rafe had woken up before dawn, already wired with that kind of restlessness that made his skin feel too tight for his body. the walls of tanneyhill felt like they were closing in on him, the silence too loud. he didn’t even bother with breakfast; just laced up his sneakers, grabbed a hoodie, and hit the road.
running helped… sometimes. not with the anger, exactly. that stayed. but it dulled the noise in his head. pushed it down beneath the thud of his shoes on asphalt and the burn of cold air in his lungs.
he was two miles out when his phone started to buzz.
top. [6:34AM]
yo
top. [6:35AM]
kelce wants to hit the gym.
top. [6:35AM]
bring that preworkout u use.
top [6:37AM]
???
rafe rolled his eyes as he thumbed through the texts. typical.
he didn’t reply.
instead, he veered off the road, ducking into a narrow trail that he used to take when he was younger. it cut through the trees, curled around the marsh, and spat you out at the dock. and he needed the dock— needed the stillness of it.
or maybe he just needed air that didn’t reek of chlorine, bourbon, and lies.
you’re barefoot the first time rafe sees you.
not the typical flip flops off at the beach barefoot, but barefoot at the edge of the trees, crouched besides a tree stump, lighting something in a tiny dish that smells like rosemary and smoke. rafe almost didn’t see you, completely lost in his own world— earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat. but when the wind shifts, that's when he can smell the smoke.
you don’t startle when he notices you, instead, you just glance up, offering him a tiny smile like you’d already knew he’d be there.
and rafe slows down, but only for a second. and still, he looked back.
rafe’s knew who you were, of course. everyone on the island knew you— kooks laugh about you with their friends, the pogues joke about you like you’re their in house forest spirit. you’re that weird girl who lives on the cut, raised by your grandmother who had the same connection with the earth as you did. you did tarot readings at bonfires, trading for beer and sea shells.
you were strange.
and rafe cameron doesn’t do strange, or at least that’s what he tells himself.
but somehow? he kept running into you— at the dock, braiding wildflowers into kiara’s hair. at the small cafe on the corner, scribbling in a worn leather notebook and ignoring your food. he saw you in a bookstore, curled up in the floor in the spiritual section like you belonged there more than anywhere else.
“you know most of that stuff’s just made up, right?” he said, nodding toward the open book in your lap. his voice was lazy, a little condescending, trying to sound more sure than he felt. and when you tilted your head at him as you looked up, he couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat.
“so are stories. doesn’t make them any less powerful.”
he scoffed, walking away from you. but that night, he dreamt of the ocean swallowing him whole.
you were like a splinter in his brain. he tells topper you’re a freak, saying your whole ‘moon child swamp witch’ thing is a performance— he says it with his chest, but he still goes quiet when your name comes up. still finds excuses to be near places you might be. he starts to pay attention, noticing things like little bundles of herbs tied to fences, strange symbols etched into drift wood.
and you? you don’t chase him. you don’t flirt with him, or force anything. but you see him. you look at him like you know something he doesn’t. like you’ve looked straight through that carefully polished exterior he holds so proudly and seen whatever’s underneath— bruised, rotting, and aching for something soft.
summary- Two days pass since Sevika was at the shop. Apothecary receives interesting intel and she spends some time at the local brothel and gets an unexpected visit.
warnings- SMUT THIS CHAPTER!! sesbian lex, fingering+oral (oc!recieving), reader is gettin the job done (she’s a giver) Sevika is her own warning:)
words- 3.5k
a/n- yes smut witchy!reader is finally gettin some and sevika tension omggg i was biting my lip while writing their scene and ofc readers brothel scene🫦👩❤️💋👩 this is my first time writing smut so bare with me annnd I recommend listening to "slow like honey" by Fiona Apple while reading
minors don’t enter for real this time!!
It has been two days since Sevika’s last visit. I tidied up the shop a bit to distract myself; I bought Hex a little lilac collar; I got tons of new herbs and flowers, and Seraphine came by before opening to have tea and breakfast with me. Now I’m alone, alone with my thoughts again.
I shake away the uneasy feeling that swarms around me and go to light my candles instead. I have candles that line almost every flat surface in the shop. Not just for the aroma and decor but for Janna. Janna is the ancient wind spirit that has kept me and many citizens of Zaun strong and holding their heads high.
In the depths of Zaun, where smog chokes the sky and the wind fights to weave through rusted metal and crumbling stone, the lighting of a candle is more than a mere act of illumination—it is an offering. A whisper of flame against the dark, a plea carried on the smoke to something unseen, something ancient.
Janna does not ask for worship, nor does she demand tribute, but those who still believe in her—those who feel the faint kiss of a breeze when all should be still—light candles in her name. They are sacrifices of warmth to the wind, gifts of fleeting light in a place where daylight is scarce. The flame flickers, wavers, and dances, feeding the unseen currents that coil through the city’s veins. Some say she listens to the prayers carried in the curling wisps of smoke, that she breathes them in like a promise, like a memory of the world before Zaun sank into shadow.
And when the wind howls through the alleys, tearing through the smog and carrying away the heavy air just long enough for the desperate to take a full breath—those who know Janna’s name whisper their gratitude and light another candle.
At least that’s what my father told me before his end.
As I am lighting the last candle, my bell rings. “Hey,” I hear from behind me. It was Ran.
“Well, hello dear, long time no see. What does the boss want?” I ask while crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh, I'm here to actually chat this time.” They chuckled. “So what’s up withcy? I got some free time before I have to pick something up for Silco.” I chuckled. Ran came up with that nickname after their first visit to the shop. “Oh, are you now? Well, what would you like to talk about, Ran?” I asked them. Ran took a seat on my sofa with a huff and pretended to ponder in thought at my question. “Hmmmm. Oh! Actually, I heard that Sevika came by a couple of days ago… She was hurt pretty bad, and she came to the shop, right?” I swallowed but kept my cool and nodded. “Yes, that is right, she did. Let her sleep on the sofa, and she left at dawn before I could check her wounds.”
