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summary: you've heard the rumors about Rafe. aggressive on the ice and a sweettalker to any girl he lays eyes on. what happens when his next target is you?
wc: 3.3k
warnings: 18+ , Rafe Cameron is bad at feelings
a/n: not the finale yet but we are almost there! hope you all like it!
banner by @/uzmacchiato
<Part 9
You’d debated going home to Rafe’s since Katy was gone for the weekend, but his place wouldn’t feel like home. Wouldn’t bring you comfort. You never slept well when you weren’t in your own bed. So, you convinced Rafe to come with you to your dorm and stay the night. To your relief, he agreed.
But even in your own twin bed, Rafe crammed by your side, sleep evaded you. The whole day had been a whirlwind. Rafe getting hurt. The frat boy trying to slip something in your drink. Your emotions were swirling, nausea in your gut, your heart clenched.
Rafe didn’t seem to be sleeping either. His breathing was too shallow, and he was still fidgeting now and then. You turn toward him, placing a hand on his back. He flinches at first, either from pain or surprise. Slowly, he starts relaxing as you rub his back gently. Your plan was to distract yourself with that until you fell asleep, but your touch seems to have convinced him it’s okay to touch you despite everything that happened earlier. He takes you into his arms, rubbing your back like you did his.
“Can’t sleep?” He mutters.
“No.” You reply softly. Even though the adrenaline had long faded, your body physically exhausted, your mind was still alert. Worried. Sensing for danger. Trying to figure out if you could ever really be ‘casual’ with Rafe anymore. If all of this had to end, even though you didn’t want it to.
You must have dozed off at some point, because the weight of Rafe getting off the bed forces your eyes open. Sunlight is drifting through the window, birds chirping. You stir, noticing him putting on his shoes.
“Sorry,” He whispers, turning toward you. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Going to the rink.”
“What time is it?” You ask, your voice groggy.
“8ish. Go back to sleep.” He gives you a small smile, but something in his eyes snaps your mind into focus. It’s Saturday. A football game day. Why would he go to the rink? But before you can get the words out and hoist yourself up, he’s already gone.
You change quickly, wanting to follow him out when your phone rings. It’s Meghan. The second you answer, she’s asking how you’re doing. If you’re okay.
“I’m fine,” You assure her. “Weird night. I’m so sorry. I had no idea Mike would do that.”
“I don’t think anyone did.” Meghan’s voice is gentle.
“I should have paid more attention, or been more wary-”
“No, he shouldn’t have done what he did,” She interrupts. “Thank God Rafe saw it. How’s he doing, with the injury and everything?”
“I don’t think either of us slept well. But his head seems fine. Won’t tell me otherwise.”
“Is he still with you?” She asks.
“No. He went to the rink. Practically ran out of here. I’m not sure if he just needed to blow off some steam or if he’s worried or what.”
Meghan is quiet for a moment, and your mind spirals again. You speak before she can.
“Meghan, I think I might like him. More than I should.” You admit.
“Yeah,” She says with a sigh. “I don’t blame you after yesterday.”
“I don’t think he feels the same way, though. That’s what sucks. He’s always been clear this was just casual, that this is all he does.” You try not to sound too sad. He’d set the rules, and you’d agreed to it.
“How do you know unless you talk to him about it?”
“Why would I be any different from all the other girls he’s already seen?” You almost scoff.
“Well, I can answer that,” She laughs easily. “You didn’t seek him out. He had to pursue you. And he’s not often the one pursuing. Girls throw themselves at him all the time. Myself included, like at the arcade.”
“Okay, maybe he just liked the challenge. I’m still not that different.” You counter.
“Disagree,” She snips. “People either put Rafe on a pedestal because he’s a rich athlete, or they keep him at a distance because they’re scared of him. You didn’t do either of those things. I saw. I think he liked that you treated him like anyone else.”
“Hm,” You mutter, pondering her words.
“I can ask Miguel when he gets out of the shower, but I’m pretty sure he agrees with me.” Meghan insists, and you know she’s smiling.
“No, I believe you.” You tell her, but you still had some doubt. Friends saw the best in you and wanted to hype you up.
“Go talk to him at the rink, okay? And if it doesn’t go well, I’ll buy you breakfast.” She promises.
“Thanks Meg, talk to you later.” You hang up, urging your body to go to the rink before your mind can talk you out of it.
Somehow, the cold of the rink bites through your jacket and jeans. And your nerves weren’t helping. When you open the closest set of double doors, you can see your breath. You nearly jump sound of the doors closing behind you reverberates across the empty arena. Rafe is skating back and forth on the ice faster than you’ve ever seen him, taking shots that snap into the goal.
“I got 20 more minutes on the clock, Pete!” He calls out, not looking your way as he keeps doing drills. You glance at the timer above the rink, glowing red, as you lean against the barrier. Rafe’s skates scrape against the ice as he stops in front of you, chest heaving. “Oh, what’re you doin’ here?”
His voice isn’t harsh. His eye’s aren’t cold. But something is still off.
“Wanted to check on you. Something wrong?” You keep your voice soft.
“Uh, shit night.” He mutters the obvious answer.
“Understatement of the year,” You say, and that gets a smirk out of him. “But I’m asking if there’s something wrong with us. What are you thinking?”
“Just wanted to clear my head, nothin’ wrong with us. I just…you were right. About how it would feel to see you hurt. I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened. And the second I saw those drinks, I…I saw red. I lost control. I didn’t…I didn’t mean…” He trails off, looking away from you now. “I scared you.”
“You didn’t scare me, Rafe.” You reply, shaking your head. You could feel your heart aching for him. The pain in his voice, in his face.
“I did. I saw it in your eyes.” He insists, voice breaking. “I try not to lose control. I’ve worked so hard. Got into hockey. Pushed myself. I tried so fuckin’ hard.”
“Rafe,” You make your voice louder like that would drown out his thoughts. “I wasn’t scared of you. You startled me, but I understood what you did. If I’d seen that I don’t know if I would’ve had as much control as you. The only time you’ve ever scared me was when you got hurt on the ice. That’s it.”
Rafe is quiet for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. You wished he’d skate a little closer so you could reach out to him. Touch him. He says your name like a warning.
“You don’t know me. All the shit I’ve done. How many times I’ve lost control.” An edge of frustration builds in his voice.
“No, I don’t. You’re right.” You keep your voice calm, warm. “But all I see is someone trying to work on themselves. Someone who cares about people and wants to protect them. You told Evan about the campus counseling. That’s because you also go, right?”
“Yeah,” He nods, his mouth thinning into a hard line under his helmet. “Once every two weeks.”
“Your past is your past. I’m just glad you’re smart enough to work on yourself and find an outlet.” You promise. Rafe had never scared you, ever. You worried when he got confrontational, because he might get hurt. But you weren’t scared of him. You didn’t think he’d ever raise his voice or his hands to you. He goes silent again, the timer ticking down behind him.
“I still…you’d still…I think if you really knew me, you’d leave. Everyone leaves.” His voice is so quiet it breaks your heart. It makes him sound so small, so young. And suddenly you’re the one that feels protective over him.
“You don’t have to let me in. I get why you keep your distance now.” You assure him. The whole conversation you’d envisioned about telling him that you might like him too much felt like it wasn’t even needed, if he already wasn’t willing to get closer. If he needed more distance. But he shakes his head in response.
“I don’t wanna lose you.” He admits hoarsely. You could feel your cheeks flush. Stronger than ever, you wish you weren’t on the other side of this stupid hockey rink.
“Okay. Then you won’t.” You take a deep breath, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket like the arena had suddenly gotten too warm. “Go shower and let’s go to game day. Relax for a bit. And if we need to talk more later, we’ll talk. Deal?”
“Deal. Meet you there.” He agrees, ignoring the timer and heading back to the locker room.
You get ready quickly. Well, as quickly as you can. Showering, changing, doing your hair and makeup. When you get to Rafe’s it’s the same as always. Party in full swing. Music blasting. But nothing feels the same. Not between you two.
Rafe tries to get you to play beer pong again, but you weakly make up an excuse, ignoring his look of confusion. Meghan and Evan were there, thankfully, so you latched on to them. Trying to talk about classes and parties and whatever else. To your relief, Meghan doesn’t mention the chaos of the other night to Evan. The conversation stays light, so you can easily play along.
Your mind is still swimming. Trying to make sense of your feelings for Rafe. Could you really just stay fuck buddies after everything that happened? And if you really did like him too much, would that be the end of it? Would you never really be friends with him after that?
Rafe is surrounded by girls again, as he so often is. That has to be jealousy in your gut. He glances at you, eyes always drifting together like magnets, and you offer him a smile. But he’s not stupid. He can tell something’s wrong. Of course, he waits until later, when you’re grabbing another drink to approach you.
