#moots can u shed some light??

[starrynightsxo]

I AM 50% THROUGH SHATTER ME.

respectfully, who tf is adam and why have I not heard anything about him. ever.

[outerbankies]

new light part 11: just one night — rafe cameron

new light masterlist

summary: rafe finally gives his father the ultimatum he’s been sitting on for months; you immediately, if unknowingly, show him that it was one hundred percent worth it.

pairing: rafe x reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol, suggestive content/very VERY light smut not sure if u can even call it that but minors dni thanks

a/n: holy shit hiiiii!!! thanks for waiting on this one, and thanks to my moots who talked it through with me <3 alright, there will officially be 12 parts of new light, followed by an epilogue. so just one more after this! buckle up, enjoy, come talk to me afterrr

my writing

but if you give me just one night

Rafe gets one more kiss on the cheek from you before you leave him for the night. He’s walking you to your front door like he normally would, making sure you and your dog get inside safely, not turning and walking back to his truck until he hears you deadbolt the door. It’s the same but so different—nostalgic but still new again at the same time. It’s almost like the beginning of your relationship when you were getting to know each other all over again, becoming used to each other in a different way.

And it’s this weird place in between being back to what you once were, and hopefully carving out another new part of this relationship. Rafe couldn’t explain it if he tried—you had barely assured him at all verbally, but he almost feels like laughing once he gets back inside his truck, cheeks flushed from the cold and from you, smiling the whole way home, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he just breathes.

He realizes halfway home he has to circle back to the grocery store, where he’d completely abandoned his original plans once he ran into you, and you both literally dropped everything. He’s thankful for the sweatshirt and hat combination he’s sporting, not keen to interact with anyone he’d recognize that might ask him why he’s smiling the way he is.

“Sorry Wheez,” he apologizes upon his arrival at home, ruffling his youngest sister’s hair as he greets her in the kitchen. He tosses the box of hot chocolate packets she’d requested onto the counter, leaning up against it. “Got a little caught up.”

She looks up from her phone, considering him skeptically. “For over an hour?”

Rafe just shrugs. “Busy. It’s Thanksgiving this week, y’know. Lot of people buying a lot of food and… whatever.”

“Okay. Whatever. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Rafe nods absent-mindedly, mind already miles away from the kitchen in which he stood.

The adrenaline of seeing you, getting to touch you and hold you again, was quickly shedding off of him in waves, shattering, cracking, and peeling until he’s barely anything more than an anxious mess with nothing to do but wait for you to be ready. Which he could do, he reminds himself.

“I’ll have one too, sweetie.”

His father’s voice immediately sets Rafe’s spine straight as a board, thoughts of you clearing and eyes shifting to the man standing in the entryway of the kitchen. Rafe doesn’t say anything in greeting, just nodding before glancing to the other end of the kitchen, ready to make his exit if—when—he needs to.

“Okay, so three mugs,” Wheezie murmurs, busying herself with pulling things out of the cabinets.

Things were always tense between Rafe and his dad, he can’t remember one moment recently where they hadn’t been—actually. But ever since his birthday, things had only been worse. You hung up on him and his hands shook with his next moves, typing in his dad’s contact to have the conversation he should’ve demanded months ago.

“Rafe, did you check in with Ezra like I asked?” Ward asks, the smile reserved for his sisters slipping off of his face in an instant once he addresses his son.

“Yes, sir. We wrapped up today for the holiday weekend.”

“You’re not working at all tomorrow?” Ward asks, looking surprised.

“No,” Rafe says, eyebrows furrowed, nerves coming to the surface. “Ezra said he cleared it with you, that the financial team was done today, ’til next Monday.”

“Huh,” Ward says in consideration. “Alright. If you feel like you’ve earned that.”

Rafe can feel Wheezie looking at the two of them, knows she’s picked up on the tone shift just like he has. Rafe almost sighs, concedes to logging some hours tomorrow. But then he thinks about you, what he told you, promised you. And himself. “I do. My department’s off tomorrow, dad. So I am too.”

But as much as he hates it sometimes, Rafe is his father’s son, because Ward doesn’t back down either. “Let me guess. Big plans with Y/n? Kelce’s dad told me about his uh—party?”

“It’s a bar crawl.”

“You’re taking Y/n to the bars?” he asks, sounding as if he’s barely holding back a laugh. Rafe doesn’t feel the same inclination to throw something at him like he would have a few months ago whenever his dad so much as mentioned your name, but it’s not exactly a terrible thing that there’s nothing within his immediate reach right now.

“Dad,” he warns, shooting him a look.

“Just seems a bit… beneath her.”

