#finnick request | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlybeeewrites · 18 days ago

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Echos

Request: Could I request a one shot where Finnick odair x fem! Reader reunite after the reader is saved from the capital?

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Fem!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mockingjay violence, torture, psychological torture, jabber jays, peeta’s torture in the capital, Johanna’s torture in the capital, PTSD, anxiety, fear, capital manipulation, president snow

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain. It was all you knew. Every breath, every moment since they dragged you from that godforsaken arena was laced with agony. You never should have left Finnick’s side. You had promised—sworn—that no matter what, you’d stick together. That you’d never risk losing each other again.

But you also remembered what Haymitch had told you before the Games. The plan.

He had pressed a golden bracelet into your hand—almost identical to Finnick’s. A token, a silent promise. A reminder of what you had to do. Keep Katniss and Peeta in the dark. Keep them both alive. But above all else, get Katniss out.

For a while, everything had been going according to plan. The bread had come, the signal was given, and the time had come to put Beetee’s strategy into motion. You had hope. This could work.

And then it all fell apart.

The explosion hit.

A blast of force sent you both you and Peeta flying, slamming you against a tree, knocking the wind from your lungs. The last thing you saw before everything went black was the blinding white light of destruction—debris raining down as the arena shattered.

Pain drags you back to consciousness.

It’s different now—sharp, aching, thrumming through every nerve in your body. Your head is heavy, your thoughts sluggish, and when you try to move, your limbs feel foreign, unresponsive.

The first thing you register is the cold. Not just from the sterile air, but from the hard surface beneath you, unforgiving and clinical. The second is the color. White. Blindingly white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Even the flimsy gown draped over your battered body. It’s like you’ve been erased, stripped down to nothing.

A cell.

You try to sit up, but the movement sends a sharp spike of pain through your ribs. Bruised—maybe cracked. Your wrists are raw, red marks circling them, though you don’t remember why. You don’t remember much at all beyond the explosion. Beyond the moment the arena fell apart.

The soft hiss of a door opening snaps you to attention.

Boots echo against the floor, slow and deliberate. You force yourself to look up, and ice coils in your veins.

President Snow stands before you.

He’s composed as ever, dressed in crisp white, his cold blue eyes studying you like you’re an insect pinned beneath glass. A faint, almost amused smile tugs at his lips. In his hands, he cradles a pristine white rose.

You steel yourself, masking the fear clawing at your throat. You don’t speak first. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Snow takes a slow breath, inhaling the scent of the rose before his gaze locks onto you. “You’re quite the survivor, aren’t you?”

You say nothing.

“I must admit, I was quite disappointed to see you among those extracted from the arena. A shame, really. I had hoped for better from a Victor of District Four.” He tilts his head. “Finnick Odair’s love.”

Your stomach twists at Finnick’s name, but you keep your face blank. You don’t know where he is. If he made it out. If he’s even alive.

Snow takes a step closer, watching you carefully. “You see, we know there was a plan. We know the Quarter Quell was never meant to go as intended. The rebels orchestrated this, didn’t they?” He crouches slightly, lowering himself to your level. “Why don’t you save us all some time and tell me what you know?”

You blink at him, forcing your expression into something blank, confused. “Plan?” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow sighs, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Lying is beneath you.” He leans in slightly, and you catch the faintest hint of blood beneath the overwhelming scent of roses. “Very well. We have ways of making you talk,”

And you know he’s right.

And the pain he afflicts never left. It simply changed—sometimes sharp and searing, sometimes a dull ache that settled in your bones—but it was always there.

Time blurred in the Capitol. You didn’t know how long it had been since they ripped you from the arena, since the explosion stole you away from Finnick. Days, weeks… it could have been months. You weren’t sure anymore. You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

They never let you rest. The sterile white walls, the blinding overhead lights, the sound of footsteps approaching and retreating—it all became part of your existence. And then there were Peeta and Johanna.

You caught glimpses of them when they dragged you through the halls, when you passed rooms where screams bled through the walls.

Peeta was barely recognizable anymore. The hijacking, the tracker jackers, had shattered him, stolen the light that used to live in his eyes. He couldn’t focus for long, his mind darting from one fleeting thought to the next. His words were broken, a disjointed mess of confusion and hurt. His body trembled constantly, his hands shaking as if they couldn’t hold onto the fragments of his sanity. He would mumble to himself, apologize for things he didn’t understand, and then, in a fit of panic, beg you to stay, to tell him he wasn’t lost. And you would do your best to assure him, sooth him from across the room.

It was unbearable.

Johanna was different. She was quieter, but there was something hollow in her. Her body shook violently from withdrawal, her lips cracked from dehydration. The Capitol had drowned her over and over again, only to pull her back just before she crossed the line between life and death. When she looked at you, there was no spark of rebellion, no fire. Just exhaustion and pure resentment that kept her going.

And then there was you.

They had their own way of breaking you.

At first, they kept it simple—pain, starvation, isolation. Keeping you across the room from your friends. Close enough to talk. Close enough to hear their screaming. But not close enough to comfort.

But then they brought you to that room. The one with the speakers hidden in the walls, where the shadows were deeper, where the air felt heavier. And they made you listen.

Jabberjays.

You had heard them in the arena before, their eerie mimicry of loved ones’ voices meant to torment you. You had seen Finnick fall to them, and Katniss. And it had broken your heart seeing how they were reacting.

But that had been nothing compared to this.

The pain had been your constant companion, gnawing at you, twisting every second into an eternity.

They didn’t just sing—they screeched. The birds were torture incarnate, their calls designed to break the mind, to twist the memories into something ugly. They brought you to the room, the sterile walls designed to keep you isolated, to amplify the terror in your heart. They had programmed the birds to sound like those you loved—those you had failed.

At first, it was a whisper. A voice you thought you recognized, but it was distorted, cracked, like the sound was being pulled through a filter of madness. It came slowly, building, growing louder.

It was impossible. You had never heard that tone from him before. Finnick never spoke like that. But there it was, his voice accusing you, twisting the memory of his care, of his laughter, into something venomous. The birds sang it over and over, forcing you to hear the words that ripped at your very soul.

And then the voice changed again.

The words cut through you like a knife, too sharp, too raw. His voice, so young and full of trust, was unmistakable. But it was a voice that had long since faded from your memory. The bird had twisted it, made it sound like something darker, like something hateful. Your little brother who you did everything to keep safe.

It wasn’t the voice of a child who loved you. It was the voice of a child who felt abandoned, who had been left alone. The bird screamed again, louder this time, its voice shrill and echoing, sending waves of nausea through you.

The birds’ voices layered one on top of the other, drowning out your thoughts, breaking the barrier between reality and the spiraling nightmare that consumed you. It was as though every painful memory, every regret, every mistake you had ever made, was being replayed and twisted into something ugly. Something unforgivable.

The walls seemed to close in as you sank deeper, the birds’ calls surrounding you, clawing at your mind, twisting your thoughts. It was endless. The repetition, the overwhelming weight of their words, started to chip away at you. You could feel your sanity slipping, each scream from the birds tearing a hole inside your chest.

The pain, the guilt, the spiraling madness was too much. You had no defense left. The voices echoed, screamed, whispered, and everything you had held onto was cracking, shattering like glass. Your hands trembled, your heart raced, and you were drowning in the sound of their accusations.

The sound of Finnick’s broken voice, Annie’s hollow sadness, and the desperation in your brother’s cries—each one felt like a new blade slicing into you. Each call, each accusation, only deepened the spiral you were trapped in. Your chest ached with the weight of their pain, your soul shattered from the guilt of it all. The torment was endless, suffocating.

In the haze of madness, time felt like an abstract concept—blurred, stretched beyond recognition. The room seemed to shift around you, but the stillness of it pressed in like a vice. It was as though you were stuck in this moment forever, caught between memories and nightmares. You couldn’t tell when you were moved from one place to another.

Even then as you laid on the cold, white floor of your cell, the sterile walls closing in around you. The trembling never stopped. It was like a constant hum in your body, a fear that never quite left. Your back was pressed against the smooth, unforgiving surface of the wall, your eyes staring blankly at nothing in particular.

Your mind felt detached from reality, a fog clouding every thought. The voices of the Jabberjays still echoed in your head, their cruel distortions of Finnick’s, Annie’s, and your brother’s voices a constant reminder of the horrors they had subjected you to. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t escape them.

You barely noticed the sounds at first—footsteps, muffled voices, the faint shuffle of boots on the hard floors. Then the door to your cell opened with a sharp hiss, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you looked up. Someone was standing there, silhouetted in the dim light, their features too blurred to make out. You didn’t know if it was real, if you were dreaming again, or if it was just another cruel trick of the Capitol.

A hand reached out, tentative, like they were unsure of how to approach you. “You’re alright,” a voice said softly, but with a firmness that cracked through the haze in your mind. “We’re here to get you out.”

But the words felt distant, disconnected, as though they were coming from underwater. You couldn’t trust anything. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear bubbling up from deep within. This could be another trap. Another lie. You weren’t sure who this person was, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

Before you could even form a coherent thought, a sharp scent flooded the room, heavy and sickly sweet. The next thing you knew, the room swirled around you—shapes and sounds warping—and the last thing you heard was the voice again, more urgent this time: “It’s okay. We’re getting you out.”

And then, as the smoke thickened and your vision blurred, everything went black.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was confusion. It was disorienting—your senses a blur, your mind fragmented. You were in a room, but it wasn’t your cell, wasn’t the sterile white of the Capitol. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic, and the soft hum of machines around you was both strange and oddly comforting.

But that didn’t mean you were safe. Not yet. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the chaos. Doctors in white coats were moving quickly, their voices a frantic buzz. Someone was touching your arm, their hands too firm, too urgent.

You flinched away, panic surging through your veins as memories of the Jabberjays twisted into your mind. The screams of Finnick, Annie, and your brother—distorted and cruel—ripped through your thoughts again. Was this just another trick? Were they going to use the birds again? Were you being captured all over again?

“Please, just… just stop,” you gasped, your voice raw, barely audible. You scrambled, trying to pull yourself away from their grasp, but your limbs were weak.

“Shh, shh, you’re safe,” one of the doctors whispered, but you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t. Safe didn’t exist anymore.

They tried to hold you down, to reassure you, but the more they touched you, the more your skin crawled. Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as the room closed in, and the walls felt like they were suffocating you. Everything felt too bright, too loud. You wanted to escape, to run, to hide from the chaos.

Then you heard it—his voice.

“Where is she? Where is she?”

Your heart skipped a beat, a raw, desperate sound. Finnick’s voice. But it couldn’t be him. You tensed, a jolt of panic shooting through you. No, no, no—this isn’t real. It’s not real.

The words that came next weren’t comforting—they were the birds, mimicking him, twisting his voice. It was too much. Your pulse raced, your body trembling violently as you backed away from the doctors, too afraid to look.

“Where is she?” Finnick’s voice called again, closer this time. “Please, please, I need to find her.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The memories collided in your mind, his voice and the twisted birds, and you weren’t sure where one began and the other ended.

Then, out of the chaos, a familiar face emerged. Finnick. His face was drawn, haunted, but his eyes—his eyes—they were the same. He was real. The fog in your mind started to clear, the panic slowly ebbing away as you locked onto him. The sight of him, standing there, filled you with a raw, aching relief. But the confusion still clung to you, the terror that this was a trick.

He stepped closer, his hand outstretched. “It’s me, sweetheart” he said softly, his voice full of something gentle, something full of warmth you thought you’d lost forever. “I’m here. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Your body froze, heart hammering in your chest, but then something inside you broke. You couldn’t hold onto the fear anymore, couldn’t push him away. You collapsed into him, falling into his arms, the weight of the months of torture pressing down on you, flooding you with every raw emotion you’d been holding in.

The warmth of Finnick’s embrace is overwhelming, like a beacon in the dark. For a moment, it feels surreal, like you’re still trapped in the nightmare, that you’ll wake up any second and be back in that place, alone and broken. But when his arms tighten around you, when he whispers against your hair, you realize that this—this is real.