“Hey, you good?” He mutters, voice low. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Rafe,” You take a deep breath. “It’s nothing. But to be honest with you, as much as I understand why you want to keep your distance from people, I don’t think…” You stop yourself for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think I can just keep fucking you behind closed doors and pretend that I don’t give a shit in person. I thought I could do this, but I don’t think-”
“Don’t need you to pretend,” Rafe interrupts, brows furrowed. “Just…we are what we are. Is that not okay?”
“After last night, I don’t know.” You admit. “I want to be your friend. Stay being your friend. I don’t know if I can keep hooking up.”
“Oh,” His voice gets distant. “Okay.” The look on his face is making your heart clench again. Like he wants to be fine with it, for you. To do whatever you want. But he clearly didn’t expect this. And what’s a girl to a fuckboy if she doesn’t want to sleep with him? “You’re just done, then? That’s it?” Annoyance was slipping into his tone.
“Not done. I just-” The room suddenly feels hot. Stuffy. Claustrophobic. You pull the collar of your Duke jersey off of your neck, as if it was choking you. “I don’t…like I told you, this stuff is weird for me. How it feels like we get so close to each other sometimes and I’m supposed to act like it’s nothing. Like during the day, we’re nothing. But it’s fine, Rafe. Really. You were straight up with me. I’m gonna hang out with Meghan.” You tell him, slipping away as quickly as you can. Chest heavy, body still warm, tears pricking your eyes, you head back outside. You can hear his voice say something, call out to you, but you don’t register it.
Tale as old as time. You should have expected this. Two people casually sleep together. One’s not sure if that dynamic works for them but does it anyway. That person develops feelings. It’s not Rafe’s fault. It’s not. It’s yours.
“How’s the party going?” Meghan’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
“Fine. Just still exhausted. Didn’t sleep much last night.” You answer, plastering on a smile.
“Same.” She sighs, Miguel kissing her cheek softly.
“Nobody’ll ever hurt you two while we’re around, okay?” He says to you both. His expression is so determined that a real smile breaks through for you, and you nod.
“Wow. Enough of that,” Meghan flushes scarlet, laughing nervously. “We only have a few game days left. We should get a group photo.” Her proposal is innocent, but you know what she’s doing. She wants to post a photo of Miguel, but doesn’t feel ready enough to post something with just the two of them.
Of course, Miguel is all for it. He drags you both out to the lawn, wrangling the boys, including Rafe. You try to keep your expression neutral, even when Rafe chooses to stand beside you like everything’s normal. One of the younger boy’s opts to take the photo, counting you all down and taking multiple angles for good measure. Once the photoshoot is over, you turn to go back to Meghan when a warm hand catches your wrist.
“C’mere,” Rafe’s voice says, pulling you back to him. “Holiday, take one for me.” He calls out, tossing his phone to his roommate.
“W-what are you doing?” You stammer as he wraps an arm around you.
“Damn, alright. Everyone clear out. Rafe’s got a special request.” Holiday’s voice interrupts.
“Just shut the fuck up and take it.” Rafe snaps. You glance up at him, still unsure, but he’s already looking down at you. “Smile.”
Maybe it’s the way he’s smiling. Happier than you’ve seen in a minute, all of a sudden. But you do. Genuinely. Like it’s simple and easy. And then you pose for the photo. Because Meghan’s words about there only being a few game days left ring in your ears. No matter what happened with Rafe, at least for now it would be nice to have a photo.
“All set.” Holiday calls, and Rafe cups your face. You freeze, wanting to pull away. To say something. But with Rafe, your mind goes empty. He leans down, giving you a long, soft kiss. You feel your eyes flutter closed. When he pulls away, the sounds of the party coming back, you can barely think. “Okay, gross.” Holiday mutters, handing Rafe his phone.
“I’m not trying to hide you, if that’s what you think.” Rafe insists, still holding you close.
“Okay, good to know.” Your voice shakes. Your body betrayed you, heat pulling in your core. If you stayed much longer, you knew where this would go. He’d get you in his bed. Think that as long as he can seduce you, everything’s fine. Rafe would win. “I should go. I’m still exhausted. Send me the pic, okay?”
“’Course,” He murmurs, letting you go. “You can sleep upstairs if you want.”
“During a party?” You scoff. “No way. Need some quiet.”
“Fair enough. Text me when you get back.” He gives you a quick hug, reluctantly going back inside.
The whole walk back with Meghan and Miguel, you try to regulate your heart and your breathing. They’re being a typical, real couple. Hand in hand. Chatting about everything. And it makes you happy, but it’s also easy to tune out. And obsess over Rafe again. There was no way you could keep things casual anymore, even if he was the best you’d had. You liked him too much, you had to admit it, and you’d just get your heart broken if you stayed when he didn’t want anything more.
Your phone vibrates but you ignore it. It’s probably Rafe sending you the photo you asked for. But then it vibrates again. And again. You’re about to silence it when Meghan gasps, stopping in place, her free hand holding her phone closer to her face.
“Holy. Shit.” She breathes, turning the phone to Miguel. His dark eyes brighten and he grins widely.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He whoops as Meghan smiles.
“What?” You stop with them, confused.
“Open Instagram. Right now.” Meghan insists, flashing you a knowing smile. But unlocking your phone gives you enough of a hint. Your latest notification? Rafe Cameron had tagged you in a post on Instagram.
Your heart lurched into your throat, cheeks flushing pink. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. There was no way. You were dreaming. You were still sleeping, and this was a dream. You click on the notification, everything slowing like you were in a trance.
It was a picture from earlier, but Holiday had clearly taken multiple. The one that Rafe chose was at the moment where you’d finally smiled. And the happiness was all over your face. Eyes crinkled. Mouth a little too wide. But it didn’t even matter because Rafe stole the show.
The way his hand was on your waist was casual yet a touch possessive. His grip was clearly pulling you closer. And in this photo, he wasn’t looking at the camera yet. He was looking at you. His lips curving into a smile and his eyes…his eyes made it look like you were the only thing he ever wanted to look at.
And the caption? “partner>Clemson”
“Rafe never posts girls.” Meghan interrupts your thoughts, shaking your shoulders excitedly.
“Rafe rarely posts anything.” Miguel echoes. “You’ve made him a changed man.”
By the time you walked into your dorm building, the exhaustion from the day had been replaced with an excitement and nervousness that made you wired. You knew your room would still be empty with Katy gone, but all you’d wanted was to debrief with her. The past two days had your mind reeling. Girls passed by and it almost felt like they’d seen the post and were looking at you, talking about you.
And that made you realize something you hadn’t thought much about. Rafe posting you had made it so that a lot of Duke suddenly knew exactly who you were. The boys who followed hockey and thought Rafe was the best on the team. All the girls who waited for him outside the tunnel, who went to the games, who gossiped about him in the hallways.
For someone who spent most of their life as an outsider, blending in to the background, this amount of attention was surreal. And terrifying. You’d already felt like too many eyes followed both of you before. And now, it would get so, so much worse.
But for the first time since meeting Rafe, you were starting to feel like you didn’t want to run from him anymore. He was different than you expected in almost every way. Fun but protective. Working on himself. Taking action. So you pulled out your phone, opening Instagram and liking his photo. Then you opened your messages, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you thought about what to say.
PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.
CONTENT chapter thirty-two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rafe being tortured by jabberjays, reminding me that y/n has to be the one captured soon im gna cry, small rafe & y/n moment to rmbr that theyre tg honest (edit: hi i didnt know i wrote so much of this draft already so ill finish it off and release w no mistakes hopefully)
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you’re crouched low in the sand, pressed into the shade of a tree whose branches dip so far down they nearly brush the ground. finnick has his chest braced against the trunk while peeta sits across from him, resting on a root.
“so besides castella and harmon, who’s left?” katniss asks.
your head perks up. castella and harmon. your first time hearing their names said aloud. it hits you in some way, proof that katniss truly had done her research before this.
“maybe chaff,” peeta says. “just those three.”
“they know they’re outnumbered. i doubt they’ll attack again,” finnick adds, rolling a bit of sand between his fingertips.
“seven against two?” rafe’s voice cuts in low, and for a second his eyes flash toward the group like he’s measuring them all out.
“we’re safe here on the beach,” finnick finishes with a nod.
“so what do we do? we hunt ’em down?” johanna throws out, itching for something to do. you don’t blame her for being the one to kill cashmere earlier. she spent all that time trying to keep wiress and the others alive, just for her to go like that.
but before anyone can answer, a scream rips through the air, cutting from the jungle. it’s a girl’s scream.
you jolt, your head snapping up, heart slamming once against your ribs. the sound doesn’t belong here, at least not with who’s left alive. it sounds too young.