Ran nodded while stretching out their limbs. “Wow, I am shocked, honestly. She’s usually pretty stubborn when Singe tries to help her out, but it’s rare that she gets really hurt, you know.” Ran kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I just stared into the pillow that’s placed next to them on the sofa. I tuned back in when Ran let out a little yelp. I looked at them, and it was just Hex terrorizing them.
“Aw honey, that’s my new cat, sorry. Hex! Stop that.” I scolded the feline. Ran laughed and petted the cat on her small head. I could have sworn I saw Hex glare at them.
“So, uh, did Sevika say something, or did Silco mention it?...” I asked Ran. Ran leaned back and put an arm behind the top of the sofa. “A bit of both? I was in Silco’s office when she walked in, and she said she went to you, but then I got kicked out, so I don’t know what they talked about. Sorry.”
All I did was nod. “Don’t be sorry, hun, I was just… curious.” I said with a small smile.
Time to run some errands.
The streets of Zaun hum with life as I weave through the crowds, my satchel bouncing against my hip. The scent of damp metal and distant oil fires mingles with the sharper tang of herbs hanging from vendor stalls. I pluck a bundle of dried lavender from a familiar cart, the old woman behind it nodding in silent recognition as I drop a few coins into her wrinkled palm.
Further down, I stop at a rusted-out pharmacy, ducking under a low-hanging pipe to step inside. The air is thick with incense, sharp and medicinal. I run my fingers over rows of glass jars, selecting a fine white powder I know will mix well with my own remedies. The shopkeeper doesn’t ask questions—he never does. I hand him his payment and leave without a word.
My last stop is a small, tucked-away stall near the Sump. The vendor, a man with ink-stained fingers, hands me a wrapped bundle of thick parchment. Good paper is hard to find here, and I’ve learned to take it when I can.
With my errands complete, I make my way back, the familiar hum of the Lanes settling into the background. It’s only when I push open the door to my shop that the bell jingles softly and then I pause.
Sevika is here.
She’s sitting on my couch like she never left, one arm draped over the backrest, her mechanical fingers tapping idly against the fabric. Her boots are kicked up on my table—on the same spot where her lipstick-stained mug sat days ago.
She glances up, unimpressed. “Took you long enough.”
I blink at her, then sigh, closing the door behind me. So much for a quiet afternoon.
I set my things down onto the counter and then go back to flip the sign in my window to ‘closed.’
“What are you doing here?” I asked calmly but sternly—or attempted to, at least. I was still in shock. She stood up from the couch, her red cloak hanging on her shoulders as she did so. “Silco wants a few things.” Sevika replied bluntly. “Well, why didn’t he send Ran?” I asked back, genuinely asking since they were in the area earlier.
She shrugged. “Why? Not happy to see me?” She walked closer to me. I stepped back slowly and hit my counter, successfully pinning me against the wood. Sevika now loomed right over me, just looking into my soul. Without looking away from me, she reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper, and gave it to me. At first I just stared blankly at it, but then I shook it off and read that it was a supply list. Sevika stood still, almost caging me in, leaving me against the counter, but I squeezed out and pretty much ran to the back.
I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. What in Zaun just happened? What was that about? What is this feeling? I just stood there for a long minute trying to recollect myself and snap out of whatever daze I was in.
After what felt like hours, I emerged from the beaded curtain with a basket of everything Silco wanted. Sevika was leaning against the counter, the counter she practically pinned me against. I walked behind it and set the basket down loudly.
“20 coins, please.” She smirked and reached into her pocket and pulled out a little chain purse and set it down next to the basket. “Thanks, doll, I’ll be sure to tell Silco of your cooperation.” And with that, she grabbed the basket and walked out. I stood there dumbfounded. Was this some sort of test? A test of my patience? Janna, she is infuriating.
After that, the shop remained empty and quiet. It was just Hex and I doing nothing on a Friday night. Until I got an idea. Was it a good idea? Probably not. I wanted to take a visit to the Gardens. The Gardens is the most popular brothel in Zaun and another place that fell to Silco’s advances, which is why I have not been there for… pleasure. Sometimes I will go because one of the girls fell ill and needed a remedy for small things like that only in business.
But tonight I wanted a distraction; no, I needed a distraction. My encounter with Sevika would not leave my head, and I don’t know why. It made me livid.
So I went to my room to rummage through my drawers and my closet for something sexier to wear. My eyes landed on this velvet burgundy dress I stole from a boutique up in Piltover. I was doing business and conducting research there two years ago. I never had an event to wear this little number to. Until now.
I locked up the shop and put my coat on, then made my walk over to the Gardens. I always keep a pocket knife on me when I walk out at night. Even though most people avoid me since I am known to be the ‘weird lady who still worships Janna’ or because I sell poisons so abused women can murder evil men.
When I arrived at the double doors, two burly men walked out, clearly high out of their minds, and cackled loudly. Gross. Men literally irk me to my core. I walk in the building, and it’s just like I remembered. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, the soft magenta lighting all throughout the place, and the women talking in sultry tones. Exactly what I needed. I see Babette at the front desk. She recognized me immediately.
