#finnick odair drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anatay004 · 3 days

Text

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part six)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T BE SCARED," Dean's voice slid into your thoughts; breaking into your reverie as you visibly flinched. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze, allowing his hand to squeeze your arm comfortably. "The fabric is light, not thermal," Your stylist revealed, referring to the wetsuit you were wearing, trying to dissipate the tension in the air. "So, I'm guessing tropic."

You swallowed hard, trying to take in his words. You were in the Launch Room in the arena, waiting for the countdown to begin as Dean finished braiding your hair down your back.

"And tropic means water," Dean acknowledged, offering you an encouraging smile as you slowly nodded. "You're good in water."

He was right — you were good in water, that's how you'd managed to win your first games. You remember it all too well; an earthquake breaking the dam, the flood in the arena, and you swimming for your life. You swallowed hard at the memory, trying to ignore the pain that tormented your chest. After all, you supposed Dean was right; having an arena close to home could be a great advantage to you and Finnick.

You exhaled sharply.

"Sixty seconds to launch."

You swept Dean a glance. He was looking back at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes — one you'd seen before, and you couldn't help, but reach for him. "Are you still beating on me?" You whispered in his embrace, and his arms immediately tightened around your frame.

"Always." He answered, a little strained.

And with that, he stepped back — wiped the tears in his eyes, and watched as the glass cylinder slid down around you. You watched him blow a kiss at you before you felt the plate underneath you moving upwards. The plan was simple in your head as you leaned against the glass: get to Finnick, get some weapons, and run the hell away from the blood bath.

Simple, simple, simple.

You eventually forced yourself to straighten up when the glass started to retreat, but you found yourself frozen in place when the arena stumbled into your line of vision. For a moment, you faltered as you took in the sight of water in every direction you turned. Only one clear thought formed in your brain as you took in the landscape: Snow was beating on you too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, suddenly broke into your reverie. And, instinctively, you searched for Finnick around, but panic quickly flitted across your features when you couldn't find him.

"He's on the other side of the Cornucopia," Peeta's voice slid into your thoughts, and your shoulders slumped in evident relief when you heard his words. "Don't lose focus."

Belatedly, you realized Peeta was standing on the plate next to yours. And he was watching you with concerned eyes, trying to quench down the panic that threatened to break you in front of the cameras, but you didn't notice. You were far too preoccupied with staying alive.

Eventually, you dived into the water.

Hence to your ability to swim, you were quick to reach the spoke of land that balanced your plate and Peeta's. But, to your surprise, you didn't run towards the Cornucopia right away like the others; instead, you found yourself looking back for Peeta. He was struggling to reach the land, so, you impulsively offered him a hand and pulled him out of the water.

"Allies?" Peeta asked, trying to catch his breath as he climbed onto the land.

You didn't answer, but your silence was quite telling, and it took everything in you to ignore the smile that curved Peeta's lips, before sprinting towards the Cornucopia. Within a few minutes, you eventually reached it and immediately grabbed the closest weapon at hand — a trident. A satisfied smile twitched your lips as you balanced the weapon in your hand, but the moment was fleeting, before you knew it; Peeta was already back in the water fighting a tribute.

"Peeta!" You shouted and made to run in his direction when a steady hand dropped on your shoulder. Instinctively, you made to throw the trident, but another hand on your wrist stopped your movements altogether. "Oh." You breathed out, in sudden relief, when you realized it was just Finnick. "Are you okay?"

"Stay with Katniss, I'll get Peeta," Finnick commanded, dismissing your question, his voice powerful enough to make you obey him. In that moment, as Finnick dived effortlessly back into the water to help Peeta; you realized he'd made his alliances too. Katniss was close by, watching the scene with a horrified expression on her face. At the sight of her distress, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all an act like everyone else said. Or, if Mags was actually right, and there was something real about it?

You couldn't quite piece together an answer yet.

When the canon finally fired, your heart skipped for a moment, but relief quickly washed over you when you caught sight of Peeta's moving figure and Finnick pulling him back onto land.