“katniss, help me!” the voice cries again.
you don’t even need to think about it. of course everyone looks to katniss. and in the blink of an eye, she’s already moving, shooting up from the sand so fast it’s like she’s spring-loaded. her bow’s in her hand and her feet are carrying her toward the trees before any of you can react.
“prim! prim!” she screams. you’re quick to remember that’s her sisters name.
it chills you, because you’ve heard this before, this trick. you’ve heard these birds echo the voices of the dying in previous games, long before even your own. you’ve heard victors choking on sobs, usually their family begging. the sound is designed to tear you in half, and to rot you from the inside out.
“jabberjays,” you breathe, but there’s no time for any of it to sink in. you’re already pushing to your feet with the rest of them, bodies surging forward to chase after katniss.
the jungle swallows her quickly. katniss is fast, cutting through the brush with a desperate speed that leaves the plants snapping back in her wake. your chest burns trying to match her pace, branches catching against your arms as you force yourself forward. you can hear the others scattering out in a broken line behind you, some falling behind, but finnick and peeta stay closest, their voices pushing out after her.
“katniss!” your own voice breaks panicked, because the sound is too loud, all of it - her shouts, your shouts, the thunder of bodies running through the greenery. it’s too much noise, and it must be too easy to track.
castella and harmon could be anywhere. this could drag them in like a beacon. you know katniss hears her baby sister’s cry, but she has to hear you too. she has to know this isn’t real.
she’s just too fast. finnick manages to stay on her trail, but even he looks strained, jaw set as though he knows he’s seconds from losing her.
you’re running blind, lungs burning, when it happens. there’s a sharp stumble, the thud of a body hitting the ground. beetee.
it jolts through the ground. everyone falters, just for a heartbeat, and you whip around instinctively.
“beetee!” johanna calls like there’s no time to slow down, and she doubles back immediately.
you skid in the dirt, shoes slipping, and for a split second your eyes lock on rafe. he’s stopped mid-run, frozen halfway between the you and beetee, eyes flicking from you to the path katniss disappeared down.
your chest heaves, breath ragged as you rush past him. your hand catches his arm, grounding you for half a second. “go, go with them!” you push at his shoulder lightly.
he lingers just a second, scanning you, then but he listens, sprinting after finnick, who’s paused only long enough to glance back and see what’s happened. rafe gives him that sharp hand gesture where he points ahead with his hand, the kind that means don’t worry, just go. finnick’s jaw clenches before tearing off again.
then you’re dropping down beside beetee. his glasses are askew, his coil of wire half-unraveled like a trail behind him. his hands fumble uselessly, as if his brain can’t keep up with his body.
“beetee, please,” you beg, crouched low as you press a hand to his arm.
his eyes are glassy, distant. you know what he’s hearing. you know who he’s lost.
johanna kneels on his other side, one hand already braced against his back, the other swiping angrily at the mess of wire. “c’mon, genius. this isn’t where you get to fall apart.” her tone is biting, but you can see the tightness around her mouth.
you help gather the wire too, looping it clumsily into manageable coils, anything to lighten the load. between the two of you, you manage to wrestle it together and sling it back into beetee’s trembling hands.
then, both of you hook your arms under his, hauling him upright. he stumbles, but with the combined force, he finds his feet.
johanna’s voice comes out harsher than she probably means it to. “no one else is going to die. we just—” she cuts herself off, teeth sinking into her lip as she tries to swallow the burn in her chest. finally she spits it out, “we have to be careful. stick with the group.”
you nod hard, still clutching beetee’s arm as his weight leans on you. “together. we’ll stay together.”
somewhere ahead, katniss’s voice still carries. the jabberjays don’t stop. even as you and johanna drag beetee forward, the voices chase you through the trees, calling katniss’s name over and over, a child’s voice ripping itself raw. “katniss, help me! please!” it doesn’t let up.
you can hear katniss ahead, her bow catching branches as she barrels through the jungle.
and then, just as suddenly as it began, the cries cut off.
you look toward the dark tangle of trees, chest rising and falling like you’ve been holding your breath for miles. the silence lasts a second too long before it fractures.
“finnick!” a girl’s scream tears through the canopy. you jolt, head snapping to the sound. finnick himself lets out a ragged curse somewhere ahead.
“annie!” it’s his voice this time, desperate.
another jabberjay swoops low, wings thrashing the air, and the sound shifts again. it’s male now, a man’s voice howling through the branches, “katniss!”
your chest tightens, pulse hammering, but it’s the next one that cracks you open.
“rafe!”
it’s not katniss’s sister, and it’s not annie. it isn’t some nameless voice pulled out of the districts. but you know this one. it’s so familiar.
your throat goes dry, your body cutting off your breath like it doesn’t trust you to survive it. “sarah,” you swallow. your stomach caves in, folding around the name.
you both promised, in a thousand whispered plans, that you’d protect her. how did they get her voice? how did they catch the sound of her screaming?
it nearly tears you apart, even if you’re not the target, because you know rafe is hearing it too. and unlike you, he doesn’t get the buffer of disbelief. he’ll believe it, he’ll feel it in his marrow.
your legs keep moving, but the sound begins to fade. and with each step, you realize what’s happening: the voices are following the others up ahead. panic eats its way up your throat. you think that if you lose the sound completely, it means they’re too far ahead.
“c’mon,” you gasp, adjusting beetee’s weight. you steal glances at the back of peeta’s head, his blond hair bobbing just ahead. as long as he’s in sight, you’re not lost. peeta’s the thread tying both groups together.
then he slows, stops. your heart lurches, and you see him crouch.
through the break in the brush, you catch it all in fragments. katniss is curled on the ground, hands clamped over her ears, jabberjays darting like knives in the air. peeta kneels in front of her, calling to her. finnick stands like a shield behind them, swatting at the birds, jaw tight.
and rafe . . . he’s a few feet off, hands over his ears, body pitched forward like he’s trying to collapse in on himself, but he doesn’t move away. he stays close, even through the torment. and for one splintering moment, you think he’s waiting for you.
you drop beetee’s arm. the coil wire falls heavy in the dirt. your legs carry you forward before you’ve even decided, cutting through branches, reaching for him.
but when you do, you slam into nothing. the impact rattles your teeth, sends you stumbling backward with your palms stinging. confusion surges first. it’s a forcefield.
you blink, dazed, staring at the faint shimmer in the air where your body hit. then you try again, shoving forward, shoulder-first this time. nothing. it throws you back, relentless.
“no—” your voice cracks, rising with panic. you press your hands flat to the invisible barrier, dragging them down as if you could claw it apart. “no, how long ‘til it lifts?”
beetee, still catching his breath, adjusts his glasses. “if the gamemakers designed this as part of the system then it won’t release us at whim,” he says, “an hour, perhaps less, but no sooner than that.”
an hour. this is an active sector. you have to wait for an hour.
your heart breaks as your gaze locks on rafe. he’s still crumbling in the sound, shoulders rigid, face strained like he’s holding himself together by force.
you press your palm harder against the barrier, almost like you could reach him. like if you push hard enough, your hand might break through. you want to tear it away with your bare hands. you want to be in there, shoulder to shoulder, anything but standing useless on the outside.
but the arena has made sure: all you can do is watch.
you sit there the entire time, your knees dug into the dirt. your eyes never leave him. rafe shifts between trying to shut it all out with his fingers shoved into his ears and his heads bent low, and snapping up to swat the jabberjays away when they get too close to him, or katniss, or finnick.
it’s unbearable, watching him, knowing it’s sarah’s voice they chose.
and after what feels like forever, the first real movement startles you. rafe rips his hands from his ears, his grip snapping around the handle of his mace, and with a sudden, violent swing he brings it across a small cluster of jabberjays swooping too close.
the crunch being sharp, feathers scattering, finnick averting his gaze. rafe pins them into the dirt. he doesn’t look relieved. if anything, he looks colder, staring down at the bodies as if he isn’t even seeing birds anymore, but just bloodied, broken things.
your head tilts without meaning to, your palm pressing harder to the forcefield, like you could reach him if only you leaned far enough. you can’t. all you can do is watch as he sits down hard, knees bent, arms hooked over them, his forehead resting against the edge of his wrist.
time blurs. minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity. you don’t even notice it at first, not until peeta finally manages to reach katniss. the barrier collapses without warning, and the jabberjays scatter. the others begin to move, relief rushing through the group, but all you see is rafe.
you’re already moving before you even think. you drop down behind him, close enough that your knees brush his back as you settle on the dirt. your hands reach for his shoulders, light at first, the touch almost cautious. he flinches, just barely, like a twitch under your fingers, but you don’t draw away. instead you squeeze gently, then lean down, your lips pressing to his shoulder blade, tasting salt and sweat.
your arms slide around him from behind, circling his frame. you rest your cheek against his back. the sector is quiet now, the jabberjays gone. it’s over, and you want him to feel that, through the press of your arms, that you’re here.