“Wow, darling, is it really you? Come, come, let me get a good look atcha.” She said with her low, raspy voice. It made me smile; it’s good to see an old friend. “Why yes, Babette, it is me in the flesh.” She smiles with her signature crooked grin. “None of the girls are ill, so what can I do for you?” I bit my bottom lip for a moment, mentally preparing myself for what I am about to ask. “Well, I was hoping I could spend an hour with one of your beautiful girls.” I said, low but loud enough for her to hear me. This made Babette smirk. She surveyed the room to see if anyone was free or roaming around alone, and while she was doing so, I felt someone’s presence behind me, taking my coat off. I turned around; it was a beautiful tan woman with this deep red hair that almost looked like blood. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you, taking my coat.” This made the woman blush. She bit her lip. “Hmm? Can I at least get a name, sweetheart?” It was like I was back in my element. This made me realize how long it has been since I have been with a woman. It felt good.
“Cherry, my name is Cherry, but you can call me whatever you want.” She said with a pretty smile. She had such plump lips. “Oh, Cherry, very pretty; that explains your hair too.” I said to her, and I took her free hand that wasn't holding my coat. “Would you lead the way to your room, sweet thing?” She nodded rather enthusiastically. I chuckled under my breath as she dragged me away. Babette winked at me.
She brought me to a small, cozy room with a mini bar and a bed flush against the wall. Cherry hung my coat on a hook near the curtain. “Would you like a drink?” I nodded. “Sure hun, what do you have for me?” I said in a sultry tone. She squatted in front of the bar, examining the bottles on the last level of the cart. “Bourbon, vodka, tequila, and rum.” I walked over to lean against the wall so I was standing in front of her crouching form. “Hm, I will have a glass of bourbon, please, dear.” She nodded with a grin and stood up to pour it for me. “Thank you, darling.” She nodded and blushed. She stood in front of me closely. I took this as an opportunity to admire her little outfit as I sipped the strong liquor. She had on black lingerie and a black sheer babydoll dress over it. Cute.
“You look very pretty, Cherry.” She blushes a deep shade. “Thank you, miss.” I chuckle mid-sip. “No, honey, you can call me by my name.” I tell her my name, and she repeats it, testing it on her tongue. It sounded like a melody coming from her lips. Cherry came closer towards me; now I can feel her warm breath against my lips. With the heeled boots I am wearing, I’m a little over two inches taller than her.
“What would you like tonight?” She practically purred. I set my drink down onto one of the coasters on the bar top. “Oh sweetheart, I just want to explore you, take care of you, and feel your gorgeous body under mine. If that’s alright with you, of course.” I said flirtatiously. She was back to blushing. Not surprised since I’m sure she didn’t get this treatment a lot. Always having to please others, and the poor girl doesn’t get taken care of the proper way she should. “Really, baby? Is that what you want?” She was closer to me now, her body almost completely flush against mine. Caressing my velvet-clad shoulders. I nodded slowly. “Mhm, sweetheart. Just wanna make you feel good.” I said simply. And with that she reached behind me to untie the strings that kept the top half of my dress up. When it fell, I felt her trace her dainty fingers across all the intricate patterns and lines of my back tattoo. I got a hold of her waist and brought her back to standing in front of me.
“Can you strip for me, darling?” I asked in a soft, sensual tone. She nodded and slipped her sheer dress over her head and got to work on unclipping her bra. Holy Janna, her breasts were beautiful. It has truly been too long. When she was completely nude, I gently guided her to the bed and pushed her onto it. She caged me in between her smooth legs. I leaned down and started to softly kiss her jaw and her throat. She was so soft against me. She let out a soft moan of my name as I bit the spot behind her ear.
“What do you want?” I asked, muffled into her neck. She whined. “I need words, baby, just tell me it’s okay.” I said, moving away from her neck and looking into her brown eyes. Cherry took one of my hands that held her waist and interlaced our fingers. “Want you to touch me, p-please with your fingers.” She stuttered and blushed. How cute. “Yeah, that’s what you want? All you had to do was ask for it, my love.” I cooed. And with that I stood on my feet to shuck off my dress fully this time. Revealing my bare body to her. She unashamedly licked her plump pink lips. Almost made me blush. No one has looked at me like she was right now in years. I crawled back on top of her and roughly kissed and bit at her neck. Not too hard, though, because I knew the rules around here. No marks.
I eventually kissed my way down to her tummy and gave her soft kisses and licks around there and towards her hips. I nibbled there too. I couldn’t resist. While I gave small, almost feather-light kisses to her thighs, I trailed my fingers to her core. But not touching, almost taunting her to ask for it again. She whined, and I smirked. “What is it, baby? I told you to use your words if ya wanted something.” She squirmed under me. “Your fingers, please; I want them so bad, baby.” She said in a desperate tone. Exactly what I wanted. With that I spread her pussy with two of my fingers. Gosh, she was so damn wet. Getting my fingers all sticky and slicked up.
“Hmm, so wet, honey, is this all for me?” I teased her. She nodded rapidly and bucked her hips into my hand. Urging me. That’s all it took. I gently eased my middle finger into her warmth. I pumped it for a few seconds, then curled it on her sweet spot and held it there. She moaned and bucked her hips more. I chuckled, then kissed and sucked at her thighs. I eased my pointer finger into her pussy, then curled it to meet the other one. She arched her back and howled my name.
I kissed her inner thighs and then kissed her clit, gently teasing her. Then sucked hard. She grabbed at my hair and moaned louder than the last time. I smirked against her bud and pumped my fingers harder and faster into her. I can feel her clenching around my digits, so I licked at her clit before taking it into my warm mouth again and curled my two fingers into her g-spot until she evidently came all over my face and coated my hand. I let her ride her high, and I gently eased my fingers out of her. I placed one last kiss on her clit and leaned back onto my haunches.
