#hurt finnick odair

[trickster-jpeg]

I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die.

Summary: A Finnick Odair character study type piece. Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak.

Warnings: Typical canon typical Finnick backstory is implied (underage forced prostitution/abuse, etc).

Word Count: 1307 It's on AO3 -> Here

It had been weeks since the arena. Since it all went to shit. It had been weeks since Mags had been murdered by the Capitol in that glorified snow globe shaped rat trap, the woman that was a second mother to him from the moment he entered the games at fourteen as her mentee. It had been weeks since they’d captured Johanna from the arena. Weeks since they’d hijacked Peeta as well. It had been weeks since that autarch of a president had released the order to abduct Annie from their shared house by the coast. It had been weeks, and he was still sat in the medbay in District 13 tying knots with a length of rope that was shorter than his forearm because the nurses were worried he’d jump at the chance to hang himself should it be any longer. He’d nearly tried when he’d been told about Annie’s abduction. And for the first time in his life he wished for nothing more than for her to be dead.

Finnick had hoped and prayed to any God that was listening that his dear, beloved Annie was as dead as Mags, because death was far kinder, far more merciful, than the things that Snow would do to her. The Hunger Games had already consumed her. Borderline destroyed her. She had fought every single day to get her feet back on solid ground since then, and Finnick was in awe of her because of it. But being held captive by them? He didn’t know how long she would be able to last. He refused to give up on her, if there was even a chance that she was alive he would be on the frontlines to get her out. If she wasn’t, all he could do was hope that it was a quick and painless death.

Finnick wished he could be selfish enough to go through with killing himself. That he could do what so many other people did once they’d hit what looked like rock bottom. To take just one more step off of the cliffs and tumble into the crashing waves below, like a stone thrown into a lake just to disturb the water. But Finnick? When he first hit rock bottom, he’d just been handed a pickaxe and told to dig by the man that made sure he’d be permanently chipped and chiselled away at into a perfectly sculpted statue for every Capitol tourist to touch and marvel over. Just another attraction to satiate their constant addiction for more. To quell the consuming itch by grasping at whatever they could get their perfectly manicured hands on.

Artwork was all he’d ever been to them since he’d won his games. They saw him as a priceless artefact but he could feel like nothing but a poorly constructed hand puppet. A caricature. The people painted his portrait full of lust and desire; the masterpiece of a boy that was barely fifteen, destined to be sought after and craved like some forbidden fruit that was just barely ripe for the picking.

And when they declared him ripe enough, they tried to swallow him whole.

As soon as his ornate frame had been taken down from behind the red velvet barrier, he’d been auctioned up to the highest bidder for their own private displays. To brag their winnings at the claimed Victor and display him in their homes to those who knew how to handle the canvas without causing permanent damage to the paint. They could place him anywhere in the house and he’d be the central talking point. The feature that brought the room together and grabbed the attention of everyone that laid their greedy eyes on him. A carefully constructed centre piece at the heart of the banquet.

Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak. They bit into his skin and lavished in the blood that seeped from his veins, so perfect it refused to stain their too-white teeth a darkened crimson because he couldn’t mark them the way that they marked him.

Such a pedigree lapdog passed from one owner to another, well behaved enough to thank every single one of them for fixing their own jewelled collar around his neck. Only the best for their rented pet. To flaunt their wealth and say the words to have him lapping at their feet and performing tricks for a 'treat'. Tugging at his collar if his step faltered from their side, even just for a moment.

Finnick always felt his collar being tugged and tightened. The material always wrapped firmly around his throat. There was barely ever enough room for it to expand and give way with each inhale. The chafing grip rubbing at his skin fixed as a reminder that the hands of Snow would forever be frozen and wrapped around it. That all it took was one wrong move for the man to crush his windpipe like a crumpled piece of paper, useless after the pencil marked scribbles could no longer be erased. There was no fixing that. No fixing him.

He didn’t want to be fixed if it meant he could keep her safe though. The whole world could take his body, mind, and soul if it meant that Annie could be free from their grasp. They could string him up by his hands and feet, skin him alive, pull his nails and teeth. They could throw him back into that arena day in and day out if it meant that Annie could continue to recover soundly in District 4 for the remainder of her days.

When he’d been picked up from the arena he thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been given the chance to turn himself into someone he could live with. Someone he could look at in the mirror and identify with. Or just recognise. That he could be the person he saw in the salty reflection of rockpools crouched beside Annie. That he could live as the man he was, not the spectacle the people saw him as.

But as soon as Finnick had stepped foot into the stale charnel house of District 13, as soon as he’d been forced into the presence of Alma Coin, he knew that this life would be no different for him.

Just another four letters. Just another last name with four letters that would continue to hold him and the collar he wore. He saw the hunger in her eyes the way he saw it in the Capitol’s people. The drive, the cruelty, the itch that had to be scratched. He saw the secrets she was hiding beneath her pearled white smile, and he saw the same ice that would bite behind it. He watched the cogs turn in her head as she catalogued each of the Victors that stepped off of the aircraft. Ways she could keep them in line. Methods that allowed her to maintain absolute control. The endless possibilities that could arise by using Annie and Johanna against him, should they ever be reunited in this life again.

Coin was going to sink her teeth into him and bleed him dry under the label of martyrdom, just as she would do to Katniss as soon as she could. The woman would stand by and use the seventeen year old for the people, just as Snow had done with Finnick, and he’d be damned if he just stood there to watch it happen.

[bettysupremacy]

idk if you write for finnick.. but could you write something where it’s the beginning of the quarter quell and he can’t find her? Just pure panic as he runs around the cornucopia?

I’ve never written for him before but I love him! idk how I feel about this but I hope truly that u like it.

Icy hot terror is all Finnick feels when the timer hits one. Loud and disorienting, the bang ripples against the water in vibrations that rumble under his feet.

Where are you?

The sun blares disgustingly into his eyes and skin, an obvious manipulation of the gamemakers sick amusement, but he ignores it, plunging into the only water he’s ever dreaded to tread. You’re not in sight. He’d told you to stay away, to swim, to run as far away from the cornucopia as you could. Don’t risk it, he’d shaken your shoulders, listen to me I’ll find you.

The water is warm and gross against his skin. It’s not as refreshing as the district four that he’s familiar with. It’s hot and fake. He comes up gasping for air, letting the terror settle into his bones as he pushes against the current of a manipulated riptide. Katniss climbs the stone so he does too; pushing his feet deeper into the ground with every step he takes. His breathing is labored, jagged as he runs. He can’t find you, but he will. He can’t find you, but he can find a weapon.

The cornucopia glistens in the sun, never lacking the weaponry he’d expected from it. Bows, arrows, knives, he eyes a backpack stuffed with supplies. Could he lug it with him? Probably not. He diverts his eyes to the trident beside him. Perched in its stand, it gleams in artificial sun as the grip molds to his fingers. He squeezes the deadly lifeline.

The sound of metal on metal scrapes behind him. Katniss. He turns quick, flashing the bangle around his wrist tauntingly. “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

She breathes hard in front of him, eyebrows pulling as she pauses in bated confusion. The weapon doesn’t lower. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?��� He gravels, quick enough to be considered panicked. “Duck.”

She listens, dropping to the floor hard enough to sting the weeping palms she balances on. The sick squelch of his trident in the fallen tribute is covered by her hands tight over her ears as she waits for the boom. The gong sounds, and then a scream. An unmistakable scream. It settles in his stomach and throat thickly, sweating his already wet hands. You didn’t listen.

“Finnick!” The voice screams. Sobs. “Finnick! Finnick!”

The sound is nightmare-ish. Something the gamemakers could never manipulate that accurately, and deep down he knows it’s the sound you’ll wake him up from if you ever gets out of this arena alive.

“I’m coming!” His feet hit hard against the gravel as he sprints. His breathing dries his throat quick. “I’ve got you!”

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

The moment skids to a halt as he finds you. Trapped in the arms of a larger, broader tribute, you struggle for air as he headlocks you. He considers doing something rash, but Katniss behind you shakes her head. Like she can see it in his eyes. It’s a slow, quiet moment, hunter quiet as she stalks closer. Finnick eyes her wary to give her away.

“We can talk about this.” Finnick rationalizes slowly. “It’s the beginning of the game.”

“So?” His arm tightens around your neck. Your squeak breaks Finnicks heart.

“Finnick.” You strain.

“Give the viewers what they want.” Finn pleads. “A show. You can’t kill her so quick.”

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

A bargain? It’s the first ten minutes and he stands next to a gleaming cornucopia filled with sharp armory. He could get something better than a simple metal trident. Throwing knives, poison, a machete. Finnick suspects the victor is doing what he pleaded. Giving the audience a show.

“Take my trident!” He nearly crashes, cool demeanor dropping as he watches you tap the man’s arm in panic, your air slowly constricting. “Give me her.”

It sickens Katniss; the ability to kill someone for views. To feed into the capitals agenda. This is a necessary kill, she reasons, this isn’t for her own survival. This isn’t a selfish homicide; this is Rue in the net, Prim on the stage. This is the girl she could save. Katniss’ fingers loosen, letting the elaborate metal fly from her grip. It hits the nameless career in the back. Her target.

The moment slows in Finnicks eyes. Katniss stands far, arms hanging limply at her sides. She stares at him, grateful for the thankfulness in his eyes that eases her burdened chest.

“Y/N.” He gasps as the man falls hard on you. He runs, helping you from under the heavy weight. “I’ve got you now.”

“Finn.” You weep, hands in his as he lifts you. You stumble, crashing into him hard. He hears a sob in his tribute suit. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to listen to me.” He doesn’t anger, but this feels close to it as he grips you tightly. “I told you to run.”

You heave, greedy for fresh air, but your lungs are infiltrated by the heady scent of salt water. His hand calms the coughs that rake through your chest, guilty for his scolding. It’s a quiet moment in the calamity of the bloodbath, a stolen moment that he can’t afford to prolong another second.

“Cmon,” He eyes you, hands cupping your face, then falling as he looks up to Katniss. “Let’s go find Peeta.”

[allisluv]

Hii here with like kinda angsty thought: how would finnick react if reader flinches during an argument? Like he raises his hand to scratch his neck or smth, but she gets the wrong message??