“are you okay?” you whisper, leaning into him. you don’t really expect an answer, not after what he just went through. he’s silent, but you can still hear katniss gasping, her breaths jagged while peeta murmurs quick reassurances, telling her she’s alright, telling her the capitol wouldn’t dare touch prim.
“your fiancé’s right,” johanna cuts in, standing again after checking on finnick. her axe is loose at her side, her voice carrying that bite that always makes you wonder if there’s something else behind it. like envy, maybe. “the whole country loves your sister. if they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be . . .” she smirks bitterly, eyes flicking away, “riots in the damn capitol.”
johanna doesn’t stop there. she turns her face up, addressing the canopy above like it’s snow himself looking down. “hey, how does that sound, snow? what if we . . . what if we set your backyard on fire? you know you can’t just put everybody in here.”
“johanna—” you try calling her name low, a warning, but she barrels on.
eventually her eyes come back to the group, her tone dropping quieter. “what? they can’t hurt me,” she says. “there’s no one left that i love.”
your expression falters, your gaze slipping down to the ground beneath her boots. you pity her, almost. you can feel it in your chest, but you know better than to let it show, because johanna would tear you apart for it. so you stay quiet, watching as she looks over to katniss, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll get you some water.”
even now, she’s focused on katniss, protecting the girl who was just forced to hear her baby sister’s cries through a flock of mutts. still your mockingjay.
you glance at katniss now. her face is a mess of shock, grief, and confusion all blurred together. but you turn back to rafe. he’s still folded into himself, silent, distant. your hand lifts, brushing dirt off the fabric of his suit in small strokes, like it matters, like if you can clean away what clings to him, maybe you can take some of the weight too. you smooth the fabric at his shoulder.
“it wasn’t real, rafe,” you murmur, low enough for only him to catch. your hand finds the back of his neck, slick with sweat, and you rub slow circles there. when your palm comes away damp, you wipe it against your thigh without thinking, your eyes never leaving him.
he doesn’t answer or even move. you let him have that silence, watching the tightness around his jaw, the way his shoulders haven’t loosened even once.
then, carefully, you reach across and set your hand against his chest. his heart beats hard beneath your palm, proof that he’s still here. “strong heart,” you tell him quietly, pressing your fingers into the fabric.
his eyes drop down to your hand and he stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with the words. then he looks away, angled just enough toward you that you know he heard, even if he can’t face you yet.
“no fear,” you add, softer still, rubbing small circles into his chest, coaxing him back piece by piece.
your hand shifts, reaching past him to the far side of his head. you guide him toward you, pulling him in until you can press your lips to the side of his face, before you ease back and breathe, “let’s go, c’mon,” when the sound of the others moving nearby filters through, meaning it’s time to leave.
he doesn’t move right away. not until you rise, brushing dirt from your legs, and extend your hand down to him. he looks at it for a beat, then lets you help him up.
he still looks gutted, the memory of sarah’s voice echoing in his head. annie’s screams, prim’s cries, they even cut deep enough on their own, but sarah . . . that had been unbearable.
you keep your touch on him as you guide him forward. the two of you retrace the path back toward the beach, back to where you’d run from an hour ago.
this tiktok got me thinking about the mess clark would be if you avoided him after he confessed to you.
tags: explicit content, confessions, fwb!reader, text fic themes (700+ wc)
—
that man would be so genuinely pathetic about it all.
he draws a hard line — refusing to push you for an answer to his spur-of-the-moment confession. he thinks giving you time to consider him as a potential partner was the respectful way around it. but what he doesn't account for is how painful the waiting game would be.
you stopped responding to his texts. going out of your way to avoid him both in and out of work, with a level of evasion that would give him a run for his money. if it wasn't so frustrating, he might even be impressed at the segues you successfully orchestrated.
now, clark knew that you hadn't been doing any of those things because you truly hated him.
he knew that wasn't the truth. you two were good friends first.
good friends who often did everything together — like greeting you in your apartment's lobby at 8 am every day, to buy you coffee before you both clocked in for your shift. good friends who stayed at work late to help each other out, no strings attached.
and like the true good friend clark was, he even made sure you came on his fingers the very first time you let him fuck you. and every single time afterwards since then.
so yeah, you were good friends.
it was an easy cop out to avoid clark. for starters, you'd rather not have to commit to the colossal fall out that would surely follow if things had an official label.
and really, you should've known better that a sweetheart like clark would so innocently devote himself to you if you crossed that particular boundary. he fucked you like he loved you. that was the truth in the matter. breaking his heart wasn't an option, so when you left your girls at the bar early that evening, you had your mind set.
you shakily open your text thread with clark as you set foot out of the elevators leading toward your apartment.
26th May 2026
Clark K.: Take all the time you need!! READ
27th May 2026
Clark K.: Morning.
Clark K.: I got you your oat-milk vanilla latte. Are you coming down soon?
You: Sorry. I left earlier. See you at work?
Clark K.: Ok! No worries. 🥸 See you. READ
28th May 2026
Clark K.: I know you said you wanted a little space from our morning walks. I put a gift card from the coffee shop on your desk. In case you fancy a cup on your way to work. READ
3rd June 2026
↳ CLARK K. FORWARDED AN ARTICLE.
HOW TO GIVE SOMEONE SPACE: IT'S TIME TO LET GO.
Clark K.: I'm so sorry. Ignore that. I didn't mean to send it to you. READ
5th June 2026
Clark K.: Are you free this weekend? Let's talk about it. Please.
Today
Clark K.: I miss you so so much. Please let me talk to you. READ
You: I thought about it. Let's give this a shot.
the message sends off with an ominous woosh with the added liquid courage you had in your system. you hadn't expected a response so soon, considering the emotional whiplash you were giving him.
"t-this, am I hallucinating? do you mean it? do you really mean it?"
you certainly hadn't expected clark to spring right up from his slouched position beside your front door. looking like an absolute and utter mess. his glasses were nearly tucked in his breast pocket, hair combed upward in one spot he must've been running his hand through all night while waiting for you.
clark's shadow towers over you, like an anxious spirit, bouncing on his heels, too wary to touch you.
your heels hang loosely by the way you hold them by the straps.
"i—you're here. i didn't—…"
"i know," he cuts in, shaking his head, barely being able to contain the relief coursing through his veins. "too soon, zero buffer time. i was…just here to apologise for that…'i miss you' text. it was awfully pushy. and i felt really silly, especially when i promised you time and space —"
you quickly close the distance, cupping his jaw with both palms. tip-toeing to kiss once. completely sure of yourself. his surprised hum melts the second your lips slot between his. and he sighs, content and deep to curl his arm by your hips, lifting you up in the process.
"had my fill —" a soft, separation, and then you press another kiss, "all the time an'space." you continue, words broken by the urgent need to have him as close as you could.
clark turns you around, with your legs locked around his hips. he presses you flush against your front door, hiking you securely around him. he lets you have the room to speak, dragging the gentle curves of his nose down your jaw. his own bated breath warms your sensitive skin.
you tilt your head, panting in the aftermath of your confession. "i'm sure." you whisper, breathily, his mouth leaving urgent pecks to the column of your throat.
"i want you, clark."
it's all the assurance he needs to christen your furniture with the newly established label, like the good friend boyfriend he could now be.
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i just wanted to get on here and give you all a bit of an update regarding myself and the status of my account.
recently i completed my undergraduate degree, began grad school part-time, and began a full-time job. long story short: i am very busy gal lol.
what this also means is, unfortunately, i do not have as much time to write or create content for this account as i did before. i am still active on here and plan on still being active, i just will not be able to keep up my previous posting frequency.
i really love and appreciate all of you guys + your support and i'm excited to see what the future brings :)
-chloe
p.s. - feel free to still ask questions, comment, send in asks or requests, i will continue to regularly check tumblr
Y/n couldn’t think of a more dreamy word. Just the thought of it made y/n’s head swim with ideas of travelling to far away lands and long, leisurely coffee walks.
It made her immediately begin to think of times like this.
Joe laid on his stomach, his shirtless back slowly rising and falling with each slow, sleepy breath. His arm reached out, curling around y/n’s waist. She laid next to him, resting on her side, her front pressed snugly against Joe’s side. Their legs were tangled underneath the lightweight (probably expensive) sheets Joe had purchased for the summer. The ceiling fan spun rapidly above them, circulating cool air that made y/n’s bare body tingle with early morning goosebumps.
To be fair, it had been a lot warmer last night when the two of them climbed into bed sans clothes… no other reason…
Y/n took in a long breath, stretching her arms out with a groan. She wriggled around before draping herself atop Joe’s back, allowing him to act as her own personal heater as she wrapped her arms around Joe’s shoulders. She laid there for only a moment before she felt him begin to stir. His arm that had previously been wrapped around her waist curled first, reaching for a presence that no longer was where it had been only a moment ago.