Rafe immediately heads for the doorway in which his father came, not stopping to look for confirmation. “I’ll meet you out on the deck.”

His father gives him about five minutes to pace the deck in contemplation, before appearing with a freshly poured finger of whiskey, one hand tucked into his pocket and an exasperated look on his face. “What now?”

“What now—dad,” Rafe starts, doing his best not to slip into son mode. He knows his father will be more receptive if Rafe treats this like business. He briefly contemplates an alternate reality, where he’s actively seeking out his father for advice on how to treat you right, not working overtime to protect you from him instead. But that’s a false reality his father had been chipping away at for years, until it was staring Rafe in the face over the summer. “I thought we understood each other, when we talked on my birthday?”

“Your birthday?” Ward asks, swirling his glass. “Ah, you mean when you called me after I sent you a nice bottle of champagne to berate me for looking out for you?”

“Look—looking out for me?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be realistic about this girl, son. She’s distracting you, and she doesn’t care how hard you work—”

“No. Stop,” Rafe says, willing his voice not to waver from the sheer frustration thrumming under his skin. “I told you to back off of her.”

“Huh,” Ward says, glint in his eye. “And yet I can’t seem to figure out why. Because it seems to be the consensus around town that you two aren’t really an item anymore.”

Rafe doesn’t let himself freeze, show any sign of trepidation or give any indication that he’d been caught out. He knew this was a possibility, your hometown was way too small sometimes. This self-preserving lie he’d kept up for so long—half out of his own assuredness you’d somehow find your way back to him, half out of the fear of the told-you-so look on his dad’s face, the one he’s getting right now—he knew it’d only stick for so long before he was found out. He feels his jaw twitch, but that’s all he gives before clearing his throat. “Yeah, well. Check your sources, then—just dropped her off.”

His father’s eyebrows unceremoniously shoot into his hairline, and Rafe feels the slightest sense of victory. “Really?”

“Really. But you know what? That wouldn’t even matter, dad,” he says. “I don’t care what happens—you can’t talk about her like that. Not in front of anyone, and not in front of me.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, son,” Ward says around a chuckle, bringing his drink to his lips again.

And then there’s this ugly, dark pit that had been settled in Rafe’s stomach since his sophomore year of college, when his father made him come home to work for him for the first time. And not just the minor tasks he’d been picking up since he was fifteen, or the ride alongs to construction sites he’d always loved as a kid. The first time he’d really had to work for his dad, be his son and his employee simultaneously. The first glimpse into what he’d always thought would be the rest of his life—what he’d warned you about that night on your roof when he asked you to be his. And he’d pushed the feeling about it down for as long as he could, ignoring the anxiety it’d cause him, the pure exhaustion and anguish it often left him with to work for his father.

Until he couldn’t anymore, on the night John B had pulled him aside at that stupid party to ask about you and Ward. When things had already been off between you two for weeks, and he could come up with no good reason as to why. Then you’d looked up at him through your tear-soaked lashes, wobbling lips and shaking voice repeating the words his father said to you. Everything clicked into place when he realized you’d internalized it, had been carrying those words around in your heart and in your head for weeks until you weren’t looking at Rafe the same way anymore, the way he’d finally gotten you to see him after all these years.

This is the first time he’s going to ever verbalize it, but this feeling had been pressing down on Rafe for years.

“You’re right,” Rafe says. “I can’t. All I can do is make it clear to you that this is a deal-breaker for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, “She’s here to stay, alright? And I refuse to put her through the wringer with you. She’s smart, she’s kind, she’s so fucking good for me, and just so much more than think you she is—she’s the love of my life, dad. And I can’t be involved in the business like this if it’s hurting her. I actually won’t.”

“Won’t what?” Ward asks, looking thoroughly confused at this point.

“Work for you, dad,” Rafe finally admits, wishing he’d grabbed a whiskey too at this point. “She’s—Dad, that girl is everything to me, she always has been.”

“You’d quit the business for her?”

“If I had to put distance between the two of us, I would. And that’s the only way I can think to do it.” Rafe has to take a long breath to quell the tightness in his throat, staring up at the sky and blinking rapidly a few times before speaking again. “Not like there’s much else to our relationship.”

“Rafe, bud—”

“I love her, dad. And if you can’t respect that—well, I guess I should polish up my cover letter, shouldn’t I?”

Rafe swears he sees hurt flash across his father’s face, but it’s hardly an emotion he’s ever seen in him before, so he can’t be sure. And he’s straightening himself out and taking another pull of whiskey, steeling himself before Rafe can even get a read anyways. “Okay. And where will you go?”

