t the touchy kind, but Juliette needed grounding. Physical reassurance. A reminder she wasn’t alone.

The smell of salt, bonfire smoke, and expensive cologne clung to the air. Kooks were everywhere—bronzed skin, linen shirts, bikini tops, glossy hair, loud laughter. All curated, all intentional. It was the opposite of the chaotic warmth of the Château. There, everything was mess and comfort. Here, everything was performance.

Juliette liked parties. But she liked them when she felt safe—when she didn’t have to scan for warning signs or count how many drinks JJ had already had. And at a Kook party? Trouble was always just waiting.

“I just ate that shrimp like I was starving, and I think I saw God,” she said to Pope once Kie finally shook her arm loose.

Pope laughed. “I’ll let my dad know he delivered divine intervention.”

“Please do. He’s my new spiritual leader.”

But before Pope could answer, a voice—sharp and sour—cut through the air.

“Well, look what the tide dragged in,” Topper sneered.

Juliette turned, heart already sinking. He stood with his usual entourage—Kelce on one side, Sarah Cameron on the other. Sarah looked uncomfortable, tugging gently at Topper’s sleeve, her mouth moving like she was telling him to stop.

John B didn’t flinch. “That’s not a nice thing to say about yourself, Top,” he said brightly, like they were just chatting.

Juliette felt her whole body go stiff. This was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. They hadn’t even been there five minutes.

“You know this party wasn’t an open invite,” Topper snapped.

“It’s a public beach,” JJ said, stepping forward with a smirk.

Juliette’s eyes narrowed at his back. She didn’t need to see his face to know what he was thinking. She could feel it radiating off him like heat. Please don’t. Not tonight.

Topper scoffed. “Yeah, sure. But this is our side of town. So maybe you should crawl back to the Cut, where you belong. We don’t need your kind dirtying up the sand.”

JJ’s chest puffed up. He stepped into Topper’s space, ready to swing, but Juliette grabbed his arm and yanked him back hard.

“Oh, what—your babysitter gonna scold you, Maybank?” Topper laughed.

Juliette didn’t let go. Her grip tightened.

Sarah was still shaking her head behind him, clearly trying to defuse the situation. Juliette wondered again why a girl like her was with a guy like Topper.

Then she saw the shift. A shadow moving just beyond the firelight. And her stomach dropped.

Rafe.

He walked toward them with slow, deliberate steps. No smirk. No anger. Just that unreadable expression that always made her feel like he knew something she didn’t.

“Topper,” Rafe said, his voice low and calm. “Leave it.”

Topper turned, thrown. “What?”

“I said leave it. Not tonight.”

The tension rippled. Even the fire seemed to pause. Everyone watched.

“You serious?” Topper blinked, confused.

Rafe nodded once. “Yeah. Let it go.”

Then he turned and walked away, like it wasn’t even worth another glance.

Topper looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. He let out a sharp breath and stomped back toward his group, grumbling.

“Looks like you’re the one with the babysitter, Thornton!” JJ called after him, unable to help himself.

Juliette closed her eyes for half a second. He just couldn’t leave it alone.

Topper didn’t respond. Rafe shoved him forward without a word.

“What the hell was that?” Pope muttered.

Juliette said nothing. She watched Rafe’s retreating back, heart pounding in her throat. The bruise on her cheek pulsed with heat.

Because the only thing worse than Rafe starting a fight… was Rafe choosing not to.

“I don’t know what the hell that was,” Kiara said beside her, “but I’m glad it happened.”

John B broke the tension, already heading toward the kegs. “Let’s get a drink and cool off.”

Juliette didn’t move. Not yet. Her hands were clenched at her sides, breath caught in her chest.

She wasn’t angry at Topper. Not really.

She was angry at JJ.

“Come on, J!” John B called back to her, already halfway to the keg with the others.

It was starting to become a pattern—her trailing behind, half-stuck in her own head, half trying not to scream.

Juliette sucked her teeth and clenched her fists at her sides, trying to ground herself. She knew she was pissed. She just didn’t want to stay pissed.

So she forced herself forward, crunching across the sand until she reached the rest of the group.

JJ’s voice was the first thing she heard—loud, cocky, and riding high off the confrontation.

“And I swear to God, the way he was trying to puff up his chest? Like bro, you literally look like—”

Juliette could’ve let it go. She wanted to let it go. She even smiled at first. Tried to bite her tongue.

Until JJ turned toward her, like he was expecting her to laugh along. “What’s wrong with you, Juliette?” he asked, that crooked grin still playing on his lips.

He must’ve thought she’d be hyping him up. Normally, she would be. His insults were on point—Topper was an arrogant idiot. But this wasn’t normal. Not tonight. Not after she had to pull JJ back from another fight, like she always did.

“What,” Juliette said flatly, her voice sharp enough to slice through bone.

JJ blinked, confused by the tone. “What? You letting Topper get to you or something?”

He laughed. Laughed. Like the idea of her being upset right now was hilarious.

Juliette’s face twisted. “Are you kidding me?” she snapped, the words punching out of her like she couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Kiara and Pope instinctively took a step back. John B dragged a hand down his face, already bracing for the fallout.

JJ tilted his head, still clueless. “What?”

“Do you not understand why I’m upset right now?” Juliette scoffed, throwing her hands up. “Of course you don’t. This is how it always ends with you.”

JJ’s brow furrowed. “I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

Her eyes widened, stunned—like he’d just confirmed every fear she had about this moment. “Oh. My. God. This is insane.” She let out a bitter laugh. “So you don’t understand how I might be a little upset that within five minutes of us getting here, you’re already trying to start a fight?”

JJ shrugged, confused and defensive. “Okay, so you’re pissed that I went to shove Topper? That’s not exactly new, Juliette.”

“Exactly! It’s always the same thing with you. You act reckless, pick a fight, blow everything up—and then I’m the one left cleaning up your mess like it’s my job.”

JJ’s jaw tensed. “Now that’s just bullshit, Juliette.”

“Is it?” she shot back, her voice rising. “Want me to list examples? Because I can. You want to talk about all the jobs you’ve been fired from for mouthing off? Who went up there and smoothed it over? Me. You want to talk about that time you got in a fight with those tour guides at the marina and almost got banned from the Cut entirely? Who talked them down? Me.”

JJ’s face hardened, but he said nothing.

Juliette’s hands were shaking now, not from fear—but from frustration, from exhaustion. “You storm through everything like a hurricane and expect everyone else to live in the wreckage. I love you, JJ, I really do—” she cut herself off, lips tightening. “But I’m tired of always being the one patching things up when you don’t even try to stop tearing them apart.”

Silence fell like a slap.

JJ’s expression shifted—hurt, confused, stubborn all at once. But still, he said nothing.

Until something in him cracked.

“Oh, so now you’re just Ms. Perfect?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve never messed anything up, huh?”

Juliette narrowed her eyes, her jaw tight. “Obviously not. But this isn’t about me. This is about you—you pulling the same reckless shit over and over and expecting someone else to deal with the mess!”

JJ scoffed and raked a hand through his hair, pacing away from her and then turning back sharply. “Alright. Then how’d you get that bruise, Juliette?”

The words sliced through the air like a blade.

A few heads turned. The music still thumped, but people were definitely starting to notice. Conversations quieted nearby. The party had shifted around them—still buzzing, but now sharper, more electric, tuned into the spectacle.

Juliette felt her chest tighten. Her ears rang with the sudden silence between them. “You know exactly where it came from,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And you want to know why I didn’t tell you? Because I knew you’d do something stupid. Just like this.”

JJ stepped forward, his voice climbing. “So I’m the asshole for being mad about the fact that our own father hit you and you didn’t think I had the right to know?”

His words rang out just as someone stumbled by behind them—laughing, drunk, and careless—swinging an arm that held a half-full cup.

Juliette felt it before she saw it.

Cold beer splashed down the front of her white top, soaking through fabric and dripping down her skin.

She gasped, stepping back instinctively, eyes wide as the chill shocked her system. Her hands flew up, but it was too late. The sticky liquid clung to her skin, to her clothes, marking her in the worst possible moment.

“Shit—sorry!” the guy slurred, barely slowing as he moved past, oblivious.

JJ looked stunned. For a second, the fight paused.

Juliette stood frozen, soaked and furious, feeling completely, devastatingly exposed.

She was shaking—but not just from the cold. From humiliation. From rage. From everything.

She turned her eyes on JJ, dark and glassy.

“I didn’t tell you,” she said, voice low but razor sharp, “because when you get angry, you don’t think. You fight. You break things. You disappear when it counts. And I couldn’t handle that on top of everything else.”

JJ opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His hands twitched at his sides, helpless.

The music returned to full volume in her ears. Laughter erupted in the distance. But for Juliette, the moment had snapped—like a cord pulled too tight.

She stepped away from him, brushing the beer off her shirt with shaking hands as she turned toward the darker end of the beach—somewhere away from the lights, the eyes, the chaos.

Away from him.

Juliette regretted coming. She should’ve known it would end like this. It always did.

But if she hadn’t come, she was sure she would’ve been called up here anyway—because JJ would’ve picked a fight with Topper, and she would’ve been expected to fix it. Just like always.

She dragged a hand down her face, exhaling sharply as she walked farther down the beach. Away from the bonfires. Away from the music. Away from him.

She didn’t have a destination in mind. She just needed to go—to put space between herself and the swirling chaos she kept getting pulled into. Her heart still pounded, her hands sticky from the beer that had soaked her.

And JJ was right.

That’s what made it worse.

She should have told him what Luke did. Should’ve come to him first. But she didn’t. Because she knew what would’ve happened. He would’ve gone after Luke yesterday, fists swinging and consequences forgotten.

Juliette clenched her jaw, frustration rolling through her like a tide.

She didn’t want an apology from JJ. She wanted him to understand. She wanted it to click. That not everything could be fixed by yelling or throwing punches. That sometimes restraint was stronger than retaliation. But it was like trying to explain color to someone who only saw in black and white.

And now—because he didn’t get it—Juliette stood here, soaked in beer, humiliated and exposed.

Her white tube top clung to her skin, now completely see-through, revealing the bright red bikini beneath. She reeked of cheap alcohol and smoke, and it stung even more knowing she’d just taken a long, hot shower before this.

She climbed higher up the beach, past the crowd, until she reached the edge of the foliage. It was quieter here, the music only a dull thrum in the distance. She sank down onto the sand, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, chin resting on her forearm.

Juliette sat in silence, trying to calm the swirl of thoughts in her head.

Her whole body trembled with a mix of embarrassment and fury. People had seen—seen her fight with JJ, seen the beer spill, seen her storm off like a train wreck in real time.

And deep down, what gutted her most was the knowledge that this was exactly what people expected from the Maybanks. Loud. Explosive. Messy.

And tonight, she’d proven them right.

She sat staring at the ocean, arms loosely wrapped around her knees. The waves crashed steadily in the distance, moonlight flickering over the water like someone had cracked the sky open and let the stars bleed out. There were a million thoughts spiraling in her head, and yet all she wanted was stillness—to enjoy the sand beneath her toes and the lull of waves colliding.

But peace never came easy.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Could’ve been five minutes. Could’ve been thirty-five. The party was still booming somewhere behind her, the music thudding softly across the dunes. No new screams or crashes, so she assumed JJ hadn’t caused any more chaos—yet. If he had, she’d probably have felt the ripple of it even from here.

Now she was lying on her back in the sand, knees bent, fingers laced across her stomach. She was going to regret the sand in her hair later. It would be hell to wash out. But for now, the grit and chill of it grounded her.

Until—

“Hey. You’re not dead, are you?” a low voice broke through the quiet.

Juliette sat up abruptly, blinking against the moonlight—only to find Rafe Cameron standing in front of her.

Of course.

It seemed lately he had a habit of showing up where she least expected. And annoyingly, not where she could easily ignore him.

She hadn't noticed his face clearly earlier. But now, in the pale light, she saw his hair wasn’t slicked back like usual—it curled slightly at the ends, messy from the wind. He wore swim trunks and a faded T-shirt that matched in color, low-key and disarming.

She squinted up at him. “No, I’m not dead. Sorry to disappoint—you won’t be hiding a body tonight.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, amused. “Nah, I wouldn’t hide it anyway. I’m not a murderer.”

She raised a brow. “Don’t speak too soon, Cameron.”

He sat down beside her, without asking. She didn’t tell him to leave.

“Why’re you out here all alone?” he asked, casually taking a sip from the red Solo cup in his hand. “Your brother’s friends finally decide they’re done putting up with you?”