Finnick was home. His scent, his touch, the way his body feels against yours—it’s everything you’ve been missing, everything you’ve been longing for. For so long, you thought you would never feel this again. You thought you were going to die there, in that cold, endless nightmare.

“I thought I was going to die there,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, a broken sob escaping as you clutch him tighter. The words spill out before you can stop them, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. “I thought… I thought I’d never make it out. That I’d never see you again.”

Finnick pulls back just enough to look at you, his face full of sorrow, guilt swirling in his eyes. “You’re here now,” he says, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “You’re safe. You’re with me now, and I’m never leaving you again. I swear it.”

The sound of his voice, steady and unwavering, cracks something deep inside of you. It’s like the world around you shifts—like you’re not alone anymore. Like you’re finally home.

He takes a slow, deep breath and leans his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face with gentle care. “I know… I know it’s been hell,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again, sweetheart,”

You nod against him, your breath shaky, but his presence is like an anchor, grounding you, pulling you back from the abyss. Your body trembles, not from the cold or the fear, but from the raw relief that courses through you.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel safe, or at least the illusion of it. Either way, you didn’t care. And for the first time since the reaping, maybe you can properly start to breathe.

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ilguna · 3 months ago

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☼ odds are (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you and Finnick have never seen eye to eye, despite both being close friends with Johanna. it isn't until you save his life in the arena, does he see you different.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, blood, ehhh gore, death, drug mention, kinda starvation mention, suicide (mags), puke mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 9.6k

If there’s one thing that you’ve learned so far about the other district’s personalities since becoming a mentor, it’s that District Four produces the most annoying people by far. You don’t know if they’re born that way, or if it’s the water they drink, but they take that top spot without a close runner up.

Which is crazy, considering people like Enobaria and Gloss exist. They don’t know when to stop even when it’s obvious, yet they can be more mature than Finnick Odair is half the time.

He has the ego the size of a hovercraft and he just uses it to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants. He thinks that if he can smother someone enough, they’ll back down and let him have his way. Arguing with Finnick is truly like talking to someone who always assumes they’re right just because they’re older than you.

Except, in this case, it’s because he’s been mentoring longer, since he won ten years ago. It gives him seniority in calling the shots, or it does in his mind, at least.

He wants to be the main ally that corrales Katniss and Peeta into doing what’s best in the arena. The problem with that is Katniss doesn’t like Finnick, which will make it a huge ordeal trying to get her to do anything for him. He seems to think that as long as Peeta trusts him, Katniss will follow.

Only, Peeta’s not a complete idiot and he knows how to think for himself. Beyond that, in a setting where there’s going to be twenty-two other tributes that have also won the Hunger Games in their own unique ways—Peeta’s going to follow Katniss’s lead. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he’s going to let her take the reins and trust her to protect him in dangerous situations.

So, in the end, while Peeta might have his own opinions on what he’d like to do, he’s going to value Katniss’s opinion first.

Finnick can’t seem to understand that. It doesn’t matter how you explain it to him, he doesn’t want you to be right. Even with Johanna standing here, telling him that you’re not wrong, he refuses to believe it.

“You’re just going to make her mad.” You tell him again, throwing your hand up. “We all saw the way she looked at you yesterday, and today she’s gone out of her way to make sure she can’t talk to you.”

Finnick glances over in Katniss and Peeta’s direction. They’re on the far side of the Training Center, sitting with Cecelia from District Eight. This morning’s the last chance you get to train before the private session with the Gamemakers in the afternoon. From what you’ve been watching, they’re taking it easy.

“We already knew she wasn’t going to like me.”

“Does it have anything to do with the way you approached her during the parade?” You ask back, tilting your head. “You’re terrible at first impressions.”

“I am not.” Finnick’s face twists.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re friends, right?” Your tone sarcastic. “I’m not asking for your permission, I’m going to tell Haymitch that you’ll meet up with us later on down the line.”

Finnick shakes his head. “That makes no sense. You are not a strong fighter, I need to be there to help with Katniss.”

“Katniss doesn’t need help!” You exclaim quietly. “What Katniss needed is someone she can trust, and that’s obviously me. I just spent the past two days getting to know her. She doesn’t want to be around either of you.”

You then place your hand on Johanna’s shoulder, but she gives you a shrug. “I don’t care. She’s going to have to deal with me sooner or later. I have no preference.”

“You have basically no fighting experience, all you’ll do is get in her way.” Finnick tells you.

“Excuse me, I do know how to fight. I set the highest score when it came to hand-to-hand combat with a weapon.”

“When?” Finnick asks, not believing you.

“Today.”

“Bullshit.”

“Finnick, she’s not lying.” Johanna sighs. “And that’s besides the point. We can’t keep (Y/n) out of the plan just because you can’t get along with her. She’s right about Katniss.”

“I can and will keep her out of the fight.” Finnick tells Johanna, causing your face to scrunch up. “Who’s going to get to the Cornucopia first, you or me?”

“I’m not airheaded enough to think it’s me.” You snap back. “But—”

“Katniss knows how to swim, we saw it last year. She’s going to get there second. What stops me then?”

“Me, when I get my fucking hands around your neck.” You point at him. “What happens on the off-chance you chase her off? What’s your big idea then?”

“Haymitch is going to get me something to signal to her that we’re already allies.” Finnick shrugs. “I bet he didn’t talk to you about anything like that.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You laugh. “That’s the entire point. I don’t need him to signal to her about anything. She picked me as an ally on that first day. You can’t say the same. It says a lot about your character.”

“My character?” He’s unimpressed.

“No one likes you!” You shout at him.

“Okay,” Johanna says. “Let’s talk with Haymitch tonight, see what he has to say about the situation.”

“Fine, but I’m not spending the rest of my day with this idiot.” You tell her.

—

Monkeys.

At first, it was only a couple that were hanging above Peeta, who couldn’t be more oblivious. Now, a troop of them have gathered in the twilight in the time it’s taken you, Finnick and Katniss to assess the situation. They’ve completely appeared out of thin air, gathering on open branches.

And they’re all watching Peeta.

You eye Finnick, wondering what he’s thinking on how he wants to handle this. After all, he’s been directed to take charge in situations where Katniss and Peeta’s lives are in danger. Or rather, he asked Haymitch to make it official, because he couldn’t live with the idea that you might be the better fit.

Either way, there’s several different approaches you could take. Does he want to go to Peeta and guide him out of the jungle to make sure he keeps his head down or will that trigger the monkeys? You could try gathering around Peeta and set off the monkeys on purpose to ensure you’re in control, because they’re bound to go off anyway… right?

Or maybe it’s a better idea to lure Peeta out of the jungle and hope for the best?

Katniss makes a decision before Finnick does, carefully arming her bow with two arrows, just in case a fight shows itself. This causes Finnick to nervously adjust the trident in his hand, not ready for what she’s planning on doing.

You, on the other hand, trust her.

“Peeta.” Katniss’s voice is calm, but there’s a slight edge to her voice if you listen closely. “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” Peeta tells her, fiddling with the tree so he can put the spile in the bark. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at,” Katniss continues. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

Katniss has decided to lure Peeta out, then. It’s not a bad plan. With how the monkeys are tracking Peeta’s every movement, anything mildly offensive could cause them to attack. And since eye contact is a form of aggression, he needs to keep his head down.

Peeta turns to face the three of you, panting from trying to drill into the tree with the awl that Mags had passed over before she died. “Okay.” He agrees, not an ounce of hesitation.

He begins to come in your direction, but he’s not at all being quiet whatsoever. This is expected, he wasn’t last year, either. He’s not used to hunting or gently shuffling your feet through leaves. He worked in a bakery, carrying heavy bags over his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, as long as the monkeys are holding their position—and they are—despite the amount of noise he’s making. He’s only five yards from the beach, where you’re standing, when he finally feels how off the air is. His eyes dart up for only a split second, but that’s all it takes.

Their shrieking fills the air, almost causing you to cover your ears at the pitch. The monkeys launch themselves off the branches and aim straight for Peeta, ready to kill. They’re too quick for your eyes, making them one blur. They slide down vines, jump from the trees with teeth bared, hacked raised and claws as sharp as knives.

You jerk forward, drawing your sword back to swing as soon as you get into range.

“Mutts!” Katniss blurts, in case you haven’t figured it out by now.

Katniss and Finnick take off after you. You swing hard, right at the first monkey that thinks they can get their paws on Peeta. The blade cuts right through fur, slicing skin right open, blood flying everywhere. The mutt collapses, struggling to breathe.

It’s just the first of many.

You move on, drawing Peeta in closer to protect him easier. Katniss shoots her arrows two at a time, taking down twice the amount of mutts you can. Finnick tries to keep up with her pace by spearing several of them at once and flinging them aside. Peeta can’t do much with his knife, but you’re able to keep them off of him with just your sword.

The fight grows harder the longer it goes on as you try to see through the darkness, breathing in the cloud of blood and must. Even as you end up back to back with your allies, it doesn’t get any easier.

“Peeta!” Katniss suddenly shouts. “Your arrows!”

Peeta stops swinging, briefly looking over at Katniss to see what she means. In an instant, he begins to slide out of his sheath so that he can hand it over to her. He doesn’t even wait to make sure the coast is clear before he does.

“Peeta!” You blurt.

You swing at a mutt that’s already coming at you, catching the sight of another one flying out of a tree, heading in his direction. For a moment, you think you have just enough time to fling the monkey off your sword to save him, but the mutt at the end of your blade grabs your wrist, yanking you out of the formation.

You’re thrown into the jungle, a blur of green and brown passing by, until you hit the ground. You roll for a couple of feet, and then come to a stop, staring at the leaves above your head, trying to get a hold of your air. There’s a dull pain on the right side of your body from the impact.

And then you get back up.

Katniss is running for Peeta, hands outreached to grab him before the mutt does, but she’s too far.

A body materializes from one of the trees, screaming, jumping in front of him just in time. The mutt’s claws swing inward pulling—who you believe to be—the morphling from District Six in for a deadly hug as it sinks its canines into her chest.

You’ve managed to regroup with them now. Peeta wiggles out of the sheath, letting it fall to the dirt so he can bury his knife into the monkey’s back. He stabs it repeatedly until it finally releases its jaw, kicking it away. Katniss retrieves her arrows, loading her bow, waiting for another attack.

You turn to look at the monkeys in the trees, curious to see what they’re doing. They stare back at you, unmoving, observing you the same way. Beside you, Finnick is breathing heavy, trident resting on the ground. He must think that the fight is over, then.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, trying to egg them on.

They seem disinterested in continuing though, satisfied with the life they’ve taken, retreating. They disappear into the darkness of the jungle silently, and even though it appears they’re gone, it doesn’t feel like it.

“Get her,” Katniss says, she’s talking to Peeta. “We’ll cover you.”

You eye the morphling, who’s audibly wheezing, not quite dead yet, but she will be soon. Peeta carefully lifts her, turning to leave the jungle, the beach being a few feet away. Finnick motions for Katniss to follow Peeta, you don’t even bother to argue with him about who goes next after that.

There are several orange bodies on the ground on the way out. You step over them, wary of the possibility that they could be pretending to be dead. As soon as you step foot onto sand, a shiver runs up your spine, causing your neck to shrink into your shoulders.

You tense too harshly, the pain in your side returns. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you reach to grab your exposed skin. Since you no longer have a jumpsuit to protect you because of the poisonous fog, several cuts and scrapes have been inflicted across your skin.

“Cold?” Finnick asks, it sounds like he’s teasing. Before you can answer, he keeps going, “Or does your body hurt because you couldn’t handle some hand-to-hand combat?”

You look over your shoulder to see him, eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you’re so funny.”

“What about my observation makes you think that I’m joking?” He asks, coming to a stop. “You just proved me right.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, face twisting. “Prove you right, how? We’ve barely said anything to each other since the Cornucopia.”

“You have no fighting experience.” He tells you with a straight face. “You’re a danger to the alliance.”

You press your lips together, staring at him, holding back the urge to scream profanities in his face.

What would he have liked you to do at that moment? You were occupied with a mutt, and Peeta just straight-up abandoned his job to give Katniss a sheath without thinking twice. You were off your game because you didn’t know what to do with a monkey flying at him, while trying to defend yourself at the same time.