“Good morning.” Joe grumbled, lifting his head from the pillow and peering over his shoulder. His hair was a mess— a sure sign of a good night's sleep— as he squinted against the morning light to look at y/n. She moved up a bit, hooking her chin on his shoulder so their noses brushed slightly, causing Joe to let out a deep chuckle.
“What are you doing?” Joe said, his voice gravelly as he carefully shifted under y/n onto his back. She continued to hold onto him with the firm grip of a koala as he settled back into the pillows, his arms wrapping around her and hugging her impossibly closer. With their new position, y/n rested her chin on his broad chest and looked up at him.
“I was cold.” Y/n said lowly, biting back a smile.
“Cold?” Joe teased. “If I remember correctly, you were very, very hot last night.”
Y/n rolled her eyes dramatically as a smirk spread across Joe’s face. His hands smoothed down her sides before falling at her hips. He pinched a bit of the fat on her ass, causing y/n to let out a surprised giggle.
“Hey! You watch it, mister.” Y/n scoffed as she slapped Joe's shoulder playfully.
“What?” Joe laughed, holding his hands up innocently. “You were the one who asked for a massage—”
“That was last night and that quickly devolved once someone started getting too handsy.” Y/n scoffed, holding a stern finger up.
“Ok but… can you blame me?” Joe said, smoothing his hands along y/n’s body with a quirk of his brow. Y/n fake gagged before flopping back down on Joe’s chest. Joe laughed, cupping the back of y/n’s head before pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.
The two of them fell into a natural, comfortable silence, the only sounds y/n could hear in the room coming from the ceiling fan and Joe’s heartbeat, which thrummed steadily in her ear as it pressed against Joe’s chest. Joe gently traced his fingertips up and down y/n’s spine, feeling every ridge, bump, and curve he had just about memorized.
“D’you want to go on a walk and get some coffee?” Joe asked as y/n peered up at him. His gaze was entirely relaxed and gentle as his lips curled up into a smile.
“Yep.” Y/n smiled, pressing a peck to Joe’s smiling lips.
“Who would’ve guessed?” He teased. Y/n groaned before burying her face in Joe’s neck.
“I literally can’t say no to a coffee walk.” Y/n said into the crick of Joe’s neck, the words causing tingly vibrations to buzz across Joe’s skin. “You know that’s my weakness.”
“I thought I was your weakness?” Joe asked, causing y/n to lift her head up. She wriggled around slightly, getting nose-to-nose with Joe. Joe’s grip on her hips tightened slightly, but his gaze remained relaxed.
“You’re my ultimate weakness, Burrow.” Y/n murmured lowly. “Coffee walks are a close second.”
“Aww, you like me.” Joe smiled widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling. A deep giggle bubbled up in y/n’s stomach as she draped her arms around Joe’s neck.
“I mean…” Y/n said, directing her eyes down to look at their bare bodies tangled up in the bed. “Was that not clear enough?”
“Good point.” Joe chuckled. “You must really like me then.”
“Oh yeah, I really—” Y/n pressed a kiss to Joe’s jaw— “really like you.”
Joe let out a low sigh, his hands gently combing through y/n’s hair as the two of them savored each other's touch and presence. Their lips moved back and forth, a dance between two people who had plenty of practice. Y/n pressed one last, long kiss to his lips before she lifted her head to stare down at him. She bit her lip, hiding a mischievous smile at Joe as her head tilted to the side to look at his flushed expression. Joe’s hand cupped y/n’s neck, attempting to pull her in a bit closer as he leaned up to clear the gap between their lips.
“Let’s go on that coffee walk.” Y/n whispered, pulling just out of his reach. He let out an incredulous scoff.
“What?” Joe chuckled, reaching for another kiss which y/n dodged.
“The walk.” Y/n repeated. “Let’s go—”
She started to get off the bed, one leg going so far as to sling off the side. Joe immediately let out a low groan as y/n wriggled atop him, sliding further off the side of the bed. Before she could continue to slide out of the bed, Joe’s arms quickly encircled her in a tight bearhug, forcing her back atop him with a yelp.
“No, it can wait.” Joe groaned, trapping y/n against himself.
“But you said—” Y/n pled.
“I know what I said.” Joe whined, his eyes as wide as a puppy dog’s, “but that was ten minutes ago when you hadn’t kissed me yet and getting out of bed still sounded like a good idea.”
Y/n sighed, giving Joe a dramatic pout.
“Hey, hey, don’t give me that.” Joe said, moving to hold y/n’s face in his hands. He traced his thumb gently along y/n’s lips, his featherlight touch immediately tickling y/n’s pout into a smile. Joe smiled back at her, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Y’know what?” Joe murmured as he pressed a kiss to y/n’s jaw.
“I have a way—” Joe continued with a kiss to the column of y/n’s throat— “way—” he pressed a kiss to her sternum— “better idea.”
“Can I ask what it entails?” Y/n stifled the little giggle that threatened to bubble up.
“Oh, I’ll show you.” Joe said as he wrapped an arm around y/n’s lower back before flipping the two of them over, y/n’s back hitting the mattress as she let out a squeal.
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this is kinda rom com vibes <3 tldr: rafe lost a bet, yn’s overjoyed
Rafe sat on the stool y/n had brought into the Tanneyhill bathroom with a pout on his face, his shoulders hunched as y/n draped an old towel around him. In the doorway, Topper and Kelce tried to crane their necks in to look at Rafe as y/n held a bleach covered brush in her hand. His hair was combed out, their natural, golden brown colored waves laying perfectly against his head.
Y/n almost felt bad about doing this… almost.
“Say, ‘I lost fantasy football!’” Kelce sang, holding up his camera to take a picture of Rafe’s grumpy face. Y/n turned to the camera, flashing it a thumbs up and a wide smile. Rafe simply glared.
“Get the fuck out of here, assholes.” Rafe snapped, flipping his two friends off before crossing his arms across his chest.
“Ouch… fine.” Topper said, holding his hands up in faux innocence. Kelce did the same, causing y/n to have to stifle her own laughter at their antics and Rafe’s dramatics as the boys finally left them.
“Ok, are you ready?” Y/n asked, picking up a bit of the bleach mixture from her bowl. She’d never done this before— save the one time her and Sarah did tacky, neon highlights in middle school, which probably didn’t count— but there was no way in hell Rafe was going to let Topper or Kelce near his hair.
“As I’ll be, I guess.” Rafe pouted. The corner of y/n’s mouth quirked up into a smile, a laugh threatening to bubble up because of Rafe’s pouty behavior.
“Alrighty…” y/n raised the brush up to his hair, “here we go.”
She dabbled a small dot of bleach onto his hair before looking up to meet Rafe’s eyes in the mirror. He looked entirely unamused, but fortunately not panicked, so she continued, focused intently on coating each strand of hair with the mixture. She spared a glance up at Rafe every couple of minutes as she continued to carefully cover his entire head.
“Ok, done.” Y/n said as she brushed the last bit of bleach onto his head. Rafe let out a long sigh before standing up from the chair, allowing the towel wrapped around him to fall to the floor and reveal his shirtless torso. He leaned into the mirror, looking at his bleach covered hair with a grimace.
“Oh wait!” Y/n said, quickly placing the little bowl she’d been using to mix the bleach back onto the counter. She grabbed a nearby plastic bag, opening it up before gesturing for Rafe to lean down.
“What?” Rafe asked, looking at her with a confused expression.
“I’ve gotta like—” y/n gestured with the plastic bag— “wrap it so it… soaks in.”
“Soaks in?” Rafe asked. “Like to my skull? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before!” Y/n threw her hands up dramatically. “I just know the Tik Tok I watched said you were supposed to wrap it with a plastic bag.”
“The Tik Tok you watched?” Rafe’s eyes widened. “You’re handling my hair based on a Tik Tok?!”
Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest as she glared up at him.
“Would you rather I call Topper and Kelce back in here to help? Because I could go and—” Y/n began.
“No, no, no.” Rafe sighed before leaning down reluctantly. “Just… do whatever.”
“That’s what I thought.” Y/n said under her breath as she began to wrap the plastic around Rafe’s head. He glared at her, not that she’d see.
“Ok, now we wait for…” Y/n checked her phone, “half an hour.”
Rafe grumbled as he straightened up again before turning to look at himself in the mirror. He looked like an idiot with a plastic bag on his head… so obviously y/n took a picture.
“Delete that.” Rafe said quickly, whipping back around to face y/n as she darted out of the bathroom and into Rafe’s bedroom with a giggle.
“Never!” Y/n shouted as she rounded his bed, Rafe close behind her. She had almost made it out when he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her torso and lifting her off the ground.