Juliette narrowed her eyes, unsure if he was teasing or just being a dick. She turned away, unimpressed.

“Kidding,” he added, sensing her shift in mood. “Don’t go getting all emotional on me.” He took another sip. “So… why are you out here?”

She glanced at him, then back toward the ocean. “Maybe I just wanted to be.”

He looked at her again, eyes flicking to her now stained shirt. “Is that why you reek of beer?”

Juliette rolled her eyes. “Wow, you’re such a flirt, Cameron.”

He smirked. “So?”

“So, what?” she echoed.

She gave him a long look. “I don’t feel like spilling my life story to a guy I barely know.”

Rafe’s gaze held hers, unreadable. “Maybe I just think you’re interesting.”

The words hung there for a second. Not heavy. Not light. Just… suspended.

Juliette didn't respond right away. She wasn’t sure what this was. A moment? A game? Another trick she hadn't figured out the rules to yet?

For whatever reason, Juliette felt her lips betray her. “I got in a fight with my brother,” she said quietly, shrugging. She didn’t finish the sentence—didn’t know how to. She had no idea why she was even telling him this. She knew of Rafe, but she didn’t know him. Not really.

Still, something about him made the words spill out.

Maybe it was the way he wasn’t prying, just there. Calm. Still. Watching, but not judging.

She wasn’t sure what kind of spell Rafe Cameron had on her—but whatever it was, it was working.

His hand lifted slowly, like he was going to touch her face. It hovered just shy of her skin. “He hit you?” he asked, voice low.

Juliette recoiled instinctively, her head snapping back. The question stung. “No—no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”

Rafe’s hand dropped back to his knee, his expression unreadable. “Your dad, then?”

She hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed. “That’s what we fought about.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Because of the tire?”

“Yeah,” she exhaled with a bitter laugh. “I had already bought him a new one, too. He just has a... weird way of showing his appreciation.”

Rafe studied her for a beat. “Why do you stay there?”

Juliette scoffed and let out a dry chuckle. “You really don’t get it, do you, Rafe Cameron?” She shook her head and lay back down in the sand, eyes fixed on the night sky.

“You’re an adult,” he said, turning slightly toward her. “You could leave.”

“You think it’s that simple?” she murmured, staring at the stars. “We have a messed up relationship. He hits me, I move to John B’s. Then he’s back in jail and he calls me for bail. And what do I do?” She glanced at him, her voice hollow. “I bail him out.”

Rafe looked at her like he couldn’t compute it. “Why do you help that shitbag?”

“Because he’s my dad.” She said it like a curse. “If you were in my situation, you’d do the same.”

Silence hung between them for a second, heavy as the heat in the air.

And even though he didn’t say it, Rafe didn’t argue.

He just looked at her, and for once, didn’t have something clever to say.

“It’s just so—” Juliette stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. There wasn’t a neat way to describe it. Not without unraveling.

“Fucked?” Rafe offered.

She let out a quiet laugh and nodded. “Yeah. It’s fucked. I should leave. Stay at the Chateau forever or finally figure out how to get my own place. But there’s just... too much.” Her voice faltered. “Too much history. Too many strings.”

Rafe shrugged and took a sip from his beer. “Family’s always fucked. Some worse than others, but still.”

Juliette didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat up, brushing sand off her arms. The ocean breeze moved across her skin and she shivered, the cold beer soaked into her shirt sending a chill down her spine.

Without much thought, she reached for the hem of her tube top and tugged it off, revealing her red bikini top underneath.

“Family talk made you wanna strip?” Rafe asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m cold,” she said plainly, tossing the wet shirt to the side.

Rafe smirked. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Juliette looked over at him, her lips pulling into a crooked, tired smile. But the weight of the night still sat on her chest.

“I’m an idiot.” she muttered, more to herself than him.

Rafe’s smirk faded slightly, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you,” she said again, quieter this time. But she didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned into the silence, like she was waiting to see what he’d do with it.

Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her—really looked. His usual smugness had melted off his face, replaced by something quieter. Curious, even gentle. His fingers tapped slowly against his knee.

“I don’t know either,” he said finally. “But I’m not exactly trying to stop you.”

Juliette let out a slow breath and looked down at her hands, fiddling with a ring on her finger. “You’re not like I thought you’d be,” she murmured, almost too softly for him to hear.

Rafe tilted his head, intrigued. “Yeah? What did you think I’d be like?”

“An asshole,” she answered bluntly, glancing up at him through her lashes. “Still kinda are.”

He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “Fair. But I’m not the only one surprising people tonight.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, without asking, he reached out and brushed a piece of hair off her face, his knuckles grazing her cheekbone with featherlight care. She didn’t flinch this time.

“I bet you don’t let people see you like this,” he said softly. “Even your friends. You hold it all in. But here you are, talking to me.”

His touch lingered just a second too long before falling away. She could still feel the warmth of it, though.

Juliette’s chest rose and fell a little faster. Her throat felt dry.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” she whispered. “Tired of having to be strong all the time.”

“You don’t always have to be,” he said, barely audible. His eyes were on her lips now. “Not with me.”

There it was. The space between them, suddenly electric. Charged and waiting.

She could’ve looked away. She could’ve stood up and ended it there. But instead, she stayed still. Her breath caught as Rafe leaned just slightly closer, the salty breeze curling between them like a secret.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just keep talking like you’ve got all night?” she said, her voice low and challenging, but her eyes soft.

He paused—just for a moment—like he was making sure this was real. Then he closed the distance.

His lips met hers, gentle at first, almost unsure. But she leaned in, and then it was like everything else faded—the shouting from the bonfire, the music, the memory of her brother’s voice, the ache in her chest. All of it blurred.

It was just him.

Just her.

And the hum of something they hadn’t meant to find.

When they finally broke apart, Juliette rested her forehead against his, breathing him in.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered.

“No,” Rafe agreed, though his voice sounded a little too sincere. “Nothing at all.”

But they both knew better.

Juliette grabbed the red solo cup from Rafe and brought it up to her lips. She downed the remains in one go, the beer bitter and warm against her tongue. She tossed the cup near her discarded shirt, then turned back to him—eyes darker now, her breath shallow.

Without a word, she reached up and grabbed Rafe’s jaw, guiding him toward her again.

This time, when she kissed him, it wasn’t hesitant or careful. It was rough. Certain. Like she needed to drown in something, and he was the nearest thing to water.

His lips met hers with equal force—bruising, desperate, alive. Her fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt, holding onto him like she didn’t trust the sand to stay steady beneath her. His calloused fingers slid down to her waist, curling around her hip, pulling her in like gravity had chosen him as her anchor.

The heat between them burned through the sea breeze.

Juliette’s back arched slightly as she leaned into him. He kissed her like he meant it. Like he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the moment she walked into the party. Like he wanted to forget every version of himself he hated and remember only this one—the one wrapped around her under the stars.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Juliette’s hands remained on either side of his face, her thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

She rested her forehead against his again, eyes fluttering closed for just a second.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered, voice breaking just slightly.

“Probably,” he murmured. “But I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Her lips found his again.

And somewhere in the distance, the party roared on like nothing had changed—while everything between them already had. 

He pulled away, only for a second, his breath hitting her lips as he panted, “Let’s go back to my car.”

Juliette nodded before he kissed her again—rough, fast, like he couldn’t bear the distance a single word created.

~~

Juliette had a habit of ending up in situations she couldn’t explain.

But this?

This was something else.

If someone had told her two days ago that she’d be naked in the backseat of Rafe Cameron’s car, flushed and out of breath with his hands still roaming her skin, she would’ve laughed. Laughed hard.

And yet, here she was.

The windows were fogged, her tube top lay forgotten on the floor, and her legs were draped over Rafe’s lap as he lazily traced circles into her thigh. His hair was a mess and his clothes had been tossed somewhere into the front seat during the chaos.

She was still catching her breath when her phone buzzed from somewhere between the seats.

“Shit,” she muttered, sitting up quickly, dislodging herself from Rafe’s lap. His arms reached instinctively for her waist, trying to pull her back.

“Don’t,” he said, groaning as she shifted. “C’mon, just ignore it.”

“It's probably one of my friends thinking I got kidnapped.” She leaned forward, trying to reach between the center console, stretching awkwardly over the front seat.

Rafe leaned his head back against the leather, arms stretched behind him like a man in no hurry at all. “Let ’em worry.”

Juliette kept searching. Her bare back arched as she reached, her ass slightly up in the air, and she could feel the heat of his gaze on her like fire.

“Actually…” his voice was low, amused. “Stay like that.”

She snorted. “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips just as her fingers closed around her phone.

“Found it!” she announced, sitting back down beside him.

Rafe sighed like he was in mourning. “Great.You're gonna leave me?”

Juliette glanced at the screen. Two missed calls from Pope. One text from Kiara:

“U alive? JJ’s on the warpath. Call me.”

Her stomach twisted. The high of everything dulled slightly, like someone had thrown cold water on it—but not enough to sober her completely.

Still, she didn’t move right away.

Rafe’s hand was back on her thigh, thumb drawing idle circles. His touch was warm and familiar now, and for one fleeting second, she considered ignoring the messages.

But she couldn’t.

With a soft sigh, she tilted her head toward him. “I’m sorry… I gotta call them back.”

She started dialing Pope’s number with one hand while the other fumbled around the backseat for her swimsuit bottoms and shorts. Her voice was still a little breathless.

Rafe let out a disappointed sigh and leaned back, his arm draped along the top of the seat, watching her silently.

The phone rang once, then again—

“Juliette?” Pope picked up, his voice tight, urgent. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, pulling her shorts up one leg at a time. “I’m fine, I just needed a minute.”

“A minute?” Pope snapped. “JJ’s going off, and Kie’s trying to calm him down, and he keeps saying shit like ‘I knew something was up’ You know how he gets, Jules.”

Her heart dropped at the sound of Pope’s stress—at the mention of JJ.

She dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look like less of a mess. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be back soon. Just… stall him or something. Please.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said, quieter.

They both knew she wasn’t entirely.

She ended the call and tossed the phone into the passenger seat. She was fully dressed now—well, mostly. She was still searching for her bikini top and her shirt was soaked and somewhere on the floor in the front.

Juliette looked at Rafe.

He hadn’t said a word during the entire call. Just sat there, watching her, unreadable again.

Juliette was now holding her chest in search of her top. Rafe reached down and picked the red string bikini off of the ground and handed it to her without saying anything.

“Thanks” She grabbed it from him and quickly tied it on.

She opened the door and let the cool night air rush in. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I figured.”

She hesitated, one foot out the door, before looking back at him. “This wasn’t a mistake.”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. His lips parted like he might say something, but nothing came out.

So Juliette climbed out of the car and shut the door behind her.

She wasn’t ready to figure out what that meant yet.

But she had a brother to deal with—and a fire that still needed putting out.

~~~

an: Hi!! So i wrote this chapter over the coarse of a couple days (i've been binging game of thrones) so hopefully it is good and cohesive. I dont feel like doing any editing rn so im not going to.

[th0tformikasa]

[th0tformikasa]

i have a lot of thoughts about materialists

[th0tformikasa]

Dark Red

rafe x f!reader

Something bad is about to happen.

Fourth chapter of Under My Skin, masterlist | previous chapter

w/c: 4413

ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴇᴅ - ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʟᴀᴄʏ

~~~

The sun filtered through the slats in the blinds, dust dancing in the golden light. Juliette blinked awake, curled up on the old couch with a half-folded blanket tangled around her legs. Someone was snoring—probably JJ—and the faint smell of stale pizza and sunscreen lingered in the air.

Her head ached a little, not from alcohol, but from laughing too much, too late. The kind of ache that meant something good had happened.

The living room was scattered with the remains of last night. Markers without caps, empty soda cans, a crumpled pizza box balanced on the edge of the table like it had made a bold leap and gotten stuck. She spotted Pope still asleep in a camp chair with “I <3 Pogues” drawn across his forehead in pink paint, that has since dried down.

Juliette stretched, yawned, and got up, her muscles sore in the best way. She wandered into the kitchen, where Kiara was already perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone and munching on dry cereal straight from the box.

“Morning, sunshine,” Kie greeted, tossing a Cheerio at her.

Juliette caught it in her hand, smiling. “Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?”

“Because we had a great night,” Kie replied. “And because John B used you as a human pillow at some point.”

As if summoned, he appeared shirtless and groggy in the hallway. “Anyone want to hit the beach today?”

“We’re always at the beach,” Pope mumbled from the floor, still mostly asleep.