You’ll give it to Finnick, you made an error which could’ve easily have resulted in your death, but it didn’t. What he doesn’t realize is that you will learn from it, you don’t often make the same mistakes twice. You’re not a fucking child, either.

“You forget I was invited to the alliance.” You tell him, choosing not to engage in his behavior. “I don’t know why I bothered responding to you.” You start to move away from him. “All you’re capable of doing is criticizing people.”

You turn away from him, heading to Katniss and Peeta, who are hovering over the morphling girl. They have cut away the jumpsuit over her chest, revealing the four puncture wounds from the mutt’s fangs. There’s blood slowly running out of them, making the situation appear better than it is.

She’s gasping for air, desperate for every lungful, holding onto Katniss’s hands, unable to control her twitching. A part of you wonders if she accidentally got caught up in the fog, but that can’t be the case. It has to be withdrawal, considering the green shade of her skin, her prominent cheekbones. She watches the clouds in the sky blankly, trying to hold on.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says, right before turning away from the scene.

You stare at the back of his head, and then turn your attention back to the morphling. Peeta moves to be on the other side of her, crouching down to gently stroke her hair, speaking quietly. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

The morphling is completely encapsulated by his words.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.” Peeta murmurs.

Rustling of leaves drags you out of what he’s saying, you look over in time to catch the back of Finnick’s body, heading back into the jungle. You give a glance to Katniss, who seems to be in her own world at the moment, and decide that they can protect themselves for a moment while you have a conversation with Finnick.

You head straight in without an ounce of hesitation, following the sound of muttering, leading you straight to him. He’s picking the arrows out of the grass, swinging them out periodically to rid them of the mutt blood they’re soaked in.

“Listen,” You start, Finnick pauses long enough to look at you, before going back to what he was doing. “I get it, you don’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. I don’t need you up my ass about every decision I make. So, worry about yourself, and I will worry about me.”

“I’m not up your ass.” He scoffs. “I was pointing out what happened. You can’t fight, it’s a fact.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “While I was trying to kill the mutt, I was figuring out how to save Peeta, there was a monkey—”

Finnick holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I don’t need your excuse.”

You tilt your head at him, lips parted, actually speechless. You knew Finnick’s personality resembled a dumpster, but you’ve never experienced it yourself. It’s always been second hand retellings from your friends.

“Anything else?” Finnick asks after a moment of silence.

You’re stewing again. It’s insane how easy it would be to tear him down from the horse he sits on, but you can’t afford ruining the alliance. With how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to throw in the towel and tell you to do it yourself. Which you can do, it’s just a matter of whether or not you’d like to at this point.

While you’re glowering at him, thinking of a response that doesn’t end in the two of you fighting, something moves from behind his head. You take a step to the side, eyes searching the ground, but you quickly realize that’s not where it is. It’s up in the trees.

“What?” Finnick asks.

“We should leave the jungle.” You tell him, not wanting to mention it in case your eyes are playing tricks. “It’s not safe here.”

Finnick digs his heels in. “Now you’re being paranoid.”

He turns around, going back to rummaging through the greenery to find the arrows for Katniss. He’s already got a good handful already, does she really need the rest?

A branch dips, your eyes flicker to it.

Even though the sun is finally rising, the light hasn’t quite reached this part of the arena yet. You pat your hip for your sword, afraid of what’s to come, and realize that you left it out on the beach with the Twelve tributes.

“I’m serious, let’s go.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says back, inching closer to the tree.

A hand creeps out of the darkness, a furry hand wrapping around the branch further down, as if preparing itself to launch at him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t lure Finnick out the same way that Katniss did to Peeta. And you can’t fight your way out of this situation without a weapon. As nice as it would be to turn around and leave him in here, knowing what’s behind him, you’d never be able to live with it.

“Finnick, just trust me this once. Katniss has enough arrows.”

Finnick stands, the movement is too quick, causing the monkey mutt to jerk into the light, revealing itself too soon.

“If you’re scared, you can go back to the beach, (Y/n).”

“Finnick, get down.”

He takes a step toward you, mouth opened to continue what he was saying. You watch in horror as the mutt’s body tenses, getting ready to attack Finnick. You rush at him, the same way the morphling did to Peeta.

“Get out of the way!” You shout, jumping to tackle him.

Finnick turns in time to dodge you and the monkey, putting you into each other’s path, forcing you to collide. The monkey’s claws dig into your skin as it throws you down, your head flying back. A sharp pain strikes your skull, your vision immediately going black.

A rough hand grabs the underside of your arm, jolting you awake. You blink quickly, trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you’re harshly brought back to reality. The person tries to pull you to your feet, but your legs aren’t ready for the weight. Your knees buckle, hand grabbing the shoulder of whoever it is to steady yourself.

The throbbing in the back of your head begins, feeling like a giant headache. You wince, gritting your teeth, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The back of your neck feels wet and sticky.

“Can you stand?” An irritated voice asks.

It’s Finnick, face twisted into a hard expression. The grip you have on his shoulder loosens, you lock your knees to keep from falling over. You’re trembling though, you can see it when you let go of him completely.

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

You reach back and dab your hand against the sore area on your head. Your fingers are coated in blood, shining in the sunlight that manages to escape the leaves. A sigh leaves your lips, hand falling at your side.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “There was a monkey in the trees.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?”

“The same way we could’ve told Peeta?” You counter, and then motion to the jungle. “I didn’t know how many there were. I left my sword on the beach.”

“Another great idea of yours.” He says.

You don’t say anything to him at first, turning to go back to the beach. Just before you hit the treeline, you murmur, “A thank you would be nice.”

Whether or not Finnick actually hears you is a mystery, because he doesn’t respond.

Katniss and Peeta are sitting together in the sand, side by side, looking out at the water. Your sword is tucked at Katniss’s side, right next to her bow. You come to a stop a foot or so behind them.

Finnick passes you, dropping the arrows in the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” Katniss says. “Where’s (Y/n)?”

“I’m here.” You tell her.

You continue dragging your feet through the sand, wanting to go to the water to clean the blood out of your hair before it dries. Katniss comes to join you soon after, mostly to clean her weapons. When she sees that you’re having trouble, she carefully massages the blood out.

When you’re done, Katniss goes to get moss from the jungle to dry off her arrows. You sit in the sand with your sword, haphazardly playing with the blade.

“Where did they go?” Katniss asks.

“The bodies? We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick says.

Katniss hums. The four of you sit on the beach in silence, staring at the water, watching the sky come to life. Katniss starts to scratch her arm, and then stops suddenly, looking at you, and then to the boys. You follow her gaze curiously, and find them scratching at their faces.

It’s the scabs from the fog, Katniss’s skin is covered in them, so is half of Peeta’s body and Finnick’s face. You, however, not so much. You were able to stay ahead of the fog, you thought to guide them out with the best possible path. Still, Peeta has trouble with his prosthetic leg and he needed support and…

Finnick never should have asked Katniss to carry Mags down the hill. You knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that he was making a mistake. Katniss doesn’t have that sort of strength, she’s a skinny girl. She might’ve put on some weight since her Games, but it basically replenished what was taken in the first place.

He should’ve asked you. And even though you tried to object, he shut you down and told you to keep running. You didn’t have time to argue with the fog closing in, so you went right back to what you’d been doing before. It wasn’t even three minutes later when Katniss fell with Mags on her, causing Mags to take the situation into her own hands.

She kissed Finnick goodbye and walked into the fog.

None of you have mentioned it since it happened. You would like to say something to Finnick, but you’re sure it wouldn’t go over well with him. You can guess what he’d say back to you, taking none of your feelings about her into consideration. Besides, he seems to be holding it together pretty well, the last thing you’d want to do is accidentally send him over the edge.

“Don’t scratch.” Katniss tells them. “You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You don’t move from where you sit, letting them go back into the jungle to gather water. You’ve already had more than your fair share of injury in the past hour and a half, you’ll let them take their chances.

Peeta brings back a shell of water for you to drink, and even goes back one more time for a refill. You thank him and tuck the shell of water into the sand for later.

“Why don’t you three get some rest?” Katniss asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Katniss concedes. “All right, Finnick, thanks.”

Katniss and Peeta lay down in the sand, you don’t bother. You turn your back to Finnick to ensure he knows you’re disinterested in conversing with him. You spend the next few hours picking the clumps of bloody sand from your sword and flicking them toward the water.

You’re not entirely sure what Finnick does, and you don’t really care. The more you think about him and the alliance, the more irritated you grow, causing your pounding headache to get worse.

First, he tells you that he’s going to get you kicked out of the alliance by talking to Haymitch before you, and he nearly does. It’s a good thing that Haymitch doesn’t make rash decisions, otherwise you’d be on your own right now. He was almost convinced that you’d be more harmful than useful to the rebellion.

It wasn’t until Katniss made a comment about how much she trusts you, did he make up his mind and tell Finnick to deal with it. Katniss doesn’t like people easily. It was different for Mags, Wiress and Beetee because they don’t really pose a threat to her, and she doesn’t think that they’d go out of their way to kill her.

With you, all she told Haymitch was that it was easy to talk to you and she didn’t feel like she had to hide her true feelings. Which is an accomplishment and something you can use to your advantage later if needed. For right now, it’s pretty clear what she’s thinking even if she’s doing her best to hide it.

Anyway, Finnick doesn’t like that you don’t have to try with Katniss. And just like he told you in the Training Center, Haymitch had to give him a gold bracelet to symbolise to Katniss that he can be trusted. Which was funny when you found out at the Cornucopia.

Finnick was right, you didn’t make it there first—not that you thought you were anyway—but you did show up a minute later. Katniss was the one that saw you and welcomed you onto the island, despite Finnick trying to tell her not to.

He’s been pretty pissed and cold since.

By the time Katniss stirs awake, it’s about midmorning. Your sword is clean, the shell cup empty of water, and you’re surprisingly feeling a little bit better. And it appears that Finnick has been busy this entire time.

He’d woven a grass mat and laid it on some branches to shield Katniss and Peeta’s faces from the sun. There’s two bowls full of fresh water, and a third that contains shellfish.

He sits with them in front of him, cracking shellfish open with a stone. “They’re better fresh.” He tells Katniss, ripping flesh from the shell and popping it in his mouth. His eyes are puffy.

A tang of sadness hits you, you can’t imagine how difficult it’d been for him to cry silently with you sitting so close. His eyes lock with yours briefly before you turn away, getting to your feet. You brush the sand from your skin.

Katniss goes to reach for one of the shells but stops. She then holds her fingers close to her face, observing the blood beneath her nails.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says, getting up to wash the blood off in the water. She stomps back up to you two a moment later. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.” She tells the sky.

A second later, a parachute swings out of the jungle, heading for her. She reaches up to catch a tube in her hands. “About time.” She says, going to sit next to Finnick in the sand.

She unscrews the lid, squeezing the thick, dark ointment into her palm. Her face twists, whether it be from the color or the smell, and then begins to massage it into her leg. A sigh escapes her while she closes her eyes.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick says after she hands him the tube. But looks must not matter to him for the moment, because he gives in and starts to treat his skin as well.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks back.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.”

Katniss offers the tube to you, but you hold up your hand, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, save it for yourselves.”

“You’ve got a couple spots.” She motions.

“I’m good, really. But thank you.”

You swing your sword, and then wander away from them, trying to put some more distance so you can sit alone for a while longer. They wake Peeta up a few minutes later, and then you can hear the cracking of shells against rocks. You don’t bother to join them for the meal, you’re still full from last night.

You draw shapes in the sand, smooth them over to start over, and then write names. It isn’t until you’re on the third one, do you realize it's the names of dead tributes that you’ve mentored recently. You stare at them, mystified as to why you’ve chosen them, of all the people you know.

A scream from across the arena interrupts the silence of the arena. Your head jerks up, eyes searching the trees beyond the Cornucopia to find the source. A wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate, a huge wave crests over the trees, coming down the hill. You get to your feet, sword clutched tightly in your hand as you watch the wave hit the center water, and distribute evenly over the Cornucopia.