“I have options,” Rafe says. This wasn’t how he expected this to go at all, and maybe the slightest glimmer of hope you’d given him at the pool, the tiniest way you’d let your guard down—just like he’d seen you do the first time at the start of the summer—maybe that’s what gives him the push. He thinks about the internships he’d withheld from his dad over the past few years, the resume he’d built, contacts in a network he’d made all on his own. Because maybe in the back of his mind he’d always known it’d end like this. Fuck, he’d even finally accept Beau’s LinkedIn request if he had to—because he knew he deserved better than this, and so did you. “Plenty.”

“This is exactly what I was afraid of, Rafe,” Ward sighs, pinching his brow in anguish. If Rafe hadn’t spent years and years trying to prove himself to this man, only to be met with empty praises or unimpressed write-offs, he might have it in him to be affected by the disappointment. “She’s pulling you away.”

“No,” Rafe says, voice raising in anger. “No, that was all you. Okay? Maybe she gave me a reason. But it’s always been like this between us—you can’t even try to deny that.”

Ward sighs again, polishing off the rest of his glass. “She must be some girl, Rafe.”

Rafe grunts in frustration. “Dad—don’t you like, with Rose? Wouldn’t you protect her from anything you had to?”

“Your little high school sweetheart is hardly comparable to my wife—your stepmother.”

“Maybe to you. But shouldn’t the fact I’m willing to go to these lengths… that should tell you something, dad. And if it doesn’t, I’m not sure what else we have to talk about.”

Rafe leaves his dad’s frozen figure on the deck then, waving his little sister off when she asks about the hot cocoa and taking the stairs to his room two steps at a time, trying not to think about what he just did.

—

mccall: ok everyone is wondering so i’m just gonna ask. have you talked to redacted

davis: i think what this bitch MEANT to ask was how are u doing bb!? how’s home!!!

delilah: no but like… wren is asking too

y/n: he just dropped me off

The group FaceTime call commences in seconds, much to your chagrin—although what could you have expected at this point? Your friends had absorbed Rafe into their orbit within minutes of meeting him, even if it took McCall a few shots to warm up, she came around too once she got to know him. Just how everyone always did around him.

“Hey,” Delilah says, her voice breaking through the mess of log-on sounds and cut off conversations first. She gives you a sympathetic smile. “How are you, Y/n/n?”

“No, don’t answer that yet,” McCall says, voice cutting through before she’s turning back to someone off-screen. “Give me a sec. Mom, it’s my friends. Ex-boyfriend stuff, very important.”

Wren peeks into Delilah’s frame then, readjusting his hair and then waving at the camera. “Hey, Y/n. What’s going on down south?”

You’re rushing to shut your door, glaring at Dylan’s disappointed look aimed at you from across the hall, turning on your fairy lights. “Not much, um. Kinda late here.”

“Okay, I’m here,” Davis announces, his line finally connecting too. “What did I miss?”

“No—wait,” McCall urges. “Cyrus, get the fuck out or I swear—okay. Okay, I’m ready. What did he do?”

“Who? Hometown?” Wren pipes up. “Y’all back together?”

“Oh my god, Wren,” Delilah sighs, giving you an apologetic look. “Babe, please go refill our drinks, yeah? I’ll catch you up after.”

“But—”

“Please.”

“Okay,” Davis starts, blotting a serum into his face once Wren walks off. “Everyone should just shut the fuck up. Let her speak, then we judge later. You saw Rafe?”

“Yeah, on accident,” you emphasize, looking at McCall’s little FaceTime square, her unimpressed expression doing nothing to put you at ease. “I swear, we just ran into each other. There aren't many places to be on this island, alright?”

“Okay, and then what? Wait—did you guys hook up? Did you yell at him, or—”

“McCall,” Davis warns, eyes straying away from his mirror to shoot her a look through the phone.

Delilah is the first one to pick up on your distress, shushing the others. “Hey, so what happened? Was it good?”

“We didn’t—we just talked,” you say. A smile pulls on your lips despite yourself. “Actually, it was nice. He took me to the pool.”

“Ah, good one,” Wren says, appearing in the frame once again, head burrowing into Delilah’s shoulder after he presses a kiss to her head.

“Not gonna lie, have to agree with Wren here,” Davis concedes, hand over his mouth as he grins. “That’s cute.”

“No, stop, you’re all way too romantic. It’s literally so fucking hard being the only earth sign in this friend group,” McCall sighs. “Focus, Y/n. What did he say?”

“Oh, god,” you sigh, falling back onto your bed finally. “Like—everything. We talked about everything. And I didn’t just—guys, you know I wouldn’t just let him off.”

“McCall made sure of that,” Davis grumbles.