-🎸

old habits die hard.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: reader has been in a previous abusive relationship. mentions of previous arguments and abuse, flinching, hurt/comfort, established relationship, improved communication at the end, angst with a happy ending.

word count: 546

It happens so quick.

One minute, you're arguing with Finnick, and the next, he's raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck. Your brain whirls into overdrive and you flinch, hands flying up to protect your face.

As god-awful as it sounds, it is an instinct by now. Living with your ex has thrown you into a permanent state of fight or flight. You've been dating Finnick for the better part of six years and the thought of him raising a hand to you has never even crossed your mind. It's just your luck that your ex's actions have taken permanent residence in your psyche.

Dread runs through your veins when you hear Finnick inhale a sharp breath. You lower your hands from your face, but the devastated look on your boyfriend's face makes you want to hide away again.

Tears are gathering on Finnick's waterline and he furiously blinks them away. He bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling and says, "I would never."

You don't trust yourself to say anything, so you're quiet instead. You know Finnick isnt the type of guy to lay so much as a finger on you. You know that, but still, deep down, there's a nagging feeling that says, what if?

You never thought your ex would hit you, either.

Finnick sighs, running a hand down the length of his face. "Can I give you a hug or do you need some space?"

The words end up getting caught in the back of your throat. When you finally manage to push through the pain, your voice is strained and broken. "I want a hug."

Finnick obliges, but keeps his hands where you can see them, just in case you change your mind. When you don't cower away from him like he had expected, he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on top of your head. He kisses above where your hairline starts. "I'm so sorry, angel."

"It's not your fault--"

Finnick cuts you off before you can get much further. "No, I shouldn't have shouted. I didn't mean to scare you. I should have walked away and came back when the both of us were calmer. I never want you to feel scared and I definitely don't want you to think that I'm going to hit you because I'm mad. I would never do that to you, and the fact I have to clarify that makes my heart ache."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the warmth of your tears staining his cotton shirt. "I know you weren't going to hit me," you eventually say. "I know that. I-- sometimes I just forget that everyone's not like him. I'm sorry."

Finnick pulls away and cradles your face in his hands. The pad of his thumb reaches out and swipes away your tears. "Don't you dare apologise, angel. None of this is your fault, and I'm not mad. I just-- 'm sorry for scaring you. I'd never do that intentionally, you know that, right?"

You nod, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "We need to talk some more about this later, when you're ready, but for now, I think we should cuddle and watch some tv. How does that sound?"

[wonderlandwalker]

Living Nightmares | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick wakes up to find you slipping away from him. As he tries to get help, he loses track of you, only to find you in the hands of the careers. The situation seems to get worse before he finally thinks he's at peace, but you're there to remind him to keep going.

Content Warnings/Tags: angst, a whole lot of it, fluff at the end though I'm not a monster, mentions of blood, hypothermia, violence

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I've been obsessing over our boy Finnick so here's a fic full of angst, because apparently that's the only thing my brain can think of. Dividers by @chilumitos

This wasn’t exactly where they had thought they’d be at the moment. It all started during the second day in the arena, they had the allies, they had the supplies, and they thought they had the advantage, but worry took over as they started losing sight of each other in a chase, and they tried to find the others, only to end up in a new part of the arena. It was dark, cold, and they had lost their supplies, and there was no food or water source nearby.

Neither of them was really to blame. It had been a long day, and the surroundings didn't inspire much hope. So, both of them had fallen asleep on some of the leaves that covered the ground. The cold air was still blowing around them.

But at least he wasn't alone, two sets of minds were better than one, at least he still had you.

The rising sun urged him to open his eyes, and he stretched out his arms, which had become stiff from the cold. It was only when he sat up and ran his hand through the hair that had fallen in your face that he noticed how cold you were. He quickly got up from behind you, pulling you into his lap, tilting your head up a little. Your skin was almost as white as snow, and your lips were starting to turn blue. The colour that once held so many fond memories of the ocean and the sky, now being replaced by fear and panic. He shook you lightly, trying to wake up as if you were just sleeping deeply. When you didn't react, he called out for you, his voice laced with concern.

“Y/n? Come on love, wake up.” But the only movement that came from you was your arm falling from where it was, the harsh thud to the ground reinforcing his fears.

“No, no come on. This isn't happening, wake up” Finnick had thought about this happening, how could he not when it was the basis for most of his nightmares? But he always woke up from those to find you resting in his arms, your soft breathing comforting him back to sleep. This time he didn't wake up, and he didn't hear your breathing to soothe him. He checked your pulse for a heartbeat, but all he could feel was his own heart racing in his chest. He looked around him as if there would be someone there to help, but you were alone.

He started CPR to try and quicken up your pulse, to get you to breathe again, and while he knew you probably couldn't hear him, he had to try.

“Do you remember when you came back from your first games, I really thought that had been the scariest moment of my life. When I survived my own, at least I knew you were alright at home. When you came back, I thought it was over, I wanted to see the positive side, but you seemed so weak, and having watched you, I knew how bad of a state you were in. It tore me apart to have to see it and not be able to do anything." His voice cracks a little, his head starting to swim with more thoughts.

"I won’t do this without you. You can't leave me now, not like this." He pushes a little harder on your chest while doing compression. He's sure if he does so anymore, he will crack one of your ribs.

"I imagined us getting married. I imagined proposing to you by the lake, that little spot you showed me, I know how happy you were in the middle of the field of dandelions. Every worry seemed to slip away from you, like a little hideaway from the horrors of the world. That's how you make me feel every time I'm with you. It's like there is no one in the whole world except us. And I know how cliche that sounds, I know you never liked cliches, but it's true, you are my world, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

Right as he was about to pour out more of his heart to you, he heard a noise coming from the distance. The steps were too heavy to be coming from a small animal, but his instincts also told him that whoever it was, they weren't there to help.

He knew he had two options. try and fight off whatever was coming while carrying the love of his life with him. Or keep you hidden, try and fight while distracting them away from you and coming back when the coast was clear. He tried his best to hide you underneath a blanket of leaves, making you disappear into the surroundings, he gave you a light kiss on the forehead, scared to get too close and feel how cold your skin still was. He heard the footsteps come closer.

“Just hold on a little longer darling, I’ll be back before you know it.”

And so he turned around, grabbing his trident a little harder than normal, and came face to face with one of the careers. Finnick's muscles were still sore from the night, but he was ready to run. He had to get away from here before the tribute started to wonder if he had been alone.

He ran towards a clearing, making the tribute follow behind him. He ran to a split in the path, which gave him two options, left or right. He heard rustling coming not far behind him, and his instincts told him to go right, so he did. He ran for a while until he reached a dead end, the line of trees becoming so dense he couldn't get through anymore. The tribute was still on his heels, and Finnick had to think fast again. He saw a body of water nearby and decided that diving in, despite the creatures that might be in it, and the chilling temperature it must be, would be better than certain death. He knew he would be able to outswim the career, it luckily being one of his strengths. He started to run towards it, and when he got to the edge, he jumped like his life depended on it, but it still wasn't his life he was worried about, it was yours.

Once he got to the other side of the water, he looked back, and the tribute was nowhere to be seen, probably having decided that the risk of the wild waters wasn't worth it. Finnick wasn't thinking about the relief of escape, all he was thinking about was how much time you had left.

It was by some sort of miracle he found Peeta, Johanna and the others on a small beach nearby, and he practically ran straight into them at full speed without even announcing himself. Once the others had realized it was Finnick, and he was not a danger to them, they calmed down, but the state of despair he was in did alarm them soon after

Peeta looked up at him, he was completely out of breath from how fast he had run.

“Sit down Finnick, try and catch your breath” He told him, while placing an assuring hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no time to sit down, I need to go back.” He spoke with such certainty it startled the others.

“Go back where?”

“ To the clearing, I don't know where it was, but I remember how to get there.”

“Why do you need to go back?” Johanna asked him, seeming confused.

“Because y/n is still there, and she doesn't have long”

The others didn't need to hear more, and started to pack up the things they had with them to follow him.

When they had made it back, Johanna was in front with Finnick, she wouldn't care to admit it out loud, but she was worried about you as well.

“Where?” She asked him

“Over by the cut-down stumps, next to the maple and the oak tree.” Finnick had memorized the entire area in order not to lose track of you, and with Johanna being from the lumber district, he knew this clue would be the most helpful to her.

“There’s no one here” she said, looking back at him frustrated.

“There has to be, she was right there when I left.”

“She might have been, but unless hypothermia comes with the power to turn invisible, she’s gone.”

“Well, she couldn't have left by herself” His mind was reeling with all the possibilities, each one more horrible than the last.

“Well then who took her, there are no drag marks, it wasn't any kind of mutt.”

“I don't know, maybe-” his eyes fell to the mud next to the fallen leaves, the ground here was in permafrost, it couldn't have come from here. When the tribute started chasing him he had already put distance between where you were and where he was going. They must have gone back after he went into the water to try and see if he had any supplies, and have found you. But your body wasn't here, that was a good thing, that means you must be alive, why else would they have taken you?

“They’re at the swamp”

“How are you so sure?”

“The career, he was alone when he chased me, he has to have set up camp somewhere with the others, it can't be far from here otherwise he wouldn't have carried her.”

“Alright, but we don't even know where that is, the swamp must be massive, they could be anywhere, we can’t just run in without a plan.” Johanna tried to reason, looking over to Finnick, only to realise he was no longer there.

“Where did he go?” Peeta asks her.

“Probably to the swamp, probably without a plan.” She sighed, she was annoyed, but couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would do anything for you, including laying down his own life.

“How do we find him, we don't even know where the swamp is, y/n and Finnick were the only ones who crossed it.”

“You don't happen to have a map, do you?” Johanna asks, sarcasm heavy as usual.

While the others were trying to figure out where exactly Finnick had run off to, he himself ran into some trouble. He knew it was his fault for going in without a plan or any backup, but he had listened to his heart, not his head. His heart convinced him he had to find you, telling him that if he didn't find you and wake you up, he’d never be able to see your eyes looking back into his. His heart was telling him to go and save you, even though his head was telling him it was probably already too late anyway.

He wasn't paying close attention to his surroundings as he should have been, trying with all his might to find you. They had found him when he was distracted and from that moment on they kept trying to break him. He was tied with his back against a tree, most of his body covered in blood and a little dizzy from the loss of it.