The wave that comes toward you reaches your knees, going as far back as the treeline, before retreating back to the center lake. Katniss, Peeta and Finnick gather their belongings before they float away.

A cannon fires. The hovercraft appears over where the water had come from, dipping down to collect the body. The claw comes back with the body, and that’s the last you see of the hovercraft.

You go to sit back down when Katniss’s head whips in your direction. “There.”

You turn your head, curious as to what she’s found. It’s three people stumbling on the beach, one of them being dragged onto the beach by the second, and the third is wandering in circles. They’re red, blood red.

“(Y/n), get back here.” Finnick hisses.

You don’t move from where you are, squinting at the figures.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

The second person dragging the first suddenly drops the body, throwing their arms down at their sides and stomping their foot in anger—a move that you recognize from someone else, but can’t place your finger on. It isn’t until the person marches over to the third one to shove them over, do you realize.

“Johanna!” You shout, delighted. “Finally!”

“(Y/n)!” She replies.

You run toward her, sword swinging at your side, excited that you’re not stuck with Finnick by yourself anymore. Johanna will be able to act as a buffer between the two of you, and she’ll be able to shut him down when he gets mouthy with you now.

You throw your sword to the side, slamming into a hug with Johanna. The two of you rotate, her laugh is musical in your ear. You’re so happy that she’s alive, you don’t know what you’d do without her.

When you pull away, you motion at her. “What are you covered in?”

Finnick walks up beside you, “Hey, Johanna.”

“Finnick.” She says, and then she motions to the jungle. “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

A small gasp comes from you as you cover your mouth. “Johanna, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She sighs. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with her foot, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

Wiress has gotten back to her feet, wandering, murmuring, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” She rolls her eyes, but at the mention of Wiress’s nickname, she’s drawn to Johanna, placing her hands on her. Johanna shoves her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

Lay off her.” Katniss snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at her. “Lay off her?” She hisses. In an instant, she raises her hand and goes to slap Katniss, but you’re able to grab her wrist before she’s successful, pulling Johanna away from her. “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

Finnick steps in, tossing Johanna over his shoulder, forcing you to let go of her while he brings her to the water. You listen and watch as she screams some really insulting words at Katniss, and then Finnick drops her into the water to silence her. He does this until she goes quiet.

Katniss and Peeta take Beetee and Wiress to the water to clean the blood off of them, since they’re both incapable of doing it themselves. You wander to join Finnick and Johanna in the water, despite the unwelcoming glares you receive from Finnick.

—

“Get up.” Katniss suddenly orders, shaking Peeta, Finnick and Johanna awake. “Get up—we have to move.”

It’s about noon, judging by how the sun is positioned directly overhead in the sky. It’s been a relatively quiet morning these past couple hours, mostly because the entire group has spent it napping on the beach. For a while, you were sitting with both Johanna and Katniss, but Johanna eventually got tired and laid down on the beach.

You’re not entirely sure why Katniss suddenly feels the need to move. The only event that has happened recently is an announcement of sorts from the Gamemakers. A bell tolled twelve times like it had late last night, and the lightning started again. It must mean something to her, because she stood up to look around the arena.

“What is it?” Johanna slaps Katniss’s hand away.

“I think the arena works like a clock.” She says, Peeta rubs the sleep out of his eyes, while Finnick squints at the surrounding jungle. “(Y/n), you remember last night when the bell tolled?”

“Yeah.” You pull your knees to your chest, watching her.

“It was because it was midnight, and the start of the clock.”

“Twelve bongs.” Finnick murmurs.

“Yes.” She nods. “Wiress figured it out first, that’s why she’s tick-tocking. She’s trying to tell us the arena’s a clock.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Johanna says, shaking her head.

“It does.” Katniss tells her. “Lightning at midnight, blood rain at two, poisonous fog at three, monkey mutts at four…” She trails off, assuming you get what she’s saying.

Peeta’s nodding, looking down at the sand. “It’d explain why we had to deal with the fog and monkeys back-to-back.”

“So what’s going to happen now, then?” Johanna asks.

“Blood rain.” Finnick tells her.

The group of you sit in silence for a moment, digesting this. If she’s right, then that does mean you have to move, or at least get to a point in the arena where you can observe. After that, you could move from wedge to wedge to avoid what lurks in the jungle.

“What should we do, then?” Peeta asks.

“We need to move, get out of the way.” You say, looking at Katniss. “The Cornucopia?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Johanna agrees.

Katniss nods.

You break apart, going to collect your belongings out of the sand, securing them to your body to carry them with you. Finnick and Peeta work together to get Beetee back into his jumpsuit, now clean of blood.

Katniss goes to wake Wiress, who’s been murmuring in her sleep this entire time. She jolts awake, grabbing onto Katniss’s arms tightly. “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a clock, Wiress, you were right.” She tells her. “You were right.”

Wiress relaxes considerably, nodding a little. “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.” Katniss confirms.

Wiress nods at one of the wedges. “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there.” Katniss says, pointing at a different area of the jungle. “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles and stands. “Are you thirsty?”

As soon as the woven bowl is handed over to her, Wiress gulps it down. Finnick gives her some of the bread from a sponsorship you missed, she slowly chews on it. From what you can see, it’s the salty seaweed bread from District Four. Yuck.

You hand Katniss her weapons, watching her secure the spile and the tube of medicine to a square cloth of a parachute before using a vine to tie it to her belt.

Beetee’s not entirely conscious, so Peeta goes to lift him out of the sand, causing him to stir and become deadweight. “Wire.”

“She’s right here.” Peeta says. “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee tries to push Peeta off of him. “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants.” Johanna rolls her eyes, crossing the beach to pick up a cylinder. It’s still covered in a thick layer of blood, making it impossible for you to see what it is. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. THa’ts how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

You snort, she tilts her head.

“He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap.” Peeta tells her. “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Katniss chimes in. “Seems like you’d have figured that out.” She says slowly. “SInce you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She asks. “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off?”

The air becomes hard to breathe, you steal a glance at Finnick out of the corner of your eye and find his eyebrows drawn in, thinking. You can’t believe Johanna just threw that out in the open.

Katniss’s hand grips the knife on her belt.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna tilts her head.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick says, trying to calm the situation. He gives Katniss a look, taking the coil from Johanna to set it on Beetee’s chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

This allows Peeta to pick up Beetee without an issue. “Where to?”

“To the Cornucopia, like (Y/n) said.” Finnick says. “I’d like to watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

One at a time, you approach the nearest sand strip, heading to the center island. You take up the very back with Johanna, who has her arms crossed, seething. Or maybe not, you can’t see her face at the moment. Every time Katniss tries to call her out for her behavior, you know they get closer to considering killing each other.

The Cornucopia is barren of any Careers, allowing you to spread out and pick where you’d like to be in the mouth. The weapons that remain have been thoroughly picked-over, the only thing you could possibly grab now are knives. You don’t really have any specialty weapons. You had to teach yourself how to fight with a sword.

Peeta lays Beetee in the small bit of shae that does exist. As soon as Beetee’s comfortable, he calls over Wiress. She crouches beside him, and he hands over the coil of wire. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods, and hurries over to the edge of the island. She dunks the coil in the water, quietly singing a song to herself about a mouse running up a clock.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna groans, throwing her head back. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

She suddenly stops, standing up straight, coil of water in her hand, dripping watery blood onto the black rock. She points to the jungle. “Two.”

You look to where she’s pointing, and find a wall of fog seeping out onto the beach.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.”

“Like clockwork.” Peeta says. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

All she does is smile, and then she goes right back to singing and cleaning. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, coming back to life. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss explains.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks morbidly.

“It stops signing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.”

This is clearly a topic of conversation that Katniss doesn’t want to participate in, so it drops. Johanna turns to head inside of the Cornucopia, flicking her short hair over her shoulder. Katniss and Finnick follow soon after, going to stock up their weapons.

Johanna comes out with a pair of axes, looking over the blades with a fairly impressed look. She then swings the axe forward, at the golden walls of the Cornucopia. Since it’s been softened by the sun, the blade sticks. Johanna grabs it with one hand and yanks it out.

You watch as Peeta draws a circle with his machete on a large leaf he took from the jungle. He seems to draw a map of the arena, with the jungle and beach having its own sections. And then he divides the circle into wedges. “Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss comes over to look, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to write the numbers one through twelve around his circle. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes lightning in small print in the wedge, working clockwise to add blood, fog, and monkeys to the next three sections.

“And ten to twelve is the wave.” Katniss says, he writes it in.

Finnick and Johanna come to see what they’re doing now. Tridents, axes and knives hanging off their bodies. Johanna pulls one of her knives from her belt, twisting it in her hand, holding the handle out to you.

You take it from her, holding it in your hands while you watch Peeta.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks JOhanna and Beetee, but they haven’t experienced anything other than the blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta murmurs, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look over the clock in silence.

Silence.

Your eyes dart up, and you find that Katniss is one step ahead of you, an arrow armed on her bow, pointed at a soaking wet Gloss. Wiress is sliding toward the ground, her throat slit open, it’ll be impossible to save her. The arrow slams into his temple, killing him instantly. Johanna is already on her feet, swinging her axe into Cashmere’s chest.

The sound of sand crunching beneath boots causes your head to whip in the direction, finding Brutus and Enobaria running up the other side. A spear drawn back in Brutus’s hand, aimed in your direction.

And furthermore, Finnick’s.

“Get out of the fucking way!” You scream, shoving Finnick down.

The both of you hit the sand, the spear whizzing right over your heads, where you had been standing seconds prior. It slams into the golden Cornucopia, the entire head buried in the structure. Brutus had thrown it with enough force to kill you both in an instant.

Two arrows are sent back by Katniss in retaliation, but neither of them must land, because she jerks forward to chase after them. Three cannons blast in quick succession, confirming three dead; Wiress, Gloss and Cashmere.

Katniss disappears around the mouth, with Johanna and Peeta right behind her. You and Finnick are just picking yourselves out of the sand when the ground jerks beneath you. Your shoulder slams into the sand, and then you begin to quickly roll, as the rock island that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, fast.

You desperately reach out, trying to find a ridge to dig your fingers into, but you only come up with handfuls of sand. The jungle has turned into a blur of green and beige as you pick up speed, water turning to mist in the air.

You’re almost at the edge of the rock when a hand clamps around your ankle, stopping you from falling off. You’re left to face the water, dizziness beginning to overcome you, until you slam to a sudden stop.

The urge to vomit rises up your stomach quickly. You yank your ankle free from whoever it is that has a hold of you, quickly crawling to the edge to puke up water and bile into the water. You try to close your eyes to make yourself feel better, but all it does is speed up the rate that you’re spinning.

The throbbing in your head returns in full swing.

When you finally finish gagging over the rock, you pick yourself up from the sand, wiping it from your skin. The others have gathered together at the mouth of the Cornucopia, just as disheveled as you are.

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks.

You sit down while they circle the Cornucopia to confirm he’s off of the island. Finnick apparently spots him about twenty feet out in the water, and dives in to retrieve him. Katniss, on the other hand, finds Wiress in the water, the coil still clutched tightly in her hands.

“Cover me.” She tells Johanna, racing down the strip closest to her body before diving in. She swims hard, battling the hovercraft on who will get to Wiress’s body first. She reaches her first, working to loosen Wiress’s fingers, and then comes back to the center island.

By the time she makes it, Wiress is gone, as well as the two other bodies that were floating in the water. Finnick lays Beetee down in the sand, letting him get a hold of himself again. Katniss places the wire in his lap, now clean of blood, sparkling in the sunlight.

Beetee unravels a small bit of the wire, running his fingers over it. It’s a pale golden color, and it’s incredibly thin. You know Johanna was joking about him using it to garrotte people but it would be completely impossible to. As soon as you’d tighten it, it would snap.

For a while, you sit in silence together, catching your breath, wringing the water out of your clothes or shaking sand out of your clothes. When it appears as though you’re ready to move on, Johanna stands. “Let’s get off this stinking island.”

