inlovewrafe

He slipped. Ushering you and everyone else up the ladder first, making sure you could get to safety, Finnick slipped as he tried to climb, screaming out your name. You didn’t hesitate, lunging for him, grabbing onto his arm as Katniss had the sense to hold onto your waist, hauling the two of you up before dropping the Holo to kill the mutts. 

You were frozen in place when the explosion happened, breathing heavy as you clung onto Finnick as if he would disappear if you let go, dead, killed by the mutts. In a different world, where you didn’t reach him in time, or where he slipped through your hold and cried out for you as he was torn to pieces. Those alternate worlds flashed through your head, holding onto Finnick was the only thing that grounded you in reality. 

“I’m okay,” he assured you, voice strained. He wasn’t okay. He lived, sure, but his left leg was bloodied and torn from the attack. It was salvageable, mostly just broken skin, deep bite marks, teeth from the mutts still lodged into his flesh, but you had to hurry.

You sought refuge with a Capitol woman that looked as if she was part tiger. Tigris her name was, ironically enough, a friend of Cressida’s. She ushered you into a hidden cellar, providing you with bread, cheese, and a vial of morphling she said could help with pain. Finnick refused to take it initially, telling you to save them for someone else, but you, with some help from Pollux, forced it down his throat with some water.

The cellar is cramped as you all squish together, only enough space for five bedrolls to be spread out. Finnick is quickly succumbing to the medication, sprawled out on the ground on his back as you do your best to clean and disinfect his wound, a dazed smile on his face as you try your best to carefully dig the teeth out of his flesh.

“What are you smiling at?” you ask, grabbing a small bottle disinfectant.

“You.”

You shake your head, a small smile on your face, but your eyes are tired and he can tell. “You’re really drugged up, aren’t you?” you say, holding his leg still so he doesn’t jerk away at the sting.

“I’m not,” he argues, though his words are extremely slurred. 

You shake your head and continue to tend to his leg, wrapping the wounds in gauze and bandages before you go to sit next to him. “All set,” you say, knees hugged close to your chest as your chin rests on them. 

“Thanks, gorgeous.” He smiles up at you, bright and cheerful, as if he didn’t just almost die. 

“Gorgeous?” You give him an odd look at the name. You hadn’t known each other very long, the two of you met in District 13 and only started to bond after some training together. You were a medic, originally, but you wanted to do more, be more useful. 

It’s not as if Finnick never complimented you. You became friends quickly, and he’d give you decent pointers on your fighting, while you taught him how to splint a broken bone or properly clean a wound. He’d tell you how talented you were with a needle and thread, suturing up bad cuts, or that you always managed to pull off the dull gray of the District 13 uniforms. You chalked it up to his habits, left over from when he was the Capitol’s golden boy, but not much else.

“Yeah. Gorgeous,” he nods, propping himself up on his arms, loopy grin still on his face. 

You just snort, moving to get some of the food Tigris had provided the Squad and sitting down next to him again, legs criss-crossed. “You should eat.”

“You should eat,” he retorts lamely, taking the bread from your hands and clumsily shoving it into your face.

“We can both eat, Finnick.” You take the bread back, splitting it and the cheese between the two of you.

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, watching as the rest of the Squad attempt to get comfortable in the cramped space, tending to their own wounds and eating the small amount of rations Tigris could spare for you. As you eat, your mind wanders a bit to what would happen if you succeeded. If you and the Squad managed to get into the President’s mansion and Katniss killed Snow.

Would you return to District 13? What would you do then? Just continue to work in medicine? Or maybe you could travel Panem? You’ve been stuck in 13 your whole life, haven’t seen anything outside of the grays of the building, haven’t tasted anything outside the slop they tried to pass off as food. You could visit the other districts, help rebuild some of them. You want to stay hopeful, believe that there will be a world without the Hunger Games, a world where you’re not quarantined in the walls of District 13.

You’re snapped out your thoughts when you feel a weight in your lap, looking down to find Finnick’s head resting there.