“It’s very easy to figure out what makes you tick Odair” the district one tribute spoke to him. He couldn't see very far ahead of him, and he couldn't see you anywhere.

“What’s that supposed to mean” He was confused and angry. Confused about what they meant, why they hadn't killed him. Angry they kept him from finding you, from holding you.

“Don’t worry, you'll find out soon enough.”

And as if it was planned, right after the career had spoken, a loud, soul-cracking scream echoed around him. Finnick immediately recognized it, how could he ever forget? It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick, jabber-jays, something. But there wasn't a flock of birds around, and nothing would be able to replicate such a crushing sound. He tried closing his eyes, but when he did his imagination ran wild with images and scenarios, and it only made it worse. The only thing he could do to calm down was tell himself it wasn't real, even if he didn't believe it, repeating it like a mantra over and over.

“It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real.” It was nothing more than a whisper and most probably only a mumble of incoherent words.

“Oh but that's the best part Odair, it is real, and it's not gonna stop until you give us what we want. to know.”

“You’re lying” He spit out, barely able to say the next words without falling apart completely “I saw her die.” A single tear makes its way down his face as he tries to keep his composure, cracking now wouldn't do him or you any good.

“Are you willing to take that risk? She’s pretty feisty, I'll give you that, but if you don't crack soon and tell us where your friends are, she's not gonna make it.

He tried ignoring it, trying to listen to his head instead of his heart, but once again the attempt was futile. All he could hear was the screaming, even when he was sure it had actually stopped, the sound still lived in his head. It was hard to say which was worse, the deafening screams, or the silences in between.

He tried to think with his head, tried to think what you would say to him. It would probably be something along the lines of ‘don’t do anything stupid when I'm not there.’

It was far too late for that.

When the career returned, he had a smile on his face that seemed way too happy for the situation they were in.

“She’s strong, that girl of yours, that much is true. The question is for how much longer, everyone has a point of no return, and I have a feeling she’ll cross it soon, But you can make it stop, tell us where your friends are, and it’ll stop.” The tribute had bent down so he was face to face with him, and by the look in his eyes, he now knew for sure this wasn't a bluff.

Finnick didn't know where they were, they wouldn't have stayed at the beach where he found them or at the clearing where the two of you had slept for the night. And maybe it was for the best he didn't know, because right now if he was honest with himself, he would have told them anything he knew if they wanted it. He would do anything to get to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your body against his, to feel your lips pressed against his own. But the careers weren't stupid, he had no reason to believe they would actually let you go, and even if they did, he knew a part of you would never forgive him for what he would have done.

“This is a waste of time.” He screamed, silently hoping you were close enough and conscious enough to hear his voice, hoping it would be enough to tell you not to give up. He pulled at the ropes tying his hands together with all the strength he had left, knowing it would likely not achieve anything, but hoping for it nonetheless.

But it didn't make a difference, your screams didn't stop, and his heartache didn't stop. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, up until a point where Finnick couldn't tell how much time had passed. It was difficult to keep track of time when you kept blacking out, but it was peaceful in the most morbid way. He didn't sleep, he lost consciousness, so he didn't dream. When he blacked out he had a moment of peace, a moment where he didn't hear your screams echoing around in his head. But he would always wake up and have to face reality again.

He couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore, he couldn't hear his breathing or his thoughts, all he could hear was the screaming and the cries, even though he wasn't sure if they were there or if his mind kept playing tricks on him. He had always feared this, but he didn't think that his worst nightmares would actually come true.

He looked down and saw a puddle of his blood staining the ground and the leaves he was sitting on. The last thing he heard before he blacked out again was shouting coming from the distance.

When he wakes up he can't see much, his eyes heavy and his body tired. But he can feel his cheeks getting wet, it’s a heavy liquid and he guesses it's his blood until he opens his eyes far enough to see you kneeling in front of him, your hands cupping his cheeks to lift his face while you're silently crying, the tears creating a clear path down the grime on your face.

“y/n?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, but you look up into his eyes immediately.

“Finnick, oh god, please wake up we have to get out of here.” Your voice sounds strained, and Finnick isn't sure if it's because of all the screams that must have taken a toll on you, or if the sounds have damaged his ears, he hopes for your sake it's the latter.

“No we don’t” He says with a sense of peace that doesn't match up with the predicament you're in.

“What do you mean?” You ask him, while trying to remove some of the blood stains from his skin, but failing miserably.

“We’re in heaven, aren't we, that's why you're here, I was hoping I would see you.” A sob from your throat almost interrupts his whispering, and he looks up to you again.

“Why are you covered in so much blood” He reaches out to touch your face ever so gently, as if he's scared you're only a figment of his imagination, and you could disappear anytime.

“It’s nothing, I’m alright, I’m more worried about you, you look like you could open your very own blood bank with how much you’re losing.” Your voice is shaky, and it matches the tremble of your hands.

“No need to worry about that, You're here to bring me to heaven, we’ll be together again, it’ll all be perfect.”

“Finnick listen to me! I’m not here to take you to heaven, I’m real and I'm right here in front of you and I need you to stay awake!”

Only he’s not responding to you anymore, his eyes closed again.

“Goddamnit”

You tried to lift him off the ground, but almost fell over once you got him upright. You weren't in your strongest state, and Finnick not being in any conscious state wasn't helping, his whole body weight leaning on you. You put your arm around his shoulder and put the other around his middle, trying to keep him standing so you could move. But with your hands busy trying to keep Finnick upright, you had no way to defend yourself. All the commotion must have alerted other tributes, but you didn't know how many there were to begin with, or who even started the disturbance that allowed you to break free. You thanked whoever was listening that the two of you made it out of the swamp without running into further trouble, and entered an opening of trees that finally allowed bright sunlight to touch upon your skin. You can hear footsteps close by, and prepare for the worst.

“We need to get the two of you back to the others” A familiar voice enters your ears, and you didn't know you could ever be so grateful to find Beetee.

You make your way to a lake not far away. When you get there, you refuse to leave Finnick’s side when Beetee had insisted you needed tending to as well. It was like an unspoken rule. Whenever one of you was hurt, the other didn't leave their side until you were sure they were going to be okay. But you weren't sure, and you weren't leaving him. So you lay down next to him, and the others knew it was useless to try and separate you.

After some time had passed, Finnick started to softly grunt and woke you up with him. Your face contorted in a mix of anger and pain. You leapt up into his arms. It hurt him a little with how tight you were holding him, but he didn't dare let go. Still a little afraid it wasn't real. But he could feel your breathing against his neck, hear you crying in his ear, and hear your heart beating in your chest, in sync with his, you were here, and you were okay.

[bedtimescenarios]

Comfort tropes I absolutely love

I don't normally write much comfort, instead preferring to focus on the hurt, but I may or may not have gotten some ideas from my Hunger Games oc:)

Whumpee showing up at Caretaker's door in the middle of the night. Hurt, disheveled, bleeding. When their eyes meet Caretaker's, they radiate pain. "I didn't know where else to go."

Whumpee breaking down in Caretaker's arms. Caretaker holds them tightly, their grip secure yet gentle, while Whumpee clutches onto them as if they'd dissappear if they let go. As Whumpee's tears dampen Caretaker's shirt, they simply caress their hair, shushing them and reassuring them that they're okay. They're safe now.

"I'm not going anywhere. You can rest."

Caretaker who has been through a situation similar to Whumpee's. So they understand. They're connected, in a way. And they make sure Whumpee is comforted in a way they never were, protected to an extent they never knew, and cared for in a way they never felt.

"This will never happen to you again. I'll make sure of it."

On that previous note, perhaps Caretaker and Whumpee's comfort isn't one-sided- they take care of each other. They both allow the other to be vulnerable around them, because they both know. And that creates a bond so deep that the constellations themselves could not transcend it.

"It's not your fault." Whumpee nods. "I know." Yet they don't believe it. So Caretaker cups their face, simultaneously firmly and carefully, and repeats it. "Listen to me. No, no- really listen. It's not your fault. It's not your fault." And they say it and say it until Whumpee's cheeks are wet with tears, because that's when they know that they understand.

[msmk11]

Five More Minutes

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

WC: 1.5k

CW: Fluff, angst, the games, illusions to death

Summary: Five more minutes. A phrase you say often but only now really mean.

Day 16 of mk’s mad dash

The cold waves crash against your legs as you run through the water away from Finnick. Two person tag is pointless, really, but at the young age of eight, practicality is not an important thing on your mind. You’re still at the age where you’re similar in height and strength to the blonde, so you pretty easily outrun his attempts at tagging you.

“Wah, wah, you can’t catch me Finny!” You tease, sticking your tongue out.

“I told you not to call me that!” he yells, a pout growing on his face.

By the way his brows furrow in concentration, you can tell that your best friend is more determined than ever to catch you.

You run back up onto the shore, your feet sinking into the wet sand beneath you.

“Hey guys!” A voice shouts distantly.

You stop running and look up to see Finnick’s mother at the back door.

“It’s time to come inside my loves, dinner is ready!”

Just when you’re about to respond, a cold wet hand presses your arm.

“Tag, you’re it!”

Finnick stands beside you, golden hair windblown and wearing a big smirk.

“Not fair!” You shout back, betrayal written all over your face, “the game was obviously paused.”

“Never said so,” Finnick answers, arms crossed bossily.

“I’m gonna get you!”

You look back at Finnick’s mom, “five more minutes!”

*****

“Five more minutes.”

You look up at Mrs. Odair standing next to you, arms crossed and an anxious expression on her face that she absolutely cannot hide from you.

“Five more minutes,” you agree, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes until Finnick would finally arrive home from the Capitol.

Finnick. Your Finny. The Capitol’s newest Victor. The youngest too, winning at the young age of only fourteen.

After being gone for weeks, you’d finally get to see him again. You’d finally be able to rest easy, knowing that he’s alive, safe, and within walking distance.

You hear it before you see it- the horn of the large, silver train warning everyone to back away from the railway. As it glides smoothly into the station, your stomach erupts in anxious butterflies, equal parts eager and nervous to see Finnick after all this time.

The train door slides open and the first person to step out is Finnick’s mentor, Mags. But then, there he comes, your best friend.

It seems the entirety of District Four is crammed into the small train station awaiting Finnick’s return, so the whole platform erupts into cheers at the sight of him exiting the train.