You’re forced to recollect your weapons, since they had been strewn across the island due to the spinning. Your sword and the knife Johanna handed you are relatively easy to find. While the others have to take a moment to dig.

Beetee tells Peeta that he thinks he can walk now, as long as he’s patient and willing to go slow. It’s better than carrying him again, so Peeta helps bring him to his feet. It’s then decided you all should go to the beach at twelve o’clock, because it should give you several hours before you have to face the jungle again.

Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off in three different directions.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail point at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick reasons. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.”

“I think Katniss’s point is, knowing the time doesn’t mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well.” Beetee says.

You squint, face twisted. You would hope the Gamemakers didn’t shift the jungle too, that would give the entire secret of the clock away, wouldn’t it? But then again, you guess it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.” Katniss says, offering you a shrug when you look at her.

You circle around the Cornucopia as a group, picking out every detail of the jungle, only to discover that each wedge has been almost perfectly replicated. Katniss says something about how there was a tall tree in the lightning section that stood out, but now she can’t find it.

Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s footsteps, but the sand has been blown away completely from the wind. Katniss lets out a heavy sigh, “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“Only temporarily.” Beetee says. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says, trying to make her feel better.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s tone impatient. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She pops a hip out, crossing her arms. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

A path is chosen at random. At the beach, they peer into the jungle, trying to judge what could be inside.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta shrugs. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“(Y/n) can do that.” Johanna waves her hand. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She yanks one of the leaves off of a tree to hand it to him.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to this.” You make a face, shaking your head.

“Then Katniss can go with you to keep the peace.” Johanna motions, Katniss nods.

You smile at her, but send a glare in Johanna’s direction, irritated that she’s already working to pair you and Finnick together. You’re tired of his presence and being forced to talk to him. You liked it yesterday when he was stubborn and refused to talk to you the entire day unless he had to.

Either way, you have no choice now. Finnick leads the way into the jungle. About fifteen yards in, he stops in front of a tree that looks like it’ll give you a good stream of water. He then holds his hand out, “Knife.”

“You have your own.” You tell him.

“Johanna gave you the best one.” He says, fingers beckoning for the knife. “It’s thinner.”

“You’ll make it dull.”

“Don’t be a pain.”

“Use your own knife.”

“No, I’m not ruining my own knives.”

“So you’ll ruin mine instead? Don’t you have like ten of them?” You motion at his belt. “Choose one of them.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“You do realize that the knife is the only weapon I have beside my sword, right? You’re carrying like three different tridents, why don’t you use one of those?”

Finnick’s face twists at you. “Don’t tell me you’re actually that dense.”

“No, but you are.” You tilt your head at him.

Katniss shakes her head. “I know why Johanna sent me in here now.”

You look over your shoulder. “You can go, Katniss. We won’t kill each other.”

She purses her lips, thinking. “I’ve got to pee, so I’ll do that and come back.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Finnick tells her.

Katniss wanders off with her bow, heading deeper into the jungle, completely out of your sight. You look back at Finnick, who still has his hand out, waiting for your knife. You grab it begrudgingly, placing it in his hand.

He starts to drill into the tree with the tip of your knife, ruining it immediately. You’ll get him back for this later. You’re not sure how, because trying to use his trident would make you look stupid. Maybe you’ll steal a knife off of him when he’s sleeping, since he seems to place a lot of trust in the others to watch over him.

The silence between you and Finnick is fine for the first few minutes, but you really don’t like standing over him like this without saying anything. You clear your throat, turning your body away so you don’t have to look at him.

“I’m sorry about Mags.” You tell him. “I didn’t know her well, but she was always kind to me when I was with her. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine.” Finnick tells you. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “I should’ve taken Mags during the fog, I could’ve carried her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” He mutters. “Either she died during the fog, or the monkeys, or even the Cornucopia. At least she didn’t suffer.”

You hum. “I guess that’s true.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then he sighs. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

You make a noise, not really interested in this topic. All he’s going to do is start keeping score. You’ll even bet he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want to be in your debt.

“Hardly.” You tell him.

“You saved me from the monkey in the jungle, and if you hadn’t moved me out of the way, I could’ve died because of the spear.”

“We could’ve died.” You correct him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” Finnick says, he stops drilling into the tree to look at you. “I was wrong when I said that you’d get in the way.”

You shrug, not really feeling the need to thank him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “Really.”

“Forget about it.”

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blckbrrybasket · 11 months ago

Note

can you do odd!reader responding to her partner w/ a breeding kink?

absolutely! im so so sorry for taking the longest amount of time to respond to this anon </3

odd!reader not picking up stuff is so real to me

Fem, Masc, and Gn reader featured

[fem/afab]

God you were so pretty, was all he could think. Even from the back you were utterly beautiful. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand crept around your hip to draw shapes on your clit. Seeing the way your folds stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your cunt. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good mom.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “I’m on birth control…and we’re not ready to be parents.”

If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”

Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.

[masc/amab]

God you were so handsome, was all he could think. Even from the back you truly were attractive. His cock continued thrusting into your walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand thumb rested at the top of your ass, watching the lube drooling out over his cock. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your ass. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good dad.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “That’s not possible….and we’re not ready to be parents.”

[gender neutral]

God you were so hot, was all he could think. Even from the back you were captivating. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside you. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good parent.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “We’re not ready to be parents.”

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cabotwife · 1 year ago

Note

omgg johanna x reader where r volunteers for annie instead of mags? 🤔

thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

Hey, Brother

Johanna Mason x Fem!Reader, Finnick Odair x Fem!Sister!Reader

warnings: poorly written angst, mention of sex trafficking, not proofread

word count: 1258

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for all the requests, i promise i'm working on them all as quickly as i can.

the room fell into a deafening silence. Finnick stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he stared at his younger sister. the words had left your mouth before you had a chance to think, a desperate plea to the universe.

“i volunteer as tribute,” you found yourself repeating, the words tasted bitter on your tongue. you locked eyes with your brother, his usually bright eyes were dull with shock. his girlfriend, the woman who had slowly become a sister to you, stood beside to you. her eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill over any second. you had just volunteered for her.

the tension in the room was palpable, you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. suddenly, your skin felt hot, and the air was heavy with fear and anticipation, the silence was broken only by the soft sobs of Annie.

“y/n-” Finnick began, his voice was choked with emotion but you cut him off with a shake of your head. you didn’t need his protest, this was your decision, your sacrifice. the announcer, a man with a voice too cheerful for the occasion, quickly moved onto announcing the male tribute, effectively ending the discussion.

the atmosphere thick with suspense as the man reaches into the bowl, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. his fingers dance over the folded slips of paper before finally settling on one. he slowly, almost painfully, pulls it out, leisurely unfolding it as if to prolong the tension. his gaze drops to the paper, absorbing the name written there before raising his eyes to meet the audience's expectant gaze. the name echoes through the silent room, "Finnick Odair."

as the name settles in the air, you can feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, dart to the other male victors, silently begging them to volunteer in your brother's place. but none of them do. why would they? you were all promised peace and safety if you managed to survive your respective games. how dare they betray that promise and bring you back into the fray, turning you against these people you’ve known, and grown fond of, for so long?

your frantic thoughts are interrupted by Finnick gently cupping your cheeks and pulling your face towards him. the sincerity in his voice is like a balm to your fraying nerves as he mutters, “you’ll be okay." his eyes, full of determination and promises, bore into yours. "i’ll keep you safe.” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline before holding your head under his chin in a hug.

Finnick had always been your protector, sacrificing everything to keep you safe, to keep the people he loved out of harm's way. when he denied his body to the capitol, you had been reaped just the following year. in his eyes, that was his punishment for his disobedience.

pulling away from him, your hand presses firmly against his chest as you meet his gaze. “no, Finn, you need to keep yourself safe. okay? you have- you have Annie, you need to be okay for her.” your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back.

before your brother can respond, you are torn from each other's arms, whisked away to your respective rooms as they prepare the train to the capitol.

sitting in silence, you are left alone with your thoughts, which prove to be overwhelming. as much as you want to focus on your brother's safety, your thoughts drift to a certain short-haired brunette girl. your brother’s best friend.

the realization of these thoughts terrifies you, but you know they’re true. Johanna is the only living female victor of District 7, she’s going to be in the arena with you, with Finnick. your mind races with images of the other victors, the potential tributes, most of them your friends, people you’ve practically grown up with.

you're painfully aware that you won't make it out of this arena alive. you don't possess the same fighting instincts as the others. your victory in your games came from hiding, staying just out of sight, letting the others kill each other off. the very thought of having to kill a stranger is unbearable, let alone people you care about. the mere idea of having to harm one of your friends, of losing your brother, of losing Johanna is enough to make your stomach churn.

—

"are you completely out of your fucking mind?!" you hear the loud, scathing words, each one landing like a punch. the voice is painfully familiar and it inevitably makes you flinch, your body involuntarily shrinking inwards.

Finnick flashes you a knowing smirk, patting your shoulder in a show of mock solidarity. "all yours, champ," he chuckles, his amusement clear as the day. he then saunters off towards a shadowy figure in the distance, a girl whose face you can’t quite make out, probably that District 12 girl he knew.

you take a deep, steadying breath before spinning around. there, standing in front of you, is Johanna Mason in all her intimidating glory. "Johanna," you greet, a gentle smile playing on your lips, a stark contrast to the situation at hand. "you look beautiful." attempting to soften the tension, you place your hand on the side of her bicep.

"do not," she practically snarls, her anger palpable as she slaps your hand away with a quick, sharp movement. "what the hell were you thinking, y/n? volunteering? Why the fuck would you do that?!" her stern tone echoes around you.

"Annie... she couldn't handle coming back here, Jo," you attempt to explain, your words desperate. "you have to understand…" as you speak, you silently curse the feelings you harbor towards the brunette. in this moment, you can't help but feel like a chastised child.

in many ways, you are a child. the games stole your innocence, your childhood, forcing you to navigate through a maze of emotions in the most unhealthy manner.

Johanna's sigh breaks the silence. the frustration is evident in her posture, her face, everything about her. "listen to me, okay?" she pleads, placing her hands on your shoulders with a firm grip. "i need you to stay with me, and trust in what i do, alright? i'll keep you safe." her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

you blink at her, taken aback. "both you and Finnick have said that to me now," you groan, shrugging her hands off of you. "i can take care of myself, Johanna. i know you guys don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. i’m just as much an adult as you are," your words are blunt, full of pent-up frustration.

"hey, no," the brunette argues, her grip tightening on your shoulders once more. "i know you’re an adult, y/n, i just- i'll feel a lot better in the arena knowing you’re safe." you frown, about to retort, but Johanna cuts you off, "promise me."

you sigh, "Johanna-"

"no, promise me. now," she insists, her eyebrows furrowing as she holds eye contact with you, her grip unyielding. "promise me, y/n. please."

your eyes search hers, finding nothing but sincerity. "fine." you grumble.

"say it, tell me you promise you’ll stay close to me."

"what if-"

"no 'what ifs', say it," she narrows her eyes, the intensity of her gaze unrelenting.

"i promise i’ll stay close to you," you mutter, puffing out your cheeks in defeat.

#johanna mason #johanna mason x reader #the hunger games #katniss everdeen x reader #finnick odair #send requests

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honeysmoonn · 1 year ago

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finnick odair who brings you back seashells and pearls after a day at the beach. and finnick odair who eventually steals the trinkets out of your room and weaves them into a delicate necklace for you to wear. and finnick odair who’s heart beats a little faster every time your collarbones are exposed, showing of his gift to you. finnick odair who smiles when he sees your friends asking where your necklace is from, only to see your point his direction with a smile<3

#FINNICK😘😘😘#husband honestly #send in requests #finnick odair #finnick x reader #thg finnick #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x you #finnick odair fanfic

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miley1442111 · 1 year ago

Text

navigation :)- requests open !!!

hi, i'm miley, i'm 18 and irish :)

send in requests for anyone from criminal minds, outerbanks, the bear, mcu, challengers, top gun, or hunger games but these are the main people I write for:

aaron hotchner

spencer reid

derek morgan

criminal minds masterlist: masterlist :)

rafe cameron

pope hayward

jj maybank

obx masterlist: masterlist :)

carmen berzatto

sydney adamu

luca (the bear)

the bear masterlist: masterlist :)

finnick odair

peeta mallark

thg masterlist: masterlist :)

robert 'bob' floyd

bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

jake 'hangman' seresin

topgun masterlist: masterlist :)

miscellaneous fics

art donaldson

mcu masterlist :)

a quiet place masterlist

fics based on the tortured poets department:

tortured poets department masterlist :)

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asterias-record-shop · 2 years ago

Text

𓆩[in our next life]𓆪

𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the main taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 23K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - Use of Y/N || i promise I do not write like this in the fic- || reader was also forced into prostitution, but Finnick forced Snow to make them a pair || reader is definitely bi but has no (sexual) relations with women in the story || Finnick’s hand around your throat can be seen as sexual but it’s mainly just a comfort thing at this point || a lot of mixed timelines, sorry want it to play in my favor || mainly based on the movies bc I haven’t read the books in forever || Reader and Finnick are titled the Princess and Prince of the Capitol || you basically replace Annie || inspiration of your story from other characters || weird baby names inspired by the sea (cuz District 4, sea fishing etc) || This is so going to be a series- || smoking, smoking opium || This actually takes place in several different times, first the drawing for the Quarter Quell to the carriage rides where you meet Katniss and Peeta to the interviews to the literal Quarter Quell, being rescued, then skipping to after the rebellion is won (my darling doesn’t die, he didn’t deserve it <3). || Cinna isn't dead and he’s your stylist, and you and Finnick get married twice (once before the Quarter Quell, another after the rebellion) and of course he designs your wedding dress. || Finnick pulls a stunt like Peeta, turns out to be true later on || first marriage is televised a few days before the games, second of course is private || marriage ceremonies inspired by cultures, yes I’m giving District 4 marriage ceremonies and no I’m not basing this off the wedding in the movie, and this is my own little spin on the fic - I didn’t want the wedding to be boring || the party Peeta and Katniss go to in the second movie is your wedding || ngl, with these plans, I’m hoping this is long- || slight rift between you and Katniss at first, but you end up being best friends quickly || you make Katniss question her sexuality bc you top her for a minute- || CPR & mouth to mouth || Classic warning such as cursing, fighting, blood, death, and more to be wary of. || mentions of Finnick’s forced prostitution (brief, my baby has suffered enough) || smut is included in this; mentions of voyeurism and exhibitionism (explained in the story), breeding kink, size kink, oral (♀ & ♂), fingering, spit, slight choking, slight dom-sub dynamics, sex is definitely a coping mechanism, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, cumslut, maybe more?), probably dirty talk if you think about it that way, praise, mentions of a hazy mindset that could be seen as a subspace, definitely a soft dom turned pleasure dom turned rough dom Finnick, and more- just be wary.

—𓆩[CHAPTERS]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER I 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER II 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER III 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER IV 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER V 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER VI 𓆩♡𓆪 CHAPTER VII 𓆩♡𓆪 EPILOGUE

ALL CHAPTERS ARE UP!!!

—𓆩[DRABBLES]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 N/A

—𓆩[EXTRA FICS]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 N/A

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mscresta · 4 months ago

Text

Tribute parade. //

Finnick x tribute reader.

Cw! anxiety, public crowds.

This is part 2! Read part one here: !!!!

It had been a day since you arrived in the Capitol, and they were already trying to show you off. Today was the tribute parade—second only to the Games themselves in terms of spectacle. It was the biggest event of the year, the first chance for sponsors to see the tributes up close and for the entire nation to start forming their favorites.

You sat in the dressing room, nerves twisting your stomach into knots. Finnick was leaning casually against the wall, trying to coach you through a few things, but you could barely focus on his words. All you could think about was your outfit.

“Relax,” Finnick said, giving you an amused glance. “You’ll look fine. Besides, no one’s going to be looking at the clothes. They’re going to be looking at you. That’s the point.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you muttered. You’d seen the parade broadcasts in past years—tributes dressed in ridiculous outfits meant to represent their districts, some of them so outlandish they looked more like jokes than competitors. The thought of being humiliated like that made your skin crawl.

Finnick stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet your eye level. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Your stylist isn’t going to make you look stupid. District 4 always delivers. Trust them. And more importantly, trust yourself.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “What if… what if they don’t like me? What if I mess this up?”

Finnick tilted his head, studying you. “You won’t,” he said simply. “But here’s the thing—this parade isn’t about getting them to like you. It’s about making them remember you. Be bold. Be confident. Even if you have to fake it, act like you’re the best thing to come out of District 4 since fishing nets.”

You snorted despite yourself, and Finnick grinned. “See? There’s the attitude we need.”

Before you could respond, the door opened, and your stylist walked in, a wide smile plastered across her face. She was a Capitol native, her hair dyed a shimmering seafoam green to match District 4’s aquatic theme. “Ready to make waves?” she asked, clapping her hands together.

You swallowed hard and nodded, though you didn’t feel ready at all.

The outfit, to your relief, wasn’t as ridiculous as you feared. Your stylist had gone for elegance, dressing you in a flowing, iridescent fabric that shimmered like the surface of the ocean. It hugged your frame in all the right places, giving you an otherworldly, almost ethereal look. Small details, like coral accents and a delicate netting draped over your shoulders, tied the whole ensemble together.

“You look stunning,” the stylist said, stepping back to admire her work. “Trust me, the Capitol is going to eat this up.”

Finnick whistled low as you turned to face him. “See? Told you. No one’s laughing now.”

You couldn’t help but glance at yourself in the mirror again. For the first time, you felt… powerful. The outfit didn’t make you feel like a spectacle—it made you feel like you belonged here, like you could hold your own against the others.

“Now,” Finnick said, pushing off the wall and straightening his jacket, “it’s showtime. Walk tall, keep your head high, and don’t let them see a single ounce of fear. They love confidence. You give them that, and you’re already winning.”

The sound of cheers echoed through the halls as the tributes before you began their procession. The reality of what you were about to do hit you all over again, and your palms started to sweat.

Finnick leaned in close, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve got this. Remember, they don’t own you. Not yet.”

You nodded, gripping the edge of your chariot for support as the doors opened, and the bright Capitol lights flooded in The doors slid open, and the roar of the Capitol crowd hit you like a tidal wave. The sound was deafening, a chaotic mix of cheers, gasps, and applause. The light was blinding, reflecting off the sleek metal of the chariots lined up in front of you. You clenched your hands tighter around the edge of the chariot as it began to roll forward, the movement smooth but somehow unsteady beneath your feet.

Finnick had been right. Your outfit shimmered under the bright lights, catching the eyes of the spectators. Heads turned, and you could hear the excited murmurs ripple through the crowd. You forced yourself to stand tall, lifting your chin as the chariot carried you closer to the heart of the parade route.

Your district partner stood beside you, decked out in an outfit that mirrored yours, though his had a more rugged, commanding look. He nodded at you, a silent gesture of solidarity, but neither of you spoke. Words weren’t necessary—not here, not now. All that mattered was the image you projected.

The Capitol citizens leaned over the railings, waving and throwing flowers as your chariot passed. Their faces were painted with garish colors, their hair styled in ways that seemed impossible. Their expressions were a mix of awe and delight, as though you were some kind of rare, exotic creature. It was unsettling, but Finnick’s advice echoed in your mind: walk tall, keep your head high, and don’t let them see a single ounce of fear.

You glanced up at the massive screens that lined the route, catching sight of yourself for the first time. The cameras zoomed in on your face, capturing every detail—the determined set of your jaw, the glint of your outfit, the way the lights seemed to reflect in your eyes. For a moment, you barely recognized yourself. You didn’t look scared. You looked… strong.

As the chariots approached the grand balcony where the Capitol’s leaders stood, the energy of the crowd seemed to reach its peak. President Snow was there, his cold, calculating smile fixed in place as he watched the tributes with an air of detached authority. His gaze swept over the procession, and for a brief moment, it felt as though his eyes locked onto yours.

A chill ran down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you raised a hand and waved to the crowd, just as Finnick had instructed. The response was immediate—a surge of cheers and applause so loud it made your chest vibrate. You caught Finnick’s smirk from the sidelines as you passed by, his expression one of approval.

The parade continued for what felt like an eternity, but you held your composure, forcing yourself to stay present. By the time the chariots came to a stop at the Capitol’s central square, your legs felt like jelly, and your hands were trembling from holding on so tightly.

As the anthem of Panem played and the tributes were officially introduced, you let yourself steal one last glance at the crowd. This was the Capitol—the place that would either make or break you. And for the first time, you felt a flicker of something unexpected. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close. You could do this. You had to.

When it was finally over, Finnick was waiting for you backstage, his arms crossed and a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Not bad,” he said as you stepped off the chariot, your legs still unsteady. “Told you they’d love you.”

You didn’t reply, too drained to form words, but the look you gave him said enough. You hadn’t just survived the parade—you’d owned it. For now, that was enough..

Likes and repost are very appreciated!

Read part 3 here!

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l4dy-bugss · 1 year ago

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Based on a comment on my post asking for finnick asks 🫶

Warnings: smut, piv, unprotected sex (be safe guys!!), cumming on reader?? (Dk if that's a warning, lol). Tell my if I missed any!!

"Finnick.." you ask shyly, stepping through the door of his bedroom. Finnick and you had always been close. You were his best friend..

He looked up from the piece of rope he had been tying and untying knots into, something he did when he was nervous, or sometimes just if he's bored.

"Can I ask something? Promise you won't laugh.." You mumble. your hands were tucked behind your back, hiding something from view.

"Go on..." he replies, looking at you, a little confused, but a smile on his face anyway. It seemed there always was a sweet grin on his face around you.

"Can I.. tie a bow on y're arm?" You ask, looking across the room at him all doe eyes and pleading. Fuck how could he say no to you?

"Sure, Angel. C'mere." I smiled and pats his lap. Quickly, you climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs as you tie a pink ribbon around his arm.

You'd always liked his arms.. they were all muscley, and he'd always let you cling onto them in public spaces. Letting you smush your face against his upper arm.

"Perfect!" You smile happily, looking down at your work. Finnick was a little embarrassed, but you were happy, so he was happy. There was a pretty pink bow tied around his arm.

About 3 minutes later, the bow came undone, much to your dismay. He had you on his lap still, this time bouncing up and down on his thick cock. Except you were never one to do much physical work, so he had to move you up and down himself.

This resulted in the pretty bow you'd tied coming ondone, as the muscles in his arms were tensing to move you up and down. You pouted when you saw this, looking down at him all upset.

"What is it? W'as wrong?" He asked, not stopping but slowing you down to a slow grind. You felt so full :( his thick length slowly massaging your walls as you tried to speak.

"Fi-inn the b-ow..!" You choke out, words all broken up cause he was just so good !! You couldn't help but whine when he rolled his eyes at you, starting back up at his original pace.

"Re-tie it then, love." He smirked up at you. Your brain was so foggy that you barely made out what he said. Once you realised he wasn't gonna stop, you reached for the ribbon with shakey hands.

Your body was moving, bouncing up and down as he thrusted up into you. You tried to focus, you really did !! It was just too much :((

"Finn!" You whine, slumping against him, too tired and fucked out to care about your silly bow any more. Finnick just chuckled and continued doing all the work, relishing in the small gasps and whines slipping from your lips.

"Oh, I know, Angel.. I know." I mumbles, speeding up his pace and sliding a hand between you two to rub your swolen clit.

You let out a shrill cry, so so close to your release. Finnick, being who he was, tipped you over the edge quickly, letting you ride out your orgasm before he pulled out, letting his load fall right on your lower back. Sticky and warm.

You settled down against him, previously quick breaths returning to slow, deep ones. You just felt so comfy, so tired.. so safe. Finnick made you feel that way.

"Cmon, love. Gotta get you cleaned up.." he stated, chuckling at your whines of protest. He just picks you up and carries you off anyways.

Credits to this commenter for the idea !! Thank you !!