“Yeah, but there’s gonna be a party tonight,” John B said, now fully alert, as if the word itself was a shot of caffeine. “Topper’s throwing some big thing on the north side. Fire pits, drinks, music—probably a few bad decisions.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to a Kook party?”

“We’re not invited,” JJ called from the other room, “but when has that ever stopped us?”

Juliette rolled her eyes. She should’ve known. Still, part of her chest buzzed with anticipation—nervous, but excited. Chaos was always nearby when the Pogues and the Kooks collided.

 “I would say you guys shouldn’t go,” Juliette said, digging through the fridge with a skeptical look, “but I know you won’t listen.”

There wasn’t much inside. A bottle of hot sauce, a near-empty carton of orange juice, and some pickles floating in sadness. She grabbed a sleeve of crackers and made a mental note to hit the store later. Again.

“So, are you gonna come, Jules?” JJ asked as he plopped down next to the rest of the group, a mischievous glint already brewing in his eyes.

Juliette turned, holding a cracker between her teeth. “Who else would keep an eye on you guys? I can’t overwork Pope.”

She sent Pope a teasing smile and scrunched her nose, making him sigh dramatically.

“You two just love trouble,” he muttered, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth tugged up.

Juliette flopped onto the arm of the couch, still munching. “I’ve got a babysitting shift this afternoon, though. Just a few hours.”

“What? That’s so lame,” JJ groaned. He came up behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders, giving her a playful shake like a frustrated toddler.

“It’s literally, like, three hours,” she said, laughing through her words as she tilted her head up to look at him. “You’ll survive.”

“That’s debatable,” he grumbled, flopping over her shoulder dramatically, letting his full weight drag on her until she squawked and shoved him off.

“I swear,” she muttered. “You need supervision like a toddler with scissors.”

“Exactly why we need you there,” Kiara chimed in, still perched on the counter. “It’s not a proper beach disaster without Jules babysitting the rest of us.”

Juliette smiled, letting herself relax into the familiarity of it all. The house, the banter, the way they all knew how to orbit each other even in chaos. It felt good—safe, even if it was temporary.

Still, her mind wandered to the party and the strange conversation she’d had with Rafe the night before. She hadn’t told anyone about it yet, not even JJ. Part of her hoped she wouldn’t see Rafe tonight. But that was wishful thinking. Kook parties had a way of drawing everyone out of their holes.

“You know what sounds like a lot of fun to me?” Juliette said, standing and turning toward the group with mock excitement. “Someone picks me up from work, and then we go grocery shopping after.”

“Um, that does not sound like fun,” JJ said, making a face like she’d just offered to clean gutters.

“Plus,” he added, glancing toward the kitchen, “we have everything we need right here.”

“I don’t live here, so I don’t care,” Pope interjected flatly, already done with JJ’s logic. “But, for the record, there’s only beer and pickles in the fridge.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, shrugging. “Everything we need.”

Juliette rolled her eyes and leaned her hip against the table. “You guys are hopeless.”

“You know what I think you should do, Juliette?” John B said with a grin, already bracing for her reaction. “I think you should just call up your best friend and ask him for a ride.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I might wring your neck.”

“I’ll start digging the shallow grave,” Kiara deadpanned.

“Um, you know what,” Pope said quickly, sensing the danger level rising, “I think I’ll be your personal escort today.”

Juliette blinked, surprised but smiling. “You sure, Pope? I don’t want to drag you into the chaos that is Harris Teeter on a Friday.”

“Hey,” he said with a mock salute, “I’d rather brave the grocery store than listen to JJ explain how beer and pickles are a balanced diet.”

JJ opened his mouth to argue but paused. “Okay, first of all, pickles are vegetables.”

“Jesus Christ,” Juliette muttered, laughing as she threw a cracker at him. He dodged it with unnecessary flair.

“Alright,” she said, looking toward the clock. “I gotta head out. Babysitting duty calls.”

“You gonna be good?” Kiara asked softly as she stood up, brushing her hands off on her shorts. Her voice was quieter, more serious.

Juliette hesitated for half a second. “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I’ll be fine.”

But something in her voice betrayed that she wasn’t completely sure.

“I’ll take you, Jules. I’ve got my car and I need to stop by the Wreck to help my parents out,” Kiara offered, flashing her a small smile.

It wasn’t unusual for the two girls to ride together, but Juliette could tell this was more than convenience. It was because of the talk they’d had the night before—the moment Juliette broke, and Kie had quietly pieced her back together.

“Okay,” Juliette nodded. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

~~

They drove in easy silence, windows down, the humid breeze rushing through the car. As they turned onto Figure Eight, the air felt thicker, heavier, and not just from the heat. Juliette looked out the window at the manicured lawns and oceanfront houses. She recognized the one coming up. A house she sometimes dreaded going to.

Today was one of those days.

She was too worn out to fake the usual smiles for parents she didn’t relate to. But that was the good thing about babysitting—you didn’t really have to deal with the parents for long.

“Thanks, Kie,” she said quietly as she climbed out of the car.

“You got it,” Kiara said. She lingered just a beat longer than usual, eyes watching Juliette carefully. But she didn’t press. She never did when Jules was like this.

Juliette gave her a small wave and turned toward the house.

She wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts and an oversized Kildare Fishing Company shirt, practically swallowing her frame. Underneath was her swimsuit—today’s hopeful gamble. It was blazing hot out, and if the kids were up for it, maybe she could convince them to go swimming.

When the door opened, she greeted the parents with a soft smile. Their eyes flicked to her face—more specifically, her lip. The glance was subtle, polite even, but it didn’t go unnoticed. She ignored it. She was choosing peace today.

They thanked her quickly, both dressed in crisp clothes, clearly headed out for a date. It was only a short shift, they had mentioned wanting a lunch alone. Just a few hours. Then they’d be back.

As they pulled away in their sleek car, Juliette watched them for a moment longer than she meant to.

It wasn’t the glamor that made her envious. Not the money. Not even the house. It was the love. The ease. The presence of two people who, despite everything, still wanted to sit across from each other at a lunch table and talk.

She sighed softly and turned toward the living room, hearing the familiar thump of little feet across hardwood.

“Alright, guys,” she called out, her voice lifting slightly as she spotted the kids popping up from behind the couch like little whack-a-moles. “How are we feeling about having a pool day?”

“YES!” came a unified scream from the two kids.

Juliette chuckled. At least someone was having a perfect summer.

~~ 

It hadn’t taken long for the kids to get changed and ready for the pool. Juliette helped them lather on sunscreen, reminding them to cover their ears and the tops of their feet. Felix, the younger one, bounced excitedly in place while she made sure his floaties were snug around his little arms.

The moment they were set free, the two of them dashed out the back door with wild energy. Juliette followed behind with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The Glasburry’s backyard looked like it belonged in a magazine. The pool glistened under the sun, framed by palm trees and neatly trimmed hedges. It was one of those places that looked like it had never seen anything less than perfect.

Juliette took a moment to dip her toes in before climbing into the pool with them. She stayed close to Felix in the shallow end, holding onto the floaty straps when he got a little too confident. His older sister splashed and swam circles around them, showing off the new strokes she’d learned at swim camp.

For a little while, it was easy. The sun was warm, the kids were giggling, and Juliette could almost forget about the way her lip still throbbed or the dread that always came with being back on Figure Eight.

They swam for about an hour and a half before the sun started to feel a little too strong and the kids began to get sleepy.

Juliette wrapped them both in big fluffy towels, the kind that smelled like expensive detergent, and ushered them back inside. She helped them bathe and change into cozy pajamas; tiny matching sets with cartoon sharks on them.

They kept saying how much fun they had.

“You’re the best, Jules,” Felix had said, his voice muffled into his watermelon slice.

Those kinds of compliments always caught her off guard. She wasn’t used to being told she was good at something. Especially not something like this, being gentle. Being safe.

Once they were all settled on the plush couch, she let them pick a Disney movie and curled up beside them. One kid nestled under each arm. They were sticky with watermelon juice and warm from the sun.

For the first time in a while, Juliette felt like she belonged somewhere.

Even if it wasn’t really hers. Even if it was just for a few hours.

~~

The parents returned not long after. The kids were still glued to the couch, eyes wide and mouths sticky with watermelon as the final scenes of the movie played out.

Juliette stood to grab her things, trying not to disrupt the peaceful bubble they were in.

“I don’t want you to leave, Juju!” Felix whined, wrapping his little arms around her leg. The nickname had stuck from the very first week she babysat him.

Cinthia came over and scooped him up, her movements practiced and graceful. “She’ll be back soon, honey. I’m sure she’s got somewhere important to be,” she said softly, brushing Felix’s wild curls from his forehead.

She looked to Juliette with a smile. “Seems like you guys had a good time, huh?”

“We had the best time,” Juliette said, smiling back genuinely for once.

“Thank you, dear,” Cinthia said, setting Felix down again and smoothing out her linen dress.

Mr. Glasburry appeared from behind, envelope in hand, as usual. He handed it to her with a polite nod, then paused, his eyes lingering just a little too long on her face.

“Not getting into any trouble, are you?” he asked, gesturing toward her lip.

Juliette let out a light chuckle, already used to this routine. She reached up and grazed the edge of the bruise. “No sir. Just a stupid accident.”

A lie. The same one she’d told the day before at her other job. The same one she was starting to perfect.

“Good,” he replied, satisfied. “You better get a move on. Looks like Heyward’s boy is waiting on you.”

Juliette followed his line of sight through the front window. Sure enough, Pope’s familiar figure was leaning against the driver’s side of his dad’s truck.

“He’s the type you should be hanging out with. He’s smart,” Mr. Glasburry added with a short nod.

Juliette just smiled and nodded, gripping the envelope tightly in one hand and her bag in the other. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

She stepped outside into the heat, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Her mood instantly lifted the moment she spotted Pope properly. She quickened her pace toward the truck, a real smile tugging at her lips for the first time since she’d walked into the house.

“Pope!” she called out.

He looked up and grinned, pushing off the truck and opening the passenger door for her.

“You know, you’re my savior, Pope.” Juliette sighed as she slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. She glanced over at him, a grateful smile playing on her lips. “You’re still good with grocery shopping, right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t know how John B lives like that though,” Pope said, shaking his head as he pulled away from the curb.

“It’s because he’s a teenage boy living alone,” Juliette replied with a shrug. “You know how they are—he thinks a fridge full of beer and mustard is a balanced diet.”

“If I was living alone, I’d at least keep the essentials,” Pope said, glancing over at her for just a second.

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” Juliette said with a knowing smile, pointing at him. “You, Pope Heyward, were raised eating good.”

“That’s true,” he admitted with a small shrug, but the pride in his voice was obvious.

Juliette sighed dramatically. “I need to come over soon and trick your mom or dad into cooking. I’ll literally pay. Like—full babysitting rates.”

Pope laughed. “You know you don’t have to pay. Just show up and say you’re hungry. My dad’ll pull something together like he’s competing on ‘Top Chef.’”

“That’s the dream,” she said, grinning out the window.

Pope shifted gears smoothly as they merged onto the main road leading toward the Cut. “So, how was the shift?”

“It was good,” she said with a small nod. “We went swimming.”

“I can tell. Your hair’s dripping.”

Juliette laughed and quickly scooped her curls up into a messy bun. A few soaked strands stuck to her cheeks and her bangs were already starting to dry into their usual wispy shape.

“Oops,” she muttered, then leaned back in her seat, exhaling softly.

A pause settled between them, not awkward—just familiar.

“So what’s on the list?” Pope asked eventually, breaking the silence again.

“Eggs, bread, milk... the basics. Maybe some beer if we want John B to worship us,” she said, half-joking. “Oh—how’d you end up with the truck today?”

“I was doing deliveries for my dad earlier,” Pope said. “He’s been swamped at the restaurant lately, so I told him I’d help out.”

Juliette nodded, a soft appreciation flickering in her eyes. “You’re a good son.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a good friend for grocery shopping on your day off,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly.

She smiled at him, a little more genuinely this time. “I needed a break. And this? This is the most normal I’ve felt in days.”

“Speaking of…” Pope began, slowing the truck to a stop. “I know you talked to Kie yesterday, but—are you good?”

Juliette blinked, surprised to realize they’d already reached the grocery store. She hadn’t even noticed the familiar parking lot come into view.

She didn’t want to talk. But Pope always asked with good intentions—and more importantly, without pressure.

She nodded. “Yeah. Fine now. Had a fight with Luke, so I’m gonna stay at the Chateau for a while.”

Pope parked, but he didn’t move to get out. Instead, he turned to face her. “He did that?” he asked quietly, eyes landing on her split lip and the bruise beginning to form along her cheekbone. “He’s a piece of shit.”

