fandoms I write for ── outer banks, harry potter, the rookie, gossip girl, peaky blinders, marvel, there's prob more- just ask :)
disclaimer ── i am open to requests, so feel free to reach out
RAFE CAMERON
series;
fine line ─ angst, on-going; Sage lost everything. Her parents kicked her out and her friends hate her. With nothing but a duffle bag she packed last minute, while fighting with her mom, and her car, she ends up at Rafe Cameron's front door... she didn't know where else to go.
one-shots;
stay ─ angst; summary- inspired by Stay by Gracie Abrams
TIM BRADFORD
old friend ─ summary- after calling the LAPD, Tim shows up with Thorsen, only to realize they have a history
wrong code ─ fluff; summary- after a home security mix-up you land yourself in a holding cell
lattes — fluff; summary- pt. 2 to wrong code
robbery — angst; summary- when a call comes through that there has been a robbery at your studio, Tim is quick to respond despite being off duty
summary: when a call comes through that there has been a robbery at your studio, Tim is quick to respond despite being off duty
warnings: angst, gun, robbery, fluff
Y/n was halfway through preparing a rack of vintage fur coats when she noticed the back door creak open. It was late. Too late for deliveries, too late for interns, too late for anything but her own obsessive need to make tomorrow’s shoot perfect.
The studio was quiet—just her, her assistant Riley, and the echo of L.A. sirens in the distance. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, but the soft slam of the door made her freeze mid-motion.
“Riley?” she called out.
No answer.
She stepped out from behind the backdrop, heart ticking just a little faster, eyes scanning the open space. Then she saw him—a man in a black hoodie, face hidden, standing too close to the equipment rack.
“Hey!” Y/n shouted, her voice sharper than she expected. “This is private property. You need to leave.”
The man turned slowly, and that’s when she saw it.
A gun. Small, but real. Held tight in his gloved hand.
The moment stretched. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
“Back off,” he growled, waving the gun slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just the gear.”
He moved to unplug her camera rig—her newest investment, the one she’d been wanting for so long. She wasn’t thinking clearly. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him walk away with it.
“Please—” she stepped forward. “That stuff’s tracked. You won’t be able to resell it. Just go, a-and I won’t tell anyone.”
He didn’t listen.
Everything after that was a blur: Riley’s scream, her own feet moving before her brain could catch up, a crash of metal stands hitting the floor as she tried to block him, the gun going off into the ceiling. Smoke. Screaming. And then sirens.
—
Tim was off duty when the call came through, but old habits die hard. He still had his scanner on low in his truck, catching the end of a call for shots fired downtown. Then he heard the name.
Y/n Y/ln.
His stomach dropped.
He flipped a U-turn fast enough to make his tires screech.
By the time he reached the studio, it was a crime scene—yellow tape already strung up around the cracked pavement, red and blue lights painting the night. Officers stood in small clusters, murmuring. A paramedic was checking over someone on the curb.
That someone was Y/n.
Tim was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.
Her knees were pulled up to her chest, wrapped in a gray shock blanket, her usually styled hair a tangle. Her eyes were red, lips trembling. He barely recognized her, and it shattered something in him.
He crouched beside her. “Y/n/n.”
She looked up, startled for just a second. Then recognition hit. Relief flooded her face.
“Tim,” she whispered.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, hands hovering just above her, unsure where to touch, how to comfort.
She shook her head. “No. Just… scared. I-I tried to stop him. I don’t know why. It was stupid.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” he said, eyes sharp. “It was brave. But reckless. Next time, you stay hidden, okay?”
She gave a hollow laugh. “Noted.”
One of the officers approached. Tim stood instinctively, slipping back into work mode.
“Bradford,” the officer said, glancing at his civvies. “You here for the victim?”
He nodded.
“We need her statement. Alone.”
Tim glanced back at y/n. She gave him a small nod. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
He hated leaving her side.
While she spoke to the detective, Tim paced. He ran through a hundred scenarios in his head—what if he hadn’t heard the call? What if the guy hadn’t missed? What if he’d hurt her? What if she had fought harder and lost?
When she was finally done, she found him leaning against his truck, arms crossed, tension in every line of his body.
“You okay?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“Come on,” he said finally. “I’ll take you home.”
—
Her apartment felt unfamiliar, like she’d walked into someone else’s life. Tim locked the door behind them, checked the windows, then double-checked the locks. Y/n didn’t argue. She just stood in the middle of the living room, staring at her hands.
He walked up behind her. Quiet. Gentle.
“Hey.”
She turned, eyes glassy. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d moved faster. Or slower. Or—”
He cupped her face, careful. “Don’t. You did everything you could. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”
Her breath hitched. She leaned into his palm.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said quietly. “Your life is already…heavy.”
He pulled her in then. Arms wrapped around her tight, chin resting on the top of her head.
“You’re not a burden, Y/n. You’re… someone I care about.”
She clutched his shirt like it was the only thing holding her together.
“I’m scared this is going to change things,” she whispered.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
“It will. But not in the way you’re thinking.”
She swallowed hard. “How, then?”
“It’s gonna make me hold you tighter. That’s it.”
Her smile was broken but beautiful.
And when she kissed him—soft and slow and desperate—he kissed her back like it was a promise.
y/n was lounging outside, while watching her friend’s dog, Henry, play and reading a book, when her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
(310) 555-6794
Hey, it’s the arresting officer.
Want to meet for coffee, minus the handcuffs this time?
She laughed out loud, startling Henry.
Y/n:
Only if you’re buying. Emotional damages and all.
Two hours later, y/n was standing outside a café when Tim walked up to her. He was wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a flannel that made her pause. He looked normal. Normal and hot.
“Hey,” he said, stepping up to her table.
“Hey,” she smiled. “You clean up well.”
“You should see me in Kevlar.”
She rolled her eyes but was already grinning.
They both ordered, found a seat, talked and got to know each other more. ”You really thought I was breaking in?” She teased, sipping her latte.
“You were aggressively pressing buttons and mumbling to yourself,” he defended.
“Because I was scared that the police were going to come, for good reason,” y/n exclaimed, exasperated before they both broke out in laughter.
They continued talking as they finished their coffees, before getting up to leave. As they walked out together, Tim reached for her hand almost without thinking and she let him, smiling.
summary: after a home security mix-up Y/n lands herself in a holding cell
part 2 — lattes
word count: 1.4k words
warnings: wrongful arrest, fluff
It was supposed to be a chill morning. y/n was in her sweatpants, hair in a loose braid, and slippers as she padded up to her friend’s house. She was dog sitting for the week while her friend was away shooting for a new movie. She was happy to get a break from the chaos of her job, or so she thought.
y/n typed the code into the keypad next to the front door.
Beep. Beep. Error.
Weird.
She tried again.
Beep. Error.
Panic started to fizz under her skin. She was sure this was the right code.
The alarm went off—blaring, screeching, end-of-the-world kind of loud.
“Oh my god,” y/n muttered, fumbling with her phone and the slip of paper with the override code on it. Her fingers were shaking. “It’s fine, it’s fine…”
It was not fine.
The alarm company had already pinged the LAPD. Neighbors peeked out of windows, one of them already on the phone. And then—
Flashing red and blue lights.
A black-and-white cruiser pulled up, and outstepped two officers. y/n froze mid-button press.
“Ma’am,” Bradford called out, hand near his holster. “Step away from the door. Put your hands where I can see them.”
“I live here!” she yelped, then immediately corrected herself. “No—I don’t live here. I’m dog sitting! My friend’s an actress! She’s in—where is she filming? Italy? No, no—France! It’s in France—”
Chen raised a brow. Bradford was already walking toward her, expression unreadable. “Ma’am, we have a report of a suspected break-in. I need you to stay calm.”
“I am calm,” y/n lied, hands shaking as she gestured to her slippers. “Would a burglar wear slippers? These are bunny slippers!”
“Regardless, we’ll have to take you into custody until we can confirm your story,” Bradford said, matter-of-fact. “You have the right to remain—”
“Wait!” Y/n blurted. “Can I at least let the dog out first? He hasn’t been out since last night and I really don’t want him to pee on the couch.”
Tim blinked. It was the kind of request no perp ever made.
He looked at Chen. She gave him a “don’t-look-at-me” shrug.
“Make it quick,” he muttered, unlocking the door.
y/n dashed in, the dog—a fluffy golden retriever named Henry—bounding up to her in joy. “Hi, baby!” she cooed, then opened the back door. Henry zoomed outside, tail wagging, barking at the wind.
Bradford watched her carefully, arms crossed, but something in his stern face had shifted. Just a little.
“He needs to run a bit or he’s going to go stir crazy,” she pleaded, throwing a tennis ball for Henry. “Please. My friend won’t be back for days. I swear, if she would just pick up—”
“You have five minutes,” Bradford relented, jaw still tight.
She looked at him gratefully, cheeks flushed, and that was when he really noticed her. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The messy braid. The oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. She didn’t look like a criminal. She looked… soft. Real.
Eventually, she returned inside, scooping up Henry’s water bowl and refilling it. “Alright,” she said, voice small. “Let’s go.”
Tim gently took her wrist. “Sorry, but we still have to cuff you.”
“Even if I’m cooperating?”
“Policy.”
“Ugh,” she muttered, holding her wrists out dramatically. “Do what you must, Officer Serious.”
—
Six hours. That’s how long y/n say in the holding cell.
Her one phone call? Straight to voicemail.
By the fifth hour, even Officer Chen had brought her a granola bar and an apologetic look. “We’re really sorry,” she said softly. “We know it’s a mistake, but we have to follow protocol.”
Y/n sighed, head in her hands.
At hour six, the holding cell buzzed open and Bradford appeared.
“She called,” he said simply, unlocking the door. “You’re good to go.”
Y/n stood, rubbing her wrists, eyes wide with exhaustion and relief. “Thank God.”
—
Outside the station, she stood on the sidewalk, phone clutched in her hand, waiting for her Uber.
Bradford’s truck pulled up instead.
“Need a ride?” he asked through the open window. “Figured it’s the least i can do.”
She eyed him. “You’re off-duty?”
“Clocked out ten minutes ago.”
“Then…yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
—
They pulled up to her friend’s place twenty minutes later. y/n punched the code perfectly and gave him a pointed look as the door clicked open.
“See?” she teased. “I do know the code.”
Tim shook his head, amused.
“You hungry?” she asked suddenly, turning in the doorway.
He hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Come on. You arrested me. You can at least let me feed you. If she has anything edible in here.”
They ended up cooking pasta together—well. y/n cooked, Tim let the dog out again and insisted on washing the dishes. They sat side by side at the kitchen bar, laughing and sharing stories.
“So, be honest… do you secretly judge people by how they parallel park?” y/n asked with a slight smirk.
Tim raised an eyebrow, and gave a small chuckle, “Depends. Are we talking ‘can’t park within the lines’ or ‘curb it like they’re drunk’?”
“I mean, the ones who do a 12-point turn to squeeze into a space that’s basically a football field,” y/n replied in a playful tone, “because I nailed it in two moves out front, and I feel like I deserve some kind of medal or something.”
“Is that so?” Tim laughed lightly in response.
“It is!” she exclaimed as they both broke out laughing.
As they came down from their laughter, she leaned a little closer. “You know,” she said, voice warm, “you’re kind of cute when you’re not arresting people.”
He raised a brow. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then Tim looked her dead in the eyes. “Go out with me.”
y/n blinked. “Like, on a date?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, honest and direct.
She grinned, eyes lighting up. “Only if you promise not to arrest me again.”
“No promises.”
They both laughed—and when he leaned in, she didn’t pull back.
The kiss was soft. Unhurried. Like maybe this was the start of something neither of them had planned—but weren’t about to run from either.
warnings: fight with parents, angst, lots of hurt comfort
word count: 1.6k
The sun filtered weakly through gauzy white curtains, brushing soft gold across the guest room walls. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped, loud enough to be annoying if the quiet of the house hadn't felt so rare and still.
Sage blinked against the light, disorienting for a second. The sheets were too clean. The pillow too soft. Her body was tense from sleeping with her guard up all night, like her mind hadn't accepted she was safe—just somewhere else.
And then she saw the mug.
Still half-warm, set gently on the bedside table with a sticky note. Rafe's messy handwriting in dark blue ink. A smudge near the corner where his thumb must've pressed down.
"Didn't know how you take it. Made it how I like it. Come find me when you're up."
Her throat tightened. The kind that came with being seen.
Because he didn't push. Didn't question her. Just... let her be.
Sage pulled herself up slowly, wincing at how sore her shoulders were from sleeping in one position. She took the mug in both hands, let the steam warm her face. She let herself breathe.
—
Downstairs, she found Rafe in the kitchen. Hair a mess. Hoodie pulled on lazily, sleeves rolled up as he stood barefoot by the stove, flipping pancakes like this was something he did all the time.
The whole thing felt like a dream she shouldn't be allowed to have.
He glanced up when he heard her, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he gave her that lopsided grin.
"Morning."
She swallowed hard. "Morning."
"I didn't know what you liked," he said, nodding toward the plate of pancakes. "So I made, like... normal ones. Nothing fancy. No weird health stuff." He paused. "There's syrup."
It was simple. But it hit her harder than it should've. "I haven't had breakfast in weeks," she admitted without thinking. "Like real breakfast."
Rafe raised a brow. "Why?"
"Too much noise in the mornings," she said. "Yelling, silence. Same difference."
He didn't say anything, but she caught the way his jaw flexed. Like he understood.
She sat at one of the stools at the counter, legs curled under her. He slipped a plate toward her and she picked up the fork, holding it for a second before finally digging in.
"I can't believe I'm here," she said around the second bite. "Like... here. Tannyhill. With you."
Rafe leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Yeah, it's definitely nowhere I thought we'd end up."
"I didn't think we'd talk again."
For a moment, the kitchen felt too still. Sage traced the rim of her mug with her thumb, the ceramic warm beneath her fingers.
It hadn't ended in a fight, their friendship. There were no final words, no falling out. Just time. Just distance. Just different people pulling them in different directions. She'd started spending more time with Sarah after they ended up in the same classes at school, more time with the Pogues after she met them in middle school. Rafe had drifted toward Topper and Kelce—louder, brasher boys who made trouble seem like something to chase.
Neither of them had said anything about the change. But somewhere along the way, Sage stopped showing up for him, and he stopped expecting her to.
Still, she had never stopped missing him, their friendship.
He nodded. "Me neither."