The other tribute had died.

"You okay?" You eventually turned to ask Katniss, when Peeta was finally out of danger and you were both waiting for him and Finnick to come back. Katniss threw you a skeptical look, one that underlined you were not friends. "The baby, I mean."

Realization quickly dawned on her face, as if she'd suddenly remembered she was supposed to be pregnant. "Yeah, we're fine."

You nodded.

"Are you alright?" Peeta was quick to ask you, when he rushed back to the group, with Finnick strolling right behind him. The concerned tone in his voice caught you off guard, but you decided not to show it as Katniss watched you.

Carefully.

"Are you?" You asked instead, scrutinizing him for a moment; just to make sure he wasn't terribly hurt. To your surprise, he wasn't. "I barely even left you." You mumbled as you recalled he was running right behind you before he was even thrown back into the water.

"Don't." Peeta scoffed, a little faintly.

And you blinked in surprise.

"Hey," Peeta suddenly turned to Katniss, as if he'd suddenly remembered the cameras. "Are you okay?" He asked, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. You watched their interaction with curious eyes, unable to hide the perplexed expression on your face as you studied the scene.

"Yeah," Katniss replied, offering him a faint smile before turning to look at you. The weight of her gaze made your muscles tense; for a moment, you could've sworn she was throwing daggers at you. "We're okay."

The atmosphere suddenly grew thicker.

"We need to head to the jungle." Finnick suddenly spoke, breaking the tension, before sliding his free arm unexpectedly behind your waist. "We need water and a place to rest before night falls."

You nodded and made to move forward, but Finnick kept you in place; making sure Peeta walked past you first. "What?" Finnick asked innocently when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. "He can take the lead."

You opened your mouth to reply something along the lines of, " We should probably separate" but he muffled your words with his mouth— silencing you with a kiss.

"Come on," Finnick whispered against your lips, beckoning you to follow behind the group. You hesitated and lingered there for a moment before he lifted your chin to look at him. "Trust me."

You pressed your lips together and — for a split second, you thought back to the conversation with Haymitch you'd overheard from the previous night. Perhaps, this is what it was about, you thought, about this alliance with them. So, with that in mind, your grip tightened around the trident in your hand and you turned to follow Peeta and Katniss.

With Finnick right behind you.

Peeta took the lead, cutting through the patches of vegetation with his long knife as you walked through the jungle. Now and then, Katniss turned back to look at you and Finnick; as if she was almost expecting for you to attack them at any moment. You supposed you couldn't blame her for that.

You, yourself, didn't trust her either.

"God, it's hot," Peeta hissed, stopping suddenly on his track to catch his breath after a few miles. The jungle was hot and humid; you could feel your hair damp and plastered over your forehead from the sweat. Simultaneously, your lips were chapped and dry from the lack of hydration. "We need to find fresh water."

"You don't say." Finnick deadpanned, to which Peeta threw him a glare in response.

"What if we move to the other side?" You suggested, cleaning some of the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. "Maybe there's a spring or something."

"There isn't." Katniss limited herself to answer.

"How do you know — " You started, but the words quickly froze on the tip of your tongue when the cannon started to go off again; indicating more deaths.

"I guess we're not holding hands anymore," Finnick quipped, stifling a chuckle as he counted the number of times the cannon fired.

You counted three.

"You think that's funny?" Katniss hissed, throwing your husband a heated glare.

"Every time that cannon goes off, it's music to my ears," Finnick replied, matter-of-factly, before he added. "I don't care about any of them."

"Good to hear," Katniss scoffed, reaching her arm back to pull an arrow from her quiver. Instinctively, you aimed the end of your trident at her, but Finnick was quick to lower your weapon.

"You want to face the Career Pack alone?" Finnick questioned her, rather indifferent to her threat. His reaction took you aback; for some reason, he seemed certain she was not going to shoot him. "What would Haymitch say?"

You, on the other hand, were not.

"Haymitch isn't here."