#finnick odair request #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick smut #smut

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queuestarter · 13 days ago

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bare

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: blood

link to the request → reader's clothes get ruined after the blood rain and finnick helps her rinse them

open to requests !!

You can hardly see as you stumble out from the dense jungle, Johanna mere feet behind you.

“Fuck,” you groan, spitting out a mouthful of thick, hot liquid. “What is this shit?”

“Blood,” Johanna says, coughing behind you. You can’t see her, but you can hear the aggravation in her voice. “We just got covered in blood.”

You feel arms wrap around you and you start to fight back on instinct. “Calm down,” the person holding you says. “It’s just me.”

Finnick.

You turn around in his arms, not caring that you’re spreading the blood from the jungle all over him. You haven’t seen him since you were on the pedestals and all of the emotions that you’ve been forced to hold in since then rush out. “Finn,” you cry, tears clearing a pathway on your red cheeks. “I’m dirty.”

You wipe your eyes in time to barely make out Johanna making her way towards the ocean and you instinctively follow her. The outfit that you’re wearing is waterproof, but the blood has seeped through it somehow, leaving every part of you stained with blood.

Finnick follows you to the water, gently guiding you past the lightly lapping waves.”I’m so dirty, I need to clean off.”

“Let me help you, love,” Finnick says, gently unzipping your suit and exposing your skin. “Let’s get a little deeper, okay?”

You nod and step further into the tide. You don’t like the ocean, and being from District 3 you can’t swim. But the presence of Finnick’s hand on your waist anchors you and makes you feel safe.

You first use the salty water to clear your vision fully and the first thing you see is Finnick staring down at you, worriedly. “None of this is mine,” you assure him. “It just started pouring on us. I thought I was going to choke on it.”

Finnick says nothing, just continues to rinse off the blood from your upper body. “I have to take the rest off, my love.”

You nod and grab onto his shoulders as he takes off the rest of the suit. You’re left in a sports bra and underwear, leaving you a little bit uncomfortable that you’re going to be half naked in front of the entirety of Panem. The abundance of scars from your games are displayed to the cameras, showing off the torture that you’ve had to go through.

Once all of the blood has been washed away, you step out of the ocean. You can’t put the jumpsuit back on because it still has to dry out. You frown and wrap your arms around yourself protectively, knowing there are cameras all over displaying you to the world.

“You’re gorgeous,” Finnick whispers, pulling you close to him. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

You press a kiss to his jawline and sigh, making your way over to the rest of the victors that Finnick has collected over the course of the day.

You’ll be out of here soon enough.

#finnick odair #finnick request #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair x y/n #finnick x reader #hunger games #thg finnick #lane's writing

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onlybeeewrites · 4 days ago

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A Soothing Touch

Request: If youre taking requests can you write something where the reader is having very bad period cramps all day especially when the reader and Finnick are trying to sleep at night so Finnick rubs her stomach and it feels really good and helps until she falls asleep

Pairing: Finnick Oskar x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: period cramps! That’s it, soft!Finnick <3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You woke before the first call bell.

It was the familiar pain that greeted you—dull, insistent, and already pulsing through your lower abdomen like a warning siren. You lay still, hoping the cramps might pass if you didn’t move, but they only seemed to grow stronger the longer you waited.

With a soft groan, you pushed yourself upright. Every movement felt like dragging your body through quicksand. Your limbs were heavy, sore, and your stomach… gods, your stomach felt like it was being wrung out by invisible fists.

You winced as you bent over to pull on your grey jumpsuit, the fabric stiff and unkind against your already sensitive skin. Even the smallest things—like tugging the zipper up—made you want to cry out. But you didn’t. You never did.

The scent of the kitchens already lingered in the hallway as you stepped outside your compartment—boiled starch, onions, and vaguely metallic meat rations.

It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was familiar. You pressed a hand to your abdomen, steadying yourself. There was no stopping now. Not in District 13. Not with your shift starting soon.

And besides… they were just cramps. You could push through them. You always had.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The kitchen was already alive when you arrived. The clatter of knives, the hiss of steam, orders being tossed across the room like hot potatoes. It was intense, claustrophobic even, but it was yours. A place where you could keep your hands moving and your mind quiet.

You’d always found some small comfort in kitchens—even back in District 4, when your hands were smaller and your burdens different.

Cooking, baking, prepping meals for your family or neighbors had always been your way of giving love when you had nothing else. Something about feeding people made the world feel a little softer, a little safer.

But today? Today your body was screaming.

You were assigned to prep for the evening meal: root vegetables, stews thickened with lentils, and trays of hard, rationed bread.

You peeled potatoes until your fingers felt raw. Chopped carrots until your vision blurred. Stirred massive vats of soup as steam coated your face.

Every few minutes, the pain in your stomach would seize you again—sharp and relentless. You’d pause, pressing a palm to your belly, trying to breathe through it.

“You alright?” Tessa, a tall, sharp-eyed girl from District 10, glanced over from the other end of the table.

“Fine,” you managed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just a bad day. I’ll live.”

She eyed you for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Just nodded once and returned to slicing onions.

You soldiered on. You always did.

By the time your shift ended, you were practically dragging your feet through the hallway. Every step sent a pulse of pain through your abdomen.

Your back ached from lifting trays and stirring pots, your legs wobbled beneath you, and your stomach was still twisting in knots.

Your hands trembled as you pressed the door panel to your quarters. The metal hissed open, and you stumbled inside.

Finnick was already there, lounging on the bed with his back against the wall, shirt discarded and pants hanging low on his hips. His sea-green eyes immediately lifted to you, softening as they landed on your face.

“You’re late,” he said gently, sitting up straighter. “Everything okay?”

“Long shift,” you replied, barely able to stand. “Just… feeling awful today.”

He was on his feet in seconds, meeting you halfway. “What kind of awful?” he asked, his tone dipping into that soft, protective place he only used with you.

You shook your head, wincing as another cramp rolled through you. “Period. Bad one. Started this morning and just kept getting worse.”

“Sweetheart…” His voice was nothing but tenderness now. He reached for your arm, guiding you toward the bed. “You should’ve come back earlier.”

“I couldn’t,” you murmured. “They needed help. Besides, they’re just cramps. I can handle it.”

Finnick frowned as you slowly changed into your loose cotton pajamas, trying to hide the way you had to bite your lip to stay quiet when you bent over.

“You don’t have to handle everything alone, you know,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “If you weren’t feeling well, you could’ve left. They would have understand.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” you whispered. “It’s just… that’s how life works here. You push through.” You insist.

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “That might be how they do it. But when you come home to me, I’m not letting you push through alone.”

You finally met his gaze, your throat tightening with the weight of the day. The pain. The pressure. The exhaustion. “It’s just… really bad,” you whispered, curling your knees to your chest.

Finnick gently moved closer. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his hand hovering near your waist. “Might help. I’ll be gentle, promise.”

You nodded wordlessly.

He slid his hand across your stomach, fingers warm and patient, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. You let out a soft breath, your body slowly starting to unclench under his touch.

“Better?” he asked after a moment.

“A little,” you whispered. “You’re warm. That helps.”

“You should’ve stayed in bed this morning,” he murmured. “I would’ve brought you breakfast. Stolen something sweet from the ration cart. Whatever you needed.”

You laughed quietly, but it ended in a wince. “I didn’t think they’d get this bad. Usually I can handle them. Today was… different.”

Finnick scooted behind you, guiding you to lie down with him, his chest pressed against your back, his arm wrapped around your middle. His hand continued its gentle motion, never stopping.

“You’re not caving for being in pain,” he whispered against your shoulder, “besides it’s not your fault. I know they can get bad..”

You turned your head slightly. “I feel pathetic,”

“You’re anything but,” he said firmly, but amusement lacing his tone. “You’re on your period, my love. You worked all day while your body was waging war on you. That’s not pathetic. Give yourself some credit,”

You were silent for a beat, letting those words settle in your chest. His touch, his warmth, his voice—it all worked together like some kind of magic.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” you said softly.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s kind of my job, isn’t it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Your job?”

“Mmm. Official Finnick Odair role: Protector of You. Keeper of Comfy Pajamas. Slayer of Cramps.”

“Slayer of cramps, huh?” you echoed, smiling into the pillow.

“Well,” he teased, nuzzling the back of your neck, “I like to think I’m pretty heroic.”

“You kind of are,” you admitted sleepily. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

His fingers slowed, his touch becoming softer, almost like a lullaby. Your body, still sore and aching, finally began to let go of the tension it had clung to all day. His presence wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe.

Finnick’s voice was the last thing you heard before sleep crept in.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Sleep. I’m right here.”

And you did. Wrapped in warmth and saltwater softness, the pain faded into the background. Not gone, but not winning either.

Because with him, everything was better.

Finnick was gentle and steady and completely yours.

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ilguna · 15 days ago

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☼ the bubble (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you're too caught up in your new relationship with Finnick, that you forget you're supposed to be keeping it quiet. it's only when rumors begin to spread in the capitol, do you realize the mess you're in.

warnings; swearing, light mention of death, you start naked.

wc; 3.4k

The warmth of the afternoon sun hitting your bare skin reminds you of why you love the summertime.

There’s truly a no better feeling than planning to spend your day at the local park, especially the lake that sits in the middle of District One. You can only recall a handful of memories out of the hundreds you’ve spent there recently. As you packed up a cold lunch, a good book, and a soft blanket you’d throw over your shoulder.

You’d pick your favorite legacy tree to lay out your belongings, carefully unpacking your lunch while leaning up against the trunk to begin reading. You’ve stayed there for hours before, listening to the sound of birds chirping overhead, feeling a cool breeze caress your hot skin.

Since the lake is basically a community park, it’s a great place for people watching when you need a break from reading. Seeing the way strangers and old friends interact with each other, watching children run into the water with a bright smile on their faces. The sound of their laughter alone soothes your anxieties. It’s like all your troubles melt away in an instant.

But the feeling is always temporary, usually when you go to visit the lake to cure what you’re feeling, it’s because the Hunger Games is less than a month away. It’s only a matter of weeks before you’re watching the Reaping again, getting back on that train to head into the Capitol, bonding to your tributes, watching them die…

It’s July Seventh.

Your eyes pop open, almost falling out of your sockets from how wide they are, as you stare out of a window that does not belong to your room. You have these beautiful large bay windows that cover the wall, these windows—they belong to your boyfriend.

Boyfriend, the thought sends a swarm of butterflies through your stomach.

You turn your head to the other side of you, looking down at him. He’s laying on his stomach, shirtless, face pressed into the pillow but not facing the window. He doesn’t mind it when the morning light shines down on his golden skin, mostly because he’s used to it in District Four.

You, on the other hand, have a hard time sleeping through the light. Which is why you don’t understand how you’ve managed to miss all of the plans you had this morning. You were supposed to greet the tributes this morning and give them a pep talk since it’s their final day in the Training Center.

Your eyes find the clock, seeing that it’s beginning to reach one. Emris is going to be so mad at you.

“Finnick.” You rub his arm, which is lazily hanging over your waist. “I have to get up.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as twitch. You push his arm off of you and back at his side, throwing the blanket off your half-naked body. This is what wakes him, a low groan leaving his lips as he adjusts on the bed, back muscles flexing as he goes to turn himself over.

You get to your feet, stumbling over to the mess of clothes that are strewn across the carpeted floor. You pick through them, searching for your bra, the patterned blouse you wore, the white jeans you’d paired with it.

“What are you doing?” Finnick murmurs, rubbing his eyes.

“I have to go. I’m already late.” You tell him, pulling on your jeans first.

“Who cares then? They’re already in the Training Center, there’s nothing you can do now.” He pushes himself into an upright position, hunched over as he watches you move onto your bra.

“I’m supposed to be in a meeting with both of our teams.”

“It can’t be that important.”

You look over your shoulder at him, finding a wide smile on his face. “You know, usually I don’t have a problem waking up to do my mentoring duties.”

“Oh really?” Finnick asks. “What are you implying?”

You throw the blouse onto the end of the bed, heading toward him. He looks at you, a smirk at the corner of his lips, hands reaching to pull you in closer. He presses a kiss to your stomach, pressing his face against your skin in a hug.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Am I? Or am I just bringing your true self out of you?”