“Give me your phone!” Rafe laughed, delivering a playful jab to y/n’s ribs which caused her to let out a squeal as she attempted to wriggle out of his grasp.
“No!” Y/n giggled. Rafe let out a playful growl, tossing y/n onto his bed. She bounced against the mattress before settling, clutching at her stomach as she laughed. Rafe stood at the foot of the bed, his hands on his hips as he shook his head, a small smile on his face.
“You’re the worst.” Rafe said before climbing to sit on the bed next to y/n with a dramatic huff. Y/n simply smiled at him, straightening up to sit next to Rafe at the headboard.
“You love me.” Y/n blinked up at Rafe playfully, which only caused him to roll his eyes.
“Ok, ok, fine.” Rafe sighed before stretching his arm out to wrap around y/n’s shoulders. He jostled her shoulders as she let out a dramatic coo. Y/n looked up at Rafe— or Rafe’s head— closely, examining her handiwork.
“I don’t think I did too bad.” Y/n murmured, poking at Rafe’s scalp. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes suspiciously.
“Hmm, I guess we’ll see.” Rafe grumbled lowly, causing y/n to let out a scoff.
Then, the timer y/n had set went off.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll see.” Y/n said sassily, quirking her eyebrows up before climbing off the bed. Rafe sighed before following her back into the bathroom. She patted the stool, to which Rafe obediently sat down atop.
“Ok, let’s see!” Y/n said, letting out a long exhale before she began to peel back the plastic to reveal Rafe’s bleach covered hair. She examined it closely, picking up a few pieces of hair.
“I was expecting the reveal to be a bit more… different.” Rafe said with a small chuckle. “I don’t think it worked.”
“It worked, just—” y/n sighed. “I think it just needs to be rinsed out.”
“Ok, Miss Hair Stylist.” Rafe grumbled before standing up from the stool and making his way over towards the shower. He grabbed a nearby bath towel, draping it over the glass shower door before turning to y/n.
“Are you just gonna stand here and watch me take a shower?” Rafe asked. Y/n’s face immediately twisted up into a look of… disgust? Well, not exactly… it’s not like it wasn’t anything she’d seen before— by accident, of course— but it wasn’t like she minded. Rafe was a good looking guy and definitely had the whole package to match—
“What? No!” Y/n scoffed. “I have to like… rinse it out under the tap.”
“Is that really necessary?” Rafe sighed with the attitude of a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“Yes, it’s necessary if you want it to look good and not like… burn your scalp.” Y/n gestured dramatically to his still bleach covered hair.
“Burn my scalp?!” Rafe said, his eyes flying wide open. “What did you put in my hair?!”
“Oh my god, stop with the dramatics and sit in the shower.” Y/n rolled her eyes before pulling the shower door open and stepping in.
“But you said—” Rafe began as he followed her in.
“Sit down.” Y/n said sternly. He turned around, his broad chest practically pushing against her face in the crowded shower.
“Ok fine, girl.” Rafe grumbled before slowly crouching down to sit on the tile floor of the shower. He let out a low groan as he shifted to pull his legs up to his chest, sitting like a small child. Even sitting down, Rafe was still quite tall, his head coming up to well past her waist.
“Alrighty, let's do this.” Y/n said, grabbing the shower head from the wall and turning it on. Immediately, Rafe was shot with a jet of freezing cold water.
“What the f—” Rafe began, his hands instinctually coming up to bat the cold water away, instead forcing the water to shoot directly at y/n and soak her pants with icy water.
“Oh my god!” Y/n screeched, stumbling back against the shower wall and allowing the shower head to drop from her hands and hit against the wall with a solid thud.
“Why did you spray me in the face?!” Rafe scoffed, wiping the water from his face.
“Why did you spray me in the pants?!” Y/n snapped back, looking down at her uncomfortably wet and cold pants.
“You sprayed me first!” Rafe said. Y/n glanced between Rafe’s still unwashed hair and her now soaked pants.
“You— ugh.” Y/n sighed before pointing into the back corner of the shower. “Look away.”
“What? Why?” Rafe scoffed.
“I’m taking my pants off because you drenched them in water.” Y/n snapped. Rafe’s eyes widened before he quickly looked away. She began to pull them down, slipping slightly, her hand shooting out to clamp down on Rafe’s shoulder. His arm reached up, quickly grabbing firmly onto y/n’s wrist without even turning his head. Finally, she tugged the last of her pants off before flinging them out onto the bathroom floor.
Now she stood in her underwear and t-shirt, the water still running in the shower as Rafe turned completely away. She gnawed at her lip slightly. Rafe had seen her countless times in a bathing suit, and this was basically the same thing. No big deal… right?
“Ok, you can… look back now.” Y/n grumbled, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to appear confident. Rafe slowly turned back, his eyes unfortunately immediately coming into contact with y/n’s Star Wars themed underwear, given his position on the shower floor. He instantly forced himself to look down, his cheeks flushing bright red.
“Nice underwear.” He said under his breath.
“Shut up.” Y/n snapped before snatching the shower head back up. After running for a while, the water had warmed up to a more manageable temperature.
“Ok, lean your head back.” Y/n gestured, Rafe following and craning his head back slightly. Y/n lifted the shower head to allow the water to fall on his hairline, her other hand coming up to shield the water from streaming into his eyes as they fluttered closed.
The water flowed through his hair, rinsing away the bleach to reveal his bright, yellow-tinged locks. Y/n smirked to herself as she combed her fingers through Rafe’s hair. As she continued, Rafe found himself relaxing and let out a low sigh of relief. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Rafe bathing in the comfort of y/n lightly scratching his scalp and y/n focusing intently on her “work”.
“It definitely worked.” Y/n said lowly, smiling widely as she held up a longer piece of Rafe’s hair to examine it closely in the light. Rafe’s eyes fluttered open, and he was met with an almost angelic sight.
Y/n was leaned over him, pieces of her hair that had been tied back falling around her face. The light above shone down around her almost like a halo, her smile beautiful enough to make Rafe feel as if he were dreaming.
As a matter of fact, he’d probably dreamt of this scenario— being with y/n in a beautiful and simply intimate way— a hundred times. But still, the real thing— even if it wasn’t quite how he would’ve liked— felt so, so much better.
So much better, apparently, that Rafe had begun to relax a little too much. His head tilted back too far, his shoulders falling too much, causing y/n’s careful balance over him to slip. Y/n yet out a yelp as she tumbled forward, her knee immediately colliding with Rafe’s groin as the two of them fell onto the shower floor. He let out a groan, his head only narrowly avoiding the faucet as he hit the tile. In the fall, the shower head was somehow lost and was now spraying about the shower and onto the bathroom tile.
Y/n and Rafe lay sprawled out on the shower floor, twisting around in pain and half-naked confusion as water continued to spray at them haphazardly. Rafe groaned, curling in on himself as his freshly bleached, yellowed hair stuck to his forehead
“What the hell happened here?!” Topper said. Y/n and Rafe turned to see Topper and Kelce in the doorway, their mouths agape in shock, confusion, and terror at the sight in front of them. Y/n lifted a hand, dramatically waving the two boys off as she wiped water out of her eyes. Rafe continued to groan in pain, finally reaching up to turn off the water with a huff.
“We are not toning your hair, boy.” Y/n let out a gasp.
“Tone? What the hell does that mean?” Rafe scoffed.
Things He Said He'd Never Do | Simple Math Vignettes
pairings: joe burrow x younger reader 🐕
wc: almost 4k
an: okay i had way too much fun with these and i want to make it a whole thing — send me your ideas!! the only rule is keep it in character. i'm not writing joe burrow doing a tiktok dance. i won't do it. don't ask. anyway 🫶 based on this request: "younger!reader who walks joe like a dog, getting him to do all sorts of things he thought he'd never do/said he's sworn off"
masterlist
I. Concert
You bring it up over breakfast.
"Sabrina's at Paycor in two weeks."
He looks up from his phone. "Yeah?"
"Tickets are insane. Like — insane. I was gonna see if anyone wanted to split nosebleeds, but they're still like three hundred bucks each."
He watches you for a second. You can tell he's working something out. You go back to your coffee because if you wait too long, he won't say it.
"Y/N."
"Hm."
"You know I have a box there, right?"
You look up. "What?"
"A suite. At Paycor. It's mine. You're always welcome to use it." He says it like he's telling you what time it is. "Any show. You don't have to ask. Just tell me what date."
You don't say anything.
"Y/N."
"I'm processing."
"What's there to process?"
"That for two weeks I've been doing math in my head about nosebleeds, and you have a box."
He laughs. Small. "I thought you knew that."
"How would I know that?"
"I don't know. I thought I'd mentioned it."
"Joe."
"What?"
"You have not mentioned that."