You tilted the trident towards her direction again, but Peeta was the one to break the interaction this time. "Come on, let's keep moving." He said, beckoning Katniss to move along. And, from the corner of your eyes, you could've almost sworn he threw you an apologetic smile.

You watched them walk ahead of you for a few seconds without a word. She's going to kill us, you thought to yourself, as you watched the girl on fire with cautious eyes. And if she doesn't, she's certainly going to try to — at one point or another.

You nibbled your bottom lip pensively. Would this be a good time to separate? You wondered again, trying to think of a coherent plan. To turn the other way and let them face the Career Pack on their own? It's what Snow would want. But what about Peeta?

You paused, the question caught you off guard; as if you'd suddenly realized what you'd asked yourself subconsciously.

What about him?

"Put the trident down, baby," Finnick's words slid into your thoughts, and you blinked; belatedly realizing that you were still holding the trident up defensively. "They're harmless."

"You sound a little too sure about that," You questioned him, tilting your head suspiciously. "As if she didn't just threaten to shoot you."

"Just — " Finnick paused as if he were choosing his next words carefully. " — just trust me, love."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I'm trying to."

Finnick's lips twitched, clearly dismissing the seriousness of the conversation. "You're gorgeous when you're mad."

"I'm not mad," You clarified, but the annoyance in your voice betrayed your words. "But if it has to come down to choosing, I'm choosing you."

Finnick looked at you for a moment, eyes softly lit with vulnerability. "I know."

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the sound of Katniss screaming quickly cut you off. In a split second, you watched as Peeta flung back from a force field he'd just hit, bringing you and Finnick down along with him.

"Peeta!" You screamed, rushing over to his motionless body, where Katniss was trying to shake him awake — with no luck.

"He's not breathing!" She yelled, almost frightened. "His heart's not beating!"

At the sight of this, you suddenly remembered something Mags had taught you a few years ago — when your dad had almost drowned once, and you didn't know how to bring him back. Instinctively, you pushed Katniss aside, ignoring the way she immediately reached for an arrow.

Finnick yelled something at you, something along the lines that he would do it, but there wasn't time. So, you pinched Peeta's nose and pressed your mouth over his to blow air into his lungs. You did this for a few minutes until a cough eventually slipped out his mouth and you leaned back to look at him in relief.

"Shit." You breathed out, subconsciously resting a hand over his chest as you watched his eyelids part. For a few seconds, he lay there on the ground, simply looking up at you as he slowly regained back his consciousness.

"Careful," He eventually mumbled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist harmlessly. "There's a force field up ahead."

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Thanks, I almost didn't notice."

Peeta smiled, despite the evident pain he was in, and you were just about to help him get back to his feet when Katniss slightly shoved you aside. You didn't mind, you supposed she was in the right too. But you could've sworn Peeta's grip tightened around you — for a split second as if he almost didn't want to let go.

You decided to dismiss it, thinking nothing of it as you made your way back to Finnick and Katniss pulled Peeta into an embrace.

One that made you look away — for some reason.

"I thought you wanted to separate." Finnick confronted you sometime later when you were both leaning against a tree, trying to catch some sleep before sunrise. Your head rested on his shoulder sluggishly as you watched Katniss take the first watch from a comfortable distance.

"What?" You returned, unable to hide the confusion in your voice as you looked up.

"You saved Peeta." Finnick suddenly pointed out, but his tone was hard to label. Was he angry? Unhappy? Nonchalant? You couldn't tell.

"You said they were harmless." You answered, throwing his words back at him. But he didn't answer, instead, he looked down to scrutinize your features carefully — as if he almost wanted to decipher something, but couldn't. "What?"

"You saved him twice."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I didn't — "

" — During the blood bath, when he was pulled into the water, you were willing to jump back in to save him," Finnick interjected, and you supposed he wasn't entirely wrong. You did go back for Peeta, but only because you considered him a friend. Someone who would, strangely, do the same thing for you. Or, that's the first thing that came to your mind anyway.