Finnick, ever the charmer, immediately puts on his best smile, waving to the crowd. Though you know a lot of it is an act, you can tell a part of him is genuinely happy to be home surrounded by his neighbors and friends.

His smile turns fully genuine, however, when he sees his parents and you waiting for him near the front of the platform. Finnick runs straight into his mother’s arms. Though he already towers over her, he looks so small at this moment, relieved to be back with his mama after all the trauma he had faced. When he pulls away, he gives his dad a hug too and then turns to you. If possible, his smile grows even wider and he opens his arms to you. You run straight into his arms at full force and he catches you, barely even stumbling under your weight.

You bury your face in his neck, “Welcome back, Finny.”

*****

You’re already ready to kill someone and the games haven’t even started yet. Interviews, in front of millions of people, are starting soon, and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable. You aren’t against dressing nice, but as a sixteen year old girl from the districts, you’re certainly against dressing uncomfortably and so lavishly. The big, poofy, blue gown you’re wearing is supposed to resemble the ocean, but you’re sure your stylist has gotten it all wrong. One is pleasant and good and makes you happy, the other is a stupid-ass dress with itchy fabric.

Luckily, your team has at least given you a few minutes alone before your interviews to collect yourself.

There’s a soft knock on the door and before you can even respond, it’s opening and closing quickly. Finnick is upon you in a second, arms wrapped around your waist and his chest flush against yours.

“Finnick,” you sigh, “what’re you doing here? I thought mentors weren’t allowed to be back here before the interviews?”

He pulls away a little and gives you a wink, “perks of being the Capitol’s Darling.”

You roll your eyes and scoff at him, but secretly you’re grateful for his status in the Capitol. Without his unwavering support at your side every second of your games journey so far, you certainly would’ve cracked. You’re not sure how you’re gonna fare in the arena.

Finnick looks you up and down, “you look….”

“Like an idiot?”

“No,” the blonde says, suddenly very serious, “You look beautiful, really. Though I suppose you always are.”

“Finn-“

You’re interrupted by the door opening. A backstage assistant peeks their head in the room, “you’re on in ten.”

When the door shuts, Finnick squeezes your waist gently, “okay, we should probably go.”

You stop him before he can pull away, “wait! Five more minutes, please.”

Finnick nods and pulls you impossibly tighter, resting his forehead against yours. As you stare into his seafoam colored eyes, a wave of calm overcomes you.

You’re so close that your breaths intermingle, and your stomach does a flip.

“Finnick-“

But you don’t need to say anything else, because his lips are already on yours.

*****

Even though Finnick never has to work another day in his life if he doesn’t want to, he’s still up and off to the docks every day before the sun even rises. It’s a habit of his you used to admire, maybe selfishly so, because he always showed up on your doorstep after a morning on the water with some sort of gift or breakfast in hand. But now, now that you and Finnick live together, you hate it. Even though you’re happy he’s doing something he enjoys, you, again, selfishly, want to keep him in bed a little longer.

When you feel him start to stir next to you, you instantly whine into his bare chest.

“Where are you going?”

Finnick’s strong arms squeeze you tightly, “gotta get up and head to the docks, sweetheart, you know this.”

“No,” you moan tiredly, “stay here.”

Your boyfriend places a soft kiss to the crown of your head and mumbles into your hair, “you know I can’t. Gotta work.”

You open your heavy eyes and look up at him, chin still resting on his muscled chest, “but you don’t have to. You could stay here and lay with me.”

Finnick sighs and you know he feels bad, but you also know you won’t change his mind. You find his stubbornness endearing, even if it works against you sometimes.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

You huff dejectedly, “fine. But will you at least lay with me for five more minutes?”

The blonde pushes a strand of hair out of your face, “okay, pretty girl, five more minutes.”

The squeal of delight that escapes you makes your boyfriend chuckle, and you wrap yourself around him like a baby koala bear.

You look up at his pretty smile and long, soft eyelashes and place a soft kiss to his jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

*****

Much like all the mornings before, you cling to your husband tightly as you two lay in bed, preparing to face the day ahead.

But nothing about this morning is typical.

Instead of contentment you feel fear, instead of rested you feel restless, and instead of Finnick being eager to start his day, he clings to you just as tightly, head buried in your chest listening to the beating of your heart.

You mindlessly run your fingers through your lover’s curls, the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down.

Today is the day of the quarter quell. A day you never thought would come- when you have to enter the arena again. Even worse- when Finnick has to enter the arena again.

You’re still in shock over it all, and you can’t help the bitterness you feel towards the “girl on fire” for putting you and Finnick in this position again. Still, you try to keep your husband’s words in mind- it’s all for the revolution.

Only time will tell if you two would make it out alive.

Finnick’s rustling startles you from your daze and you look down at him, watching as he glances towards the clock on the nightstand.

“We probably should-“

“No.”

You pull Finnick towards your face, “just five more minutes, okay?”

Five more minutes. A phrase you’ve said countless times, but only now really mean in the face of death.

Five more minutes to hold your husband. To kiss him. To love him in the security of your bed. To pretend that the world doesn’t wait outside your door.

*****

Oh what you’d do for five more minutes.

[underoospeterparker]

congrats on 600 (and 700!!)

wondering if I can get a 🐬!

Finnick Odair x “who did this to you?”

pls and tyyy!! I love ur writing sm

join the celebration

finnick odair x fem!reader, 0.6k words

You stumbled onto the beach, bending forward to press a hand against the growing wound on your leg. “Finnick!” You screamed, head twisting around in a desperate attempt to find him. “Finnick,” you tried again, looking over your shoulder to make sure that you hadn’t been followed on your way here. 

“(Y/N)?” You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard his voice grow closer. When Finnick finally saw you, he broke into a run, catching you in his arms when you collapsed onto the ground. “Hi,” he whispered as a way of greeting. As soon as he noticed you were injured, he untangled himself from you. “Baby?” Finnick looked worried, lip caught between his teeth, running his hand in his thick hair. He leaned forward to inspect the cut.

He grimaced when he saw it, and you whined in pain when he pressed a hand to the bleeding gash, stretching from your mid-thigh to your knee. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologised, but his face looked stern, which surprised you. “Who did this to you?” 

You looked straight into his eyes when you said it. “Brutus,” you said, and his face hardened. “I was looking for berries like the ones Katniss used last year,” you continued, and Finnick nodded along, “and he came up behind me. I managed to duck so he only got my leg.” At the mention of your injury, Finnick looked back down. 

“Shit, (Y/N), it’s really deep,” he whispered, looking up to meet your gaze. He softened when he saw you, your eyes swelling with tears. One fell onto your pale cheeks and Finnick reached up to thumb it away. 

“Oh, angel,” he cooed, pressing your head back into his chest. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of here, and then I’m gonna take care of you.” 

You nodded, and he pulled away, pressing a kiss to your forehead and surveying your eyes, making sure you were okay. Then, he got to work. “Okay, sweetheart, I need you to put some pressure on it. We gotta stop the bleeding before we can clean it up.”

Finnick stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “Johanna?” He called out. 

The girl popped out from behind a tree trunk. “Is (Y/N) okay?” She shrieked, and you smiled at her concern. “Do you guys need anything?”

“Could you get us some clean water?” He hesitated, then added, “use the spile, please!”

Johanna gave him the middle finger. “I’m not four, Finnick, I know how to get clean water.” She started walking away, then screamed, “What, did you think I was going to bring you saltwater?”

Finnick rolled his eyes affectionately, then turned back to you. “You holding up okay?” 

His voice was softer than when he spoke to Johanna, and you appreciated it. You gave him a barely-there thumbs up and he gave you one of his best smiles. He stepped closer to you, then crouched in front of you, taking your hand away from your leg and pressing his there instead. 

“I love you,” you whispered, a quiet confession, and Finnick looked up in surprise. This was the first time you’d ever said it. “I mean-”

“I love you too,” he reassured you, and you relaxed under his hold. You grinned at him, butterflies swarming in your stomach, so happy he felt the same way about you. 

“I just wanted to tell you, you know, in case we don’t make it out of here.” 

Finnick’s eyebrows creased. “We are going to get out of here,” he said slowly, making sure you met his eyes, “and you’re gonna be okay, sweetheart." He held out his pinky to you, which you clasped gratefully. "I promise."

[r7leee]

right where you left me | f.o.

this fic is for @liseytopia and i’s lovely fic exchange. hope you like it, tysm for putting the extra time into making two i seriously don’t deserve you 😭🫶🏻 hope you like it <3

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: you haven’t seen finnick since the games; at least the true finnick. ever since he got whisked away to the capitol, you haven’t seen his old self. but, one day, things change

warnings: angst angst angst, hurt/comfort, sad little finnick, cursing, friends to strangers to lovers

word count: 1,392, should take about ten and a half minutes to read (longest to date 🤭)

listen to: right where you left me - bonus track by taylor swift

IN THEORY, IT wasn’t a long time since finnick’s games. only six years. in the long run, that means nothing. you could waste six years at any other point in your life easily. but not these six years.

you and finnick had a bond. close friends, you were. you looked out for each other, came to the other’s rescue. whether it was for a bad dream, bad day, bad family, or anything else, you’d always come running for each other.

you’d patch the other’s wounds, wipe away the other’s tears. whenever somebody needed a shoulder to lean on, the other was there.

you should’ve been there for finnick when he got reaped, but you weren’t. you already dodged a bullet by not getting picked, so you were just trying to rid yourself of anxiety after the female tribute was called. but, it all came back when you heard the familiar name roll off the capitol member’s tongue. “finnick odair.”

your heart stopped. nothing could've prepared you for that. your head immediately shot to where he was standing. his face dropped. he looked like a figure made of wax; unmoving, unalive.

it took a jab in his back by the peacekeepers to get him to move, but his eyes immediately found you when he did.

"no," you whispered. "no, no, no, no." tears welled in his eyes as he mouthed "sorry," and that was it. you were expecting the world to collapse or something, anything, but nothing happened. everyone just went home.

it might've been better if the world ended right then and there, you thought, because finnick was gone forever, and hell, he was starting to be your world. you didn't even watch him on tv. you avoided the situation as much as possible by sleeping.

you almost went to you two's favorite spot, a creek near his house, every once in a while, but you couldn't bring yourself to. too many memories.

that was until it was announced finnick won. news of the century, it was to you. you remember waiting on his porch with a bouquet of flowers you snagged from the meadow earlier. but he never showed up.

maybe the train was late. but that train was late for a day, then two, then a week, and at that point, you'd far given up. you had to admit you'd maybe never see finnick again.

when he did finally show up, it had been a month since his victory. you were out grabbing some food at the market when you saw his face; beautiful blonde hair, tousled as always, and green eyes that looked like emeralds in the daylight. you could recognize it anywhere.