There was a beat of quiet between them. And then:
"Why'd you open the door?" she asked softly. "Why not just... let me leave?"
He looked at her like that question hurt more than she realized. Then he pushed off the counter and walked to the sink, rinsing a glass just to have something to do.
"Because you looked like me," he said finally. "The night I crashed my bike just to feel something. The night no one noticed I didn't come home. You had that look."
Sage didn't respond. Her chest ached.
He turned to face her again. "You needed someone. And I—" he shrugged. "I've never been anyone's first choice. But if I can be someone's last... I'll take that."
Sage felt her heart squeeze.
"I didn't just come here because I had no one," she said, voice low. "I came here because I hoped you wouldn't shut the door on me."
That made his eyes flicker. "Why?"
"Because you were the only person who never asked me to pick a side."
Silence wrapped around them again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was honest.
Despite drifting apart, Rafe had always been the only one who didn't make her choose. The Pogues had subtle ways of reminding her not to get too close with the Kooks again, and her mom—and half the kids she'd grown up with in Figure Eight—made it clear they thought less of her for spending time on the other side of the island. But Rafe never asked questions. Never told her who she should or shouldn't be. Back then, when they still talked, he just let her be.
Rafe reached for his keys without thinking, spinning them around his finger. "You wanna get out of here for a bit?"
She blinked. "Where?"
He grinned. "Somewhere that doesn't feel like the end of the world."
—
They ended up at a hidden stretch of shoreline past Figure Eight, where the trees curved low to the sand and the water always felt colder. A place no one really went anymore. He parked the truck, and they climbed into the bed, backs against the cab, legs stretched out like kids.
It was quiet, save for the wind and the occasional crash of a wave.
Sage leaned her head back, face tilted to the sky. "I used to come out here when I was younger," she said. "Before I learned how to make myself small enough to fit into the life my parents wanted."
He looked over. "And now?"
She looked back at him. "Now I'm learning how to take up space again."
Rafe nodded, almost proud. "Good."
Their shoulders brushed, and she didn't move away. His arm pressed against hers and she found comfort in the weight of it. The warmth.
"Thanks for letting me stay," she murmured, after a long moment.
"You stayed," he said, just as quiet. "That means something too."
warnings: fight with parents, angst, lots of hurt comfort
word count: 1.2k
It was nearly midnight. The wind was sharp, salty from the ocean and heavy with the summer rain that hadn't started falling yet—but promised it would.
Sage parked her car halfway on the curb in front of Tannyhill, headlights briefly illuminating the massive estate before she cut the engine. Then came the silence.
Just her and the hum of cicadas. Her heartbeat in her ears. Her fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white. She could hear the shouting. Her mom's voice echoing like it was bouncing around the car. Still feeling the sting from her friends' words. The memory felt raw, like sunburn she'd just noticed.
It wasn't one fight that broke it all apart. It was months of miscommunication, being pulled in opposite directions, trying to balance between the two halves of her life—Pogue heart, Kook world. She thought she could manage it. She was wrong.
And now she was here.
With nothing but a half-zipped duffle bag she shoved clothes into while tears blurred her vision. Her journal, a sweatshirt that smelled like the beach, and her dad's old surf t-shirt were all she managed to grab before storming out as her mom's voice followed her down the stairs—"You want to live like a Pogue? Fine. Go be one."
She hadn't meant to end up at his house. Not at first.
She drove aimlessly. Past the surf shop. Past the Chateau. Past Kiara's. No one would answer. They were done with her, said she'd changed, that she betrayed them. Maybe they were right.
And now she stood on the stone steps of the Cameron estate, her duffle hanging off her shoulder like it weighed more than just clothes.
She hesitated before knocking. The porch light buzzed above her, casting pale gold over her tired face. She hadn't looked in the mirror since earlier that day, but she didn't need to. She knew her mascara was probably smudged, cheeks blotchy from crying, skin hot with frustration and regret. She didn't want to see herself anyway.
The door opened before she could knock.
Rafe stood there, barefoot, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hoodie pushed up to his elbows. He looked like he'd just come from the gym or had been pacing. There was something about his eyes, though. Like they had been waiting for her—like he knew.
"Sage?" he asked, like her name was a question. Like he wasn't sure if she was real. His voice wasn't teasing, or cocky, to hard. It was quiet, careful.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her lips trembled and she immediately looked away, blinking fast.
"I—I didn't know where else to go," she whispered finally, voice cracking around the edges.
He stared at her for a moment, brows furrowing like he was trying to read between her words. And then, without a second of hesitation, he stepped aside and opened the door wider.
"Come in."
She hesitated again. Her pride told her to turn around. That this was stupid. That this couldn't be her lowest point. But her legs moved before her mind could catch up. She stepped inside.
The door shut behind her with a soft click. It felt final.
Rafe stood a few feet away from her now, eyes flickering between her face and the bag she still had slung over her shoulder.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked. Soft, no pressure.
"No." She didn't even try to sugarcoat it. "I just... I need somewhere to crash. Just for a night."
His jaw ticked. Not in frustration—but in concern. "You can stay as long as you need."
That made her blink. Once. Twice. She couldn't find the strength to argue.
—
She sat on the edge of the couch like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to make herself comfortable. Like she might disappear if she sank too far in. Her arms folded around herself like armor.
He left for a second, returning with a glass of water and a blanket. He didn't say anything when he handed it to her, just sat on the opposite end of the couch, watching her the way someone watched the ocean when it's angry—beautiful, but unpredictable.
"I don't have anywhere to go," she admitted suddenly, like it was a confession. Her voice was hollow. "My mom kicked me out. My friends don't want me around anymore."
He didn't speak at first. Just nodded, and then said, "You've got here."
The words hit her like a wave. Not loud. Not dramatic. But somehow more real than anything else she'd heard all week. She looked at him, really looked at him.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
He scoffed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Because it sucks when no one's on your side." he paused. "I know what that feels like."
She didn't respond, but her eyes softened. Her grip on the blanket loosened.
A silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy in the way shared loneliness often is—where two people sit in the wreckage of their lives, not trying to fix it, just being.
He leaned his head back against the couch, glancing sideways at her. "You hungry?"
She shook her head.
"Tired?"
She nodded.
He stood up and offered her a hand. "C'mon, I'll set you up in Sarah's old room."
She stared at his hand for a second before taking it. His palm was warm. Steady. Real.
And for the first time all day, she didn't feel like she was falling.
—
That night, as Sage laid in the guest bed wrapped in a too-big t-shirt that smelled like fresh detergent and something that was unmistakably Rafe, she let herself cry—soft, silent tears soaking into the pillow.
But when she woke up the next morning, the first thing she saw was a mug of coffee on the nightstand, still steaming, and a sticky note that read: "Didn't know how you take it. Made it how I like it. Come find me when you're up."
And somehow, in the soft morning light, it didn't feel like the end of everything anymore.
Summary: Sage lost everything. Her parents kicked her out and her friends hate her. With nothing but a duffle bag she packed last minute, while fighting with her mom, and her car, she ends up at Rafe Cameron's front door... she didn't know where else to go.
Warnings: slow burn (super slow), so much like raw soft intimacy, lots of angst, some fluff
"test of my patience,
there's things that we'll never know.
you sunshine you temptress,
my hands a risk, I fold.
crisp trepidation,
I'll try to shake this soon.
spreading you open,
is the only way of knowing you."
MASTERLIST
chapter one: the place you go when there's nowhere else
chapter two: you stayed
chapter three: you're not a project, you're a person
chapter four: the night didn't end, it just changed
chapter five: morning comes softer when you're not alone
chapter six: the quiet between us started to mean something
chapter seven: you're the only thing that feels like home
Summary: after calling the LAPD, Tim shows up with Thorsen, only to realize they have a history
Word Count: 828 words
Warnings: honestly none tbh... jealous Tim?
The next time y/n needed help from the LAPD, it was for something far less dramatic.
She’d been working in the studio on some photoshoot prep and noticed a sketchy man lingering around the building, tapping on windows, and peering inside. Nothing had happened, but it had spooked her enough to call the non-emergency line, just in case. Better safe than sorry.
—
Tim was partnered with Thorsen that day. It was a slower morning shift, the kind where the calls were all noise complaints and parking violations—until y/n’s address came through Tim’s line.
He stiffened. Aaron glanced over.
“You okay?”
Tim nodded. “Yeah. Just… know this place.”
When they arrived, y/n was already outside the studio, arms crossed and hair piled into a messy bun. She wore overalls splattered with paint and a plain tank top underneath. Tim felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest just seeing her—but before he could say anything, she lit up.
“Aaron?” she called out.
Tim blinked.
Aaron looked up from the squad car, face breaking into a wide smile. “No way! Y/n?!”
She darted forward, laughing. “Oh my God! I didn’t know you were in uniform today.”
Aaron stepped out of the car, and they pulled each other into a hug that lasted just a beat too long for Tim’s comfort.
“Wait, you two know each other?” Tim asked, brows raised.
Y/n pulled back, still grinning. “Yeah! Aaron and I go way back. I met him when I first moved to L.A. He was one of the first people who actually believed in my work.”
Aaron nodded, beaming. “She took some of my first promo photos when I signed with my agent. Helped me figure out headshots, branding—all of it. We kind of helped each other get started.”
“She also stuck by me when things were… less than great,” Aaron added, voice softening.
Y/n shrugged like it was nothing, but her eyes met his, warm and knowing. “You were there for me too. I never forgot that.”
Tim felt like he’d walked into an alternate universe. He looked between them—Aaron smiling, y/n laughing like she’d just been reminded of a joke from years ago—and tried to hide the tightness crawling into his chest.