"Where are you going with this?" You eventually asked, trying to read the emotions that flitted across Finnick's face, but — like always, there was nothing you could place a finger on.

"It's — just an observation." He simply said.

But you didn't like the tone of his voice, it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. If you didn't know any better, you were almost certain his tone was accusing. But of what exactly? You didn't know, he didn't elaborate any further.

"Mhm," You hummed, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. "I'm starting to get the impression you just want me to yourself."

Finnick stifled a chuckle, grasping onto the fact that you wanted to change the subject. "You? My gorgeous wife? I don't think so, no."

Your heart skipped at the word "wife". The truth was, you were still not used to it. And the word alone was enough to have your heart hammering against your chest. "Dork," You quipped, snapping your eyes to the side, but Finnick didn't miss the pink hues that tinged your skin.

"You're pretty when you blush." He teased, dissipating the tension in the air, as he curved the side of your face with the palm of his hand to make you turn to look at him again.

"I'm not blushing.” You argued, but it was a futile attempt when you felt the heat rolling up your cheeks. Naturally, Finnick pulled your face closer to his; until you could feel his breath pressing against your skin and there was barely a gap between you. Instinctively, your eyes dropped to his lips and he took the opportunity to brush them against yours.

"Sure you're not," Finnick whispered into your mouth before he allowed his tongue to sweep past your lips in a passionate kiss. As if he was almost needy; as if he almost needed to prove something. Whether it was to the cameras or himself, you weren't exactly sure, but you kissed him back — with equal fervor.

Until the sound of the arrival of a silver parachute broke you apart. For a moment, neither of you reached for it; allowing the item to land before you peacefully. After a few seconds, Katniss walked over to your spot and, subconsciously, your eyes traveled past her frame in search of Peeta.

"He's sleeping," Katniss informed you, just as Peeta's body stumbled into your line of vision. He was a few feet away, curled on the ground — sleeping almost peacefully. You nodded, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just read your subconscious thoughts.

"Whose is it?" Katniss eventually asked, eyeing the parachute on the ground with curiosity.

Finnick shrugged, pushing himself back to his feet. "I have no idea."

"Open it." You encouraged her, ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes at you. "Or not."

Katniss sighed audibly, but she eventually took your advice and opened the parachute. Curiously, you peeked over to catch a glimpse of a metal object inside alongside a note. "It's a spile!" She informed you, to which you only blinked — dumbfounded. "It's to access water."

Relief washed over your features when Katniss took the metal object and hammered it into the green bark of a tree. For a few seconds, nothing happened as you stood there watching; until a stream of water eventually ran out. After Katniss, you rushed to hold your mouth under the tap, allowing the water to wet your parched tongue.

And, it wasn't until Katniss was waking up Peeta and Finnick's back were facing you when you finally decided to search for the note that was attached to the parachute. But a chill soon kissed down your spine when you took the parchment paper in your hands and read through the letters:

Remember why you're here for.

— S.

Finnick was sleeping next to you, his arm was wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. The jungle was quiet — too quiet to your liking, but you supposed you could appreciate the silence as you warred with the thoughts inside your head.

To say the note scared you was an understatement. You were terrified. Because Snow was watching each and every one of your moves; listening to every one of your words. Unsure of how everyone else would react, you fisted the note in your hand before anyone else could read it. And when anyone asked about it, you simply answered it was from Haymitch.

But, now that you were lying down and thinking about it — one thing was clear; Snow wasn’t content with your choice of alliances.

He didn’t approve of them.

How could he? If you and Finnick were both reaped for a purpose and one only: to kill the Mockingjay. To annihilate any chances of her winning, to win over her sponsors, and to make the fight seem fair. And, so far, Snow had done his part of the deal; he’d placed you and Finnick under the limelight, made you both the Capitol’s favorites and even incarcerated you inside an arena close to home.

With tridents, especially made for you.

So, now, it was time for you to do your part too.

