THE MONSTER UNDER THE BED .ᐟ rafe cameron x crybaby!reader ⟡˖ ࣪
warnings .ᐟ reader is too blind, just wanting to be included ( me tbh ), season one rafe??? maaaybe, he's giving like. . . frat vibes for some reason. possesive, agressive rafe check. i don't know if this gives much crybaby vibes tho, mmm. . .
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The salt-sting of the afternoon air felt different today. It wasn't the usual Kook-side breeze; it was heavy, thick with the promise of tears you were desperately trying to hold back.
You’d tried. Oh, how you’d tried.
A text to Kiara about going for smoothies—left on read. A hopeful suggestion to Pope about studying at the library—a vague, "Sorry, got stuff with the fam." JJ had just grinned that lopsided grin and ruffled your hair like a little sister before hopping on the Twinkie with John B, the engine coughing to life without a backward glance.
You were just… there.
The quiet girlfriend of Rafe Cameron. An accessory they tolerated but never truly included.
The walk to the Cameron house was a blur of wobbly lips and stinging eyes. The grand, imposing structure usually made you feel small, but today you felt microscopic.
You found him not in the house, but out back in the boathouse, the scent of gasoline and clean ocean filling the space. He was hunched over the engine of his red bike, a wrench in his hand, muscles in his back flexing under his thin t-shirt. He was muttering to himself, a low, frustrated sound that was so uniquely Rafe.
A weird thing to see, but you were too busy trying to calm your breathe down to even point that out.
He heard your soft footstep on the creaky plank floor and turned, his brow furrowed in annoyance that instantly melted away the second he saw your face.
Your eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with unshed tears. Your bottom lip trembled, a dead giveaway.
“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping from its usual sharp edge to something softer, rougher.
He dropped the wrench with a clatter and was in front of you in two long strides. His hands, stained with grease, came up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks.
“What happened? Who do I need to talk to?”
The protective fury in his voice, the immediate assumption that someone had hurt you on purpose, was what finally broke the dam. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path through the dust on his thumb.
“It’s n-nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head, trying to lean into his touch. “Really, Ray, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s got you crying,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. His blue eyes searched yours, intense and focused solely on you. “Tell me.”
You took a shaky breath, looking down at the worn wood between your sneakers.
“It’s just… the Pogues. I tried to hang out with them today. With Kie, and Pope, and… you know. But they all… they had other things. They always have other things.” Your voice cracked. “I—... they’re good people, I swear they are! They don’t mean it, they’re just… busy. They have their own thing, I guess. I just wish... I could be part of it too.”
You were defending them even as your heart splintered. That was you, always making excuses, always seeing the good.
Rafe didn’t. A dark look passed over his face, his jaw tightening. He saw the situation for what it was: a slight.
A rejection of what was his.
“They ditched you,” he said flatly, the words a statement of fact, not a question. The possessiveness in his voice was a physical thing, a shield he wrapped around you.
“It’s not ditching,” you insisted weakly, another tear falling. “They just… forgot.”
“Bullshit.”
The word was quiet, but firm.
He pulled you into his chest, and you buried your face in the familiar, safe scent of him—salt, sunshine, and expensive soap. His arms wrapped around you, strong and secure, one hand cupping the back of your head.
“Listen to me. They’re idiots. They don’t get it. They don’t get you.”
He leaned back, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his gaze. The anger was still there, but it was banked, controlled, all for you.
“You’re too sweet for them. You’re quiet, and you’re kind, and that’s what I love about you. That’s what makes you better than all of them put together.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You don’t need to beg for their attention. You have mine. You have all of it. Always.”
The words washed over you, a balm on the raw hurt. He saw the exclusion not as your failure to fit in, but as their failure to recognize your worth.
“But I just wanted… to be included,” you whispered, the confession feeling childish and small.
“I know, baby. I know.” He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “But you’re included in my life. You’re the main event. Not some sidekick they can pick up and drop whenever it’s convenient.”
He looked at you, a new, determined light in his eyes. “Forget them. C’mon.”
He took your hand, his grip firm, and led you out of the boathouse. He didn’t take you back to the main house. Instead, he led you to his truck, helping you into the passenger seat before climbing in himself.
He didn’t drive to some fancy Kook party or a country club. He drove to your favorite spot, a secluded cove where the water was calm and the sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and pink. He didn’t say much, just held your hand, his thumb stroking lazy circles on your skin.
He bought you a greasy burger from the Wreck and a chocolate shake, and you sat on the tailgate of his truck, your head on his shoulder, listening to the waves.
He made you feel, with every silent, possessive gesture, that their world was small and noisy, while his—the one he was giving you—was vast and quiet and entirely yours.
And as the stars began to prick the twilight sky, you realized you didn’t need to be a Pogue.
You were Rafe Cameron’s. And for him, that was the only thing that would ever matter.
But it didn't mean it was over.
It never was with Rafe.