“Excuse you.”

“Excuse you, I live there too. I had to listen to every single lecture,” Davis says, readjusting his skincare headband. “Every fucking one.”

You’d tuned the lectures out at a certain point, exchanging listening to McCall’s opinions about the terrors of long-distance and hometown boyfriends for your own fantasies about you and Rafe getting back together. You loved her, and she meant well—but she was scarred, and it definitely affected her judgment. Against her will, too, because you knew she liked Rafe deep down. Very deep down, in a place usually only unearthed by alcohol. “Alright. Guys, I appreciated this Socratic seminar. I think I’m just gonna sleep on it.”

“No, wait—we could put it to a vote,” Delilah says. “Two votes for Rafe.”

She doesn’t even glance at Wren when she says it, who just nods his head and brings his beer to his lips all the same.

“You guys,” you groan. “Come on.”

“Do I get a vote?”

“No, McCall. Because we all know what it is and you still won’t win,” Davis says.

“Alright, go easy on her guys. Make good choices. Good night, Y/n/n,” Wren says, making the decision for everyone else to leave you alone. He ducks out of the frame again after a wave.

“I’ll be off too, my sweet. You got this,” Delilah says, waving. “Text us!”

When it’s just your roommates left, an awkward silence drags until Davis clears his throat. “McCall, hang up.”

“What!” she squawks, mouth falling open in indignation. “I’m being helpful.”

“Nope.”

“Y/n,” she tries, directing her words toward you now. “You know I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, and thank you, really,” you say. “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Ugh, fine. Bye uglies,” she says, resigned as she hangs up.

“Talk to me,” Davis says when the two of you are finally, blessedly alone. “What are we thinking?”

You suck in a breath before you unload. “Davis, it was… like. I literally had to physically make myself walk away before I just jumped all over him, or—”

“Okay, that’s not necessarily bad, Y/n.”

“I know, it just means I trust him,” you admit, because it’s true. “I don’t know, though. It was weird—I just felt like I needed to give myself some time?”

Davis nods, squinting in consideration. “I think it’s good that you’re thinking it through. Your man is nothing if not charming—”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m kidding,” Davis concedes. “But also not. The pool? Come on. But look, he’s great, Y/n—you know I like him for you. And if you trust him, then I trust you. Even so, there’s still nothing wrong with taking some time. Maybe a few weeks while you guys finish out the semester?”

“Weeks?” you squeak, head rearing back from the screen.

“Okay, sorry,” he laughs. “Alright. What about at least a few days? After the holiday.”

“Days… plural. Yeah,” you nod, convincing yourself. “I guess I can think about that.”

“You don’t have to take any more time than you need to, you know that, right?” he says, voice softer. “You’re not an emotional thinker, Y/n. Trust your judgment.”

“I know,” you breathe, thinking of the way you’d felt seeing him. Everything had felt like it clicked into place immediately, but you had made him prove it to you anyways. And he had, ten times over. “I know.”

“But hey, what about the other stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had some regrets too, didn’t you? I know you were beating yourself up over the thing with his dad. And the baby. Maybe you’ll feel better about all this if you tell him about that?” Davis says, lighting a candle in frame.

“Yeah, we talked about that too,” you confirm, nodding your head. “I think we’re okay there. He’s shit at accepting apologies, but—”

“Of course he is, he’s a man.”

“But, I think I got my point across. I hope I did.”

“Then what, my dear,” Davis says dramatically, finally finishing up his routine and giving you his full attention. “Are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” you groan.

“You’ll know when you’re done waiting,” he assures you. “It’ll feel right.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Davis sighs, smiling softly at you. “You’re not going to sleep at all tonight, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you agree. “I just wanna see him.”

“Go see him tomorrow,” Davis says.

You just look at him, smiling slightly. “I think I’ll be able to wait that long.”

“Bitch, you don’t even have to do that!” Davis says, clapping his hands. “There are no rules here—chug some chard and show up on his doorstep right now. It’ll be dramatic, and so, so romantic.”

You let yourself briefly consider it, shaking yourself out of it immediately after. “No, I—no. I’m too nervous. What am I even gonna say?”

“Okay, let me get some wine and then you can practice on me tonight. Grab a notepad.”

—

You’ve been sitting on the back deck since sunrise—maybe even a little before. It’s all a blur at this point, the sleep you got and didn’t get, the numerous scenarios you talked through with Davis until you couldn’t stand it anymore, the physical ache your body feels knowing Rafe is within your reach just down the road, all you wanted since August, and you’re not even being held by him.

The skyline of the town you grew up in, beautiful and familiar as it is, isn’t enough to distract you from your thoughts; if you overthought it, if you’re making him wait too long, if the way you feel like Rafe’s an ocean whose tide has always been pulling you in should scare you. Or if you should just run into it, arms and heart open, let him crash over you in waves.

“You’re up early,” your dad says from behind you, two mugs of coffee in hand. You shake your head and smile as you accept one from him, shaky hands settling around the warm ceramic as you bring it to rest in your lap.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” your dad chuckles. “Heard you stomping around all night. Thought Rafe might have been scaling the wall again.”

“That was one time,” you say around a smile. Rafe still has no idea your dad knew he was sneaking into the house all summer, and couldn’t care less considering he liked Rafe and you were both grown. Your dad had texted you the security camera footage the very next morning: ‘Might wanna tell your boyfriend if he isn’t going to hide his gigantic truck down the block anymore, he may as well start using the front door, too.’ You never shared it with Rafe because you knew he’d quite literally never come over again, and you were a teeny bit selfish.

Your heart sinks a little at the specific memory, Rafe showing up in the middle of the night. So worried about you—seeking your reassurances when you were the one that had been holding back. The first time your relationship was tested, and all it took to iron it out was you being openly vulnerable with your feelings for him.

You have to sideline the memory to give your dad your full attention—or as much of it as you can muster. “But I did see him yesterday, at the store.”

Your dad looks over from where he’d settled into a deck chair next to you. “Did you? That explains the stomping. And the fact that you came home with nothing.”

Your cheeks heat up, realizing for the first time he was right. You might have bid Rafe a good night quick enough that your family (sans Dylan, who texted you immediately to ask if that was Rafe’s truck he heard outside) didn’t see him on the porch, but you guess your dad was more attentive than you thought. “Yeah.”

“What’d you think? Need me to straighten him out for you?”

You roll your eyes, finally bringing your coffee up for a sip. You figure you can’t get any more nerve-y at this point, and you could use the extra energy as you tried to plan the rest of your day. “No, dad. It’s not like that.”

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing,” he says, a hand patting your forearm gingerly where it rests on the chair arm. “I know it’s not.”

“He’s not—he loves me, dad. I know he does,” you sigh, eyes welling up. “I don’t know why I’m holding back.”

“You’re protecting yourself. Maybe a little too much.”

You furrow your eyebrows, looking over at him. “Is that bad?”

“Not all the time,” he says, drinking his own coffee. “I’d rather you be too careful than not enough.”

Too careful. It’s something that you’d always been in so many different ways, but especially when it came to boys and love—when it came to Rafe Cameron.

It started with completely ignoring him whenever you couldn’t hide your feelings around him as a young teenager, no longer talking whenever he’d join a group, sitting as far away from him as possible in whatever classes you shared—even though you’d somehow always get paired up anyways. And it evolved into this practiced indifference that came across as disinterest once you two got older, once Rafe seemed to discover girls and you boys, but never each other. Even though you always knew. Even though you couldn’t help the times you slipped up around him, looked at him too long or pushed a “just friends” boundary too far, and could now look back and recognize the moments when he couldn’t either. These random moments of longing that never amounted to anything, and then you ran far, far away from him.

But the distance and the lessened communication that came with college did nothing to help you shake him. Just like Rafe, you were always prying for information from your friends, or seeking him out at house parties during spring breaks, even if just to exchange greetings and a quick hug. It was just years of hiding, pining, running—until you couldn’t run anymore, until you didn’t want to.

And you realize, you still don’t. And you’ll never want to again.

“Okay,” you say, standing abruptly, handing your coffee off to your dad. He smiles up at you. “I’m gonna go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is this you’re going?” your mom says, making her way out to the patio as well, looking far too put together for this early in the morning. “Will you be back by lunch? You said you’d be home to help before tomorrow, remember? Speaking of—did you invite Rafe?”

“I’m going to see him,” you say, barely paying attention to your mom’s rambles until you hear his name. “Right now, actually.”

“Y/n,” your mother says, sounding slightly scandalized, taking in your attire. “Well not like that you’re not. At least run a brush through your hair, or put on a dress, sweetie—”

But you don’t care, can barely hear her, your messy hair and old embroidered college sweatshirt a mere afterthought as you made your way back into the house in search of your car keys.

“Relax, honey,” you hear your dad reassure her. “Rafe won’t care.”