“What are you doing?” you ask him quietly, glancing at the others to see if they were watching. They weren’t, too distracted by their own problems or trying to rest.

“What are you doing? You’re all quiet and stoic.”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asks.

“About this. This whole mission. The rebellion. What will happen after,” you explain, hand idly moving to his hair, smoothing it back from his face.

“What do you think will happen?”

“I think we can win,” you say. “I think Katniss can kill Snow, then we’ll go back to 13 and figure it out from there. What I’m mostly worried about is what will happen after we win. To me, specifically, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been in District 13 my whole life. I’ve never known anything different. But after the rebellion, after Snow’s dead, I don’t want to just stay there. But I’m not sure where I’d go,” you explain.

“You could come with me,” Finnick offers.

“What?”

“To District 4. With me. We could use more healing hands in 4.” He starts rambling, pretty out of it, staring distantly up at you as he talks. “And it’d be nice to be able to see you everyday. We could be roommates. It gets lonely in 4. I mean, I have Annie, and she’s a great friend and all, but she needs her alone time a lot, which makes sense considering everything she’s been through, but it’d just be nice to have someone there with me always, you know? It’d be nice to have you with me always.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” you laugh softly, still combing your fingers through his hair. 

“I’m not,” he insists, sitting up.

You just shake your head, changing the subject. “You should rest. Sleep,” you say pushing him back to lie down on the bedroll.

He grabs onto your arm, tugging you down with him. “Sleep with me.”

You snort a laugh at the accidental innuendo, but move pass it, knowing he didn’t mean it in that way. “I’ll be okay, Finnick. There’s not enough space.”

“We can share a bedroll,” he argues, still tugging at your arm.

“It’ll hardly fit the both of us,” you try to reason. “Seriously, you’re injured and you need to sleep off the morphling anyway.”

“We’ll fit,” he says. “Come on, just trust me.”

“How?”

He lies down, letting go of your arm, instead wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you down so you were both lying on your sides, face to face, legs tangled. “There. See, we fit.”

“Finnick—” you attempt to protest. This could hardly be comfortable for him.

“You’re not putting any pressure on my leg, I’ll be fine,” he insists. 

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

“Then what?”

“This isn’t—I don’t know—weird or awkward?” you ask.

“Why would it be weird or awkward?”

“It’s just— Nevermind. Try to get some sleep,” you say.

“Okay.” He lets go of it easily, pulling you closer and pressing a clumsy kiss to the top of your head.

“Finnick?”

“Hm?”

“What was—” you pull your head back to look at him again.

“Will you come with me?” he asks. “After everything?”

“To District 4?”

“Yeah. To District 4.” He nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head again before settling back down onto the pillow. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

The name draws another small laugh from you. “Goodnight, Finnick.”

a/n: i'm so sorry to the anon that requested this its actually cheeks but i could not get inspired for the life of me </3

9:45 pm. You were supposed to be with your mother and father, dazzling guests with your gorgeous smile and beautiful brain. You were not supposed to be sneaking out to meet Rafe Cameron. And you were most certainly not to be in a clandestine relationship with him.

If your father found out, he would truly have a heart attack. Not because Rafe was an asshole, or a former drug addict. But because he was simply a Kook and nothing more. He didn't come from old money like you, he wasn't a blue blood. In your father's eyes he was nothing.

But you saw something past that. You saw the real Rafe. Not the one watered down by societal pressure, or the one strung out from countless lines of coke, and definitely not the one beaten down by his sick twisted father, Ward.

You observed him in his most fragile state. He let you see him. And thus it began.

You were no stranger to illicit affairs, but you never intended to become a participant in one. Yet here you were.

At the docks, black silk dress with lace trim, saltwater pearls resting gracefully on your chest and adorning your ears.

"God, you look like trouble in pearls, I love it."

You felt your face heat up and butterflies bubble in your lower tummy. "Well aren't you ever the flirt Mr. Cameron?"