Night came, and with it, you both returned to Tannyhill. The bed welcomed you with so much warm, you were drifting off the first ten seconds of sliding inside the sheets. The second your breathing evened out into the deep, trusting rhythm of sleep, Rafe’s entire demeanor shifted.
The gentle hand stroking your hair stilled. The softness in his blue eyes hardened into chips of ice.
He watched you for a long moment, curled up in the center of his oversized bed, your face peaceful and smudged with dried tears.
His bed.
Where his girl had cried herself to sleep because of a bunch of... Pogues.
A cold, familiar fury began to simmer in his gut, replacing the protective warmth he’d felt just moments before. He carefully extracted his arm from under you, replacing it with a pillow you immediately nuzzled into. He leaned down, pressing a kiss so soft it was barely a breath against your temple.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “I’ll be right back.”
You murmured something incoherent, lost in a dream, completely unaware.
He moved through the silent, dark house like a shark through deep water. The slam of his truck door was the only sound that cut the night, a gunshot of intent. He didn’t speed, not at first.
He drove with a chilling precision, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his mind replaying the image of your tear-streaked face as you’d tried to defend them.
“They’re good people… They don’t mean it…”
The Chateau came into view, a dilapidated silhouette against the moonlit marsh. Light and the sound of muffled music spilled from its windows. Rafe killed the engine and sat for a minute, just watching. Letting them feel the weight of the approaching storm.
When he finally stepped out, his footsteps were heavy and deliberate on the worn porch steps. He didn’t knock. He just pushed the door open.
The scene inside froze.
John B, Pope, and JJ were scattered around the living room, passing a bottle of cheap whiskey. Kie was on the floor, painting her toenails. They all looked up, their easy laughter dying in their throats.
“Cameron,” John B said, the first to recover, his voice wary. “What do you want?”
Rafe didn’t look at John B. His gaze swept over them, cold and dismissive, finally landing on Kiara.
“Hey, Kie. Heard you were too busy for smoothies today.”
Kiara’s face flushed. “What? Rafe, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my girlfriend,” Rafe said, his voice dangerously quiet. He took a step further into the room, his presence sucking all the air out of it. “The one who’s currently asleep in my bed because she came to me crying. Seems she tried to hang out with you people today. And you all had ‘better things to do.’”
He made air quotes, the gesture dripping with contempt.
Pope shifted uncomfortably. “Look, man, it wasn’t like that. We just had… plans.”
“Plans,” Rafe repeated, letting the word hang in the air. He turned his icy stare to Pope. “You’re a smart guy, Pope. You think it’s smart to make my girl feel like she’s nothing? To make her cry?”
JJ, ever the instigator, tried to smirk. “Whoa, easy, Cameron. Didn’t know she was so sensitive. We’ll send a formal invitation next time.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
In two strides, Rafe was in JJ’s face, grabbing a handful of his shirt.
He didn’t hit him. He just held him there, his face inches from JJ’s, his voice a low, venomous snarl.
“You listen to me, you trashy little shit. You listen to all of you. She is kind. She is sweet. She thinks you’re all ‘good people.’ And because she thinks that, I’m not gonna sink your shithole boat or set this rat hole on fire. Yet.”
He shoved JJ back onto the couch with a force that rattled its frame. He looked at each of them in turn, his message clear.
“But you will include her. You will answer her texts. You will act like she’s fucking welcome. Because if she comes home crying again? If I see that look on her face one more time because of you?” He let a slow, cruel smile touch his lips. “The gold’s the least of your worries. You won’t see me coming. I’ll make your lives a living hell, and I’ll make sure she never, ever knows why. She’ll just think you finally grew up.”
The threat hung in the room, absolute and terrifying in its sincerity. They were Pogues; they were used to trouble. But this was different.
This wasn't about a feud or treasure. This was about a quiet, shy girl who had the unconditional, volatile loyalty of Rafe Cameron.
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked out, the screen door slamming shut behind him, the sound a final period on his sentence.
Back in his truck, the rage slowly ebbed, replaced by a grim satisfaction. He drove home, the night air cool through the window. He slipped back into his room, silent as a ghost.
You were still asleep, exactly as he’d left you. A small, peaceful smile was now on your lips. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, sliding into bed beside you. You instinctively curled into his warmth, a soft sigh escaping you.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your hair.
You would never know.
You would wake up tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe, Kiara would text you about getting coffee. Pope would ask if you wanted to study.
They’d be awkward, a little forced, but they’d try.
And you’d smile, so happy to finally be included, believing in the goodness of people.
You’d think they’d had a change of heart.
You’d never know that your sweet, protective boyfriend had visited the shadows on your behalf.
You’d never know that your happiness was enforced by his threat.
And as he felt you relax completely against him, Rafe knew he’d do it again. He’d burn the whole Outer Banks to the ground to keep that innocent smile on your face.
He was the monster under their bed, the threat in the dark. And he was utterly, completely yours.