"finnick!" you yelled, completely dropping what you were doing. his head turned to see you, a soft smile on his face.

you almost cried seeing him. you immediately engulfed him in a hug, but he didn't really wrap his arms around your back. he didn't enjoy the hug; he just tolerated it. you didn't seem to notice or care at the moment, though. "oh my god, finnick, where have you been?" you asked, excitement pouring through your eyes.

"needed to take a victory tour for the capitol. did you not watch on tv?" he asked, chuckling slightly. the question almost set you back. why would you? who actually watched anything after the games?

"no. didn't know there was one. glad to see you're okay, though. god, i haven't seen you in ages," you practically beamed. he didn't seem to care, though. what was wrong with him?

"happy you care," he smiled before turning back to what he was doing. any conversation you had after that seemed like you two were just meeting. like you were complete strangers.

that’s how it remained for a while. finnick and you rarely talked, only when you were next to each other. you still waved hello to his parents, and they still asked if you'd like to come to dinner, but you had to refuse. you couldn't face the man you once called your friend. most times he was doing things for the capitol anyway, so it's not like it was hard to avoid him. he wasn't even in 4 half the time!

and that's how it stayed, this near-constant torture, for six years of your life. you made other friends to cope and nearly forgot about the boy you used to hang out with at fourteen. his presence was just a distant memory to you. you almost despised him for leaving you as suddenly as he did.

you thought you'd never come to his aid again. until one random day.

it wasn't much different than any other. you got a house for yourself and you, so far, didn't have any complaints. finnick's house was relatively close to the heart of 4, so you often passed by it while running your errands.

the sight of his house brought unease to you. you couldn't even look at it without feeling sad. even if you didn't want to admit it, you really missed finnick and you'd rather cut out every aspect of him than think about him.

that was until you heard something. it sounded almost like a cry. the sound was so faint you could almost barely hear it. you walked a bit closer to your ex-friend's house, and sure enough, the sound got louder.

it couldn't be from the house; his walls weren't that thin. the only place you could think of was behind the house. you checked to make sure nobody was around before sneaking around to the back side of his house.

the sight before your eyes you surely weren't expecting. poor finnick, the boy you used to know so long ago, was hugging his knees into his chest, all but sobbing.

suddenly, your sadness and guilt hit you like a brick. you ignored everything between you two at the moment and gently knelt down next to him. you weren't sure if he heard you, so you tried your best not to startle him. "you okay?" you asked.

he jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to be at his aid. especially not you. his eyes suddenly filled with a kind of comfort. "i can't lie, no," he admitted. you got down to his level, sitting beside him against the house.

"what's up?" he sniffled, drying his eyes with his hand.

"just...life. i have to go back to the capitol soon and i don't know if i can do it." you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"you don't like it there?"

"no, not at all." he threw his head back, letting in a big gulp of fresh air. "they’ve done things to me. ever since the games, i've just been...i don't know, different."

you thought back to the month of his arrival. the sudden loss of all emotion from him. “ya, i can tell.”

“shit, i’m sorry,” he cupped his face in his hands again.

“wait, no, don’t apologize, hon.” you weren’t even sure why the nickname slipped out. It happened without you thinking. he looked up with his eyebrows furrowed. “it’s not your fault.”

“did you call me hon?”

“not important right now, what i’m trying to say is i forgive you. for everything. none of it was your fault. the games do things to people and i understand that, so don’t feel bad. i just want you to feel happy.”

he barely paid attention to your words. he just smiled, slowly realizing the best part of his life was back. finnick didn’t mean to leave you like he did, but he didn’t want to hurt himself; get too attached to you just to get ripped apart.

when you noticed his grin, you almost damn near melted. you hadn’t seen him like this since you were kids. you sighed, tears threatening to spill out your eyes. “you look so pretty,” you said, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“you do too.” without thinking, his eyes darted to your lips. you sniffled before leaning in and closing the gap between you two.

the kiss was possibly the best of your life. it was filled with remorse and passion and “i’m sorry”s, and “i love you”s.

once you pulled away, you rested your forehead with his. “don’t ever leave me again,” he mumbled, tone soft.

“i don’t know how i could.”

[millennium-queen]

Wow not having a prep team anymore really did uh … wonders … for your wardrobe huh??

Lately my TikTok and IG have been filled with ads for those insane shirts and because I’m totally normal I knew exactly what Peeta deserved haha ((Hijacked!Peeta also gets 2 appearances because he deserves a couple of shirts for his troubles))

[jaqofalltrades]

Finnick Odair x Reader Oneshot

Finnick comforts you after having a nightmare of being back in the games. You are both in district 13, a few days after escaping the quarter quell.

You had fallen asleep with your head on your boyfriends chest. It was a jam-packed day and you were exhausted. The day consisted of meetings with President Coin and Plutarch, war plans and more. You were constantly anxious that 13 would be discovered by the capital so you were always on guard and took no time to relax.

Finnick reassured you that everything would be fine, but he couldn't actually know that. So here you are sound asleep when clear images start running through your mind.

Your legs burned as did your lungs. Finnick was running alongside you, trying to get away from the mutant monkeys. They were just behind you and they were gaining speed by the second. One of them clawed out and snagged your ankle causing you to fall. Your nose smacked hard on a rock and you immediately felt the blood pouring out.

"Y/n!" Finnick yelled and ran back to help you. One of the monkeys had gotten on top of you and was about to attack. Finnick threw his spear instantly killing it. You pushed it off and stood up as fast as you could, pulling his weapon out of the animal and handing it to him as you continued to run. The smell of blood was overwhelming your senses and some of it trickled onto your lips. "Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly as he ran.

"I'm fine," you replied, even though your head was spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out at any moment. You turned your head to see that the monkeys were no longer behind you, seeming to be blocked by an invisible wall. As you slept your breath quickened and you turned onto your side harshly, facing away from Finnick. It all felt so real, and you didn't even know you were having a nightmare.

You both stopped running and tried to catch your breath. He walked up to you and used his sleeve to wipe the blood from your nose and lips. You would have thought that was kinda gross if you hadn't been in the position you were in. His hands cupped your cheeks and he looked into your eyes. "You need to be more careful. I don't know what I would do if I lost you," he said gently but sternly.

You sighed at the calmness of his touch, "I know, I'm trying." You looked past him and you saw a thick fog rolling in. "Finnick turn around," he turned and saw the fog. It creeped closer and you both stayed still to see what was going on. It was just a few feet away from you both and Finnick stuck his hand out, making him wince in pain. You didnt know what happened but you grabbed his other hand and started running away from it.

Your arms thrashed around lightly, and sweat started forming on your forehead. The anxiety from the dream leaking into reality.

"Fuck!" he yelled from the pain on his hand and wrist. His skin was bubbling and burning, but he pushed past the pain and tried to focus on running.

You felt a searing pain on your leg where the fabric was ripped. The skin started to bubble and blister and you yelled out in pain. You could practically smell the salt water from where you were and knew you'd be fine if you just kept going for a few more minutes.

Suddenly an arrow flew at you and straight into your shoulder. You screamed and fell to the ground from the impact. The tribute that had shot you started running in the opposite direction. Blood was pouring from the wound and you knew you weren't going to make it out of this alive.

Tears formed in your closed eyes as you thrashed around more, but not enough to wake up your oblivious boyfriend. You were sweating and breathing heavily now.

All you felt was anxiety and dread. "No! Y/N!" Finnick yelled out to you once more. The fog slowly started to consume your body, reaching your ankles, then knees. You screamed and cried in pain, knowing you couldn't do anything to stop it. Finnick tried to pull you up as you screamed and thrashed around.

Tears were clouding your vision but you looked up at Finnick with a solemn look on your face, "Go, please, you can make it. I can't." You watched as he shook his head violently. You felt the pain go further up your body as it came closer and closer to covering you whole.

"No, I wont leave y-" he got cut off when another arrow was released, going straight through his chest. He looked down at the arrow before he started to slump to the ground.

You gasped loudly and cried harder. "Finnick! " That was the last thing to leave your mouth before the fog rolled over you entirely.

Tears were fully streaming down your sleeping face. You thrashed and sobbed in the bed next to him. Finnick stirred at the movement and slowly awoke. At this point you were calling out his name in a panic. "No, please no. Finnick, Finnick-!"

He sat up quickly and he hovered over you, shaking your shoulders trying to wake you. "Hey, hey Y/n, wake up. Its okay its just a nightmare, everything's okay," he attempted to calm you as you came out of the nightmare.

Your eyes flew open and you gasped. Sitting up, sobbing heavily, the ptsd hit you hard. You saw Finnick in front of you and felt slight relief. You wrapped your arms around him, crying into his shoulder.

He squeezed you tightly and pet the top of your hair, trying to calm you. "I'm right here, you're safe. I promise you're safe. It wasn't real, the games are over. I've got you," he whispered calmly in your ear. The feeling of his warm breath brushing your ear helped solidify your surroundings, making you feel less stressed.

You both sat in relative silence, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and Finnick shushing you endearingly. He rubbed your back as you clung to him, until you eventually pulled back, "Thank you… and I'm sorry." You were so grateful for the man you had sitting in the same bed as you right now. You felt bad for waking him because of your nightmares. You used to get them often after your first round of games. You just forgot how insanely real they felt.

Finnick shook his head with a small, warm smile. "Don't apologize sugar-cube, you did nothing wrong," he gently swiped some stray hairs behind your ear, "If it makes you feel better, I used to have nightmares too. At least you didn't punch me; like I did with one of the poor medics fixing me up." He spoke to you gently, trying to raise your mood. His words did bring a quaint smile to your lips. But, you still felt a little shaken. And it was worse because you were still exhausted as well.

You took a deep breath while snuggling up to him again, sprawling over him while hooking your arms around his neck. Knowing he was this close helped soothe you even more. "Thank you for being here with me." Your words were quiet and your eyes were once again closed.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips forming a smile against your messy hair. "Until the day I die, sugar-cube," he whispered against you.