—

If you could focus on anything besides how nervous you were, you might be the slightest bit regretful you hadn’t taken your mom’s advice. It was a rough night, and you could see it in your face as you sat parked outside of Tannyhill, the driving visor in your Range Rover flipped down so you could take in your appearance. Your best bet is to at least throw on some backup perfume and cherry chapstick from your center console, which you still don’t even do, forcing yourself out of the car as soon as you clock only Sarah and Rafe’s cars parked in the driveway. You really didn’t mind seeing Rose most of the time, but seeing Ward’s SUV in the driveway on the rare occasions Rafe would invite you over to Tannyhill was always enough to put you on edge, so you’re thankful when they’re nowhere to be found even at the early hour.

It’s not until you’re walking up the path to the front door that it dawns on you your realization moment had come nearly at the crack of dawn, the sun higher in the sky at this point but still low enough to paint it hues of pink and blue.

“Y/n?”

Your second thoughts about the early hour dispel at the sound of Sarah’s voice, and you’re waving at her lamely as she looks at you in disbelief. Ah, so Rafe had told her. “Hey, Sarah.”

“Uh, hey,” she says, breaking into a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Rafe’s home, right?”

“Yeah, he’s home. Think he’s swimming though,” she says, making your eyes widen. “Don’t worry, inside. And Wheezie went to work with Rose.”

“Ah,” you say, nodding in understanding. You rock back onto the balls of your feet a bit awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you. “So, uh—how’s school? Did you end up rushing?”

“No,” she says, smiling. “My friend, Kie—she has this whole thing. Apparently sororities can be, like, wildly unethical?”

You nod, feeling yourself relax a little at the menial conversation. Sarah had always been great at talking your ear off whenever you came around, not that you minded. You always saw the effort Rafe put into connecting with Dylan, and you had no problem doing the same. “Well, I hope you’re still having fun.”

“Yeah,” she says, adjusting her bag in her arms, still smiling at you. “Are you here to like, talk to him… or—”

Sarah’s mischievous prying is thankfully cut off when the crunch of gravel distracts you both, signaling another vehicle pulling up in the driveway—the most disgusting brown van you’ve ever seen in your life.

Your unlikely partner in crime is waving from the driver’s seat to Sarah. But then John B sees you and he just points, a huge smile on his face. You have to refrain from laughing in disbelief, just smiling and pointing right back at him before you finally turn and make your way inside the house, patting a confused Sarah on the shoulder as you pass her by. “Have fun!”

The house is practically dead silent when you enter, the echo of the sound of the door clicking shut bouncing off of the walls.

The drive here and the walk-up was all fueled by pure adrenaline, surprise, fumes, sleep deprivation—who knows. Pretty much anything but the courage you actually needed.

Now you stand in Rafe’s foyer, only your insecurities standing between you and what you wanted. You blackout on the walk down the hall to the Camerons’ indoor pool—hardly the Olympic size Rafe was used to at Kildare Academy, but he said it did the job. If he wasn’t swimming in it during off-season, he was sneaking you and a group of friends in when his dad was out of town in high school—more often than not ignoring anyone else in the vicinity while he hovered around you.

But with so much time spent away you realize you no longer immediately associate Rafe’s home with the high school days—those memories replaced by the last summer you spent here. Intimidating dinners with his family, the random glass of wine with Rose every now and then, hangs with Kelce and Topper in the pool house, the times you’d crouched over the dining room table to help Wheezie with her practice SAT essays.

Rafe sneaking you upstairs to his room whenever he could, leading you out to the Druthers with a smile on his face, or the two of you quietly slipping down to the cellar near the basement to grab a bottle of wine before you went to sit on the porch swing and watch the sunset together. This version of Rafe that used to seem new, but was in actuality all too familiar.

You roll your neck and take one last shaky breath before you’re sliding the door to the pool room open.

He’s sitting on the side of the pool when you enter, chest heaving like he’d just finished a few laps, looking down at where his legs rest in the water. His hair is a wet mess, his goggles pulled up to his forehead. Rafe must not hear the door, because he makes no immediate move, stuck staring into the turquoise water until you clear your throat.

“Y/n/n?”

You’re both frozen for a second, until you speak again, realizing he was waiting for you to respond. “Rafe, hi.”

“W-what are you doing here?” he asks, his facial features slipping into worry once he assesses yours. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you—” you gesture wildly to where he’s still in the pool.

“Yeah,” he says, lifting himself over the edge. He grabs a towel resting over one of the chairs, running it quickly over his body and his hair, and part of you is just a little angry he’s shirtless and dripping wet while you’re trying to have this conversation with him—a conversation that requires judgment and focus. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking. A lot,” you start. “Since last night. I really didn’t sleep that much.”

“Okay,” he nods, hands on his hips. He runs the towel over his hair again, gesturing to one of the chaise lounges as he nears you. “Do you… wanna sit?”

You shake your head firmly. “No.”