I licked and sucked my fingers that were covered in her sweet essence and moaned louder than I wanted to. I swear she tasted like a cherry pastry. She was panting softly and very flushed in her face and chest. But she locked her eyes onto mine as I sucked on my fingers like it was a lollipop. I let go of my fingers with an audible pop and smirked down at her.
“How was that, darling?” I asked. She laid her head back against the comforter and had a dopey smile on her face. “Mmm, very good.” I smiled and leaned down to leave a soft kiss on her lips.
I got off the bed and found our discarded clothes. I folded up her outfit and placed it next to her on the bed. I redressed myself and put my boots back on. Cherry watched me hazily. I walked over to the side of the bed she was lying on and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, baby. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” And with that I opened the curtains and walked back to the counter and found Babette. She had a knowing grin on her wrinkled face.
“So how was your time with Cherry?” She asked as she was organizing papers. “Wonderful, do I pay with coins or papers?” I asked. “Oh, coins please, dear; let me go fetch her bin.” I nodded. I leaned against the counter and observed all the little trinkets that adorned her space. I was so in my head that I didn’t notice the presence looming over me. Until I heard her voice. “Oh well, look at what we have here.” Sevika. Fuck me. I slowly looked up at her. She had her usual red cloak covering half of her body, and she had a smug grin on her face. She raised an eyebrow when I wasn’t responding and just looking at her. “Piss off.” That’s all I could come up with.
“Oh? That’s how you greet me? I thought we were friends, sweetheart.” She kept that smug grin on her face. “I’m shocked you came to a place like this, doll; didn’t know you could get down and have fun.” She kept going. “Who did ya, see, huh? Bet it was Miguel, or do you like a big man? Was it Ezra?” She wouldn’t shut up. Luckily, Babette came to the rescue. “Alright dear, how much are you givin' Cherry?” That shut Sevika up really quick. Guess she wasn't expecting me to sleep with a woman.
“25.” I answered simply. I was desperate to leave as quickly as possible. “Have a good night, dear.” And with that I adjusted my coat and started to make my way towards the exit. But Sevika got a hold of my arm. “What the hell?” I said to her in a gruff tone. “You have a smudge there.” Before I could figure out where and what she was talking about, she used her flesh hand to wipe at my lip. Then let me go and walked to the desk. Like she didn’t just touch my lips. What the fuck.
The walk home was cold and long. I unlocked the door to my shop and lay on the couch with a defeated sigh. No matter what I did or who I did, Sevika just won’t leave me alone.
I have a few short fics written about a witchy!reader x avengers! So you’re not a witch like Wanda. You don’t have any special powers. You’re just spiritual in a sense. They can all be read separately! Here’s the first fic! Hope you enjoy! (This was all written on my phone so if it has mistakes I apologize!)
Warnings: a cuss word?
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
You have steve laying on the couch in the common room. You’ve placed candles and incense around the coffee table and dimmed the lights to get a good vibe going.
Annoyingly, He shifts for the hundredth time. The shiny purple stone falls off his forehead once again. You heavily sigh, “Steve! This is not going to work if you keep moving!” You’d think after sleeping for 70 years the man would have no issue remaining still for 10 minutes.
“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry!” There’s humor in his voice but he settles down and lays silently for you. You place all the crystals in their correct spots on his body and rub your palms together to start the healing. You start your movements and concentrate on each crystal to aid you with your work.
It’s nice watching Steve lay peacefully allowing you to do this for him. He’s done so much and carries so many burdens you can practically see the stress drifting off his body in waves. Eventually you lean down, giving a quick kiss to his hair line and whisper that you’re finished.
He lets out a content sigh and opens his eyes. He smiles up at you, “You know I actually feel a bit better! It was really peaceful actually-“ He’s cut off by two very loud and very dramatic gasps from across the room. “Holy shit! What did you do to her Stevie?!” Bucky yells. “I think she’s about to sacrifice you man!” Sam oh so dramatically adds. You send a teasing glare their way and Steve rolls his eyes with chuckle. “Well I guess there goes my peace.” Cue the offended sputtering from across the room.
Thanks for reading! I’m posting the other fics now!
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Lumberjack AU
Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader
WC: 2100+
Date posted: 20 Jan 2018
A/N: Y’all can thank @trevorcollumns for this part actually being completed. She’s become a nagging motivation and I love her to pieces for keeping me inspired with this fic. She refuses to let my interest move elsewhere, and I’m really thankful. Cya soon, my bitch. You can nag me in person soon!
The skull stares at you. It’s black empty sockets screaming with a loneliness that is not only striking, but fearful. Like the creature it once was continues to lament over its last moments alive. Jaw dislocated and limp, but cries so loud they’re deafening.
Ryan is right, the remnants of the animal before you hadn’t fallen to an ordinary predator.
The grooves carved into it’s features wander like footpaths traipsed through familiarity, smooth and deliberate when unwrapping the skin from bone. Intelligent. Not clusters of claw marks in sets of threes and fours, and not the aftermath of clumsy teeth trying to keep a hold - but created with a precision that you just can’t place.
Can’t place, at least, until an outstretched finger touches the bone. All at once the base of your skull is left searing, a prickling pain that glides smoothly up the centre of your head, right over until coming to sting at the bridge of your nose. Along with it comes a heat that circles your neck, the hollow of your throat closing with the pressure of unseen fingers.
“Fuck!” You recoil instantly, shuddering and hoping to pass the discomfort off as a reaction to the cold. The word slips from your lips before you can catch a breath, Ryan placing a cautionary hand against your lower back to stop you from toppling out of the crouch you’re folded into. “You’re right, this isn’t an animal… But why wouldn’t whoever it is take the head?”
“Y/N, come on.” Ryan gives you a concerned look. “Why’re you freaking out? I was kidding about the murder mystery thing. It’s probably just left over from a camper who needed a good meal.”