You both stayed silent, letting the sounds of your in-sync inhales and exhales fill the room. He softly trailed his fingernails over your back, until he felt you relax and finally fall asleep again. He kept his eyes open for a few extra minutes to make sure you didn't immediately go back into your nightmare. Eventually, his eyelids slipped shut and his breath evened out, his grasp of you loosening slightly. The rest of the night was peaceful. You were grateful for the sleep, tomorrow would be a big day. Tomorrow you infiltrate the Capitol.

(Heyy, this is the first thing I’ve posted on tumblr and im excited😍. Feel free to leave a comment for constructive criticism. ALSOO please please send me a request for a fic idea! I think im a good writer I just stuggle to think of prompts! I can write for a lot of diff fandoms, but my main are Star Wars, Hunger Games, Supernatural, the 100, HP, PJO/HOO, Marvel, and a few others lol. Anyways I hope you loved it!)

[alavestineneas]

Soul

pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.

warnings: typical hunger games violence, Finnick and Annie aren’t soulmates, minor character death

Haymitch clicks the skip button on the remote; the next pair of tributes shows up on the screen.

''District two,'' he announces. ''Male volunteer, Brutus. His main weapon is a spear. Female tribute: Y/N.''

"Wow," Peeta mutters under his breath.

''I know her,'' Katniss says, glancing at the man beside her. ''She is on TV all the time.''

''Trust me, she is everywhere. Y/N is your main competition—Capitol's darling, lines of sponsors, deadly with a knife. They call her Panther.''

"Panther?" Katniss scoffs.

"She killed one in the arena with her bare hands." Haymitch chuckles, seeing his tribute's face transform from confident to slightly horrified.

''She is committed. I'll give her that,'' Peeta jokes.

The woman on the screen gives the cameras a half-smile, joining hands with her partner. The District 2 audience roars in excitement. Katniss felt shivers coating her skin; something in the woman's gaze caught her attention.

-

''Nice dress, dear. Though I don't know if I can call it that.''

Y/N did not even turn around, completely ignoring Finnick's existence. Her dress, or rather, a piece of cloth, left a little to the imagination. Black, almost sheer fabric lightly coated her body, tracing its curves; the only stronghold of modesty was lace lingerie.

Finnick would lie if he said she wasn't impressive; the woman looked like a goddess. It was her job, after all. Besides, he had seen her in much less. They fucked a couple of times, both too drunk to remember. That's what he told her, at least. That it doesn't mean anything because, to her, it didn't.

Finnick remembers every whisper and every messy kiss. The smell of her perfume mixed with shampoo and sweat; Y/N's hands on his back. Not soft like Annie's; no, in calluses and cuts from hours of training.

He knows it's a dead end and still allows her to kiss him. She never stays, each time running through his fingers like sand. He wasn't in love with her. Love is supposed to feel light and warm, like Annie's smile, and this felt bitter.

And yet, his soul belonged to Y/N. Maybe because she didn't care about him, Finnick was willing to let her keep it. It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be happy with Annie. She was home, his lighthouse.

But Y/N was his sea.

''Look who's talking.'' The woman finally turned around, finishing checking the strings on her horse. ''What do you want, golden boy? An alliance?'' She raised an eyebrow.

''With you? I'd rather be dead.''

''I wouldn't worry about that part, Odair.'' Brutus intervened. ''We have fifteen minutes before the start, so I suggest you keep moving.''

His outfit was much more proper. Finnick guessed it was for the best; he was not particularly excited to see the man naked. Odair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and flashed Brutus a smile instead. ''Of course.''

''Peacock.'' the man muttered.

Y/N chuckled at her partner's remark; Finnick headed to the District 12 chariot. He wished he didn't feel her piercing gaze on his back.

-

''I believe we hadn't met before. I'm Y/N, District 2.''

Katniss looked up from the target she threw knives at. The woman in front of her was truly stunning; the camera did not do her justice in The Reaping.

''Katniss Everdeen, District 12.''

The woman laughed, clearly finding her amusing. Katniss felt the tingle of anger—did she say something funny?

''Oh, darling, I know. Everybody here knows your name. After all, you are the reason we are here again.'' The woman came closer, taking the smallest blade from the row and throwing it into the target. It hit the dummy right in the head. ''Besides, I mentored Clove and Cato in your games. Wonderful children, you know. Marvellous fighters. Had every chance to win.''

Katniss glanced at the woman's face. It was stone-cold, and her eyes focused on the targets. She wondered if the reason Clove chose the knives was because of Y/N's win. How did the career mentors feel about sending children into the arena?

''They were...good.'' Katniss agreed.

''Here is my advice, Katniss Everdeen from District 12.'' The woman hit the last target with ease. ''Pay attention to the hands.''

Katniss wondered what that was supposed to be about until she looked down at her hands. Of course, she was holding the knife wrong.

-

The first interview the Capitol aired was more of a warning. Finnick is too lost to comprehend anything Caesar is asking Peeta, his attention fixed on the Y/N next to him.

She sits on the chair, anxiously tapping on the armrest. Her eyes follow every move Caesar makes. Y/N answers carefully and thoughtfully. She didn't know the rebellion was being planned.

''Katniss, can you remember when you spoke to Y/N in the training centre?'' Plutarch asks.

''I think so.'' Katniss frowns. ''She told me these games were done because of me.''

Beete shares a look with Plutarch. Finnick doesn't know why they are surprised; Y/N always was smart.

''Anything else?''

''She talked about Clove and Cato. And that I have to pay attention to my hands.''

''Your hands?'' Plutarch doesn't sound too sure.

''Yes. I was holding the knife wrong.'' Katniss looks around the room. ''I decided.''

Plutarch nods at him, and Finnick is finally free to leave the room. After seeing this, he has a lot to think about.

-

''Finnick, there is something we want to show you.'' Haymitch nods, and Finnick steps into a small room filled with screens.

Beetee is there too, as are Katniss and Plutarch. An uneasy feeling covers his stomach; if they have him here, something happened.

His mind floods with hundreds of possibilities. Annie is at the Capitol. Y/N is there too. He did not know if they tortured her; the woman didn't know about the plan. But so did Peeta, whose ''interview'' he is watching on the screen now.

His face is beaten, and he looks like he hasn't slept for days. The boy lost what looks like fifteen pounds, the ridiculous suit on him hanging like a sheet. Peeta says something about rebels using Katniss. His interview finishes, and the screen fades to black.

Finnick feels like he missed something until the screen lights up once more. This time, a figure is tied to a chair in the middle of the cell. Finnick almost jumps, the realization hitting him—it's Annie. She is crying, begging not to kill her. Her hair is a mess, and her skin is covered in bruises.

''Move in front of the camera.'' a male voice orders.

A person comes to stand to the left of Annie. It's Y/N. She is in a military uniform, her hair tied tightly. She looks different from the first interview—now calm and collected. Her steady hand holds a gun.

''Proceed.'' the same voice commands.

Katniss gasps. A loud gunshot fires, echoing in the chamber. The screen is covered in blood and brains. Finnick doesn't hear a word Plutarch says to him. Annie is dead. They killed her.

-

''Are you sad again?'' Y/N asks, sitting beside him.

Finnick doesn't answer, still fidgeting with a piece of rope.

''You have to eat, you know?''

''Why did you kill her?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

Y/N smiles. ''She was dead way before I pressed the trigger. You killed her when you picked me over her.''

''No.'' Finnick whispers. ''It's not true.''

''Not true? Each time you looked away when you kissed her, each time you whispered my name instead of hers, you think she didn't know?"

Finnick's lower lip trembles, tears blurring his vision. ''Shut up.''

''You can stop lying now, Finnick. For once in your life, be honest with yourself. It's kind of liberating, isn't it? Not having to worry about pretending anymore. You are free.''

''I said shut up!'' he shouts, throwing the nearest mug at her.

It hits the wall, crashing. The room is empty. It always was. A scared-looking nurse watches him through the glass, ready to call for help. He waves her off - just another one of his visions.

It haunts him that the only one appearing in his dreams is Y/N. It should've been Annie, but she is dead, and Finnick hopes she finally found her peace.

Y/N is with Capitol. It's not surprising; she has no reason not to be. She was saving herself. Annie was as good as dead anyway. Still, it broke him. All of these things they had to survive because of Snow, and she still chose to serve him.

He can't blame her—Finnick saw what they did to Peeta. He doesn't know what he would've done under that torture. Still, he hopes it hurts her, given the way she betrayed herself.

-

The rescue mission was successful. Peeta and Johanna are in District 13. They captured Y/N too, but Finnick doesn't care. Coin and Plutarch spent most of their time in her room. Nobody tells him anything, but Finnick guesses that Katniss's condition isn't going to work this time.

A few days after that, Coin has an announcement to make. There are numerous cameras present, and she, as usual, wants the surviving victors to be present. So, he sits near Katniss in the first row, waiting for the tribunal to start. He knows what his vote is going to be.

The president's Coin speech is unnecessarily long and dramatic. She waves her hands around, talking about lost fighters and the need to continue resisting. ''And now, I want to award a few of our bravest soldiers.'', she concludes.

''People are dying.'' Finnick hears Katniss mutter under her breath. He is not happy with the idea either. He just wants to get over this.

The first to get a medal is a man who was leading the rescue mission. Next: two rebel soldiers.

''The last person I want to honour made the rescue of our victors possible. They spied in the heart of the Capitol and were dedicated to the revolution even in the face of death.'' Coin gestures to the bottom of the improvised stage. ''Sergant Y/L/N.''

Finnick freezes. Annie. Her screams. A gun. She is an enemy. A killer. Anxious tapping. Pay attention to the hands. The world around him begins to collide.

Y/N steps are firm. She shakes the woman's hand, accepting the medal. A few claps ring in the hall—people are surprised and likely scared. District 2 victor's face holds a few new scars.

She gets off stage as quickly as she got on, taking her place beside Plutarch. Y/N sits straight, focused on the president's words. Finnick wonders why he can't hear anything except for the heartbeat in his ears. A taste of blood fills his mouth.

''Finnick?'' Katniss whispers.

The world stops spinning.