He sighs, shoulders deflating. His hair is stuck up every which way, goggle impressions encircling his eyes. You know he only swims nowadays when he’s stressed. “Okay. Whenever you wanna—you look… you’re scaring me, sweetheart.“

“No,” you say, hopefully stopping that thought before he can even think it, shaking your hands out. “No, don’t be scared. I’m just, like, really trying to hype myself up a bit here.”

“No?” he asks, stepping closer to you. “Y/n, I know you needed time. And I don’t mind, I was even thinking… if you need it, we could wait ‘til the holidays? And then we can talk again. I mean, I’ll still be… yours and everything—“

You shake your head again. No more time, no more waiting.

“No, no more time. I don’t want any more time, Rafe. I want…” you trail off, a hand coming to cradle the side of his face, your thumb swiping under his eye and your other fingers tangled into his wet hair. Rafe holds his breath, eyes never straying from your own as you search his entire face. “I want you. Now. We’ve already waited so long, and—I love you, Rafe. And I knew you were struggling a-and I didn’t say anything because I was scared, and I didn’t want you to know that I knew you were freaking out—and I should’ve just fucking told you about the baby as soon as I found out—”

Rafe grabs your hand where it’s on his face, squeezing it lightly. “Y/n/n, hey. No that’s okay, really—”

“No, it’s not, Rafe. Because I was worried just like you were, and I wanted to keep all of the hard stuff away because finally letting myself fall in love with you was just like—it was so easy, Rafe. Like I always thought it would be since I was a kid. But I wasn’t ready for the hard parts,” you say, breathing heavily at this point, trying to ground yourself through your touch on his face. “I thought it’d be easier to just not deal with it, but then not having you—after I finally got you. That was the actual hard part.”

Rafe just nods. “I know.”

“So it’s gonna be hard sometimes, yeah? But we have to figure it out,” you say. “I wanna figure it out with you. Everything with your dad, and where we end up, all of it.”

“I know, me too.”

“But you have to—Rafe,” you say, your voice breaking. You can finally say it, what you bit back at the airport, what some part of you had always known. “You have to know you’re it for me, right? Like there’s nothing—there’s nobody else better for me, that can give me more or be what you think I need, there’s nobody, baby—it’s just you.”

“It’s me?”

“It’s you,” you breathe. “So you don’t get to just freak out and break up with me.”

“Fuck—I know, never. I mean it.”

“You know?”

“I know.”

“So, can you—”

“Gonna kiss you now, Y/l/n.”

And Rafe’s glancing between your eyes and your lips several times, then finally bringing you into the kiss you’d been aching for for weeks, neither of you paying any mind to the way his hair is dripping water onto your forehead, his wet swim trunks leaving a watermark on your sweatshirt and jeans where he has your hips pulled flush into his, one hand on your back and the other immediately in your hair. He pulls back after a while, practically gasping. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“Love you too,” you say, arms around his neck as you tug him back down. “Missed you.”

“Missed you. More,” he claims, pulling back long enough to look into your eyes. “And I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“No more secrets, for real this time,” he says, a hand under your chin. He kisses you when you nod. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

“And Rafe, with your dad… I just really want you to be happy, okay?” you say, pulling back to stare into his eyes. “I don’t care if he doesn’t like us together. Figure it out however you need to, and I’ll be there for you.”

Rafe sighs, eyes slipping shut as he thinks for a second. “I know. I’m figuring that one out, Y/n/n. It’s not going to be easy, but… think I have my priorities in order now.”

“Me too,” you smile, so happy that your breakup is already something you’re talking about in past tense. You bite your lip, eyes flicking across his face before you venture on. “I want you to know that I haven’t watered your plant once, by the way. And it’s still alive and kicking.”

Rafe grins at that, all attempts to keep you dry completely gone as he finally pushes you back into the main part of the house, hands firm on your hips. “Well, I didn’t even open that essay you edited. Found an old draft and just turned it in. B minus.”

“Rafe, I would’ve gotten you an A,” you say, reaching up and kissing just his bottom lip. You swipe your thumb over it, grin matching his.

“I will buy you a new plant,” he says, hand sliding into the strands of hair at the nape of your neck, still attempting to kiss you, talk to you, and lead you through Tannyhill simultaneously. “Promise. And you should also know you and those stupid jeans ruined my favorite movie franchise for me.”

You laugh out loud at that, fading into giggles as Rafe pecks your cheeks and chin where you’re pressed up against the stair banister, making his way down your neck before he has to pull himself back. “Yeah? Haven’t been able to listen to that indie band you hate in weeks, Cameron.”