“In this weather?”
He doesn’t have a response.
Letting the hand he has against your back guide you into sitting, your legs guard the sides of the skull. You can’t help following the grooves; pressing their image against the memories you have of those adorning the window frames of Motbury, and decorating the bodies you’re now too familiar with.
“Why,” you ask again, reaching out to the bone again and pulling it into your lap, “would someone meticulously remove the head of a creature, skin the skull, and not take it with them? Surely a hunter wouldn’t chop off and clean the head before taking the body away. That doesn’t make sense.”
He struggles, uncertain of what answer you might possibly want. Taking the skull from you, Ryan turns it over in his hands, examining the clean separation that had seen it removed from the spine in the dimming evening light. “Well,” he says, “maybe he didn’t need it.”
-
The feeling of cobblestone pounds against the soles of your feet. Hard and aching in the cold. Bitter with every slap of your shoes as you run. The orange glow of streetlights trace the path you carve through the town, chasing the shadows you leave behind and playing in your hair. Scampering between your legs and leaping across the stone you bound over. Glinting against the black ice that has already managed to trip you twice, ground kissing the skin it’s left bruised across your hip and thigh.
Ryan’s confusion still rings in your ears. His alarmed expression, of which you had left in the snow as you’d rocketed to your feet and started moving, haunts the darkened spaced between houses and shop fronts.
He’d snatched out, crumpling to his knees as you’d darted away.
Instead of explaining, you’d thrown him an incoherent response and reminder for him to join dinner that night with nothing else on your mind besides racing thoughts and a need to find Detective Dooley. To hurl definitive evidence at his feet and demand that he acknowledge the grooves that match those found clinging to buildings. To force him to address the links exposed by the timeline you and Michael had slaved over. To make him see, once and for all, that the removal of the head and the slaughter of animals oh so long ago has to mean something. It just had to.
It had to.
The skull, minor in its existence, brings the three factors they’d been scratching their heads over together with clumsy a bow. Solidifying the concept of a copycat killer so much so that Jeremy will be unable to argue, and parading the fact that that whoever had been killing livestock hadn’t upgraded to children, but had kept a clear line between those he hunts. One for food, and one for fun.
It isn’t much, but it consumes you. Taking over your being and vibrating in your limbs, stretching tight across your icy cheekbones. But it’s more than the relief of a definitive copycat that spurs you on. Ryan’s comment had stirred something inside you. Flipped a switch and brought blinding possibilities you hadn’t yet considered.
If the killer didn’t take the skulls of animals because he didn’t need them or want them - he must have had a reason for collecting the heads that he does.
Your rampant thoughts, along with your being, collide into the figure in front of you. So dizzy in your mind that it takes you a moment to register the shock, the man is already grunting and skirting past. Swallowed again by the night. A shake of your head sees the panic dislodge and recognition take its place.
“Jeremy?” you call, waving a hand above your head and stumbling after him. “Hey, wait up. You’re just who I’m looking for.”
He doesn’t. Instead his head tucks deeper into his coat, shoulders hunched. The quickness of his pace is hard to match, but you manage.
"Slow down, J, I need to talk to you," you plead, catching his arm. But he still doesn't stop, shaking free and powering on into the snow. Recoiling, stung, you jam your hands into you pockets. "Are you kidding me? C’mon man, stop messing around. This is important."
“Then why don't you go and tell Ryan?”
The words burn, lashing out and leaving your skin raw.
“Excuse me?” you demand faintly, “what does Ryan have to do with anything?”
"I just figured," he starts, finally facing you with an expression set in stone, "that considering how close you've gotten, he's all you need."
“I'm trying to talk to you about the case, Detective. You know, the one where kids are dying? And you think now's a good time to go digging around in my personal life?”
"Why not?" he asks hollowly, and you take a step back. “Why shouldn't I treat you like everyone else in this town? I’d be covering all the bases like you want me to.”
“Jesus Christ, Jeremy!” you snap, infuriated at the man who cowers from your anger for a brief moment. “What the fuck is your problem? Just because you fancy Ryan doesn’t mean you get to be an ass to me!”
“Fancy Ryan?” He almost laughs, but stops himself, instead settling for bewilderment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Stop it.” Your eyes narrow at his defence, in no mood for his denials. A sharp gesture of your hand cuts his confusion, letting it fall noisily to the floor. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” You’re seething, body desperate to pace and yet feet remaining rooted to the cold, frozen ground. Through the dark you struggle with his expression, equally hurt by his scowl as he is with your own. “Jon already told me that you’re interested in him. Which is fucking fine, and I get that you’re hurting in this situation. But don’t you dare go around being an absolute asshole to both of us, just because you can’t get what you want. We have a job to do, and I’m your friend.”
He’s shaking his head, eyes wide and mouth pouted open. This time he can’t stop the laugh, harsh and mocking in the night’s biting air. “You’re kidding? You think I don’t like you guys hanging out because I’m in love with Ryan?”
You stop, accepting his simple explanation with a tight nod. You resist the urge to shuffle guiltily, uncomfortable with confronting his feelings with such volatile accusations.
Jeremy’s jaw sets, fists balling by his side while he turns bitter. “Oh, you’ve caught me. I’m interested in him, alright? Really really interested.”
A rattling sigh bounces from your lungs, falling flat in the snow. You knew this would be inevitable, and sucking in a breath and as much confidence as possible, you start the conversation you’d rather not have. “Look, Jeremy, Ryan and I-”
“I’m interested in him because he’s a person of interest, you fucking moron.”
The words stop, clinging to your tongue and scampering back down your throat before you can comprehend his vicious growl. “A person of interest? You mean-”
“I mean that you’ve been trying to date a god damn murder suspect.”