Juliette looked away, jaw tight. She made a mental note to throw some makeup on before the party tonight. She hated this—being looked at like she was breakable, being pitied or questioned like a kid. She knew Pope cared. That’s what made it harder.

She nodded once, tightly. Words stayed lodged in her throat.

He nodded back, accepting the silence. “You talk to your brother yet?”

They both knew JJ wouldn’t take it well.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p.’ “I will. Probably tomorrow. I don’t wanna ruin tonight.”

Pope gave a small hum of agreement. “Okay.”

He finally unbuckled his seatbelt, then glanced at her again. “Wanna go in? Or do you need a minute?”

Juliette shook her head and unbuckled her own belt, grabbing her phone and shoving it in her back pocket. “Let’s go.”

Pope didn’t push. He just opened his door and climbed out, waiting for her at the front of the truck before heading toward the store.

~~

The duo spent a while weaving through the aisles, grabbing everything Juliette had listed earlier—milk, eggs, bread. The essentials. But she also tossed in a few extras: some chips, a tub of butter, cooking oil, a box of cereal she liked even though it was technically for kids.

They left the store with their arms full, both juggling brown paper bags as they made their way back to the truck. Pope popped the trunk, and they packed the back quickly and efficiently—he was practical like that.

Once they were back in their seats and buckled in, Juliette glanced over at him.

“Go to the gas station on the next block,” she said casually, then added a softer, “Please.”

Pope gave her a side-eye. “The one with Sketchy Paul?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, deadpan. “Gonna get us some beers so John B doesn’t whine.”

“You’re eighteen,” he reminded her, his voice dry.

“I’m aware,” she said with a grin, stretching her legs out and propping one sneaker against the dash.

Pope didn’t argue—just shook his head and pulled out of the grocery store parking lot.

As they neared the run-down gas station, he gave her a skeptical look. “What exactly are you planning?”

Juliette smirked and leaned back in her seat. “Sketchy Paul usually gives me beer for free. I think he’s got a weird little crush or something. Which, gross, but if it means I don’t have to pay? I’m not above it.”

Pope groaned and let his forehead lightly thump against the steering wheel for dramatic effect. “That man is like forty.”

“And that man has a fridge stocked with Natty Light,” she shot back. “Sacrifices must be made.”

He sat up again, resigned. “Just don’t let him talk to you for too long.”

Juliette winked as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Don’t worry, Pope. I have a strict five-minute creep limit.”

She hopped out and headed inside, leaving him muttering to himself in the car.

~~

Juliette strutted back to the truck, arms full—two six-packs of cheap beer in hand, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

Pope leaned over and pushed the door open from the inside for her. “You were in there for seven minutes,” he said as she climbed in.

“Paul talked to me about his pet turtle and offered me a job,” she replied, balancing the beers on her lap. “I think I traumatized him when I said I only work for tips and beers.”

Pope blinked. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Say thank you,” she grinned, clicking her seatbelt in place. “For risking my dignity so you guys can have warm beer later.”

“Thank you,” he deadpanned, starting the truck. “Truly, you’re a hero.”

Juliette looked out the window as they pulled back onto the road. The sun was inching lower in the sky, casting long golden beams through the trees that lined the road out to the Cut. It felt like summer in every sense- humid air, loud cicadas, and the quiet hum of something always about to happen.

When they arrived at the Chateau, Pope pulled up out front and they started unloading the bags. Juliette grabbed the grocery bags first, letting Pope handle the heavier stuff, which mostly meant the beer. They shuffled through the front door, the screen creaking like it always did, and began stuffing the fridge with what little they had just bought.

Juliette was probably stronger than Pope, but she didn't feel like carrying anything heavy at the moment. Plus she thought it would be a good workout for him.

John B appeared at some point and immediately went for the beer, cracking one open like he hadn’t just had cereal for lunch.

“You two are saints,” he mumbled between gulps.

“No, I’m a saint,” Juliette corrected, swatting the back of his head lightly. “Pope just drove the getaway car.”

Once everything was put away and the fridge looked a little less pathetic, Pope checked his phone and sighed. “Alright, I gotta drop the truck back at my dad’s. He’ll have a heart attack if he sees I didn’t return it by sundown.”

Juliette nodded, grabbing a glass of water and plopping down onto the couch. “Tell him I say hi. Also tell him I’m thinking about hiring him as my personal chef.”

Pope raised an eyebrow. “That’s suspiciously specific.”

“Because,” she said, lounging deeper into the cushions, “you’re gonna bring me back some grilled shrimp, right?”

He paused at the doorway, looking at her with an amused smirk. “You want me to sneak shrimp out of my house?”

“I’m not above begging.”

Pope laughed, shaking his head as he walked out. “You’re lucky my dad makes extra.”

Juliette just smiled to herself as she heard the screen door creak again and shut behind him.

John B followed after him, swung the door open, and shouted out, “Be back so we can hit the beach together!”

Juliette couldn’t hear Pope’s response, but she was sure it was a yes. John B stepped back inside with a grin on his face.

“Thanks for shopping, J,” he said, the sincerity in his voice clear.

She smiled back. “Think of it as my rent payment for staying here.”

~~ JJ and Kiara arrived at the Chateau not long after Pope had left. The group was lounging around, sipping the warm beers Juliette had talked her way into getting. Now, they were just waiting on Pope to return.

Since her babysitting shift, Juliette had changed. She wore a white tube top with her red string bikini peeking out underneath, and kept on the same distressed denim shorts—most of hers looked identical anyway. Her hair hung down around her shoulders in soft, damp waves, though she figured she might throw it up later depending on the wind.

She’d tried to cover the forming bruise on her cheek. Concealer didn’t do much to hide it, and the split on her lip still stung. But she added mascara, blush, and a swipe of light pink gloss anyway—maybe to distract from the things she couldn’t cover.

She was curled up on the couch next to Kiara when the door opened and in walked Pope, a paper bag of food in hand and the scent of grilled shrimp following him in.

“There he is!” JJ shouted, a little too loud over the music blaring through the old speaker.

“You’re so loud, JJ,” Pope muttered, still standing in the doorway.

“What a weird way to say you love me,” JJ grinned.

“Yeah, yeah—enough with the flirting,” Kiara cut in, already standing and heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Guess we’re going,” John B said with a shrug, grabbing his keys and following her out.

Pope held the door open, letting everyone spill out ahead of him. Juliette stood last, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, her lip still aching a little every time she smiled.

“You good?” he asked under his breath as she passed him.

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Shotgun!” JJ called out, running ahead.

“Absolutely not,” Kie said, jogging to beat him to the passenger seat. “You’re sitting in the way back with the rest of the gremlins.”

“Rude,” JJ muttered, climbing in anyway.

“I take offence Kie” Juliette shot out.

Kiara sent her an apologetic shrug.

Juliette tossed her stuff into the van, then climbed in beside Pope and JJ on the bench. She tugged down the hem of her shorts and leaned her head back against the window, trying not to overthink the night ahead.

The van rolled forward in that uneven, bumpy way it always did, and someone connected their phone to the aux. Music blasted, windows were down, and the wind tangled itself through everyone’s hair like summer itself was sitting in the van with them.

As they made their way toward the beach, the sun dipped lower, casting shadows that stretched long across the road. There was laughter. JJ made some terrible joke. Kiara threatened to make him walk. John B chimed in from the driver’s seat with one hand out the window, fingers slicing through the air.

Juliette watched it all, one corner of her mouth lifting.

Tonight was going to be messy. Probably loud. Maybe chaotic. But it would be theirs. And for now, that was enough.

~~~

next chapter

an: I was actually going to include the party in this chapter, but I decided against it. The next chapter is going to get messy. So be prepared.

[th0tformikasa]

[th0tformikasa]

Painkillers

rafe x f!reader

Why would he care about your lips?

third chapter of Under My Skin, masterlist | previous chapter

w/c: 3759

TW: Mentions of Abuse           ᴘᴀɪɴᴋɪʟʟᴇʀꜱ - ʀᴀɪɴʙᴏw ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇ

~~~

Juliette’s shift was almost over — just one more hour, unless she got cut early.

She worked as a waitress at the country club. The pay was good, but most of the customers were rude. She could deal with that.

She was on her way to greet a newly seated table when she froze mid-step.

Rafe Cameron.

Its like seeing him yesterday wasn't enough for the universe.

Of course. And with him were his two usual followers: Kelce, the dark-haired tagalong, and Topper Thornton, the ever-entitled blond.

Juliette had dealt with the trio before; mainly Rafe and Topper. Kelce just kind of hovered like a fly that couldn’t decide who to buzz around. Juliette always thought he should grow a spine and ditch the other two, but she didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

As she approached, she clocked their outfits: matching Ralph Lauren polos in varying colors, khaki shorts — the Kook uniform. They probably just came off the golf course.

Juliette hated waiting on people she knew. It felt fake, like she was performing for people who already had an opinion about her. But she put on her best service smile, even if it hurt which it did mentally and physically; her lip had been throbbing all day.

“Hello everyone, my name’s Juliette and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you guys started with anything?” she said, voice even, smile cracking at the edges.

“Oh ho— look who we have here,” Rafe smirked, spreading his hands out on the table like he was about to make an announcement. “How about we start with some drinks?”

Juliette sighed softly, pulling out her pen and notepad.

“Didn’t know they let trash from the Cut work here,” Topper muttered under his breath.

If she didn’t need this job, she would’ve leapt over the table and beaten his smug face in. But today wasn’t that day, no matter how badly she wanted it to be.

“Hey, how’d you get that split lip, Maybank?” Topper asked, eyebrows raised like he genuinely expected an answer.

“What kind of drinks are you guys wanting today?” Juliette replied, forcing a smile as her jaw tightened. She ignored the sting on her lip.

“You ignoring my boy?” Kelce chimed in, puffing his chest a little. My boy? Juliette nearly gagged. That was the dumbest thing she’d heard all week.

“Eh, leave it, Kelce,” Rafe said, flipping through the menu like none of it mattered. “I think I want a whiskey on the rocks.”

Juliette blinked. She never thought she’d be grateful for Rafe Cameron, but she was close to thanking him for changing the subject. She didn’t want to explain her lip. The boys probably assumed she got in a fight. But for a second — just a second — she thought she saw something shift in Rafe’s expression. A flicker of understanding.

Then it was gone.

She exhaled. “I’m not bringing you alcohol, Rafe,” she said flatly.

“My family pays a lot for this club. I should be able to get what I want,” he said, like that settled the matter.

Underage club members trying to order alcohol wasn’t unusual. And they always used the same excuse Rafe just did.

“And you can get anything that’s legal,” Juliette said, her voice even but sharp. “You’re nineteen. I’m not serving you alcohol. I can give you a few more minutes to look over the menu and pick something age-appropriate. Or, if you really want that whiskey, I’ll go grab my manager.”

Rafe just stared at her for a moment, not smug, not angry,  just still.

Then he smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, flipping the menu closed with a soft snap. “Coke, then. Guess I’ll pretend to be a law-abiding citizen for once.” Juliette wanted to make a comment about how coke was fitting for him but she decided to keep the peace for now.

Juliette nodded, jotting it down. “Appreciate the sacrifice.”

“Make it two Cokes,” Kelce muttered. “And a sweet tea for Top.” 

Topper didn’t respond. He was too busy glaring at Juliette. Normally, Topper was the nicer one — at least to everyone else. Juliette was never sure why he seemed to hate her more. Maybe it was just the fact that she was a woman who could stand up for herself.

“I’ll be back with those in a minute,” Juliette said, already turning to leave before Topper could get another word in.

She dropped the order off at the bar and tried to calm the storm in her chest. One more hour. Maybe less. Then she could leave, go back to the Chateau, and melt into a bed that wasn’t hers — but still felt like home.

The hour crept by.

The Kooks were loud, obnoxious, and full of snide laughter that always seemed to follow Juliette as she walked away. But she kept her head down and her face calm.

~~

Eventually, her shift ended.

In the staff room, she let her hair down from its braid and slipped out the side exit near the kitchen. It was darker there. Quieter.

She thought she was alone.

“Hey.”

Juliette froze.

Rafe was leaning against the smooth white wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, wearing that same unreadable expression. The parking lot lights cast sharp shadows across his jaw.

“What do you want, Rafe?”

He shrugged. “Just wanted to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“You look like shit,” he said bluntly. Then, before she could snap back, he added, “Who hit you?”

Juliette’s body tensed. She looked away.

“No one. Mind your business.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, voice low but firm.

“I’m not lying,” Juliette shot back.