He sets his phone down. Picks his coffee up. Takes a sip. "Well. Now you know. Bring whoever. I'll have the chef send food."
You stare at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Y/N."
"Nothing. I love you. Eat your eggs."
———
You bring three friends.
Mads, Anika, and Cat. You cleared it with him first — is three too many, is it weird if it's all girls, are you gonna come — and he answered them in order like you'd asked them in a meeting. no. no. yeah, I'll come if you want me there. you wanted him there.
He's the only guy in the suite. He doesn't seem to register it. He's at the bar making Mads a drink because she asked him what he was making for himself, and he said whatever you want, what do you want? Cat is taking pictures of the stage from the window. Anika is sitting on the couch, already on her second glass of wine, telling you about her sister's wedding.
You watch Joe across the room. He's listening to Mads explain her stance on tequila. Nodding. Asking her a follow-up. She's gesturing with both hands. He's smiling at her with his whole face.
"Y/N."
"Hm."
"He's so nice."
"I know."
"Like genuinely. He asked me about my job."
"He does that."
Anika watches you watch him. "You're so gone."
"Shut up."
"You're so gone, Y/N."
"Shut up."
———
Sabrina opens with Taste, and the four of you scream.
Joe doesn't scream. But he's on his feet at the window with his drink in his hand, watching the stage, and when you look at him, he's smiling — that small one, the one that means he's having a better time than he expected. He glances at you. Catches you watching.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Y/N."
"You're having fun."
"I'm at a concert with you."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer." He takes a sip of his drink. "I'm having fun."
You go back to the window. Anika is taking a video over your shoulder. Cat is screaming the words. Mads is dancing in a way that suggests she's three drinks in and entering her Sabrina era. Joe stays at the window. You can feel him at your back.
———
By please please please, you've pulled him into it.
You turn around mid-chorus and sing it at him — I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker — and his head tips back, and he laughs. Open. Surprised. The laugh you don't get to see at press conferences.
He leans down to your ear.
"I won't embarrass you, motherfucker."
"Joe."
"What?"
"You can't say that."
"You just said it."
"I was singing."
"I was participating."
You elbow him. He doesn't move. Anika is filming again. You don't tell her to stop.
———
The show ends. Your voice is gone. Mads is crying about because I liked a boy. Cat is rebooking her flight because she missed her Uber and now wants to stay another day. Anika is already in the car downstairs.
Joe holds your coat for you. Helps Mads with hers. Carries Cat's tote because she's holding her phone in one hand and a tequila soda in the other. You watch him do it.
In the car, he puts his hand on your knee. You put your feet up on the dash because your shoes are killing you, and he doesn't tell you to take them down. Your friends are in the SUV behind. The driver is taking the long way because Joe asked him to — take the river road, the highway's gonna be a mess.
"So."
"So."
"How was your first Sabrina Carpenter concert?"
"I had a really good time."
You look at him.
"What?"
"Nothing. I thought I was gonna have to drag it out of you."
"Why?"
"Because that's usually how this goes. I ask if you had fun, and you say it was fine, and I have to interpret it."
He glances at you. The streetlight catches him. "I had fun. She's good. You were having fun. Mads is funny. Anika keeps asking me questions like she's interviewing me, which I kind of like. Cat tried to give me half her drink. That's a good night."
"Joe."
"What?"
"That was a whole answer."
"Yeah."
"Like a real one."
"I know."
He puts his hand back on your knee. His thumb moves once. Slow.
"You're gonna make me go to more of these."
"Yeah."
"Figured."
II. Halloween
You bring it up over the weekend.
"The Bengals Halloween party is in three weeks."
He doesn't look up. "Mhm."
"Are you gonna go?"
"No."
"Joe."
"Y/N. I don't go. You know I don't go."
"I know."
"So."
"So I was just asking."
He looks up at you then. You go back to your phone. You don't say anything else.
———
You bring it up again the next morning. Casually. Like you forgot you'd already mentioned it.
"So the Halloween party —"
"Y/N."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just saying. Alex's been texting me about costumes for two weeks, and Jay asked me yesterday if we were coming, and I didn't know what to tell her."
"You tell them I don't go."
"I told them I'd ask."
"Y/N."
"I'm just telling you what's happening, Joe. They want me there. I want to go. But if you don't want to, that's fine."
"You'd go without me."
"I'd go with Alex."
He watches you for a second. Then he goes back to his coffee. You don't bring it up again that day.
———
Three days later, he comes out of the bedroom with his phone in his hand.
"I'll go."
"To what?"
"The Halloween party."
You put your laptop down. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Joe."
"Don't make it a thing."
"I'm not making it a thing."
"Y/N."
"I'm just — yeah. Okay. Yes! Let's go!"
He looks at you. He's trying not to smile. "You're making it a thing."
"I'm not making it a thing."
———
He says yes on Monday. You start texting Alex about it on Monday. By Tuesday morning, you've narrowed it down to three couples' concepts, and you bring them to him over breakfast.
"I'll handle costumes —"
"I probably have something in the closet that works."
You look at him.
"What?"
"I probably have something in the closet that works," he says again. "Depending on what we're doing. And I can call Kyle for whatever else we need. He's good at this stuff. He did the Met thing."
"Joe."
"What?"
"You're going to call your stylist to put together a couple's Halloween costume."
"Yeah."
"With me."
"Yes, Y/N."
You stare at him.
"I can also just buy something off Amazon."
"No, I want Kyle to do it. He's good. Let me do this part."
"Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He picks up his phone.
———
Kyle pulls a white suit with thin purple pinstripes from Joe's closet that Joe forgot he owned. LSU-era. " That'll work,Kyle says on the phone, looking at the picture Joe sent. Send me your measurements again, Y/N I'll get the Harley pieces sent up by Friday.
Friday morning, a garment bag arrives at the door. Red and black. The pigtails were clipped to the hanger. A bat with a bad girl's sticker peeling on the side. You stand in the front hallway holding it, and you can't stop laughing.
"Y/N."
"Yeah."
"What's so funny?"
"Your stylist bought me a bat."
"He commits."
"I love him."
"You've never met him."
"I love him anyway."
———
The night of the party, you do his face in his bathroom.
He sits on the counter in the suit pants and a white undershirt because the vest goes on last. You stand between his knees with a sponge in one hand and a tube of white face paint in the other. He's watching you in the mirror over your shoulder.
"Hold still."
"I'm holding still."
"You keep talking."
"That's not the same as moving."
"It moves your face, Joe."
He goes quiet. You work the white into his hairline. His eyes track you in the mirror. It's a little unnerving — his face is the thing you know best in the world, and you're covering it up.
"Y/N."
"Don't talk, your mouth's next."
"Can I say one thing?"
"One thing."
"I can't believe I let you do this."
"That's not one thing; that was a sentence."
"Y/N."
"Hold still."
You move to the green around his eyes. He closes them for you. You have one hand on his jaw to hold him still and the other working the eyeshadow in, and you can feel him breathing slow under your fingers, and you can feel exactly how much he trusts you for this — letting you put your hands on his face for an hour while you cover it up.
When you're done with the eyes, you step back to look at him. He opens them.
"Verdict."
"You look insane."
"Y/N."
"In a good way. In a really good way."
"I feel insane."
"That's the costume."
He laughs. Small. You do the red around his mouth last. You go slow. You don't want to mess it up. When you're done, he stays still for a second, watching you in the mirror, and then he says come here and you step in between his knees, and he holds you by the hips with his still-gloved hands, and he kisses you on the forehead because you told him not to mess up his mouth.
"Y/N."
"Yeah."
"This is the most insane thing you've ever asked me to do."
"I know."
"I'm doing it because I love you."
"I know that too."
———
He looks devastating.
In a good way. You're already in your costume — red and black, the pigtails, the bat in your hand — and you stand in the bathroom door and look at him, and you have to take a second.
"Joe."
"Don't."
"You look really good."
"Y/N. I look like a clown."
"Yeah."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"It was from me."
He comes over to you. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts and pulls you a step closer. You let him.
"You're going to be insufferable about this tonight, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Figured."
———
Ja'Marr clocks him before you get inside.
You're walking up to the rented-out space from the car — Joe in the full Joker, you in the full Harley, his hand on the small of your back — and Ja'Marr is on the sidewalk in a cookie costume, and he sees Joe, and he stops walking, and he says, very loud, oh my GOD.
"Don't."
"BRO."
"Ja'Marr."
"BRO."
"Don't."
Ja'Marr is doubled over. Tee is coming up behind him in a full Batman costume, and he sees Joe, and he says holy shit, and then he says hi, Y/N, and then he goes back to holy shit. Alex is two steps behind Tee in a Poison Ivy costume that you helped her pick out, and she sees you, and she screams.
"Y/N."
"Hi."
"Y/N, OH MY GOD."
"Hi, Alex."