“Oh.” The shock expelled from your lips forms with a gentle pop, and with it his expression softens. Regretfully he gathers his apologies, rubbing them comfortingly into your arm. Tears well, but you don’t let them fall, feeling them thicken in your throat. “Wow J. I- I just… I can’t believe this.”
“I know, Y/N, it was hard for me to accept too, but-”
You jerk away, skin stinging from his touch. Recoiling, a few stumbles steps see the fountain greet the back of your knees, accusations like daggers. “I can’t believe you’d think your closest friend could be a part of this. That he could hurt children. After losing his own, for god sakes. What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s like - It’s like you don’t even know him.”
“Yeah, sure, lost his own, wha- you’re not listening, are you? Because you just obviously know him better, huh? All that time you’ve spent together, all those nights stumbling home arm in arm - yeah, I fucking know about that because we’ve got men watching his every fucking move so he doesn’t kill another kid - it must mean that you know him better than me? Bearing in mind, Y/N, you were the one that dated a god damn serial killer and refused to accept it, not me. And it got people killed.”
Your spine straightens, bite so lethal he shrinks away. The sharp breath sears through your lungs, mind reeling from the night that haunts your dreams and forced you to run from all that you love as he jams it into your hands. It’s your turn to ball your fists, clutching your coat close with the enraged whip of wind. It takes all you have not to launch across the space and punch him, to refrain from falling to your knees and screaming like there’s no tomorrow.
When you speak your voice is low, far more threatening than intended, but appreciated all the same. “Yeah, I guess I do know him better.”
Jeremy wants to snap back, but you don’t let him.
“I must do, because I know what type of person he is, Jeremy. And he’s a damn good one. And I also know what obsessing over a case does to people like us. I was too blind to see Charlie for who he was, because I was too busy focusing on someone else. Someone innocent, remember? I chased him to the point where he couldn’t handle the hounds and killed himself. Do you remember that, huh? Remember when we charged into his apartment and found him hanging, then got the call that my sister was dead all in the same hour?”
Jeremy doesn’t speak, as frozen as the world around him. If he could swallow his comment, he would. He’d forgotten the raw hurt, the agony in your eyes whenever you’d talk about your sister - and hadn’t realised it was still as fresh as ever. He can’t look at you anymore, glaring at his fingers as they slowly blotch purple. And you don’t look at him, either. Can’t stand his guilt, can’t stand seeing him the way he was all those years ago, watching your sister’s blood coat his hands after he’d done all he could to save her.
“I won’t let you make the same mistakes I did, Jeremy. I won’t let you drive yourself, or Ryan, into madness, just because you don’t know how to stop and see a bigger picture.” You turn to leave, stopping only to spit your final remark into the street you’re desperate to escape. “Oh, and once you’re done condemning Ryan you might want to talk to him, seeing as he’s just found the evidence we need to link the killer as a copycat to the Widow of the Woods story.”
the boneyard was buzzing— music thumping, people talking loudy, and the sound of fire crackling in the centre. it was one of those nights where everything felt too loud. too many voices, too many eyes, too much of rafe cameron trying not to look at you.
but he couldn’t help it.
you were near the edge of the party. standing there with your friends— jj looked like he was telling some story extremely animatedly, hands flying all over the place. you and kiara standing next to each other, giggling at whatever he was saying. pope was there too, quietly blending in, john b standing next to him.
rafe caught himself staring for the fourth time in ten minutes.
“what are you even looking at?” topper asked, nudging him with his beer bottle. “you zoning out or scoping?”
kelce followed his gaze and snorted when his eyes landed on what— who —rafe had been staring at. “ohhh. no way.”
“what?” rafe snapped, a little too quick. a little too hostile.
“dude,” kelce grinned. “you’re staring at swamp witch deluxe like she’s about to float off the ground and steal your soul.”
rafe rolled his eyes, heart already starting to pound. “she’s weird as fuck.”
“she’s hot,” topper shrugged, amused. “in like… a weird, forest nymph kind of way.”
“yeah, if you’re into crystals and dirty bare feet,” kelce interjected, laughing.
“i’m not into her,” rafe said sharply. “you think i’d ever go for some weird ass pogue freak who plays with sticks and talks to birds?”
topper raised a brow at him, aware of how defensive he had become. “you sure? because by my count, you’ve looked at her like six times since we got here.”
“she’s a fucking poser,” rafe spat. “acts like she’s deep but she’s just another broke bitch trying to seem different. it’s pathetic.” his voice had gone cold. sharper than he meant. meaner than he needed to be.
kelce and topper just laughed, already moving on, already talking about who they were going to hit up after the party. but rafe stayed still. he didn’t say anything else. he couldn’t. because when he turned his head— just slightly —he saw you.
standing there not far behind him.
you weren’t crying. you weren’t saying anything. but your outh was set tight, shining in the firelight. you hadn’t meant to overhear, but you did. you heard everything. and worse? you’d heard the tone— not just the words. it was they way he had said them. like you were nothing. like you meant nothing.
jj had stiffened besides you. kiara turned slowly, eyes narrowing. even pope had the decency to look uncomfortable, but no one said anything at first.
you didn’t move. didn’t breathe. the fire popped loudly. somewhere behind you, a girl shrieked with laughter. the moment kept spinning, wild and ugly.
you held his stare for a moment— calm, but distant, like you’d already decided what to do. and then you turned and walked away. no dramatics. no curve, or spell, or storm.
just silence.
and that, somehow, hurt more than if you’d screamed.
rafe didn’t move. his chest felt tight. guilt curled in his gut, hot and bitter. but he said nothing. because topper was still watching. because he didn’t know how to make it right. because you had looked at him like he was something more— and he’d torn that apart in seconds.