“Bullshit.”

His tone wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t kind either — but it wasn’t the usual Kook playground cruelty. It had been different. It was sharp. Quiet. Maybe even... curious?

“The hell do you care?” she asked, her voice full of disdain.

She held his gaze for a beat too long, then turned and walked away.

“I’ll see you around, Jules,” he called after her.

She didn’t respond.

But her lip throbbed the whole walk home.

~~

Many thoughts ran through Juliette’s head during her walk home. She had decided to swing by and grab some of her belongings to take to the Chateau. She was probably right during that earlier argument with her father — she would be back. They both knew it deep down. But she wasn’t coming back soon.

She hadn’t exactly asked John B if she could crash at his place for a while — but he wouldn’t have an issue with it. She was practically there more than she was home anyway. And if he did care, he’d say something.

Still, her mind kept circling back to that weird encounter with Rafe outside the club. Did he care? Why would Rafe care? What the hell was going on?

She must’ve been completely zoned out, because before she knew it, she was standing in front of her house. She hoped Luke wasn’t home.

But as she got closer, she saw the truck parked outside. Of course. The universe was really playing games today.

Juliette had two options:

Get the hell out of there and come back for her stuff another day.

Go inside, ignore him, and risk another fight.

She thought about it for a moment. Then sighed.

Fuck it. She hadn’t walked this far to turn back now.

The pale yellow house smelled like cigarettes from the outside. Whatever Luke was doing, she didn’t care. She just wanted to be in and out.

Juliette stepped through the door. Her father was on the couch, and she walked past him without saying a word.

“Oh, look who came crawling back,” Luke called out.

She didn’t answer. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d return the favor.

“Thought I told your bitch ass not to come back,” he added, his voice louder now. She heard him shift off the couch.

So much for the secret third option — the one where he left her alone.

In her room, Juliette started stuffing clothes into her big camping backpack. She moved quickly.

“Just grabbing my stuff. I’ll be out for good,” she called back, knowing full well it wasn’t true — and so did he.

“That shit ain’t yours. I paid for all of it, so it’s mine,” he slurred, swinging his beer bottle around.

Juliette paused for a moment. She still loved him in some hollow, distant way — remembered the version of him who taught her about boats and how to bait a hook. But that Luke didn’t exist anymore.

And she had to move on.

“I’ve been buying my own shit since I was twelve,” she muttered, tossing shoes into a duffel bag. That was true. Probably even earlier than twelve. She didn’t bother mentioning how she bought JJ’s things, too.

She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her toiletries, including her sparkly old hair dryer.

“That ain’t true and you know it,” Luke barked. “I buy you shit.”

Juliette stopped, toothbrush in hand. “Oh my god, you’re right. How could I forget?” she said flatly, holding up the toothbrush like it was a trophy. “You did buy me this a while ago.”

She tossed it at him. It bounced off his chest and hit the floor.

“Go shove it up your ass or something. I think I can manage a new one.”

She pushed past him in the hallway, heading back to grab the rest of her stuff — her sneakers, makeup bag, the hoodie that still smelled like JJ’s cologne.

“You’re such a cunt,” Luke spat. “You know you’re gonna die alone. No one could ever love you.”

That one hit. Hard.

Juliette froze.

Then she let out a laugh; short, sharp, bitter.

“Aww,” she said over her shoulder. “Then I’ll be just like my daddy, right?”

She didn’t look back as she walked out the door.

~~

She decided to put her headphones in for the walk to John B’s. The silence felt too loud.

– Now Playing: “Painkillers” – Rainbow Kitten Surprise –

Juliette queued up a few songs she knew would match her mood, then stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket. She had shoved on her favorite jacket before leaving so she wouldn't forget it there.

Her bags were bulky and awkward—haphazardly packed in the rush to get out of the house. Normally, she was neat and organized, but today wasn’t about that. Today was about getting out fast. About surviving.

As she walked, she felt the tightness in her throat creeping up. Her vision blurred just slightly. She let out a single tear.

Just one. That’s all she allowed herself.

Juliette had never been good at managing her emotions. No one had taught her how. Emotions weren’t things people talked about in her house. Not unless it was anger, and even that wasn’t discussed—it was shouted.

Maybe Big John had tried, once or twice, in his gentle, rambling way. But he wasn’t around anymore. And she was alone again.

She brought her sleeve up to her face and wiped the tear away before it could leave a streak. She sniffed and kept her head down, her messy blonde hair tucked into her hoodie like a shield.

The weight of the bags pulled at her shoulders, but it wasn’t what made her feel heavy.

She walked faster.

~~

By the time Juliette reached the Chateau, the sun had dipped low enough to cast the place in warm, sleepy gold. But it wasn’t quiet.

Music drifted from the open windows, loud enough for her to recognize the song even with her headphones still in.

– Now Playing Inside: “Last Nite” – The Strokes –

Voices followed—familiar ones. Laughter, clinking bottles, someone shouting over the music. It sounded like a good time. A normal time. A moment she didn’t feel built for tonight.

Juliette sighed and pulled her headphones out, stuffing them into the side pocket of her bag. She adjusted the heavy strap on her shoulder, then climbed the steps onto the porch like it weighed twice as much as usual.

The screen door creaked as she pushed it open.

Inside, the Pogues were scattered across the living room—JJ on the couch with a beer, Kiara painting something on Pope’s arm, and John B hovering near the record player with a half-grin, holding up another vinyl like he was DJing a club instead of a beat-up shack by the marsh.

“Jules!” JJ grinned the second he saw her. “You missed it—Pope lost a bet and now he’s got glitter in his future for the next 24 hours.”

Pope groaned. “I’m gonna be finding glitter in my ears until next month.”

John B smiled and looked over from the corner. “Didn’t know you were coming by tonight.”

Juliette returned the smile—tight and tired. “Yeah... figured I’d crash for a bit. Hope that’s okay.”

She dropped her bags by the door, and that’s when everyone noticed. Not just one backpack, but two. Heavy. Stuffed. A little too obviously “leaving home” kind of packed.

Kiara stood up, her tone shifting instantly. “Jules... what’s going on? Did something happen?”

JJ’s easygoing grin faded as his eyes dropped to her lip. “Jesus, Jules, what the hell happened to your face?”

Juliette lifted a hand instinctively to cover it, brushing her fingers near the split. “It’s nothing. Just a long day.”

John B stepped toward her, frowning. “That doesn’t look like nothing. Did someone—did Luke do that?”

She didn’t answer. Just bent down to unzip one of the bags. “Can I get a glass of water or something? I’ve been walking forever.”

Kiara crossed the room. “Jules. Seriously. Talk to us.”

“I said I’m fine,” Juliette muttered, louder this time. She yanked her hoodie from the bag and slung it over her shoulder like armor.

JJ stood up now too, slowly. “Hey. We’re not trying to come at you. We just wanna make sure you're—”

“I’m fine, JJ!” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “God, can you guys just let it go?! I didn’t come here for a damn intervention.”

Everyone froze. Even the music felt quieter.

Kiara’s voice was calm but pointed. “We’re not trying to interrogate you.”

“Well, it feels like it,” Juliette shot back, chest rising and falling quickly. “I came here to get away, not get cornered like some charity case.”

“You’re not a charity case,” Pope said gently, but it only seemed to make her angrier.

She looked around the room, eyes burning. “You all act like you want me to talk, but none of you really care. You just wanna feel better about yourselves for pretending to give a shit.”

Juliette didn’t wait for a response. She turned sharply and stormed down the hallway to the bedroom, slamming the door hard enough that the frame shook.

The living room was quiet now, the leftover warmth from earlier sucked out like someone opened a window during a storm.

After a moment, Kiara set her paintbrush down and followed.

She knocked once, then opened the door gently. Juliette sat on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands, shaking slightly.

“Jules?” Kiara said softly. She didn’t sit yet. Just hovered, waiting.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Juliette whispered. “I just—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Kiara stepped closer and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. “You don’t have to be perfect here. You don’t even have to be okay. We just want to know what’s going on so we can be there.”

Juliette sniffed, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s clearly not,” Kiara said.

Juliette stared down at her hands. “Luke and I got into it again. Worse than usual. And I just... I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t take one more second in that house. So I packed up and left.”

Kiara didn’t interrupt.

Juliette’s voice grew smaller. “We got into it bad Kie” Juliette spared her the details, not wanting to get into it quite yet.

Kiara’s arms were around her before she even finished the sentence.

Juliette broke.

The tears came fast now—hot, angry, quiet sobs into Kiara’s shoulder as she held her, rubbing slow circles across her back like she could undo years of pain with enough pressure.

Juliette wasnt sure when the last tiem she had cried like this was. She was always the one people came to to cry. She didn't realize she needed this.

“You’re not alone,” Kiara whispered. “You’re not broken. And we do care. Even if you try to push us away.”

Juliette cried harder.

But for the first time that day—maybe all week—she didn’t feel like she had to do it alone.

“I don't want to tell JJ it was Luke that hit me,” Juliette whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. The weight of the truth sat like a boulder in her chest. She knew she couldn’t hide it forever. But God, she wanted to.

Kiara pulled back just enough to look at her, her expression soft but firm. “Juliette.”

“I know—I know I have to,” Juliette said quickly, eyes darting to the floor. “I just... I don’t want him going over there and getting in a fight of his own. It’s not worth it.”

“It is worth it,” Kiara said gently, brushing her fingers through Juliette’s blown-out curls, trying to soothe her. “You still have to tell him. He deserves to know.”

Juliette nodded slowly, guilt tightening her throat. “I’m sorry for ruining your guys’ fun. I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t want to.”

Kiara let out a soft breath and shook her head. “Are you kidding me, Juliette? You could never ruin anything.”

She smirked. “The boys, on the other hand...”

That finally earned a laugh. A real one. Juliette wiped the corner of her eye and chuckled, the sound shaky but genuine.

“God, I love you,” she muttered, voice cracking with relief.

“I love you too, idiot,” Kiara said, bumping her shoulder. “And we’ve got you, okay? Always.”

For the first time all day, Juliette believed it.

“You wanna come back out there and help me paint on Pope some more?” Kie asked, raising a single eyebrow so high it was borderline cartoonish.

Juliette let out a soft laugh. “Sure,” she said, wiping the last trace of tears from under her eyes. She wasn’t okay—not totally—but she felt steadier now. Lighter. Like she could breathe again.

The two girls stood up from the old mattress, brushing off the creaky springs as they made their way back into the main room of the Chateau.

As soon as they rounded the corner, the smell of pizza and the sharp bite of cheap paint markers hit them. Laughter echoed from the living room—John B’s was the loudest, followed closely by JJ’s.

Pope sat on the floor, arms held out to the side like a scarecrow, as the boys took turns decorating him like a human coloring book. Someone had drawn a crooked mustache on him. There was a neon green smiley face on his knee and a poorly drawn heart across his forehead.

“Welcome back,” John B called out, his smile faltering just a touch when he looked at Juliette. His eyes flicked to the bags she’d dropped by the wall and then to the fading swell on her lip—but he didn’t ask. Not yet.

JJ, sprawled out across the couch with a slice of pizza dangling from his mouth, perked up. “Bout time,” he said through a mouthful. “Kie was about to draw a dick on his neck. For educational purposes.”

Pope groaned. “You guys have no artistic integrity.”

“You agreed to be the canvas,” Kie grinned, plopping down beside him and grabbing a red marker. “I’m just doing my job.”

Juliette hesitated for a second at the edge of the room. Everyone was smiling again, the mood light and dumb in the best way. She felt them watching her—trying not to—but they were. Especially JJ.

She pushed through it. Took a deep breath. Then she dropped down next to Pope, grabbed a purple marker, and gently started doodling stars down his arm.

JJ tossed her a glance, a little furrow in his brow, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

“Thanks for not drawing genitalia on me,” Pope muttered.

“No promises,” Juliette smirked. “I just got here.”

Kie let out a snort and flopped over on the floor. “God, I missed you.”

For the first time all day, Juliette let herself settle into the noise. The warmth. The chaos of the people she loved. The ones who never stopped showing up—even when she tried to run from them.

And though the heaviness was still there, tucked somewhere deep, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

The group ate pizza, listened to The Strokes—which Juliette very much enjoyed—and continued drawing on Pope, who had apparently lost a bet Juliette still wasn’t totally clear on. It didn’t really matter. The room buzzed with laughter, warmth, and the kind of closeness that made Juliette feel just a little more whole.

“You know I love you guys?” she said softly, wrapping herself in a blanket and leaning her head against Kiara’s shoulder.

“Aw, you getting sappy on us, J?” John B teased.

“Only for you guys. And if you repeat this to anyone, I might just have to execute you,” Juliette grinned.

“I’m only sixteen! I can’t die yet!” John B cried dramatically, clutching his chest.

“Well, you better stop doing stupid shit then,” Pope muttered, examining the growing number of doodles on his arms. “Or your time might be coming soon.”

“He’s living the Pogue life,” JJ chimed in on John B’s behalf, mouth full of crust.

Juliette shook her head with a laugh.

“No, really—John B, everything you do is borderline suicidal. You could be going on a walk and somehow end up falling off a cliff,” Kiara said as she reached for a chunk of Juliette’s hair and started braiding it.

“Dude, I’m just the main character, okay?” John B said, completely unapologetic as he lounged back with his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure you’re not the first person to die in a horror movie?” Juliette tilted her head, raising a brow.

“That’s disrespectful,” he replied, deadpan.

Juliette chuckled, her smile staying a moment longer this time. For a little while, she let herself forget the pain, the weight, and just existed here—on the couch, with her people, wrapped in noise and love and the safety she so rarely felt.

It wasn’t perfect. But right now, it was enough.

~~~

next chapter

An: okay we're getting to it!! How are we feeling about the rafe crumbs? I think this is probably the last of the “shorter” chapters for now. I'm planning to do a couple more chapters pre show and then get into the canon script. 

[th0tformikasa]

Second chapter of "under my skin" has been posted! go check it out!

[th0tformikasa]

I Bet on Losing Dogs

rafe x f!reader

daddy issues!!! (authors note at the end)

second chapter of Under My Skin, masterlist | previous chapter

w/c: 3630

TW: Physical Abuse

                                                               ɪ ʙᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ʟᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɢꜱ - ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ

~~~

Juliette felt the warm, humid air cling to her skin. It was gross—but in a weird, familiar way. The kind of discomfort that told her she was home.

She walked up to the rundown Twinkie and paused for a second, eyeing the half-peeled stickers that lined the faded paint of the van. Same as always. With a sigh, she yanked open the side door and climbed in.

“It’s so nice of you guys to finally show up,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Me and Kie were working, Jules!” Pope called out quickly, trying to get ahead of her irritation. “You should be mad at John B and JJ—they went fishing without us.”

John B was behind the wheel like always, JJ lounging in the passenger seat with his feet on the dash. Kiara sat just behind John, scrolling on her phone, and Pope was stretched out across the back bench.

Juliette tossed her tote bag to the floor and slid into the seat beside Pope. She turned her back toward the van wall and casually swung her legs across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She didn’t say anything at first, just gave him a raised eyebrow.

Juliette had always been a touchy person. Always had a hand in someone’s hair, draped across a shoulder, pulling people into hugs, or—like now—using her friends as footrests. None of them even blinked. It was just how she was, and it was how they worked.

“You know, that is true,” Juliette said, leaning back against the van wall. “I would be mad at them… but they did fix the truck for me, so I can’t be too mad.” She cast a look at the boy sitting beside her.

“Jules, you don’t even like fishing,” John B chimed in, shifting the van into drive and pulling out onto the road.

Kiara finally looked up from her phone, letting out a sigh. “It’s the principle, John B. And me and Pope love to fish, so.”

“So I was supposed to ask just for you to say no?” JJ asked, twisting around in his seat to face them, brows raised in mock confusion.

“Yes,” Kiara replied instantly, flashing him a grin. “And you know Juliette likes to come just to sit on the boat.”

JJ turned to look at Juliette, who just gave a small shrug. “She’s not wrong.”

“It’s fine,” Juliette added after a beat. “As long as y’all actually fixed the truck.” Her tone edged toward suspicion as she looked between the boys.

“Yup,” JJ answered. “It’s back home, and Luke doesn’t know a thing… I think.”

Juliette narrowed her eyes. “Think?”

JJ grinned. “Eighty percent sure.”

“Solid,” she muttered, sinking further into the seat. “That’s about as good as it gets with y’all.”

“How was work?” Pope asked, breaking the easy silence in the van.

Juliette let out a laugh. “You should’ve seen the Glasburrys’ faces when they realized you guys were picking me up,” she said, reaching up to take her hair out of its bun.

“They’re pieces of shit, and you shouldn’t work there,” JJ said flatly, eyes still focused out the front windshield.

Pope shook his head in agreement while Kiara let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Well, they tip good, and the kids are sweet,” Juliette replied, shrugging as she dug through her bag. “If the kids were evil little demons like their parents, I probably wouldn’t still be working there.”

As she grabbed her water bottle, her fingers brushed against something else. She pulled out a tiny clear bag with a single chocolate chip cookie inside.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, holding it up. “Here you go, B.” She passed it to John B.

“You saved me one?” he asked, clearly surprised. He glanced over long enough to take it, then turned back to the road. “See, this is why you’re my favorite J.” He pointed at the road like it made his point stronger.

“Wow, dude,” JJ cut in. “You’re literally cheating on me with my sister.”

He turned to look at Juliette with a dramatic pout. “Where’s my cookie?”

“Um…” Juliette grinned. “Well, I didn’t get you one because… you didn’t ask.”

“That’s total bullshit,” JJ said, offended. “I deserve one too!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Juliette said with a shrug. “I feed you like 87% of the time—you’ll survive.”

JJ muttered something under his breath but leaned back in his seat, clearly conceding the point.

“Not saying you should quit,” Pope started, glancing over at her, “but if you really hate the parents, you might as well. You already work full-time at the club, and you pick up shifts at the marina too.”

“I say you quit,” Kiara cut in firmly. “You shouldn’t give those Kooks your time.”

Juliette gave a tired smile. “Like I said—I like the kids. They’re sweet.”

“Kids are disgusting,” Kiara replied, grimacing. “I don’t know how you have the patience.”

“Well, you would too,” Juliette shot back, “if you had to look out for all you idiots.”

That earned a few smirks and a chorus of mock protests. JJ reached up to turn the music up a notch, and the van settled back into its usual messy, comfortable rhythm—the kind that only came with this group.

~~

The van rolled to a slow stop as they pulled up to the Chateau—John B’s so-called house, though “house” might’ve been generous. It was barely held together in some places, a little too weather-worn and wildly unkempt, but it had heart. And more importantly, it was theirs.

Technically, John B was the only one who actually lived here, but between the endless clutter, sandy floors, and the constant flow of their friend group in and out, it might as well have been a shared home.

Juliette glanced at the peeling paint, the crooked steps, the boards nailed into the windows—and smiled. She felt more at home here than she ever did in her own house. The Chateau was chaotic, warm, and always filled with laughter. Her house? Just mildew and silence.

As John B threw the van into park, the group began piling out, naturally making their way to the porch like they always did.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting a golden haze over the wooden steps as they sat in a loose circle. Shoes off, drinks passed around, someone tossing a worn tennis ball up and down just to keep their hands busy.

They talked for a while—about everything and nothing. Until eventually, the conversation circled back to the chaos from earlier.

“So what actually happened with the truck?” Kiara asked, shooting Juliette a look. “Because I still don’t get how Rafe Cameron of all people got involved.”

Juliette rolled her eyes and let out a deep groan. “It was so weird.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot—you’re best friends with Rafe Cameron now,” JJ said as he tossed the tennis ball to John B.

“Oh my God, ew. I’m not friends with him,” she sighed, sitting up from her previous lying position to face everyone. “So I was outside the truck kicking it, because what else would I do? And then Ward Cameron comes out, and I’m like, ‘Oh great, he’s gonna yell at me.’”

She paused, bringing her knees up to her chest.

“But he didn’t. He was actually nice about it—but it was kinda like, ‘I’m only being nice so you’ll get your crappy truck away from my house.’ And then he said he was gonna go get Rafe to take me to work.”

“Ew.” Kiara grimaced. “I would rather kill myself.”

“Exactly! So he went inside, and I tried to call JJ a million times to break me out of this situation, but then Rafe came out and made me get in his Jeep. I literally thought he was gonna murder me or something—he looked pissed.”

“Well, he doesn’t like you, so that makes sense,” Pope said, tossing the ball to Kie.

“Did he say anything to you?” Kie asked, eyebrows raised.

“He didn’t touch you, right? Because I’ll kill him,” JJ added, anger lacing his voice.

The group had been talking so fast, Juliette couldn’t even get a word in.

“Whoa, whoa no. He actually didn’t say anything. It was fine… but it’s not like I’d want to do it again.”

“Oh really?” John B teased, a cheeky smirk on his face. “I think you should call him right now and ask for a ride tomorrow.”

Juliette scoffed, matching his energy. “You’re the one who works for him. How about you ask him for me?”

“I work for his dad, not him,” John B replied like that somehow cleared his name.

“That’s basically the same thing, idiot,” Kiara said, giving him a look like he’d just grown a second head.

“See, you don’t get it, Kie,” JJ cut in, flipping open his pocket knife and flicking it in rhythm. “Us poor people actually need jobs to make money.”

“Um, I have a job, idiot,” Kiara shot back, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, but you work for your parents, so…” JJ trailed off, the smirk already forming as he focused on the blade in his hands.

“And who gets you guys free food?” Kiara replied smugly, gesturing dramatically at the group.

“I enjoy free food, so I’m staying out of this,” Pope said, lifting his book higher like a shield.

“I also enjoy free food,” Juliette added, raising her hand halfway like she was pledging allegiance.

“Yeah yeah whatever” JJ sighed and looked over to Pope.

“Pope, you’re such a loser. Are you really reading right now?” JJ asked, tossing the tennis ball at Pope’s chest.

“I’m doing my summer reading,” Pope replied flatly, not even flinching. “You could try it. For once.”

“Nah man, I’m good,” JJ said, waving Pope off without looking up.

The conversation slowly mellowed out as the night wore on. The golden hue of the sunset faded into deep blue, and the buzz of cicadas filled the silence where laughter used to be. Eventually, Kiara stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

“Alright, I’m out. My mom will kill me if I’m not home before midnight.”

Pope closed his book with a soft thud. “Yeah, same. Later.”

The two of them disappeared down the path, leaving the Maybanks and John B behind on the worn porch of the Chateau.

“Alright, I’m headed off to bed- Gotta be up early.” John nodded to them, opened the door and disappeared behind it.

It was quiet now—just the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the occasional creak of the old wood beneath them. The kind of silence that only ever settled when it was just the two of them.

The blond boy sighed, leaning back into the porch chair that creaked under the weight of time and use. His head tipped against the faded wood, eyes cast toward the stars. “You wanna’ to go home?” he asked, voice low, not looking at her.

“Not really” the blonde girl replied, scrunching her nose a little. “You?”

“Nope.” He paused, finally lifting his head to glance over at her. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the room.”

Juliette smiled, warmth blooming behind her tired eyes. “Thanks, J. I’m gonna head to bed then.”

As she passed him, she reached out and ran her hand through his hair, messing it up just enough to be annoying. He didn’t swat her away.

“Love you,” she said softly, already turning to open the screen door.

“Love you too, Jules,” he replied, just as soft.

The door creaked open and closed behind her, leaving JJ alone under the porch light, the hum of the night settling around him.

~~

Juliette woke to the sharp clang of something metal hitting the floor. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was loud enough to jolt her from the amazing sleep she’d been having.

Groaning, she rolled over and grabbed her phone. The brightness blinded her for a second.

6:20am.

Of course. Ten more minutes until her alarm went off, but there was no way she was falling back asleep now.

She let out a dramatic sigh and flopped onto her back before finally dragging herself out of bed. The cold hardwood floor sent chills up her legs the second her feet touched down. Shuddering, she opened the door to find out which heathen had dared wake her.

She fully expected to see JJ being obnoxious—but instead, it was John B.

“What the hell, Booker,” she croaked, her voice gravelly with sleep. If looks could kill, John B would be a pile of ash in the middle of the kitchen.

“Rise and shine, sunshine!” he chirped, spinning around with a shit-eating grin, a spatula in one hand.

“There’s a good chance I might kill you right now,” she muttered.

John B immediately lifted his hands in mock defense. “Hey, hey, let’s not get crazy. I didn’t realize I was being loud.”

Juliette rubbed her eyes. “What are you even doing up this early?”

“Work,” he said simply, turning back to the pan like it was obvious.

Now that she was actually looking, she saw he’d been making breakfast—eggs sizzling, toast already popped.

She sighed again, less annoyed this time. “Hey, since you’re up, do you think you could drop me by my place?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a nod.

“Okay. I’m ready whenever you are.”

~~

John B had ended up splitting his eggs with Juliette, which was generous—but not exactly enjoyable. They were unbelievably dry, and somehow still cold in the middle. Juliette made a mental note to never let him cook for her again.

If he ever mentioned culinary school, she’d have to stage an intervention.

After breakfast, they climbed into the Twinkie, the familiar scent of sea salt and engine oil filling the van. John B queued up some old Bob Marley tracks, the soft rhythm floating through the speakers as the sun peeked over the trees.

The drive wasn’t long, but Juliette still wouldn’t have wanted to walk it, especially not half-awake and in yesterday’s clothes.

As they rolled to a slow stop in front of the pale yellow house, Juliette’s eyes were instantly drawn to the truck still parked out front.

Her stomach dropped.

He was home.

The sinking feeling in her chest tightened, heavy and sudden, like the air thickened around her all at once.

Something wasn’t right.

She didn’t move right away. Her hand hovered near the door handle, frozen.

John B glanced at her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “You okay, J?”

She looked back at him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, course.”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. The fake smile disappeared the second her back was turned. As her boots hit the gravel, she took a breath and started toward the front porch, unsure of what exactly she was walking into.

As she approached the door, Juliette almost turned back. Her chest was tight with unease, an instinct she was learning to listen to more and more. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder. John B was still sitting in the Twinkie, waiting to make sure she got inside okay.

She gave him a small wave. He returned it without hesitation.

That was enough to get her feet moving again.

Juliette opened the door and stepped inside. The house was silent. Her dad must’ve still been asleep. Good.

She decided to hop in the shower while she had the rare opportunity to get ready without being interrupted. Her shift was at the country club, so she had to look somewhat presentable.

Juliette worked a lot—more than any eighteen-year-old should. The club, the marina, babysitting, side gigs when she could find them. Someone had to keep the lights on. JJ was still in school, and even though he’d work himself into the ground if she let him, Juliette refused to let that happen. Their dad couldn’t hold down a job, was in and out of jail, and most of the money he did get went straight to coke. That left Juliette to pick up the pieces. It always had.

She let the hot water run down her back, trying to will the exhaustion out of her bones. She was so tired; always tired, but quitting wasn’t an option. Since graduating in May, she’d only added more work to her plate.

After a while, she finally stepped out, dried off, and dressed in her usual work uniform: black skirt, white button-down. She plugged in her old, sparking hair dryer, half-expecting it to explode. She ran it over her curls, not bothering to style them. She smoothed the top layer and tied her hair into a neat braid. Then, she put on some light makeup— concealer, blush, mascara. She always got better tips when she looked a little more polished.

For the first time in a while, she smiled at her reflection. She actually felt kind of pretty. She was in a good mood.

She left the bathroom and made her way to her room to grab her shoes.

That’s when she ran into him.

“Ah, look who finally showed up, huh?” Her dad’s voice was thick with alcohol. Drunk— of course he was.

Juliette stiffened, tried to brush past him without a word, but his hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her to face him.

“I spent the night at John B’s,” she said quickly, like that would somehow pacify him.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck about that,” he growled. “Are you stupid?”

Confused for a moment, her eyes narrowed—then widened in realization.

Shit. He knew.

Of course he’d noticed the new tire. How could she have been so dumb?

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—” she tried, her voice trembling.

He grabbed her chin roughly, pulling her face close to his. “You think you can take my truck without asking?” His breath reeked. “You’re gonna fuck up the tire and not even tell me?”

The slap came fast, hard. Her head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed across her cheek, her lip splitting open as blood began to trickle down.

She yanked away, her voice cracking. “Shouldn’t you be glad? I got you a new tire. I paid for it. What’s the issue?”

Her eyes welled with tears—not from shock, not even from pain. She was used to this. It still hurt, but she was used to it.

“That’s not the issue, God damn it, Juliette!” he shouted. He pushed her back against the wall and struck her again.

Tears streamed down her cheeks now. She shoved his chest, hard, and scrambled for her bag.

“I do everything for you, and you treat me like this? You’re such a piece of shit, Luke!” she shouted, voice shaking, breaking.

“You wouldn’t even be here without me, you bitch! Look you’re leaving just like your Mom” he roared after her as she stormed toward the door. “Don’t come back!”

She paused, turned to face him with blood on her mouth and fire in her eyes, and laughed bitterly. “You’ll be calling me back when you get locked up again.”

She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Juliette wasn’t supposed to leave for work for another twenty minutes, but she sure as hell wasn’t staying there. Not now.

She’d just go in early and clean herself up in the country club bathroom.

Anything was better than being under that roof.

~~

Juliette finally made it to the Island Club after what felt like the longest walk of her life. She was covered in sweat, her lip smeared with blood, and black streaks of mascara pooled beneath her eyes. She looked awful.

Just minutes ago, she thought she looked pretty.

She approached the tall entrance, framed by grand arches that were honestly stunning, too beautiful for how ugly she felt.

Inside, she was met by the hostess, Molly, who gave her a quick once-over, her face twisting into a familiar expression of disgust.

Before Molly could say anything, Juliette turned and headed straight for the bathroom.

If she didn’t clean herself up, she risked getting sent home — and that might’ve pushed her over the edge.

She stood in front of the mirror, staring into a pair of dead eyes.

She could fix her makeup. That’s where she’d start.

Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, she wet it under the faucet and wiped under her eyes, scrubbing away the raccoon-like smudges. The rest of her makeup looked passable — she wouldn’t touch it unless she had to.

But the real problem was her lip.

It was split bad — worse than some of the others she'd had before. She caught her own gaze in the mirror and quickly shut her eyes.

She was so tired.

So, so tired.

She didn’t want to be here. All she wanted was to crawl into bed— not at home, but at the Chateau. That’s where she felt wanted. That’s where it didn’t feel like the world was weighing down on her shoulders.

She brought the damp paper towel to her lip. The sting made her recoil.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

Still, she pressed the paper back to her mouth, this time pushing through the pain. She scrubbed at the corner of her lips where the blood had dried during the walk, then wiped her chin clean.

It wasn’t perfect, far from it— but it was the best she could do.

She let out a shaky breath. There was nothing more to fix. No time to cry. No time to fall apart.

Now she had to head out, clock in, and serve food to a bunch of prissy rich kids.

~~~

next chapter

a/n: so sorry for the short chapter, but i just thought that this would be a good stopping point for now. There will be a rafe encounter in the next chapter, don't worry. Also I realized Luke doesn't drive a truck, but he drives a suv thing? Idk I'm just gonna keep it as a truck. please leave comments about your thoughts!! Also i probably won’t make a taglist unless someone asks. so lmk :))!

[th0tformikasa]

just posted the first chapter of my first fanfic!!! I've written many before but I've never posted one before. Its also on wattpad and will be uploaded to ao3 whenever i feel like setting it up.

[th0tformikasa]

Under My Skin

rafe x f!reader

the start of a messy journey

first chapter of Under My Skin , masterlist | next chapter

an: be nice, this is my first time writing

w/c: 3722

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍʏ ꜱᴋɪɴ - ʙʀɪꜱᴛᴏɴ ᴍᴀʀᴏɴᴇʏ

~~~

The bright lights peering through the cigarette-dyed, broken blinds were what woke Juliette up.

The time was unknown, and Juliette knew she'd fucked up when she realized she wasn't waking up from her shitty mattress, but rather the shitty couch in her living room, if that's what you could even call it.

Juliette leaned up and dug the heels of her palms into her somewhat open eyes.

"Fuck," the grumble came from the depths of her throat.

She began to run her hands along the couch in search of her phone. Just when she was about to give up, her fingers found it wedged deep in the crevices. She yanked it out and winced as the bright light hit her face; her eyes still adjusting to being awake.

9:26.

"Fuck!" she yelled.

Immediately, Juliette shot up from the couch. She was still in the clothes from yesterday; an old t-shirt that used to belong to her younger brother (until she stole it) and a pair of jean shorts. That explained why her sleep had been so uncomfortable.

She didn't have time to change. She was late. Again.

Juliette ran to the bathroom, brushing her teeth in under thirty seconds before tying her hair into a low bun that sat messily at the base of her neck.

It wasn't cute. It wasn't professional. But whatever. It'd have to do.

She moved quickly through the hallway and into her dad's room.

There he was; passed out on the bed, one arm flopped off the side, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his hand.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Juliette stood in the doorway for a second, watching him breathe heavily, like nothing in the world needed him. She felt a flicker of anxiety but she would just have to push past it.

She turned away. If she was getting to work, she needed the truck.

It took what felt like ten minutes to find the keys. She dug through piles of dirty laundry, her fingers brushing receipts, gum wrappers, loose change, until finally, she found them stuffed in the pocket of his work jeans. She grabbed the keys, slung her bag over her shoulder, slipped on her shoes, and bolted out the front door.

The truck wasn't exactly reliable, but neither was her dad.

He was going to be pissed that she took it. He always was.

Hopefully, he'd still be passed out by the time she got back from babysitting.

That was her best shot. And honestly? A pretty likely one.

Juliette was normally very punctual.

It was actually one of her biggest pet peeves when people were late—probably a result of growing up with her father, who was never on time.

But today, she was supposed to start babysitting at 10.

And now, looking at the clock, she had only fifteen minutes.

If the job had been in the Cut, where she lived, it wouldn't be a big deal. The house would probably be ten minutes away, tops. The parents wouldn't care, they'd likely be running late themselves.

But this job wasn't in the Cut.

It was on Figure Eight.

The opposite side of the island.

If luck was on her side, Juliette might just make it. She sent up a quick, silent prayer, hoping that whatever higher power was out there gave half a shit about her today.

She couldn't afford to be late to a rich family's house.

She desperately needed the money. It's not like her dad was bringing much home.

Juliette ran a hand through her hair, already falling out of the low bun she'd thrown it into. Strands slipped between her fingers like everything else she couldn't hold onto.

What would she do if she lost this job?

The Kooks were rude. Entitled. Mostly pieces of shit. But they paid well.

Her eyes kept switching between the tiny clock and the road. 9:50, she could make it. A deep sigh of release was from deep within her chest.

She kept driving, she was nearing the giant mansions which occupied this side of the island. The roads started to get cleaner, less cracked and forgotten about like the ones in the cut. The roads in the cut consisted of an assortment of potholes and other shitty features. While driving in figure 8 there wasn't even a piece of trash in site.

Juliette's hands tightened around the sun-damaged steering wheel.

9:54.

She could do this. Maybe.

Then—pop.

A sharp, sick sound filled the air, followed by an angry hiss.

The world officially hated her.

"No, no, no! You have to be kidding me!" she shouted, her voice breaking with desperation.

The truck started to wobble, and Juliette quickly eased it onto the side of a clean, well-kept residential street, one she unfortunately recognized all too well.

She banged her forehead against the steering wheel, hard.

Once. Twice.

Pure frustration pulsed through her skull. After a long, shaky breath, she unbuckled her seatbelt and jumped out.

The tire was completely destroyed.

No hope. No patching. No miracle.

So much for getting there on time.

Whatever higher power she'd prayed to before clearly had it out for her.

Juliette pulled her phone from the back pocket of her worn-out jean shorts and hit Call.

Her other hand dragged down her face as the phone rang in her ear.

"Hey, Cinthia, this is Juliette calling—"

"Oh, hello Juliette," her boss cut in immediately. "Are you calling to cancel? You can't do this to me. I have a very important meeting today. I'm sure you wouldn't understand, but—"

"No, ma'am!" Juliette rushed to interrupt. "I'm not canceling—I just got a flat on the way over, so I'll be late. I'm really sorry—"

"Well of course," Cinthia snapped, not missing a beat. "Late. Just what I needed."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. Sharp, controlled.

"This better not be an excuse, Juliette. I'm going to trust you, because you seem like a responsible girl."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Mrs. Galsburry. I'll be there as soon as possible. I'm calling my brother now to see if he can give me a ride. Thank you so much for your patience."

She hung up, already dialing again.

Juliette let the phone ring all the way through—three times—before finally giving up.

It was always a coin toss with her brother. Sometimes he answered. Most of the time, he didn't.

Moving down her mental list of people who might help, she started calling her friends one by one.

John B — no answer.

Pope — no answer.

Kiara — also no answer.

"Fantastic. This is great!" she snapped, her voice sharp with sarcasm.

Of course this had to happen now; when she was already low on money, stranded, and stuck using her dad's death trap of a truck. And there was no way he was paying for the damage. The busted tire? 100% his fault. But it didn't matter.

So much for keeping it a secret that she'd taken it.

Her last sliver of hope flickered out as she tried calling JJ one more time.