Jay is somewhere behind Alex in what looks like a milk carton costume, already laughing. She gives you a thumbs up over Alex's head.
"Y/N."
"Yeah, Joe."
"This is your fault."
"I'm aware."
———
Inside, Alex pulls you away from him for an hour.
She has photos to take. She has people to introduce you to. She has gossip about which of the rookies showed up in costumes their wives hate. You let her drag you around. You keep glancing back to find Joe in the crowd — he's never far. He's holding a beer. He's letting Tee's mom take a picture with him. He's nodding at someone in a Chiefs costume that he is, charitably, pretending to find funny.
Jay finds you by the bar around eleven.
"You got him here."
"I know."
"Y/N. You got him here."
"I know."
"In costume."
"I know, Jay."
"And you're Harley."
"Yes."
"I'm gonna cry."
"Don't cry."
"I'm a little drunk."
"I can tell."
She hugs you. You hug her back. Across the room, Joe is watching you and trying not to smile.
———
At midnight, you find him on a couch in the back room with three of his teammates around him.
He's holding a bottle of something. His face paint is smudged at the corner of his mouth. The vest is unbuttoned. He's laughing at something Tee just said, and he hasn't seen you yet.
You stand in the doorway and watch him for a second.
He sees you. His face does something — the small smile, the one you get to see, the one that means you're there. He pats the couch next to him. Tee scoots over.
You sit down. Joe puts his arm around your shoulders. You can feel the white face paint coming off on your Harley costume. You don't care.
"Y/N."
"Yeah."
"Thanks for making me come to this."
"Yeah, Joe."
"I mean it."
"I know."
He kisses the top of your head. His face paint comes off on your hair. You don't tell him.
III. Sheet Mask
He comes home from a workout on a Sunday afternoon.
You're already in yours. You're sitting on the couch with a sheet mask on, watching something stupid on Bravo, and he walks in the door, stops in the entryway, and looks at you.
"Y/N."
"Hi."
"What is on your face?"
"A sheet mask."
"A what?"
"A sheet mask."
He comes closer. He leans over the back of the couch and looks down at you. His face is pink from the gym. His hair is damp at the temples.
"That's a piece of wet fabric."
"It's a sheet mask, Joe."
"Is it doing anything?"
"It's hydrating."
"What does that mean?"
"It means it's putting moisture in my skin."
"With a piece of wet fabric."
"Yes."
He stares at you. You stare back. You can feel the mask sliding slightly on your cheek.
"Come here," you say.
"No."
"Joe."
"Y/N."
"Come here."
———
He comes.
He doesn't sit on the couch. He stands in front of you with his arms crossed and looks at you. You can tell he's already losing because he hasn't gone upstairs to shower. That's his tell. If he were really saying no, he'd be in the shower already.
"Sit down."
"Y/N —"
"Sit. Down."
He sits. On the floor. Between your knees. With his back against the couch and his head tipped back to look up at you.
"I'm not putting that on my face."
"You don't have to."
"Oh."
"I'm putting it on your face."
"Y/N."
"You said you weren't going to. I'm respecting that. I'm doing it for you."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not the same thing, Joe."
"It's the same thing."
You reach into the basket by the couch and pull out a fresh packet. You tear it open. The mask is folded in half inside, dripping. You peel it apart with your fingers and hold it up. He looks at it. Then he looks at you. Then he closes his eyes.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Fine, Y/N."
"Thank you."
"I hate you."
"I know."
———
You do his face slowly.
You smooth the mask onto his forehead first, then work it down over his cheekbones, his nose, and his chin. He keeps his eyes closed. You can feel him breathing slowly under your hands. The mask is cold from the fridge — you keep them in the fridge, which is a thing he's mocked you for — and you feel him flinch the first time it touches his skin.
"Cold."
"I know."
"Why is it cold?"
"Because I keep them in the fridge."
"Why?"
"Because it's better for your skin."
"Y/N."
"Don't talk, you're going to crease it."
He stops talking. You work the mask into the corners of his jaw. You smooth the eye flaps down. You press the edges against his temples. When you're done, you sit back on the couch and look at him.
He looks ridiculous.
A grown man with a sheet mask on his face, sitting on the floor of his living room, in joggers and a t-shirt that says Bengals strength & conditioning, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the couch cushion.
You take a picture.
You don't ask. You just take it.
He opens one eye. "Y/N."
"Yeah."
"Did you just take a picture of me?"
"Yes."
"Y/N."
"Let me see it."
You hand him the phone. He looks at it for a long time. You can't tell what his face is doing because the mask is covering most of it. You watch him scroll. Zoom. Scroll back.
"It's bad."
"It's amazing."
"Y/N."
"Joe."
"Can I post it?"
"No."
"Joe."
"Y/N."
"Close friends only."
He looks at you. The mask is still on his face. You can't read him.
"Close friends."
"Yeah. Not my story. Just the eighty people who already know us."
"Eighty!?!?"
"It's a small eighty, Joe."
He goes quiet for a second. You watch him decide. The mask makes it harder than usual.
"Fine."
"Yeah?"
"Close friends. And if it ends up anywhere else, I'm divorcing you."
"We're not married."
"I'll find a way."
———
You post it to close friends.
You set the phone face down on the coffee table, and you go back to Bravo. Joe closes his eyes again. The mask is starting to dry at the edges.
Ninety seconds later, your phone buzzes.
Then it buzzes again.
Then it doesn't stop buzzing.
Joe opens his eyes. "What's happening?"
"I don't know."
"Y/N."
"I — it's close friends, Joe, it's only —"
"Check it."
You pick up your phone. You have fourteen replies already. Half of them are crying-laughing emojis from your friends. One is from Mads — Y/N I AM HOWLING. One is from your sister — send me the link to the mask. One is from Anika — Y/N!
Then Joe's phone buzzes on the coffee table.
He doesn't open his eyes. "Tell me."
You pick up his phone. You read the screen.
"It's Tee."
Joe's eyes open.
"What does it say?"
"He sent the lipstick-face emoji."
"Y/N. How does Tee know?"
"I —"
"Y/N."
"Alex is on my close friends list."
He stares at you. The mask creases at his forehead.
"Y/N."
"What?"
"You posted me in makeup to a list that includes my receiver's girlfriend."
"In my defense, you said close friends."
"Alex isn't your close friend, she's his close friend, and now she has screenshot capability —"
"Joe."
"— and the Bengals wags group chat is its own ecosystem, Y/N, you don't understand —"
"Joe."
"What?"
"You're talking really fast."
He closes his eyes again. Breathes in through his nose.
"This is going to be in the team group chat in twenty minutes."
"I know."
"Ja'Marr is going to lose it."
"I know."
He doesn't say anything for a second. Then he laughs. Small. Real.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
———
His phone buzzes again.
You look at it. It's his mom.
You hand him the phone without saying anything. He opens his eyes. Reads the screen. You watch his face. The mask is hiding most of it, but you can see the corner of his mouth lift.
"What does it say?"
He hands you the phone.
tell her I said hi. You look ridiculous. I love it. xx
You read it twice.
"Joe."
"Yeah."
"Your mom is funny."
"I know."
He's looking at you now. The mask is starting to slip at his hairline.
"Y/N."
"Yeah."
"Why is my mom on your close friends list?"
You don't answer right away.
"Y/N."
"She's nice."
"Y/N."
"What?"
"You haven't met her."
"We've DMed."
"You've DMed."
"A couple times."
"Y/N. You've been DMing my mom."
"She started it."
"She — Y/N."
"She commented on something I posted in like September. And then she DMed me. We've gone back and forth a couple of times. That's it."
He's staring at you. His mouth is open a little. The mask is doing nothing for him right now.
"Joe."
"Yeah."
"Don't be weird about it."
"I'm not being weird about it."
"You look weird about it."
"Y/N. My mother is on your close friends list. And we haven't done a real meeting. And you've been DMing her since September."
"Yes."
He closes his eyes. He doesn't say anything for a second. You watch him work through it.
"Joe."
"Yeah."
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"Joe."
"I'm not mad. I'm — processing."
"What's there to process?"
"That my girlfriend and my mother have a DM relationship I didn't know about."
"Joe."
"I'm not mad, Y/N."
He opens his eyes. Looks at you. The mask is sliding now, definitely past its lifespan. He looks ridiculous. You love him.
"Text her back for me."
"What should I say?"
"Tell her hi back. Tell her I'm being walked like a dog."
"I'm not telling your mom that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's true and I don't want her to know."
He laughs. His shoulders shake against your knee. You type hi Robin! He says hi. xx and send it. She sends back a heart. You put the phone down.
Joe stays on the floor with the mask on for another twenty minutes. You don't tell him when it's done. Neither does he. Eventually, he opens his eyes and peels it off himself and looks at you.
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