he watched your silhouette fade into the dark, and for the first time in a long time rafe didn’t feel like he’d won anything.
the night was thick with summer— humid and soft, like the air itself was holding its breath.
rafe sat on the edge of your porch, legs pulled too his chest as he sat on the worn wood, trying to act like this wasn’t something. like he didn’t care, but the way his knee bounced, the way his eyes kept drifting towards you as you shuffled the cards said otherwise.
you were cross legged on a blanket in front of him, a small beeswax candle burning in a chipped mason jar between the both of you, flickering against the grainy wood. the deck in your hands was old, well loved. each card had softened edges and the kind of weight that only came from years of use— like they’d absorbed all the questions people were too afraid to say outloud.
you didn’t ask him what he wanted to know. you didn’t have to. rafe cameron didn’t come here to make small talk, he came because part of him was unravelling and he didn’t know how to make it stop.
“three cards?” you asked softly, peering up at him, hands still shuffling the deck gently.
he nodded once, almost like it hurt.
you cut the deck without looking, then held it out to him. “pick three. any order. just go with your gut.”
he hesitated for a moment, then one from the middle, one near the top, and one from the very bottom.
you laid them down in front of you, face down. the air felt heavier now, and you noticed how the candle flame stilled between both of you.
“what’s the first one?” rafe’s voice was rougher now, blue eyes completely focused on you, almost like he was too nervous to look down.
“past,” you said, tapping it with your index finger before you turned it over.
eight of swords.
your eyes flickered up to his.
he looked at the card— a figure bound and blindfolded, surrounded by swords. trapped, but not by anything physical. it was often by their own mind. by fear. you didn’t sugar coat it, just sat there with your hands in your lap, eyes on him.
“this is self imprisonment. feeling stuck. lost. like you’ve been living in a story where you’re the villain, but you don’t know how to stop reading it like that.”
rafe exhaled, sharp and bitter. “accurate.”
you watched him, but didn’t push. “the thing about this card, is that the ropes are loose. the swords don’t cage her in. she could move, if she wanted. it’s just that she doesn’t believe it yet.”
he was quiet, but you hadn’t expected anything else, so you reached for the second card.
“this is your present.”
the tower.
you exhaled through your nose, a tiny smile playing on your lips. “of course.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning forward. “that bad?”
“it’s not bad,” you hummed softly, shrugging. “not really. it’s just inevitable.”
he squinted at the card, a finger lightly brushing over the edge before he pulled away. “looks pretty bad.”
you held it between two fingers, letting him study it: lightning crashing, people falling from a burning spire, chaos everywhere. “the tower isn’t about punishment. it’s about truth. breakdown. breaking free. everything you built on lies— it burns. but sometimes you need fire to clear the forest. you can’t build something real until everything false is gone.”
rafe stayed silent, saying nothing, but you noticed the way his jaw flexed. his silence wasn’t cold. it was concentrated, like he was trying to hold back the tide.
you turned over the third card. “future.”
and then: the lovers.
this time, he didn’t scoff. didn’t make a comment. he just… stared.
“the lovers isn’t just about romance,” you said carefully, shifting in your spot. “it’s about alignment. choice. surrendering to something real, even when it scares you.”
rafe didn’t speak, not for a long moment. but when he finally looked at you, his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it. “you think that’s where i’m going?
you met his eyes, a small smile on your lips. “i think that’s what’s being offered. you don’t have to be afraid of it,” you said softly, “of starting over.”
“what if i ruin it?” he asked, his voice cracking the tiniest bit.
you smiled, sadness flickering behind your eyes. “then you try again. or you don’t. but pretending you don't want it— whatever it is? that won’t make the ache go away.”
the porch light buzzed above you, insects dancing in and out of the glow. rafe ran a hand through his hair and looked away, but only for a second.
“read yours.”
you raised an eyebrow at him. “you want to try?”
“i mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “i won’t know what the hell i’m doing, but…”
you handed him your deck, something so sacred to you. something you didn’t even let kiara or sarah hold. but with him, it felt right. “cut it however feels right.”
he did exactly that. clumsy. hesitant. like he was holding something fragile.
then he picked a card and handed it to you, flipping it over like it might explode.
the high priestess.
rafe blinked. “that good?”
you smiled— slow and knowingly. “it’s the witch card.”
“fitting.”
“she’s about intuition. secrets. inner knowing.” your smile faded slightly, turning soft. “she sees things no one else does.”
he looked up at you, something raw tugging at the corners of his mouth. “yeah,” he nodded, “sounds like you.”
you held his gaze, unflinching. open. “you think you’re hard to read,” you said quietly. “but you’re not.”
that stunned him into silence. you took the card gently from his hand, slipping it back into the deck without a sound.
the air between you felt electric— charged with everything unsaid.
then he leaned it.
and when he kissed you— it was soft. it wasn’t hungry or angry or desperate, the way people liked to imagine rafe cameron did everything. it was too soft, for someone who swore he wasn’t looking for softness. barely there pressure against your mouth, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for more. like he’d been thinking about it for too long and still couldn’t believe it was happening.
your hand reached up to brush the side of his jaw— just barely. and that’s when he stilled. not because he didn’t want it, but because your touch wasn’t demanding, or possessive, or trying to claim something.
it was kind.
and that undid him a little more than he expected.
when he pulled back, his breath caught on the exhale. he didn’t move far— forehead still lingering near yours, noses almost brushing. and he didn’t open his eyes right away.
you didn’t push.
didn’t ask what it meant. didn’t ask if he regretted it.
you just sat with him in the quiet, your fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand, like a reminder: i’m here. i see you. i’m not running.
rafe’s voice, when it eventually came, was rough at the edges. quiet.