And like many times before, you watched him take in your response. Eyes shining in bliss, tips of his ears growing pink, cheeks pinching together to present his award winning smile. The smile reserved for you, the one that never failed to make you fall deep in love.

You could feel him starring at you as a comfortable silence falls over you, he knows what you're thinking. He knows the nagging guilt you feel for 'breaking the rules.'

Then you break it, the silence is over. It's now a deafening quiet with only one thing floating in the air, "What do you think they'll say if they find out what we're hiding?"

And then a scoff, he actually scoffed like that was something stupid. "You think I'm hiding it? Sweetheart, I want them to know. They can keep all their stupid rules but I'm keeping you. You're not just their pretty daughter that they can parade around to every blue blooded Ralph Lauren fedora wearing creep. You're mine and I'm yours. They'll figure it out eventually. I'll watch the world burn for you. You're not off limits to me. Not now. Not ever."

Just like that, time was frozen. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis, wind stopped dancing with the trees, nothing else existed.

Just you and Rafe.

Dividers - @uzmacchiato

Tagged - @inlovewrafe @rafeysangelbaby @rafesdrew @kravitzwhore @silkylovey @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @imliterallysocoolfr

You were on your way back downstairs, careful not to spill the vodka soda you’d just made, when you heard your name. You slowed, thinking Rafe was telling a story about you - maybe one of the cute ones he tells when he’s in a good mood.

But then -

“She’s sweet, sure, but she’s kinda… clueless sometimes. Not as deep as she thinks.”

The glass almost slips from your hand.

You blink, certain you misheard, but then his friends laugh. That sharp, mocking kind of laugh that makes your cheeks burn.

When you step into the kitchen, Rafe’s leaning against the counter, beer in hand, smirking like he owns the room. That smirk dies when he sees your face.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice all smooth.

“What… what was that?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“What was what?” he says, like you’re being silly.

“You. Talking bad about me.” Your voice wavers, and you hate it.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Babe, I was kidding. You’re so sensitive.”

The sting in your chest flares. “Sensitive? You called me clueless, Rafe.”

“I mean - ” he shrugs, “- sometimes you don’t catch on to stuff. It’s not bad, it’s cute.”

Your throat feels tight. “That’s… that’s not cute. That’s just you being mean.”

He sighs like you’re exhausting him. “Don’t start with this right now.”

“I’m not starting anything!” you say, voice raising in a way it rarely does. “I just don’t get why you’d say that to your friends. I would never - ”

“ - Because I'm drunk and it was a joke,” he cuts in, setting his beer down with a little too much force. “And I didn’t think you’d hear.”

“So it’s only bad if I hear it?”

He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “No. Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The music from the other room feels too loud, the air too heavy. His friends have already slipped out of the kitchen.

Rafe’s voice softens. “I’m an idiot. I was showing off. And instead, I made the one person who’s always in my corner feel like shit.”

You look down, biting your lip. “I just… I try really hard to be good to you, Rafe. I don’t know how to… be any different.”

He steps closer, the heat of him crowding you in. “I don’t want you to be different. I like you exactly the way you are. I just… sometimes I’m a drunk asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”

Your eyes sting, but you manage a tiny smile. “You are a drunk asshole.”

“Yeah,” he says, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “but I’m your drunk asshole.”

He kisses you, gentle but certain, tasting faintly of beer and regret. And even though your heart’s still a little sore, you kiss him back—because you’re still you, still soft, and because you know he’s really, really trying.

He's a sweet talker, always sliding his way back into your heart, head, and bed.

Req - "Hiii!!! It’s me again. I was wondering if you could write something with like the scene where rafe talks bad about sofia but instead of sofia for it to be reader and she hears and they get in a massive argument but then they make up and yeah. hope this makes sense!! also i just want to let you know you are one of my favorite writers on this app and i check you account daily!!" - @inlovewrafe

Dividers - @uzmacchiato

Tagged - @rafeysangelbaby @rafesdrew @kravitzwhore @silkylovey @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave