#obs drabble

[bubblesgarden]

reading rafe’s palm ｡˚○ — witchy!reader & rafe cameron

( this was inspired by a comment on one of my posts — thank u angel ! )

it started as a joke. 

you’d been sitting cross legged next to him on the old dock the two of you seemed to find each other. your cardigan was draped messily on your shoulders. rafe was sat next to you, legs dangling over the edge, feet kicking lightly. he had his hood pulled up over his blond hair, blue eyes dark but curious. 

the sun was still low, casting a golden glow like honey over the marsh, everything quiet besides the creak of the boards and the occasional birdcall. your candles from earlier were burned low beside you, stubs now— but the scent still lingered. warm, spicy, a little like clove.

“so,” he said, eyes darting to the line of thread bracelets around your wrist. “are you actually going to hex me or what?”

you snorted, not looking at him. “you’re not important enough for a hex.”

rafe blinked, almost stunned by your words. “wow. harsh.”

you turned then, that familiar half smile playing at your mouth. “i could read your palm though. if you’re not scared.” 

“i’m not scared,” he said too quickly, dark eyes a little brighter now, holding your gaze intensely. 

you only raised your brows at him, a small smirk forming on your features. “then give me your hand, cameron.”

he hesitated, then slowly reached over. his hand was bigger than yours, warmer. you turned it gently, palm up, tracing your finger delicately along the lines with an unexpected kind of reverence. it made his heart do something weird— something not okay. 

“okay,” you murmured, focusing. “this is your life line. long. that’s good. strong stamina, lots of life force. you’re grounded, whether you admit it or not. you’re stubborn, though. you fight against fate.” 

rafe scoffed. “sure.”

“you are. you just don’t know where to plant yourself yet.”

his eyes flickered to yours, frowning slightly. you weren’t teasing. you were serious. soft. 

“this one here,” you continued, touching a curve near his thumb, “is your heart line. it’s deep— intense. you feel things hard, even when you pretend not to. sometimes that gets you in trouble.” 

his throat went dry, causing him to swallow thickly. “that supposed to be some kind of diagnosis?” you smiled softly at him, shaking your head. “it’s just the map.”

he let you keep going. let you touch him with slow, thoughtful fingers that didn’t make him flinch, and it made his chest hurt, because he couldn’t remember the last time that happened. 

eventually, you leaned back, letting his hand go. “you’ve got fire in your hands,” you said softly. “like you were meant to do something.”

“yeah, well,” he mumbled, trying to clear his throat. “what if all i ever do is fuck things up?”

you didn’t answer right away. 

then: “even a forest fire clears the way for the new growth.”

rafe blinked at you. 

jesus. how were you like this?

after a moment, he shook it off— smirking as he reached for your hand. “alright, my turn.” 

you raised an eyebrow at him, but let his fingers turn your palm upright gently. “you don’t know how to read palms.” 

“yeah, but i watched you. how hard can it be?” you laughed, shifting a little so you were facing him more. “fine. impress me.”

he squinted at your palm dramatically, humming softly. “okay, this line… says you’re bossy. you rolled your eyes at him. “accurate.”

“this one means you talk to birds.” “i do talk to birds.” 

“figures.” he ran a finger along a faint crease, noticing the stark difference in the warmth of his hand and the coldness of yours. “this one? that means you— um—” his voice slowed. “you like sitting on docks with guys who don’t deserve your time.” you went still. 

his thumb lingered on your wrist, the pad of it brushing lightly over your pulse. 

you looked up at him then, and something about the way you were watching him— calm, open, seeing him— made the air feel heavier. “maybe i just have good instincts,” you whispered. he swallowed. “maybe.” the moment stretched like honey. soft and golden, and a little dangerous. 

then you pulled your hand away gently. 

“i’d give your palm reading skills a 4 out of 10.”

“ouch.”

“but… i’ll let you try again sometime.”

rafe grinned, truing to mask how much that meant. “deal.” 

but then you looked up at him again— eyes all moonlight and mischief —and something in his chest snapped. not in a painful way. more like something finally giving way after too long wound too tight. and before he could second guess himself, before he could remind himself that he’s rafe cameron and you’re you, he leaned in and kissed you. 

it wasn’t perfect. it was too fast, too sudden, like he didn’t trust himself to wait another second. his palm still burned where you’d traced it. his mouth pressed to yours with the kind of tension that had nowhere else to go. like the kiss had been clawing its way up his throat for days, maybe weeks. 

your lips parted in surprise, but you didn’t pull back. you let it happen. you let him happen. and then you kissed him back. 

it wasn’t soft, but it was real. 

there was salt in the air and dirt on his hoodie. his fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisted in the soft fabric at his chest like you needed something to hold on to. 

and when he finally pulled back, his breath caught. 

you were smiling. 

not smug, not teasing— just knowing. like maybe you’d seen this coming in his palm the whole time. 

“told you you had fire in your hands,” you murmured, cheeks flushed pink. 

rafe swallowed hard, overwhelmed. you didn’t press him, you just squeezed his hand gently. 

“let’s see what you do with it.” 

and somehow, that scared him more than the kiss did. because for once, he didn’t want to burn it down. 

he wanted to learn how to keep it.

requests are open !