“i didn’t plan that.”
“i know.”
he finally opened his eyes. “i’m not…” he shook his head, looking away like the words might burn. “i’m not good at this.”
“at what?”
“this.” he gestured vaguely between you. “being seen. being— fuck, i don’t know. good.”
you tilted your head, studying him. not like he was a puzzle, but like he was something sacred.
“you don’t have to be good,” you said softly. “you just have to be honest.”
rafe looked at you then. really looked.
no armour. no smirk. just a boy who’d been carrying too much for too long, blinking against the weight of being understood. he swallowed hard.
“and what if i don’t like what’s underneath?”
you smiled, not sweetly, but like you’d known that question was coming.
“then we face it together.”
something in him cracked.
not shattered— just softened. melted, in that deep, aching place he didn’t let anyone touch.
he reached for your hand again. this time, on purpose.
he didn’t kiss you again that night. but he stayed— long after the candle burned out, long after the crickets quieted. until the night bled into morning, and even the stars seemed to hush themselves around you.
and when he finally stood to leave, rafe hesitated at the bottom of your porch steps.
“will you— uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “will you read for me again? the cards.”
you leaned against the railing, that same knowing softness in your smile.
“i think you already know the answer.”
and he didn’t. that scared him. but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t make him run.
i got a bit carried away with this, but i hope you guys enjoyed it !! lots of love my angels xx
please don't forget to like, comment, and/or reblog. i always appreciate the support x
( 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.
the boneyard was alive that night— drunken shouts, thudding bass, and the bonfire crackle filling the air with something sharp and electric. bottles clinked, joints passed from hands, and the usual mix of pogues, tourons, and misfit kooks blurred into one reckless, sandy mess under the stars.
rafe hated it. but he came anyway.
topper said it’d be good to blow off some steam. kelce was already wasted by the time rafe showed up, draped around some girl he probably didn’t even know the name of. everyone was loud. too loud. and it made rafe’s jaw tighten.
he was nursing a beer, trying to act like he wasn’t scanning the crowd. but he was. he didn’t know what— or who —he was looking for until he realised he hadn’t seen you. it wasn’t unusual for you to not be at these things, but there was something in his chest that wanted you there. a need to see you.
but then, he found you. sitting cross legged on a driftwood log with kie, laughing at something that made his stomach twist. you were wearing something loose and linen, and there were flowers braided through your hair like you’d walked straight out of the woods. you didn’t look like you belonged at a party, you never did. you looked like a story someone made up to be too beautifully to be real.
but then… you were gone.
fifteen minutes later, rafe peeled away from the noise, following the soft crush of sand under his feet down the shoreline. his head was buzzing— not from the alcohol, but from something worse. something restless, like he was standing on the edge of a storm, and the only thing anchoring him was the thought of finding you again.
and then he did.
you were sitting near the water, legs draw up, arms wrapped around them loosely. the moon made silver out of everything it touched— your skin, your eyes, the delicate chain around your neck. there were candles in the sand besides you, three of them, flickering low against the breeze— their little flames dancing like they were trying to whisper something.
he almost didn’t say anything, didn’t want to break that peaceful silence that seemed to ease his mind, but you beat him to it.
“you always follow people out into the dark, or am i just lucky?”
rafe exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “wouldn’t call it following. more like… drifting.”
you glanced at him, head tilted slightly. “same difference.”
he ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer. “you don’t really fit in there, you know.”
“and you do?” you asked, a little amused, a little sad.
he didn’t answer.
you shifted, making space on the sand besides you. not an invitation exactly, but it wasn’t a rejection either. so rafe took it.
for a while, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the distant hum of the party and the soft rush of waves against the shore. your candles flickered gently, their glow casting gold across your face.
“those for something?” he asked finally, nodding toward the candles.
you shrugged. “protection, peace, depends on what i ask for.”
he watched you carefully— studying you like you were some kind of enigma. “and tonight?”
“clarity.”
rafe stared ahead, brow furrowed. “think you’ll get it?”
“i already did.”
that made him look at you— really look at you.
you didn’t meet his gaze right away. but when you did, it felt like a spotlight cutting through fog— like how the lighthouse illuminates the ocean at night. your expression was unreadable, but your eyes were steady. curious.
“you’re not as angry when you’re quiet,” you murmured. “you don’t wear it the same.”
he scoffed, looking down at the bottle still in his hand. “you don’t know me.”
“no,” you agreed. “but i’ve seen you.”
that sentence did something to him— somewhere low in his chest. something tight and awful and tender, all at once.
“why are you here?” he asked, softer now. “with them. you don’t seem like the keg stand type.”
you smiled faintly. “kie begged me to come. thought i could ‘shake things up’.”
he let out a dry laugh, eyes on the ocean ahead of him. “yeah, well… you shook something.”
the silence after that wasn’t awkward. just full.
you leaned back on your hands, eyes tilted towards the stars. “did you know the moon’s in scorpio tonight?”
rafe blinked. “i don’t even know what that means.”
you smiled a little wider. “it means things come to the surface. secrets, truths, stuff people try to bury.”
he looked at you again. long and hard. “sounds dangerous.”
“sometimes,” you said. “but sometimes it’s what people need.”
he wasn’t sure why that made his chest ache.
you didn’t press him for more. just say besides him as the party roared behind you and the ocean whispered in front of you, like this little stretch of the beach was outside of time.
when he finally stood to leave, you didn’t stop him. you just offered a quiet, “see you around, rafe.”
he looked back at you— barefoot, soft, strange. candles burning low beside you like a shield. and something in him, something deep and ugly and aching, wanted to stay.