You swept Katniss a look, then Peeta. They were both sleeping on the other side of the ground; just a few feet away from you.

One wrong move and everything could go wrong very quickly. For you — for Finnick, and the thought alone forced a sickening feeling to retaliate in the pit of your stomach. Because you didn’t want to kill Peeta or Katniss, as much as she managed to get under your skin.

But if it had to come down to that, would you do it? Was Katniss right in mistrusting you after all? Would you really kill her and Peeta?

You exhaled pensively as your eyes searched for Peeta again — almost subconsciously. The mere sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took made your heart skip. Would you be able to kill him? His soft features, the strands of blonde in his hair, and his kind heart.

No, you thought quietly, not Peeta.

And then, as the thoughts quietened inside your head, something in the distance caught your attention. For a moment, you watched as a wave of fog slid into the jungle. Instinctively, the hairs of your arms rose and you pushed up on one of your elbows to examine the scene a little closer.

Simultaneously, Katniss stirred awake and quietly turned her attention to the mysterious curtain of fog too. In a matter of seconds, you watched as she reached to touch it with the tips of her fingers — and a scream quickly erupted.

“Run!” She yelled in pain.

Finnick snapped awake instantly, pushing your body behind him; ready to encounter an enemy, but to his surprise, Katniss clarified. “It’s the fog! It’s poisonous! We have to run, Peeta!”

Katniss helped Peeta climb back to his feet as Finnick beckoned you to run. For a few minutes, everyone sprinted, but the curtain of gas was expanding in every direction you turned. And it didn’t help that Peeta was tripping over everything on the ground either — he was weak, you could tell, perhaps it was the aftereffects of hitting the force field. So, without thinking, you gripped his arms securely and pulled him forward.

“Come on!” You encouraged, but your eyebrows jumped when he pulled his arm back. You opened your mouth to berate him — tell him there wasn’t time for this, when he intertwined his fingers with yours instead. Amidst the circumstances, you didn’t have time to coherent a reaction or a reason to let go.

Droplets soon sprung free of the vapor and landed on your bodies. You hissed in pain, it burned your skin searingly — like a chemical. After a few minutes, Peeta eventually fell to the ground and, despite your and Katniss’ efforts to pull back to his feet, his legs gave up.

“I’ll have to carry him.” Finnick eventually sighed, when there was a good distance between the fog and your group, and Katniss nodded.

For about a mile, you watched as Finnick carried Peeta on his back until he eventually collapsed on the ground too. You rushed to him, but the pain that seared your skin was equally as defeating, and, along with Katniss, you hit the ground almost instantly. But Finnick mumbled something under his breath, something along the lines of “go to the water” when you belatedly realized you were just a few feet away from the water that surrounded the Cornucopia.

After a few tries, however, you eventually faltered and turned to face the curtain of fog. But the chemical didn’t suffocate you as you’d expected. Unlike, it grew thicker and condensed as it suddenly pressed against a force field.

After a few minutes, it eventually went away.

“It’s gone,” Katniss murmured, but her voice was strangled and barely audible. “The fog.”

Your body was still twitching when you heard a wail slip out of Katniss’ mouth from somewhere close. Then you heard Peeta’s and then you heard Finnick’s. You tried to part your eyes when you eventually felt someone slide his hands under your armpits, but you couldn’t even do that. Naturally, you hissed in pain, but the action was abruptly interrupted by another pair of hands on you.

“I’ll do it.”

“I already got her.”

“Peeta.” The voice, you later recognized as Finnick’s, was dangerously low — as if he was suddenly speaking through his teeth.

Giving out a warning.

The only thing you could remember after that was your skin being torched. As Finnick pulled you into the water, a heart-wrenching scream ripped out your lips; as if you had suddenly been thrown into an open flame.

“I know, baby,” Finnick cooed, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “I know…”

After a bit, the blisters in your skin slunk back into your flesh and disappeared along with the pain. “Motherfuckers,” You cursed, falling back against your husband’s chest in evident exhaustion. “I’ve never run that much before.”

Finnick laughed, incredulous at your sense of humor. “You and me both.”

You didn’t say much after that, instead, you allowed yourself to indulge in the fleeting moment of peace in Finnick’s arms. But the moment didn’t last for long when you began to wonder if maybe— just maybe, this was a warning from President Snow.

And you needed to do your part of the deal soon.

Author’s Note

I’m back after a horrible writersblock! It took me so long to write this, I’m sorry, besties, but don’t worry, I have the rest of the chapters planned already. Anyways, I would really appreciate you guys could interact with the story! Lately, I don’t have that much motivation and reading you guys thoughts and comments on my inbox helps so much!

With that being said, I left some Peeta content for those of you who are #teamPeeta. Enjoy!

@serrendiipty @avoxrising@queerqueenlynn

@darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@stayc-a-I-m

@chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425

@leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-

tamanna @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@syd649 @flavorofsalt @wisewidowweasley-

blog@meikoo@mozz-are-lla

@nomorespahgetti

@aestheticOcherryblossom

#fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #peeta mellark x reader #jacaerys x reader #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #finnick x reader x peeta #peeta mellark #peeta x reader

131 notes · View notes

ervotica · 5 months

Note

“shhh, shhh..I know, I know..” with finnick pls 🥺

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: this takes place after the poison fog, r is badly injured and finnick takes care of her

hunger games masterlist

You twitch against Finnick’s chest in the tall grass, rough like sandpaper against your wounded face. You’re covered head to toe in blisters from the fog, eyes half lidded as you begin to lose consciousness from the pain.

Katniss’ strangled wail is muffled and far away in your ears and you barely register the words.

“The water! The water helps.”

You drag yourself from where you’ve collapsed on top of your fiancé; crawling along on your elbows, you make it a couple of feet at most before you’re exhausted; your entire body is burning, skin raw, every little touch flaring up every nerve ending inside of you.

There’s a rustling next to you as Finnick is lifted and dragged to the shallow pool of water a few feet away; there’s a splash and a gurgled scream as Katniss and Peeta start to clean his blistered skin.

“Finnick,” you gasp, your concern for him overriding the searing pain for a split second. “Finn,” you croak again, eyes heavy.

It’s quiet for a minute, the only sound the whispering of leaves brushing against each other. All the while you lay face down, trying to peel your eyes open where they feel like they’ve been superglued shut.

Thick fingers pull at your jaw and your head turns; your neck is stiff and the touch feels like the lick of a flame against your bulging wounds.

“C’mon,” It’s Peeta. “Gotta get you to the water.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” comes Finnick’s voice and his hands pull you up by the armpits. You hiss and squirm away from his hold, the skin on skin contact causing too much pain.

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” He speaks in that soft voice you love, the one reserved just for you. “It’ll feel better soon.”

He lowers you into the water and you scream. It’s a pain unlike any you’ve ever felt before, white-hot and scalding. It’s like you’re bleeding from every pore.

“Shhh, shhh… I know, I know.” He winces as the blisters start to lodge free from your skin and you relax, sagging in his arms.

“‘S better,” you slur. Your eyes snap open as you grapple for purchase against Finnick’s neck; your thumb rubs circles into his cheek. “You’re okay? You’re sure you’re okay?”

He laughs, incredulous that even at a time like this, he’s where your worries lie. Pointed teeth glare back at you as you thumb at his bottom lip and smile.

“I’m fine. Just worried about you.”

“I feel better. I’m okay now.”

His muscular arms engulf you, wrapping around your waist now it’s finally safe to touch you again.

5K notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 5 months

Note

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil.

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

3K notes · View notes

ficmenrhot · 4 months

Text

Possession and Jealousy /drabble/

TW: slightly suggestive content, hickeys, possessive and jealous behaviours

A/N: OMG thanks everyone for the love on my last posts, maybe getting back into writing was the right thing to do :)

This is not smut BUT let’s talk about how possessive and jealous of a man Finnick Odair can be. Finnick Odair who can’t stand it when your attention is on another man for too long, even if that’s just you listening attentively to them talk. Finnick Odair whose eyes searches for you from the other side of the room to make sure you’re well and happy. Finnick Odair who feels a lump in his throat when he sees another man’s body pressed too closely to yours, even if it’s a close friend of yours or a tribute you’re training. Finnick Odair who grasps on his champagne glass so tightly it nearly shatters in his hands when he sees a hungry Capitol citizen staring you down and making you feel uncomfortable at a party. Finnick Odair who glares at oblivious men to tell them you’re taken and holds your waist to show possession. Finnick Odair who kisses you, well knowing that others are watching. Finnick Odair who loves to leave hickeys and love marks on your neck and collarbone.

“Finnick! Look at what you did to my neck,” you’d whine when you see his attack on your skin in the morning, “fuck- my stylist is going to kill me! You’re not a goddamn vampire.”

You’d throw a pillow at Finnick’s smug and smirking face, him laying on your shared bed, happily being scowled at by you.

“Well I think they make you even hotter, honey,” Finnick would wink at you.

At least now the other men in your life would know that you’re taken and that’s all that matters to him.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick smut #finnick x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick x y/n #coriolanus snow smut #finnick odair drabble #thg smut #thg finnick #thg series #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin #the hunger games

2K notes · View notes

st0nesnglitter · 4 months

Text

Finnick loves morning sex.

The intimacy of not getting together under the cloak of night, but rather the opposite. Laying in soft light, brain still a little foggy from sleep, intertwined limbs moving about slowly.

He loves the imperfection of it. Messy hair, crooked pj’s, slight morning breath. Basking in each other warmth and just slowly going from cuddling to rutting against each other.

And there’s no rush; he can peel your shorts off of you as slow as he wants, can spend as much time with his fingers against your clit as he feels like. Until you’re softly begging him for more.

Entering you as gently as possible, stalling a beat inside you, leaving gentle kisses along your hairline. And you have to let out a soft giggle at how absurdly nice it all is, how good it all feels.

“You’re laughing at me, sugar?” He asks with a surprised glance, although still smiling. “M’ doing my best work and you’re laughing?”

And you shake your head with another giggle, kissing his nose and cheeks.

“I’m just happy, Finn” you mumble, “feels really good.”

And he just radiates happiness, smile as bright as the sun and eyes glittering like the ocean. He just loves the privilege of getting to take you in the mornings, after spending a whole night in between each others arms <3

#finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair smut

2K notes · View notes

luxbub · 5 months

Note

oooo can you do Virgin!reader with experienced Finnick?

a/n hii, thank you for the request, this was definitely the best thing to begin writing finnick with and it may not be the best thing youve read cause i’m still kinda figuring out his character, but i still hope you like it<3

also this is the longest smut i’ve ever written

virgin!reader and experienced Finnick

minors DNI +18

not proofread!!

So i kinda imagines this as a relationship between a mentor finick and tribute or victor reader, cause i feel like thats the most realistic one. I imagine that they would already be in a relationship, definitely said i love you’s already and are going for the next step. And even if you’re moving slow and want to take your time, i think that finnick would understand especially having in mind what he snow made him do, he definitely understands where you come from and why you want to take your time.

At first it was just an innocent make out session. You were sprawled out on finnick’s lap, with your thighs on either side of his, as he held an iron grip on the fat of your hips. Your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging from time to time, causing soft whimpers to tumble from his lips.

Now Finnick knew that you were a virgin since the beginning of your relationship , it was obvious by the way you were messily humping his thigh. But the self control was getting harder and harder to keep. Your sweet whimpers he swallowed, your soft whines anytime that he disconnected from your lips.

It was obsessive, the way Finnick couldn’t stop thinking about you, your scent, your touch, your pussy.

The pussy that he could feel throbbing even through the thick material of his pants and your panties.

He started kissing his way down to your throat, nipping at the spot just below your ear, making you moan and tug at the already gripped strands of hair.