You press your lips together, rolling your eyes, a smile on your face. You back away from him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before trying to go back to putting the blouse on. Finnick has a grip on your wrist, pulling you back for a longer second kiss, holding you in place until he’s happy with the length.

“No.” You tell him, pulling the blouse on over your head.

It’s baggy, just the way you like them to be. You tuck in the front, and then pull it out a little to ensure it looks right. It’s made out of cotton, so it’s wrinkled easily because of yesterday’s work, but you know no one will think about it twice. It’s becoming trendy to look casually messy.

You disappear into Finnick’s bathroom long enough to fix your hair and brush your teeth, before heading for his bedroom door.

“Hey,” Finnick says, causing you to stop in your steps. “You’re not going to kiss me goodbye?”

“I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You give him a smile. “Bye, Finnick.”

You leave, heading straight for the front door of his apartment. You try to keep your head down as you pass through the living room, but his Capitol escort spots you as soon as you enter the room. You don’t say anything to her, not wanting to make the situation any worse than it already is. You’re sure his team already has their speculations, but you don’t want to confirm them.

You’re supposed to be keeping this relationship quiet.

Once you leave the apartment, it feels like you can breathe in the hallway. You take your time getting to the elevator, pressing the button that’ll bring you down, leaning against the wall. Your racing heart begins to calm itself now that you’re getting back on track with your original schedule.

It almost feels like you’re back in high school, with how you’ve been sneaking around with Finnick. You’re no stranger to skipping classes and sneaking in and out of places you shouldn’t be at. Only, this time you’re in the Capitol, and you’re doing it with the most handsome victor of your generation.

You really thought you’d matured past this when you won the Hunger Games, but all it takes is Finnick Odair to bring it back out of you. Although, you’re not really complaining.

When the elevator comes to a stop in the basement, you head off down the cold hallway. You count the doors you pass, and stop in front of the thirteenth door, knocking on the metal once or twice before you turn the doorknob and head inside.

You’re met with several different expressions: annoyance, surprise, smugness and happiness. “I’m sorry I’m late.” You murmur, heading to stand next to Gloss in the circle they’ve gathered in.

“It’s nice for you to finally show up.” Emris, your escort, mutters, rolling their eyes. “Only two hours late.”

“She hasn’t missed much.” Gloss comes to your defense. “All we’ve done is argue because you think you know best.”

Emris glares at Gloss, “Well, I haven’t heard any bright ideas come from you, yet.”

“That’s because you won’t let me speak long enough.” Gloss turns his body to face your escort entirely. “Would you like to continue this or can we let (Y/n) tell us her ideas?”

Emris doesn’t give him a verbal answer, just waves their hand in the air, telling you to go ahead with what you’ve been able to observe from your tributes. Every year during the Hunger Games, the district teams are supposed to meet, put most cards on the table, and come to a decision on what their future will look like.

You’re supposed to take strategies the tributes have suggested and put into the air, and find a way to make their outfits reflect this. For the first four days, it’s up to the stylists to create an image for both the Capitol and their fellow peers. Their parade outfit and the colors they wear while training can make or break what others will think about them.

As for the last two days of their week, you decide together on what their final appearance will look like. This is mostly based on their scores by the Gamemakers and the alliances they’ve formed. Depending on what the tribute has decided to do, you’ll make their outfits flashy, elegant, colorful, short, long, intricate, simple—the list goes on.

This is so that the tribute’s personality is reflected in what they wear.

The main Career districts take this idea seriously, and it’s usually how the Capitol is able to pick their favorites. They can tell what the tribute is going to be like based on their Training Score and interview outfit, alone. And you’ve perfect this enough to the point where it’s true in the arena.

The Hunger Games arena is supposed to be unpredictable, but who’s to say the tributes have to be, too?

The other districts unfortunately haven’t fully come to terms with joining you guys in this strategy quite yet, mostly because they’re stuck in a cycle they know will work some of the time. If they push their tributes during training, and encourage them to think outside of the box on the stage, there’s a chance they’ll catch some eyes, but that’s all they’ll do.

As soon as the Games start, faces of the quieter districts are forgotten. Even if they had been loud, funny, kind, flattering, sarcastic…

You wouldn’t call these districts desperate to hold onto what works or careless when it comes to their tributes because of it. You know they have so much to focus on already, they have to catch their tributes up on skills they don’t have that others do. But you will say that they could find their lives easier when it comes to sponsors if they just gave the strategy a try.

You clear your throat, “Beatrix has been fairy quiet while she’s been here, she doesn’t really talk about her experience in the Training Center, and she’s kept to herself in her bedroom. She’s respectful, but disinterested.”

Luetta, one of the stylists, thinks for a moment, she’s sitting on a tall stool, one leg crossed over the other. “What color had she worn?”

“I believe you went with silver.” Emris says.

She nods, looking down at the wood flooring. “I’m thinking of a dusty rose color.”

Her prep team members look down at their electronics, tapping at the screen several times, and then they flip the screen around to show Luetta. It’s different shades of pink for her to choose.

“I want it pink like this one.” She taps the boys’ screen with her pinky finger. “But I wanted it muted. She needs to look feminine, but faded, not completely there. As if she’ll be able to show more in the arena.”

Their devices get flipped back around, the prep team puts their heads together as they go back and forth tapping on the boys’ screen, creating several options. When they’re done, you’re presented with three options.

Luetta nods with approval, “The middle one. We’ll do a silk, floor-length, backless dress with thin straps. I want cream colored kitten heels. We don’t need to be adding to her height. I’m thinking of gold for jewelry, we can go shopping for it later this evening before the scores are announced.”

Her prep team falls back, all eyes are suddenly back onto you and Gloss. You motion for Gloss to take the lead with the boy tribute, since he’s been able to get more conversation out of him than you’ve been. You don’t think it’s because Jett doesn’t like you, but more because he seems to get embarrassed, possibly anxious.

Gloss will be able to explain it better to them, since he’s noticed this as well.

“As for Jett—”

“I’m sorry.” One of the girls from the boys’ prep team interrupts, her accent small and soft. “This has been bothering me.” She steps forward, reaching for your blouse, getting a better look at this. “This looks so similar to the one that Finnick Odair wore yesterday when he went out to lunch with Mags at—” She snaps her fingers, trying to remember the name of the brunch spot, you know exactly what she’s talking about.

“Rose Garden.” Luetta finishes, nodding her head. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, you’re right. I was wondering the same thing, myself.”

You stare in shock at the girl for a long moment, unable to think of an excuse off the top of your head. You swore you grabbed your blouse this morning. You know that you two had tried to subtly match just to be cute, but he had no patterns on his, or was that the other way around?

You need to check the size immediately.

“It’s a popular brand right now.” Gloss chips in, saving you again. “I have one in my dresser, except the color is purple. It’s a unisex shirt, I’m sure she has one just like Finnick’s.”

“Yes.” You agree, still staring off into space. Gloss is lying right through his teeth. “It’s just an oversized blouse.”

“I don’t think so…” The girl says, letting go of the cloth to back up. “My partner has one just like yours. They’re fit for masculine bodies.”

“Either way, we need to wrap up the meeting.” Emris interrupts. “Beatrix and Jett will be out in less than an hour.”

Gloss takes this as his cue to start talking about Jett. As soon as he does, it’s like the whole world is put on mute, as you stare blankly at the stool legs in front of you, trying to remember what you were dressed in yesterday.

You remember taking a shower because you felt gross and you had been too exhausted to do it the night before. The AC in the Betting Room is broken right now, so it’s like a sauna in there since the roof is made up of a bunch of glass panes.

After you showered, you got dressed. Your underwear, the white jeans, and the light blue blouse with the patterns on it, the triangles… You picked this shirt out on purpose because you wanted it to be baggy. And once again, you’re following the current fashion trend, Finnick is doing the same.

That’s why when you saw him later in the day, after he’d gone out to brunch with his mentor, Mags, you commented on how you’d accidentally matched. Only, he was wearing khakis that happened to match his shirt, but that doesn’t make sense. Not unless you were talking about the color scheme.

You really can’t recall what you were in.

The stylist representing Jett decides on a dark grey suit to match Beatrix to an extent while also showing he sees the world as very black and white. You know that would normally mean there would be no grey area, but Jett is supposed to be the grey area in this case.

It makes sense, kinda, but you’re past the point of caring. Emris dismisses the meeting, and while the others head in the direction of the elevator, you begin in the opposite way, wanting to go to the bathroom.

“Where are you heading off to?” Emris asks. “Don’t tell me you’re skipping lunch, too. We made a reservation.”

“I’ll meet you there.” You tell them. “I’ve got to use the bathroom first.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Gloss offers, Emris seems pleased by this, and the group splits.

You don’t pay any mind to Gloss, hurrying to the bathroom to confirm if you’ve messed up or not. He already knows about your relationship with Finnick, and you’ve asked him to keep quiet about it. He’s done very well, but you know that if it were anyone else asking, he wouldn’t care as much. It’s only because the two of you are close friends.

“You were wearing a plain one yesterday, (Y/n).” Gloss tells you.

“I just have to check the size.” You tell him.

“You and Finnick had been photographed yesterday, it was part of this morning’s trend update with Caesar. It was a perfect example of what the Capitol wants to wear right now.”

“You’re not helping.” You tell him, giving him a small glare before you turn sharply to head into the bathroom.

A part of you know he’s right though. It’s only confirmed when you lean against the counter to look in the mirror, tag pulled out from behind your head, do you see that it’s Finnick’s exact size.

Your stomach drops, lips pressed together.

—

You were hoping that by some miracle the shirt wouldn’t turn into a whole conversation in the Capitol by the end of the day. Here, you know people have no boundaries, so they have no issue holding you hostage until you tell them where your shirt is from.

Gloss had answered for you the first few times, claiming he has a top just like it, while prying you away, but after the tenth time, he gave up trying to save you. Not because he didn’t want to, it’s just that it’s exhausting to talk to people from the Capitol.

So many of them have started the conversation by saying, “That’s the exact shirt Finnick Odair was wearing yesterday. I heard it’s one of a kind in that color. Where’d you get it?”

You thought they were lying, baiting you into telling them that you got it from Finnick himself, straight off his back. But Luetta eventually had to pull you to the side to tell you the designer says the shirts are a form of his art. He doesn’t make exact copies, only similar looks.

When she told you, it was like she shot you in the heart, more or less. The guilt began to seep in, because Finnick didn’t want your relationship to be out to the public. He wanted you to be just his in private for a while. You could be introduced to them as his girlfriend when it felt right to do so.

And now—it’s like there’s no point in lying. Everyone already knows what the truth is.

You shove your thumb into the four button on the elevator panel, eyes cast to the ground. You’re shot up several floors at high speed, and come to a sudden yet smooth stop at your floor. When you step out, you’re met with Finnick.

Just at the sight of him alone, tears begin to well up in your eyes, lips turning downward harshly. The smile on Finnick’s face begins to disappear, mouth opening.

Before he can speak, you cry, “I’m so sorry, Finnick.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n).” Finnick murmurs, pulling you into a hug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” You hold onto his shirt, forehead resting against his body. “This isn’t how we wanted to tell them. I just did it by accident.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” He gently rubs your back. “We can continue to be private, we don’t have to confirm we’re dating.”

“But everyone knows already.”

“So? They’ll never ask.” Finnick laughs. “And if they do, you don’t have to answer them.”

You pull away, pouting, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I can’t believe I screwed this all up with just a blouse.”

“My blouse.” Finnick tells you, a smile back on his face. “And it seems like you’ve taken very good care of it, too. It was nice watching you leave in it this morning.”

You blink at him, backing away a step to get a better look at his face. “You knew it was yours?”

“Had you given me another kiss, I would’ve told you. But you were in a hurry to leave.” Finnick’s smug. “Now, you told me I would get plenty later on, and I’ve been waiting patiently.”

“I don’t know if you’ve deserved it now.” You tell him, “I just cried for nothing?”

“I tried to tell you it wasn’t a big deal.” He laughs.

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