“So,” Aaron said after a moment, shooting y/n a teasing look, “you didn’t think to mention that you were dating on of L.A.’s finest?”
Y/n flushed. “We weren’t ready to—well, it’s still kind of—”
“Relax,” Aaron said, holding his hands up. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m just saying, if you ever decide to do a photo series on your hot cop boyfriend, I want credit for inspiring it.”
Tim gave a dry laugh, finally stepping forward. “Glad we could reunite the dream team.”
Y/n smiled, this time just for him. “I just didn’t expect to see you two together.”
Tim glanced around, changing the subject. “So, what’s going on? You called something in?”
She nodded, sobering a little. “Yeah. There was a guy outside the window for a while. Didn’t do anything, but he looked off. I got a weird feeling. He left before you got here, though.”
“We’ll do a sweep,” Tim said. “Make sure it’s clear.”
As Aaron walked the perimeter, Tim lingered with y/n near the entrance.
“You really know him well?” he asked, trying to keep it casual.
She looked up at him, surprised. “Yeah. he’s one of the good ones, Tim. He helped me find my footing when I felt completely invisible. We went through some messy stuff together.”
Tim nodded, eyes searching hers.
“You jealous?” she teased, a glimmer of amusement.
“Not jealous,” he said. “Just… surprised.”
She stepped a little closer. “He’s just a friend. You’re the one I kiss.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You kiss me?”
She grinned. “Among other things.”
Aaron rounded the corner, interrupting the moment. “All clear. No sign of anyone. But I’ll make a note so patrol can check in tonight.”
“Thanks, Aaron,” y/n said.
“Anytime,” he replied, then looked between the two of them. “And seriously—when you two are ready to go public, let me know. I’ll do your couple shoot pro bono.”
Y/n rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”
As they walked back to the cruiser, Tim cast one last glance over his shoulder. Y/n was already back inside, getting back to work.
Aaron elbowed him. “She’s a good one.”
Tim nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
But something lingered in his chest—a strange awareness that y/n had lived whole chapters of her life before he’d stepped into the story. And now, he wanted to know them all.
Warnings: angst (lots of it), brief mentions of addiction, uhh more probably idk
“You told me something when I left but I don’t remember.
Maybe ‘cause all I could do then was stare at the floor”
The fight had been brewing for weeks. Rafe had been spiraling—late nights, glazed eyes, erratic moods. Y/n felt the weight of it all pressing down on her. She had known something was wrong, had seen the signs, but she had hoped he’d stop before things got this bad.
Now, they stood in his bedroom, the air thick with tension. Rafe paced back and forth like a caged animal, his voice rising with frustration. He shouted about how she didn’t understand, how this wasn’t her problem to fix. Y/n flinched at the sharpness in his tone, staying rooted to the edge of his bed, her gaze fixed firmly on the carpet beneath her feet.
She hated when he yelled. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to shield herself from the storm brewing inside him.
“You don’t get it, Y/n,” Rafe spat, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my life.”
“And I care about it!” she shot back, finally looking up. Her voice wavered, but her resolve didn’t. “I care about you, Rafe. But I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself.”
He froze mid-step, his back to her. For a moment, she thought he might actually listen. But then he shook his head, muttering something under his breath she couldn’t quite catch.
Y/n exhaled shakily, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, shake him until he understood how much this was breaking her. But all she could do was sit there, staring at the floor as the words she wanted to say died in her throat.
“I held myself ‘cause you wouldn’t, all wrapped in my sweatshirt
Wonder if you even noticed that that one was yours”
The room was chilly despite the summer heat outside. The Camerons always kept the AC cranked up, and the breeze from the window only made it worse. Y/n pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. She was wearing a hoodie—one of Rafe’s, though she doubted he’d noticed.
He had given it to her back when they were sophomores, one night after a bonfire when she’d forgotten to bring a jacket. She’d meant to return it, but somehow it had become hers. Rafe never seemed to mind; he used to say it looked better on her anyway.
Now, as she sat there clutching the fabric like a lifeline, she wondered if he even remembered that it was his. Probably not. Not with how high he was right now. His eyes were glassy, his movements erratic. He didn’t seem to notice much of anything anymore.
“And maybe I should’ve, but I never told you, ‘I’m sorry.’
Know that I tried, but my words always got in the way.”
That night was the breaking point. Y/n had stood in his doorway, tears streaming down her face as she told him she couldn’t do this anymore.
“I can’t watch you hurt yourself, Rafe,” she had said, her voice cracking. “I love you too much to stand by and do nothing. But I can’t save you. You have to want to save yourself.”
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. She waited for him to stop her, to say something—anything—that would make her stay. But he didn’t.
As she turned to leave, he muttered something under his breath. She couldn’t hear it over the pounding in her ears.
Now, months later, she replayed that night over and over in her head. She wished she had stayed longer, had said something different. She wished she had told him she was sorry—for leaving, for not being enough to make him stop. But the words never came out right, no matter how many times she rehearsed them in her head.
“Could you hold me without any talking?
We could try to go back where we started ”
Y/n’s day had been hell. Her parents had been on her case all morning, snapping at her for things that weren’t even her fault. By the time they told her to “go stay at a friend’s house” for the night, she felt like she was about to break.
Typically, when stuff like this happened, she just went to Rafe’s, but she hadn’t talked to him since that night a few months ago.
She ended up at the beach—their beach. It was a quiet, secluded spot they had discovered years ago. It had always been their escape, their sanctuary. Now it was just another place that reminded her of him.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, she pulled out her phone and stared at his name in her contacts. She shouldn’t call him. She knew that. But the weight of the day was too much to carry alone.
She had called him a few times since that night, and each time he picked up right away and stayed on the line, even though she would never actually talk to him. She just needed to hear his breathing. She needed to know he hadn’t overdosed, that he was okay.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she pressed call.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Y/n?” His voice was rough, but there was a softness to it that made her chest ache.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, struggling to find the words. Finally, she whispered, “Can I come over?”
“I don’t even have to stay”
Rafe didn’t say anything when she showed up at his door, just stepped aside to let her in.
They didn’t talk as she changed into one of his t-shirts and climbed into bed beside him. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over hers, before she turned to him and whispered, “Can you just hold me?”
He nodded, pulling her close. She felt the tension in his body slowly melt away as they lay there in the dark, their breathing syncing.
“Don’t worry, I won’t stay,” Y/n whispered, breaking the silence.
“It’s okay if you do,” Rafe whispered, but Y/n cut him off, “I won’t.”
For a little while, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were still the kids who spent their summers on the beach, dreaming about a future that didn’t seem so far away.
But morning always came too soon.
When Rafe woke up, she was gone. Her side of the bed was cold, her clothes neatly folded at the foot of his bed.
“I don’t remember the last time I heard from your sister,
Didn’t expect to, but I sorta thought that I would.”
Y/n had always been close to Wheezie, even when she and Rafe were arguing. They spent countless days together shopping, watching movies, having spa nights, and talking about everything and nothing. She was like the little sister Y/n always wanted.
Rafe would sometimes barge in, rolling his eyes at whatever ridiculous movie they were watching, but Y/n would catch the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Those nights felt safe. Whole.
After Y/n left, she half-expected Wheezie to text her, to ask if she was okay or if they could still hang out like they used to. But weeks turned into months, and the silence stretched out between them.
Y/n thought about reaching out herself, but every time she opened her phone, the weight of what had happened with Rafe stopped her. What would she even say? That she missed her? That she wasn’t sure if she could face Rafe’s family without falling apart?
Sometimes, she’d scroll through old photos of them together, her heart aching for the easy sister-like bond they had. Wheezie’s smile stared back at her from the screen—bright, carefree, and untouched by the storm that had torn everything apart.
“Wish I could tell you by now that i felt more indifferent”
Y/n sat with her knees to her chest on the beach, their beach—the one where they had spent countless evenings watching the sun melt into the ocean. The waves stretched out before her, their rhythmic crash and retreat, a cruel reminder of the ebb and flow of her relationship with Rafe.
She always knew walking away would be hard, but she thought she’d feel more indifferent by now, that the ache in her chest would dull over time. Instead, every day felt like a battle against memories that refused to stay buried.
She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to ground herself. But the moment she did, images of Rafe flooded her mind: his lopsided grin when he teased her, the way his hand lingered on hers, the quiet moments when his walls came down, and he let her see the man he could be.
“Why can’t I let you go?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The wind carried her words out to the sea, where they dissolved like everything else she’d tried to hold onto.
A seagull called overhead, snapping her back to the present. She ran her fingers through the sand, letting the grains slip through them. She wanted to feel indifferent. She needed to feel indifferent. But how do you stop caring about someone who was your whole world? She would give anything to have him back, but not until he quit the drugs.
“Catch myself thinking about you more than I should”
Y/n stood in line at the coffee shop, waiting for her order, when a man with Rafe’s build walked through the door. Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat before logic kicked in. It wasn’t him.
But for those few seconds, her mind betrayed her, painting a picture of what it would be like if it were him. Would he smile at her? Would his eyes light up the way they used to when they saw her? Or would he look past her, as if the memories they shared were as distant to him as they were vivid to her?
Even in moments like this, she caught herself thinking about him. She wondered what he was doing now, if he was happy, if he ever thought about her too. It had been months since they’d spoken, and yet he was still there, lingering in the corners of her mind.
“And maybe I should’ve but I never told you I miss you
I almost said it but don’t know if you feel the same.”
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzzed as Y/n walked down the produce aisle, her list in hand. She was focused on selecting the ripest lemons, reaching on her tiptoes to get them off the top shelf, when a familiar hand reached past hers and plucked one off the shelf.
She looked up, and her heart stopped. It was Rafe.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. His presence was like a punch to the gut—familiar and painful all at once. He looked healthier, steadier, but his eyes still held that same quiet sadness she knew too well.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Y/n swallowed hard, her mind racing. She wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them. I miss you, she thought. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, heavy and unspoken.
Instead, she managed a weak smile. “Hey.”
They stood there, awkward and unsure. She wanted to ask how he’d been, if he was happy, if he ever thought about her. But the fear of what his answers might be kept her silent.
As he walked away, her heart ached with all the things she wished she had said. He was respecting the boundaries she had set, and she was grateful for that, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she could’ve said. Maybe I should’ve told him. Maybe it would’ve changed something. Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered at all.
“Could you hold me without any talking?
We could try to go back where we started
I don't even have to stay”
Y/n sat cross-legged on her bed, absently scrolling through her phone when it buzzed. Rafe’s name lit up the screen.
She wasn’t expecting it, but her thumb hovered for only a moment before she answered. “Rafe?” she said softly.
The line was silent except for the sound of his uneven breathing. Her heart sank. “Rafe, are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.
Finally, he spoke, his voice strained and shaky. “I…I need your help.”
Y/n sat up straight, her pulse quickening. “Where are you?”
A pause followed before he replied, “I’m at Topper’s.” His words were slurred, and she could tell he’d been drinking. “Listen, Y/n/n, you… you don’t have to do this.”
“Rafe, it’s fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She didn’t hesitate. Throwing on her shoes and grabbing her keys, she was out the door.
When she arrived, Rafe sat slouched on the front porch, his head in his hands. As she pulled up, he stood slowly and made his way to the car. Sliding into the passenger seat, he looked at her with tired, bloodshot eyes.
“Thank you… for coming,” he muttered.
“Of course,” Y/n said softly. “You called.”
Her voice was calm, steady—exactly what he needed. Rafe didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.
The drive back to Tannyhill was silent. When they arrived, Rafe hesitated before opening the car door.
“Can you… come in?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Y/n nodded. “Yeah, I can.”
Inside, as he opened his bedroom door, she noticed his hands—bruised, scratched, and swollen knuckles.
“Rafe!” she gasped, reaching for his hand. Her heart raced as they touched. She hadn’t felt his touch in so long. “What happened?”
He pulled his hand back, avoiding her gaze. “It’s nothing. Just… got into a little disagreement,” he mumbled, dropping his keys on the dresser.
“Rafe…” she began, her tone firm, but she stopped when she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. “Here, let me clean it up.”
In the bathroom, she sat him down on the closed toilet seat and retrieved the first aid kit. Quietly, she began tending to his cuts.
He didn’t flinch when she dabbed rubbing alcohol on the wounds, but she noticed the way his jaw tightened. Neither of them spoke as she worked, her touch gentle and precise.
When she finished, she stood and said, “Go get in bed. I’ll clean this up and be right there.”
By the time she returned to his room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched. He glanced at her as she walked in, shifting to make space for her beside him.
Y/n slid into bed, and they lay there in the dark, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound. Rafe wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was his anchor to the world. She held him just as tightly, resting her head against his chest.
No words were spoken. None were needed.
“If I woke up with you in the morning
I’d forget all the ways that we’re broken
I don’t care if you’ve changed, I don’t even have to stay”
Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting golden streaks across the room. Y/n woke slowly, her senses adjusting to the warmth of Rafe’s arms wrapped around her. For a moment, she forgot the heartbreak, the arguments, and the nights spent crying herself to sleep.
She stayed still, savoring the rare peace. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling against her back. It felt like old times, like they were still those carefree kids.
Quietly, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. She brewed coffee, cooked eggs, and relished the grounding normalcy of it all.
When she returned with a tray of food and Advil, Rafe was awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“I thought you’d left,” he said, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
She set the tray down and sat beside him. “I just wanted to make sure you had food and Advil,” she said softly.
“Thank you.” He reached out and took her hand, his touch hesitant. “Look, Y/n, I-I know you said you wouldn’t…” His voice faltered, as if the words were too heavy. “Until I… Until I stopped. But do you ever think we could—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off gently, her voice steady. It hurt to see him like this, a shadow of the confident man she remembered. “Rafe… I meant what I said. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you. Even if you haven’t gotten better yet… I’ll still be here when you need me.”
Her voice trailed off, and he nodded, understanding despite the hurt. For now, they had this moment—fleeting, imperfect, but theirs.
She didn’t stay much longer, not wanting to overstep. As she walked to the door, Rafe stopped her. “Will you ever stop leaving?”
Turning to face him, she gave a sad, genuine smile. “I’ll stop leaving when you get better, Rafe. I promise.”
With that, she walked out of the Cameron house. Leaving him was never easy, but she knew it was the only way for him to heal.
Authors note: Long story for my first post, I hope you like it! I take requests but I'm not sure how to set that up yet so messages, comments, or whatever works if you want to send one in. I am tempted to make a part 2 to this, so if anyone is interested lmk!