-

Y/N is tying the laces on her boots tightly, checking everything. She blends in with the soldiers easily; they even throw around a few jokes. This is her element, something she was born and raised to do. Y/N has the most weaponry on her hands: knives, guns, and a few grantees. They have another mission.

Peeta is right next to her. For some reason, he feels the most content having her around. When Katniss asked Y/N about it, she just shrugged. ''Mutt things.''

She is in Squad 451—of course. Coin wouldn't let such a famous face get away with just living. Finnick hates having her around and hates admitting that he understands her now. There was no other choice—Y/N had to kill Annie to prove her loyalty.

The mood in the team changes completely after Mitchell's death. Finnick doesn't know what to say to Peeta, too busy calming everyone else down, and Katniss is frankly completely useless, so deep in her own emotions.

''I'll talk to him.'' Y/N stands up, checking the gun.

Katniss looks at her in horror. ''No!''

''Let her,'' Finnick says, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose.

''How could you say that?" Katniss turns to him in anger. ''You saw what she did! You saw!''

''I did,'' Finnick agrees, his jaw tense. ''And because of that, you got Peeta back. So let her go, Katniss.''

Y/N watches their bickering silently. Finally, Katniss nods. The woman leaves them, approaching Peeta. Their voices are still heard, and Katniss eventually relaxes.

''They were right. I am a monster.'' the baker boy says, his eyes still closed.

''It makes two of us, then.'' Y/N jokes, sitting beside him. ''You are the one Capitol created, and I am one by choice.''

''How could you say that so calmly?''

''I came to terms with it pretty early. People see what they want to, Peeta. What do you see when you look at me?''

''You saved my life.'' he shrugged.

''Yes, but I lied, and I killed people to do it. Am I a monster?'' Y/N asks. The question is rhetorical. ''When I look at you, I see a scared eighteen-year-old boy, who just wants to survive. You are strong, Peeta. Stronger than most of us. This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.''

Peeta stared at her for a solid minute. ''You aren't as bad as you think you are.'' he finally says.

Y/N smiles sadly. ''You aren't either.''

-

Katniss tries to focus on the wet ladder when she hears a shout.

''Why is he there alone?'' It's Y/N.

Katniss looks down - Finnick is fighting off mutts with his trident. There are a lot of them, she realizes. He can't handle that. Just as she turns to grab something to help, she sees Y/N coming down.

''Climb!'' she shouts at her, pulling out a gun. And Katniss does.

A mutt breaks Finncik's trident in half with a loud thud, lurching at his head next. Just as its mouth opens, it falls, lifeless.

''Here.'' Y/N throws him one of her knives. ''On your left!''

They are fighting back to back - Y/N has run out of bullets, so she uses knives instead. Duck, step, and push. They have done it thousands of times, both from career Districts.

Finnick doesn't have the time to count, but mutts are slowly covering the floor, painting the water red. He feels a sharp pain in his stomach—one of the bastards managed to get him good - and grabs the nearest wall for support. Finnick watches as Y/N kills the last monster, pulling her knife out of its chest.

''Y/N,'' he says, trying to grab her attention.

''You know, you could've asked them for hand-to-hand combat if you wanted to die that badly. What were you thinking, staying here with one piece of metal on your hands, huh?''

''Y/N.''

''That's why I said you are all not fit to be fucking soldiers. You lack common sense!''

''Y/N.''

''WHAT?'' she snaps, turning to him. Her face changes from angry to concerned in a matter of seconds. ''Finnick, you are bleeding.''

He nods, feeling his knees weaken. Y/N is already beside him, sitting him on the cold floor. The water hits and soaks her pants, but she doesn't seem to notice.

''It's okay, let me look,'' she mutters, removing his hands from the injury.

It's big; she notices with horror. If they can get him help in twenty minutes, he will survive. Anything longer, and it's a dead end. Finnick knows it too; he has seen enough wounds to understand his chances. He watches as Y/N takes off her jacket, pressing it into his stomach.

''Can you hold it for me?'' she asks.

Finnick nods, feeling a sharp pain coming back. Y/N searches in her pockets until she finally finds a radio set. She tries to turn it on a couple of times, her hands trembling.

''Y/N, it's okay.''

She shakes her head. ''No, you are not going to tell me it's okay. I'll get you help, no matter if you want it or not.''

Finnick looks at her, a slow smile appearing on his face. ''Kiss me.''

''What?" Y/N looks up from the radio, mortified.

''I said kiss me, Y/N.''

She leans in closer, salty tears staining her cheeks, and places a soft kiss on his lips. ''You are getting out of here alive,'' she whispers.

''I love you,'' Finnick mutters. He closes his eyes just for a second. He is so exhausted.

-

The first thing he sees is the overbearing light. Finnick struggles to open his eyes. If this was death, it was certainly not peaceful.

He comes to his senses slowly—first, he hears beeping, and then he feels his stomach.

''Fuck.'' Finnick groans. The pain is impossible.

''Finnick?'' He hears a familiar voice. It's Y/N.

Her face is puffy, but she looks real to him. Even if it is one of his visions, Finnick is still happy to see her.

''How do you feel?'' she asks, moving the sweaty hair out of his eyes.

''Are we dead?''

Y/N stops to look at him. ''No. The radio worked, and the team managed to find us in time.''

''Good.'' Finnick closes his eyes once more. ''Because you didn't say it back.''

A choked laugh escapes her lips. ''You are an idiot, Odair,'' Y/N says, pressing a kiss on his temple. ''But I do love you.''

Finnick smiles. He always knew his soul was safe in her arms.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 4)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You take care of Finnick, in the aftermath.

warnings: mentions of drug use, depictions of a psychotic breakdown, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, aaaangst, fluff.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <;3

a/n: a short but sweet chapter, I hope. Calm before the storm, etc etc

wc: 2k

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

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

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

“....Are you mad at me?.” Finnick winces as you dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

You’re perched on his kitchen countertop, between his legs as he stands and leans towards you. Due to the height difference, it was the easiest way you could get to his injuries; the contents of his first aid kit strewn onto the marble. Still thawing from the cold; your fingers clumsily swipe at the wound. Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying; more out of frustration and exhaustion than anything. Your arms hurt, your back aches, and you’ve got a pounding headache. Finnick almost died and he’s barely fazed; giving you a lazy grin in the soft light of the kitchen.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what to expect from his house. It certainly wasn’t this: a modest home at the Capitol’s edge. You’d expected the sterile white and marble that you’d seen a thousand times over. Instead it feels like a home: warm lamps and clutter and throw pillows. It looks like someone lives a life, here. 

You chewed your bottom lip on the way there, silk slip dampening the leather of the car seats. You were worried; eyes darting between the road and him - looking for jittery hands or glazed eyes. Every bump in the road puts you on edge; you can barely feel the warmth of the car’s heater - sitting in dull cold despite it all. Even Finnick was quiet, bundling you up the stairs and into his room with few words. When he hands you a sweater and joggers, there’s nothing to be said except in the brush of fingers; I’m sorry it hurts. The words die in your throat.

His fingers brush the soft fabric, his hands flat on the countertop. Pressing cotton heavy with disinfectant to his temple, Finnick hisses softly. He takes your hand in his to stop you, momentarily.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s insensitive, sure, and makes you look insane. The first time you’ve so much as smiled in the past couple hours, and he has no idea why. 

“W-What are you-” You’re still laughing, soft and melodious in the hum of lights. “-What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uh..” He cocks his head. Despite the circumstances (he thinks you’re delirious from the adrenaline of it all), your smile hurts him in a way he didn’t think possible. “For… everything. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“You weren’t awake for what I did, Finnick.” And then, softer. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. Dirty blonde locs, curled from the spray of lake water. 

“You keep surprising me.”  

“Surprising you? How?” Cradling his cheek now, he waits with baited breath.

“Hmmmm,” you titter, pretending to think. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”

He smiles, crooning. “...Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand is still on yours. “And you’re perceptive. You see everything with those freaky green eyes of yours.”

Lidded, his eyes flit down to your lips. He’s in a trance, unable to think of anything but the way his heart swells when you talk to him like that.

“And you’re kind. You were kind to me, on the balcony. You didn’t have to stay, or remember me but you did. And… when you talk to me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world. You’re good at that; making people feel wanted. Making me feel...”

“I like you.” It tumbles out of his mouth, wincing at how desperate it sounds. Suddenly, he’s barefoot on the shores of District 4, gap-toothed and sunburnt. He’s stretching sticky fingers towards the other kids, trying to make friends. To be seen.

“I like you too. I-” you swallow, imperceptibly. He notices the quiver of your lip. “I know it’s not my place. You’re a grown man, and you don’t need a lecture - but whatever you were taking; you need to be more careful. I need you to be more careful-”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I was taking them.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, free of judgement. You’re not satisfied with his answer, but it’ll do, for now. You don’t want to push him away. Gently, you nod. “You scared me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Stop apologising, Finnick.” You close your eyes, and lean into his touch. 

You stay like that for a little too long; basking in the warmth of each other. Slow steady breaths to remind the other that you were both alive. When you separate, you brush light fingers at the apex of his cut. It stopped bleeding long ago, split and angry red on his flesh. Peeking out from under his sweatshirt, you see the dull mauve of bruises; older, they couldn't have been from today. Finnick looks as exhausted as you feel. 

"You need stitches." He nods, resigned. 

They're serviceable - likely to scar, but serviceable. His grey-green eyes follow your hands, your lips, the tilt of your head; and suddenly, you're grateful that you've learnt at least one thing from your years with the Junior Peacekeeper Scouts. The rest, you've learnt from your years around the capitol's elite: how to hide shaking hands under scrutiny. You're tying the knot on his stitches when you hear soft creaking coming from the stairs. 

From the kitchen, you see a pale hand wrap around the bannister. Annie, in a nightgown and robe pads onto the hardwood. Her hair flows down her back as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen - like a ghost in sheets. 

"Lucas?" Her eyes are wide and glassy - wet-rimmed like she's been crying. Again, she squeaks. "Lucas?" 

His body language changes, but Finnick doesn't miss a beat. Slowly, he closes the gap. "You ok, Annie?" 

Her voice cracks. "T-think I had that dream again."