Nothing. Straight to voicemail.

Juliette scanned the street, eyes darting from one driveway to the next. Maybe she'd spot someone, anyone, she recognized. Someone with a car, or jumper cables, or literally anything.

But it was quiet. Perfect lawns. Empty porches. The kind of rich neighborhood where help never came without a price tag.

She could change a tire—of course she could. She wasn't helpless.

The problem was, she didn't have a spare. Her dad had used it years ago and never replaced it. Just another thing on a long list of things he never bothered to fix.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, reflecting on the stupidity of the situation, Juliette lost it.

She kicked the truck. Hard.

Instant regret.

"Ow!" she yelped, hopping back. "Why did I do that?!"

She groaned, grabbing her foot, teeth clenched.

As she limped back around to the driver's side—fully prepared to bang her head against the hood—a voice called out to her from across the street.

The voice wasn't unfamiliar.

In fact, Juliette knew it all too well.

Ward Cameron. Probably the richest man in the entire OBX.

Of course he would be the one to show up. Not someone she actually liked, or had a good relationship with. That would've been too convenient.

Juliette and Ward had barely exchanged words before. But her brother? He'd worked for Ward for a day before getting fired—for something completely his own fault.

And her dad? Same story. Same bad blood. Honestly, not many people had a good relationship with Luke Maybank.

The Maybank last name carried a weight. And not the good kind.

Juliette forced a smile. "Oh- Mr. Cameron. Hello. Sorry, was I being loud?"

She let out a weak laugh. Yeah. He definitely heard her meltdown.

Ward smiled as he walked closer, hands casually in his pockets. He always had that polished kind of friendliness, like a country club welcome that never quite felt real.

"No, of course not," he said. "Just saw you out here. Everything okay? Did you break down, hun?"

He glanced at the truck—banged up, rusted, and sitting slightly crooked on its flat tire like a wounded animal.

Juliette sighed. "No, just a flat tire."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Cameron said, returning the sigh with one of understanding. "Do you have a spare? I'll help you get it on. Though I have to admit—I'm surprised you don't know how to do it yourself."

Juliette blinked. That little dig didn't go unnoticed.

"I do know how to change a tire," she said, forcing a smile. "I just... don't have one."

She glanced down at her feet and exhaled a shaky breath, her voice softening. "I'm sorry—I know I'm kind of on your property. I've been trying to get ahold of my brother, and once I do, I promise I'll be out of your way—"

"No, no," Ward cut in smoothly, waving a hand. "Don't worry, you're not in the way of anything."

He studied her for a beat, his expression unreadable.

"I do get the sense you're in a rush, though. Heading somewhere important?"

"Work, Sir. I was headed to babysit for Mrs. Glasburry." Juliette raked her fingers through her now messy hair. "Until, well- this" she finished her sentence and gestured to the car.

"How about I go get my son to give you a ride?" Ward smiled and turned to walk back up to his house.

"Oh—um, no sir, it's really not necessary—" Juliette rushed out, panic creeping into her voice.

Unless Ward had some secret second son she didn't know about, there was no way she was getting into a car with Rafe Cameron. That wasn't even a question, it was instinct.

But Ward waved her off before she could finish.

"Oh no, it's alright. I'll go get him. It'll give him something to do."

And just like that, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the house.

Juliette stood frozen. Shit.

This was so far from how she'd pictured her day going.

With nothing else to do, and no desire to stand there waiting for Rafe; she unlocked her phone and tried JJ again, praying for a miracle.

Straight to voicemail.

Of course.

For a moment she debated calling her dad, but quickly let the thought leave her mind.

Fueled by sheer desperation, she opened the group chat with her brother and the rest of her friends and began typing furiously:

Juliette:

HELP! HELP ME, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.

If there was ever a time to answer your phone, it's now.

I hate you all. You know I'm always there when you guys need help or a tow, but the moment I need something, you vanish??

Man, I thought at least Pope would answer.

No replies. No read receipts. Just silence.

They were most likely either passed out at the chateau or out fishing with no service.

She was in the middle of typing a follow-up when movement caught her eye.

Rafe Cameron.

Striding toward her with that walk—lazy, cocky, like the world was something he owned and everyone else was just there to be at his beck and call. Annoyance began to creep up on her.

Juliette stiffened, trying to slow her breathing.

She wasn't afraid of him exactly, but dealing with Rafe was... exhausting. And dangerous, if you let your guard down.

His hair was gelled back like he was going to some high-society board meeting. It didn't suit him.

Juliette was sure if he let it fall naturally, he'd look better. But no—he liked the slicked-back look. He was dressed in a Ralph Lauren polo along with a pair of khaki shorts, it was fitting for him.

Juliette didn't exactly hate Rafe. But they definitely didn't get along.

And now she was stranded, alone, and at his mercy. Facing the fact that she would have to get in the car with him. And not just that, He'd be the one driving.

"Hey, you can actually go back inside. My brother picked up so he'll be here soon." Juliette said lying through her teeth. JJ had not answered her calls but it was a last ditch effort to get out of here. She picked up her phone and waved it around signaling JJ was coming. Which was not necessary, but she felt like she needed to do it in order to seem like she was being honest.

Hey, you can actually go back inside. My brother picked up, so he'll be here soon," Juliette said, lying through her teeth. JJ hadn't answered any of her calls, but bluffing was all she had left. She waved her phone around like proof, even though it wasn't necessary — part of her just wanted to look like she wasn't lying.

"Just get in the car, Juliette. I already don't want to take you, and I'm not waiting around for your brother to show," he grumbled, rubbing his thumb against his forehead. The stress his dad had just dumped on him was already wearing him thin.

This wasn't in the plans for Rafe either. He'd been fine staying home, but of course, his dad had walked in and told him to take care of something that wasn't even his fault.

Rafe finished walking to the car and turned — Juliette was still standing beside the beat-down truck, a far cry from his polished Jeep.

"Get in," he said, voice firm. He opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

Juliette followed, shoulders tense. There was no getting out of this now. She opened the passenger door, dropped her bag onto the floor, and climbed in.

"Where am I even going?" he asked flatly.

"The Glasburrys. Just down Hartridge Boulevard," she answered, pulling her hair tie loose and raking her fingers through her hair. She twisted it into a bun — neater than before.

"I know where the Glasburrys live," he shot back. With a sigh, he shifted the car into reverse and backed out of Tannyhill's long driveway.

The drive was short. Neither of them spoke. Juliette kept her eyes locked on the window, avoiding even the thought of glancing his way.

Rafe pulled into Cinthia's driveway and stopped the car. Still, he said nothing.

"Tell your dad I'll make sure the truck is gone before tonight," Juliette said, looking at him, hoping for a nod or at least some kind of response. Nothing. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.

"What, you're not gonna thank me Maybank?" He blurted out, giving her a pointed look.

"Oh you wish Cameron." She sent him a cocky smile before turning and entering the house.

Once Juliette entered the house and apologized a million times for being late, she finally sat back to realize how much shit she got herself into.

How was she supposed to pay for this tire? How was she gonna move the truck? And most importantly how the hell was she gonna tell her dad?

~~

The babysitting shift was fine. Alice, the oldest, was eight and completely obsessed with anything that had to do with teenage girls. Juliette remembered being that age—wanting nothing more than to grow up already. But now? She'd do anything to be a kid again.

Her younger brother Felix was a different story. Quiet, unlike his sister, and thoughtful. At six, he was already reading at a ten-year-old level. Smart. He'd probably grow up to be some kind of sharp businessman—just like everyone else on Figure Eight.

Halfway through her shift, her phone finally lit up. JJ was calling back.

"Juliette, what's wrong? I was out fishing, didn't have service. Got a lot of good shit though," his voice crackled through her speaker as she switched the channel on the TV for the kids.

Juliette sighed. "Oh, look who finally answers."

"Oh come on, Jules, what's wrong?" he asked again, the sound of waves and wind buzzing faintly in the background. He was still out on the water.

"I took Dad's truck to work, thinking he wouldn't notice—and the tire blew." She waited, listening for his reaction.

The line went quiet for a second. "Well... yeah, I can see how that might be an issue."

"In front of Tannyhill," she added, closing her eyes for a moment, reliving the chaos of earlier. "I'm gonna need you to see if you can somehow move it. I'm still at work or I'd do it myself.

"Tannyhill? Well, you've had a great day. I'll make John B go get a tire with me, but you're paying me back," JJ said. Before he could say anything else, John B's voice cracked through the speaker.

"Hey! You didn't ask me to do shit!" His voice was distant, probably because he wasn't close to JJ. "You always just offer me up to do stuff." His voice grew louder as he must have been walking closer.

"What happened to 'Pogues help Pogues'? Jules' tire popped, so you're gonna help me get a tire and fix it." JJ knew that mentioning your name would convince John B to help. Everyone had a soft spot for Juliette probably because she was older and had spent most of her life looking after them and keeping them in check.

"Well, to be fair, you didn't tell me it was Juliette's tire. Wait — she doesn't have a car?"

"It's Luke's," JJ answered.

At this point, the two boys had completely forgotten that Juliette was even on the phone.

Juliette felt a gentle tug on her arm and looked down to see Felix sitting beside her, waiting for her attention.

"Hey, Felix. What's up?" she asked as she rested her hand on his head and began playing with his hair.

"When you're done, can we make cookies?" the shy boy squeaked.

"Sure, bud. Just one second." She smiled down at him, then turned her attention back to the phone.

Meanwhile, JJ and John B had continued their conversation like she wasn't even there.

"So are you guys able to help me? You can swing by and grab the keys if you need to," she said, standing from the couch and motioning for Felix to follow her into the kitchen.

"Yup. Be there soon," JJ replied.

"Thanks. I've got to go — I've got some serious cookie business to handle. Just knock and I'll give you the keys."

She crossed into the kitchen where Alice sat drawing at the table.

"I want cookies" John B said, his tone almost childlike.

"Hm, well you can go pick some up from the store," Juliette said with a giggle.

"What! not fai—" he began, but she ended the call with a press of the red button.

Juliette turned to Alice. "Wanna bake?"

Alice shook her head. "No." She was too cool to bake with them— for now. But Juliette knew she'd wander over soon enough.

"Alright! Let's make the best cookies that have ever been made!" she declared, her voice full of excitement, as she and Felix made their way into the enormous kitchen which was probably three times the size of the Maybanks'.

~~

A little later, the boys had stopped by to get the keys. It was a quick visit. JJ knew they had to fix the truck before his dad found out. If it had been anyone else, he would've given them hell for it. But not his sister.

The rest of Juliette's shift flew by. It was now 7:30, and the Glasburrys would be getting home in about fifteen minutes.

Earlier, when the boys dropped by, they offered to come pick Jules up in the Twinkie; John B's old Volkswagen van that somehow was still alive.

By the time her shift ended, Felix was fast asleep in his bed, and Alice had dozed off curled into Juliette's side while they watched a Monster High movie.

Just as Jules reached for her phone to check the time, the front door opened. The Glasburrys had arrived home, and somehow, Alice didn't even stir.

Juliette stood slowly, careful not to wake the little girl nestled against her.

"Are those, um... boys out there waiting for you?" Mr. Glasburry asked, his voice hesitant like he was choosing his words a little too carefully.

"Yes, sir. My brother and his friends. Tire blew earlier, and I needed a ride back," Juliette explained as she started gathering her things into her tote bag and slipped on her shoes.

She could tell he was uncomfortable with pogues being on his property. But it must not have bothered him enough to not hire one.

"I see... I thought I saw the Carrera girl in there too. Real shame she's hanging out with—" He caught himself mid-sentence, remembering who he was speaking to. "Well, thanks for coming by. We'll see you soon. Here's your money, hun."

He pulled out his wallet and handed her the cash. Juliette noticed the extra twenty he slipped in. Guilt money. But she wasn't about to complain.

"They were great. No issues. Felix is upstairs sleeping. Have a good night."

Juliette didn't stick around. She had no interest in hearing anyone trash-talk her friends or her brother.

As she stepped out the door, a little burst of excitement lit up inside her — they were all here.

~~~

next chapter

[th0tformikasa]

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 (in progress)

rafecameron x f!reader , Maybank!reader

A story in which a girl finds comfort in the least likely person on the island.

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under my skin

i bet on losing dogs

painkillers

dark red

party 4 u

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Under My Skin

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a ✧˖°. 🕯️🦢 ✧˖°. | 18 | she/her

read my works and i will love you forever!

currently writing for rafe from obx, soon to write more

i enjoy reading, writing, anime, and fantasy. #1 music fan

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