“Okay, I’m not apologizing for that one,” Rafe laughs, the sound resonating in your chest. “I did you a favor. Also, I kept finding your hair everywhere.”

“Mm, wait—kinda love that one,” you preen, a hand scratching lightly at his scalp. “Still mine?”

“Still yours. Always been yours, baby,” Rafe says, glint in his eye when he pulls back again. “You didn’t correct that waiter at dinner, in California, did you Y/n Cameron?”

You have to push him off of you just long enough to actually make it inside of his bedroom—which he obviously makes harder than it needs to be. And then it’s water dripping all over the floor, your shoes being kicked off, a flurry of your bodies trying to reconnect in every single way as your voices did the same.

“I know. And I kept your shirt after you left,” you practically whine, still flustered from his last confession, letting him strip you of your sweatshirt as he presses kisses down your neck.

“Knew it was missing. I thought you might have added it to the collection,” Rafe laughs, walking you back toward his unmade bed easily. Your skin sings at the familiar brush of his cotton sheets. “That has to be at least five at this point.”

You just look up at him where he’s still standing over you, smirk on your lips. “Well. Six, if you count high school.”

“Mine,” Rafe breathes, practically melting down into you, lips pressing into every accessible part of your skin, two fingers tugging one of your bra straps down and to the side when he runs out of room. “Always been mine, too, yeah?”

“Yes, Rafe, fuck,” you keen, feeling his hand finally slip to the button of your jeans. He pauses his work on your neck, leaning back to gauge a reaction from you before he continues.

“Can I?”

“Please,” you nod, nerves on fire as he finally drags your jeans down your legs, dropping them to the floor underneath him. It’s barely 7AM, you got here maybe ten minutes ago, and you know you must look a disheveled and over-tired mess by the time Rafe has you nearly bare and back in his bed again.

But your boy just looks down at you in wonder, one hand holding himself up as the other tries to find a place to settle on your body, finally resting on the side of your face, thumbing at your bottom lip. He leans down for a searing kiss, basically just two smiles pressing together when the lust momentarily wears off and you’re both just grinning idiots; Rafe pulls back just far enough to whisper something against your lips.

“Hi again, dream girl.”

—

@moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @pogueslandia @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @rafeseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46 @cameronsrafe @theepoguelandia @judayyyw @irlpadfoot @synonymforlame @tinawhynot @mildkleptomaniac @ilymarkchan @sofiatheseconf @hockeyshmockey @supersouthy @coffeeandcrimeshows @emptyloverofmine @gublerspublers @infinitleyethereal @nerdypartytrashpsychic @mrs-cameron @tcmhollnd @nicavass @sakikos @catonthesideoftheroad @jemimah-b99 @serrendipiity @depressinq @svechnibrock @julianakawaja @ctrlcherries @lostaurorax @wildflower98 @babygirl2022 @lieswithoutfairytales @painlesslies @messagesinthesky @orrsoared @destourtereaux @sammywilscn @tylernagle @anonymousobxfan

[kyunsies]

technically kakaom had all rights to the music that was pulled so a lawsuit is highly unlikely. it won't allow me to add links in the ask but if you looked around you can find articles and better explanations as to why and how they're allowed to do stuff like this especially because it's a Korean company so things are much different for them then they are globally when it comes to companies

I'm previous anon but it also should be looked at from a business standpoint. KakaoM is the distributor and if an agreement couldn't be reach it wouldn't only affect them but artists that were involved 😕

you don't have to post those and I hope they didn't come off rude I just wanted to shed some light or insight on the situation from another view🥺

hi anonnie!!!! i’m sure you know a lot more about this situation than i do lol ;; after all i am an international fan and do not know all of the inner workings of KakaoM and i refuse to go on twitter to seek more information so i’ve just been piecing together what my irl and moots have been saying!! PLUS i am not a business major of any kind i am your fellow nurse who knows nothing about this stuff so again i’m sure you know how this is working :/ i understand what you’re saying!! i just think it’s terrible that artists are hurt by this because a) ppl who dont have kakao cannot stream their music and b) a lot of this was done without their knowledge i think?? just hurts me knowing that they are the ones who are suffering ... if KakaoM were to do anything though, why not just make spotify unavailable in those countries you know? so that only the ppl who use it will, you know, USE IT!! as an international fan i can assure that i do not use kakao or melon to stream music LOL to me it just doesn't make any sense. plus those who are new idols, like, if their music got wiped from spotify how will they ever have the chance to get a following if ppl don’t even know their music exists if it weren’t for spotify??? just thinking out loud here angel i know u didn’t mean anything by it don't worry !!! <3 thank u for your insight angel!!!!!