You see his Adam's apple quiver. Hoarsely, he swallows. "Okay. Let's get you t-"

"No!" She clenches her fist and stumbles backwards, into the counter. "Please don't- I can't- please don't make me…. Lucas-" 

"-to bed." He says, impossibly soft. You've fallen away to the sidelines as they are framed in lamplight. He throws a glance to you over his shoulder, unreadable. "Annie, let's get you to bed."

He stands in front of her, hands at his side. Hesitating? No, asking for permission. When she pulls at his shirt, manic, he wraps her up. The woman's eyes are frenzied; her breathing speeding up and hands clawing at her wrists and throat. He's gentle when he takes them and places them in his own; whispering something you can't hear. She stills, breathing erratically, but calmer by the minute. 

"Finnick��� F-Finnick, I can't-" 

"I know… I know,"

"-where did y-you go? Finnick, I called for you and you weren't t-there. Where di-" 

"I know… and I'm sorry," He soothes. She still can't see you. They make their way up the stairs; where you can hear the dance of their voices. Finnick: low and calm. Annie: frantic, strained. 

You're left feeling bare in the aftermath. Like you've just seen something you shouldn't have. Her face is etched into your mind's eye - terror you've only ever seen on a screen. A voyeur, looking in through a dirty spyglass - gripped with the shame of getting caught. You look around, and reality slams into you at full force. You shouldn't be here. 

You clean up, close to tears. 

It's almost an hour before he comes down again. You've cleared what's left of the first aid kit from the counter, and curled up onto the sofa. Before you know it, you've passed out like that; knees drawn into yourself between plush cushions. Finnick finds you there, wading in fitful sleep. You look peaceful; in his clothes, in his house, nestled in his couch. It feels right, he thinks. 

You start awake, blinking back sleep. You're met with Finnick above, arms full of blankets and pillows. 

"Shit. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighs, collapsing onto the sofa. 

"S'okay." You mumble. Stretching, you move to get up. "It's probably time for me to get going anyw-" 

"-No! I-I mean…" Exhaustion creeping in, he rubs at his eyes. "You must be tired. Sleep, even for just a little bit." 

And then, quieter. "Stay. Please." 

You lean your head back and look at him, tilted 90 degrees. Even from this angle, his puppy-dog eyes claw at your heart. 

"You can take my bed?" He adds, hopeful. 

You scoff. "And where will you sleep?" 

"Down here's just fine…"

"No, no. Absolutely not. Finn, you need rest - in a proper bed with back support, and silk sheets and-" 

He cuts you off with a snort. It's cute, he thinks. When you get passionate and a little mad, you shake your fists at him like a fairytale villain. He shrugs."Haven't been getting much sleep anyways. S'how we got into this mess in the first place."

You purse your lips. There's a grab made at the pillows in his lap, but he snatches it away just in time. You feint, elbowing him playfully, before going for the blanket by his other side. Successful, you ball it up crudely, and stretch onto the sofa. Makeshift pillow under your head you fake a yawn, pointedly (smugly, he thinks). 

"Goodnight." He rolls his eyes at your dramatics. The white woven blanket, the one that had been with you both for the night, ends up on your back. Finnick leaves the extra pillows at your feet, before turning off the lamps. He gives you one last look, before heading to bed. 

"Goodnight." You whisper into the dark as the sound of steps subside. No-one answers. 

~~~

In the morning, you're woken up to the smell of coffee and something sizzling in a pan. Light streams in from where you lie, bundled up in blankets and pillows. A dull ache settles in your bones, as you try to blow away the morning fog - blinking back sleep. Through the doorway to the kitchen, you see a sliver of someone's bare arm. 

Finnick stands at the stove top, dressed in a light tank top and sweats, a flowery tea towel slung over his shoulder. The tip of his tongue sticks out when he pokes at the pan with a wooden spoon; deep in concentration. You walk in and lean on the doorframe. 

"Morning." The pan nearly goes flying, Finnick almost jumping like a startled cat. His hand grazes the heat of a burner, and he hisses in frustration. Without thinking, you leap to his side, quick to guide him towards the sink and run his burn under cold water. 

"Morning," He says despite himself, leaning into your soft touch. You trace the lines of his palm under the running water.

"They say," You're careful to circle around the burn forming at its base. "…you've got your future written out in your palms," 

"And what do my palms tell you?" He says softly.

"It's not that simple, see," You huff. "Like…. roots in a tree. All mapped out before you were even born. This one," you trace one spreading the width of his hand "..is your heart line. It tells me all about the way you love the people around you. It says you give too much, despite yourself. The one below it, is your head line. Right now, it says you're stubborn and…" You laugh. 

"…pig-headed."

"Really?" Unwittingly, he's been reeled in. 

"No. Not really. I wouldn't know, Finn. Made it all up." Your lips pop at the last sentence, grinning up at him. 

"Very funny." His tone is dry, but still he smiles. 

"I've got a friend who's obsessed with it: divination, fate, destiny, all of it. She'll probably give you something a little more accurate than I can." 

He hums. "Does that mean…. you want to see me again?" 

You're standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink. You shut off the tap, and grab a piece of toast from a plate on the counter. His plate, most likely. Your answer comes in the form of a flash pink tongue. 

"...Maybe."

"I want to see you again." 

There it is; something red-hot at the base of your chest, spreading like a wildfire until it makes your fingers numb and face warm. You'd die before you admit how what he said made you feel; I want, I want, I want becomes a broken record on replay in your head. 

"I'd like that," You breathe, and then clear your throat. “I’d like that.”

_

_

_

taglist: @starhastoomanyfandoms

[allisluv]

Could you write about reader x Finnick where they both met from being victors and were both sold by the Capitol and reader is having nightmares about it so he comforts her

bluffs.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!victor!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, reader is sold into prostitution, brief mentions of dissociation, shame, brief mention of burning hot showers, nightmares, anxiety attacks. kind of a backstory before we get into the actual nightmare. kind of ptsd. this one is very angsty y'all. if there's anything else you think should be added please let me know!

word count: 0.8k

Once that final canon went off and you were announced as the winner of the Hunger Games, you thought it was finally over— until President Snow called you into his office the next morning and gave you the ultimatum that he had given many tributes before you; be sold into sex-work, or watch everyone you loved be led like animals to the slaughter.

You may have been many things, but you were not stupid.

You prided yourself on being able to tell when someone was bluffing.

And President Snow was as serious as they came.

Your first client was the worst; the pain when you shifted the wrong way, the overwhelming feeling of shame, the ache in your tired bones from being propped in the one position for too long. You had spent three hours in the shower that night in an effort to get the feeling of their hands off your body.

It didn’t work.

It never did— a lesson your red raw skin had had to learn the hard way.

Still, by the time your sixth ‘session’ rolled around, you had found a way to distance yourself from it. A way to almost pull yourself out of your body until it was all over.

Was it the healthiest coping mechanism? Absoloutely not. But it worked. And that was all you had the mental capacity to care about in that moment of time.

Finnick, your boyfriend, found out around client number ten, when you came home with hickeys so large that even your highest turtleneck struggled to conceal them.

His first thought, as selfish as it sounded, was that you were cheating on him. But then you winced when he touched your shoulder, both in pain and in fear, and it clicked into place for him.

You didn’t say anything.

He didn’t ask.

He simply lead you to the bathroom, assisted you in stripping out of your clothes, and ran you a bath. He assessed the damage to your body before helping you into the tub and holding your hand as you sank back into the soapy water. You sobbed and he climbed into the bathtub, still clad in his vest top and his boxers.

He held you as he cried and when you had no more tears left, he wrapped you in a warm, soft towel and tenderly dried you off. He applied the best creams to the bruises, hickeys and scrapes on your body, before coaxing you to lie down hso he could spoon you from behind.

Neither of you talk for a while. He simply holds you as you stare ahead, a distant look in your eyes that he knows far too well. Eventually, you drift off as he runs his fingers through your locks of hair.

You don’t know how long you sleep for, but you eventually wake with a scream lodged in the back of your throat and tears streaming freely down your face. You sit up, holding your chest with one hand and clutching onto Finnick’s vest top with your other.

Your skin is slick with a sheen of sweat as Finnick looks at you with an understanding crease in his brows. Your eyes dart around, wide and doe-like as you attempt to take in as much of your surroundings as possible.

“It’s just me, angel,” Finnick reassures. “It’s just me. You’re not there, okay? It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.” He smooths the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’re okay,” he repeats, voice soothing and sugary sweet. “Do you know who I am?”

You nod and he coaxes you into answering with a small smile. “Finn.” You answer, but your voice sounds foreign and cracked, even to your own ears.

“Good. That’s good, angel. Do you know where you are?”

You chance a look around the room just to make sure you’re right. “Home,” you croak out.

Finnick smiles gently. “Good job. You’re doing so well. Why don’t you lie back down for a minute, angel?” He suggests.

You’re hesitant. Bad things tend to happen when you lie down. “I’m not sleepy.”

“I know, angel. I know you’re not sleepy anymore. You don’t have to be. We can just lie here and cuddle for a while until you come back to me fully, okay? Are you comfortable with that, or do you not want to be touched?”

You hesitate. The truth is, you don’t know, but you decide to give it a shot, anyway. What’s the harm in trying? “Can we cuddle?”

Finnick nods, and gentle pulls you closer so that your head is resting above his chest, where you can hear the steady thump, thump, thump, of his heart beating. He makes sure to keep his grip loose enough so that it doesn’t feel constricting and you can pull away if you need to. He waits for a minute or two before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head quickly and he can feel your chest starting to heave with shallow breaths again. Hes quick to soothe you with soft caresses and gentle words. “That’s okay, angel. We don’t have to. We can just lie here, alright? It’s okay. I’m right here.” He presses his lips to your forehead in a feather-light kiss. “I’m right here.”

[cherries-and-knives]

Feeling physically ill picturing Finnick curled up in a ball with his head between his knees, being stuck behind a force field, forced to listen to Annie’s screams.

And feeling even more ill picturing Katniss right next to him clawing at her ears, also being forced to listen to her loved ones screams, Peeta being unable to reach her.

[lilmaymayy]

when there are more memes in an x reader hashtag than my good ol fluffy fics😔

***i LOVE the memes, but i also like my man tucking me in atnight🥲

[msmk11]

Finnick Odair

Masterlist

🌊

- One Shot -

🌊 Five More Minutes - 1.5k

- Head Cannons -

- Series -

Madame

Prequel

- Blurbs -