You were whispering his name, begging him to touch you, the friction from his jean-clad thigh wasn’t enough for your achy cunt. Finnick’s pupils were blown from focusing so hard on the little mewls you made as your grinding became more desperate.

Finnick slid one hand down to your crotch as his fingers danced along the lacy line of your panties. He pushed his way into your cunt as you squirmed at the feeling of his cold fingertips on your hardened clit.

“You sure you want that, sweetheart?” You responded with a nod, too busy taking in the bliss from the little friction his hand was giving you. “I need to hear you say it.”

You almost screamed “y-yes, i want to feel you, finnick.”, looking at his smug face. Your eyes were starting to fill with tears from the pressure he was putting on your clit.

Your head is thrown back, spft moan spilling from your lips, as finick continues oushing his fingers in and out of you.

It came too soon, too fast. Your orgasm came, before you could latch onto finnick’s hand and beg him for more, his mouth was clashing into yours, tongues intertwined as you started unbuckling his belt the best you could without looking.

Soon enough both of you were panting as Finnick looked at your eyes searching for a hint of doubt, finding only pleasure and reassurance. So he guides his cock between your lips and bottoms out with a single thrust.

The feeling of your maidenhood breaking makes more tears well-up in your eyes as Finnick freezes asking if you’re sure you wanna keep going, but you only nod, knowing that you’ve been ready to take Finnick for weeks now.

Finnick groans, leaning his head onto your shoulder, your cunt was too much, too tight, he doubted he would last much longer if you continued squeezing him like that.

He softly starts thrusting more steadily as the pain turns into a pleasure and soon enough both of you are trying to shuffle each other’s moans.

Your breathing turns shallow, sharp breaths coming out of your mouths as your eyes don’t dare to leave each other. Finnick watches the way you squeeze your eyes or furrow your brows when he delivers a bit too hard of a thrust, but he presses his lips to yours, soothing you.

Your walls are fluttering around his dick as his starts hutting your cervix a bit too fast, going in so deep you never thought anyone could reach, but there he was Finnick Odair, stealing your breath with every thrust as you could feel your second orgasm coming closer and closer.

You were babbling, spit, that you didn’t know if it was yours or Finnick’s was coming out of your mouth “I—“ .

“I know, baby, me too.” His hips shutter for a second and that was enough to make your legs twitch and your vision cloud as you came around his dick.

Your walls squeeze him for one last time, before he grunts, clenching his teeth, as he pulls out, spruting tick ropes of white all over your stomach.

1K notes · View notes

wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 month

Text

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants.

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked…

Wow.

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks.

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol.

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!”

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell.

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge.

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up.

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration.

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird.

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other.

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty.

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless.

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row.

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.”

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day.

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble.

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—"

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt.

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head.

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill.

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.”

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.”

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you.

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out.

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face.

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you.

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job.

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk.

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #sam claflin #the hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

696 notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 3 months

Text

-Finnick Odair x reader

{Finnick says those three special words}

He’s so boyfriend! 💕 enjoy my lovelies

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The sun is setting, casting hues of pink and orange that shimmer along the ocean water. It’s a mesmerising sight that you can’t seem to stop looking at, despite the fact that you and Finnick come to this beach almost everyday.

He watches you with a soft smile, his heart hammering inside his chest at the way the afternoon sun kisses your skin making you glow in the most prettiest of ways. His eyes take in the shape of your lips and the curve of your nose. He’d study you for hours upon hours if you’d let him.

“You’re staring” You smile, turning your head to the side to look at him. His face reddens slightly with embarrassment, trying to cover it up with a smirk.

“I’m just enjoying the view” He replies with a playful wink, chuckling at the way you roll your eyes.

The sea ripples at your ankles as you dig your fingers through the sand looking for seashells. You have a small collection consisting of only three shells; one for the time you and Finnick went on your real first date, another for the day he got reaped and one for when he came back from winning his games.

All of them are different shapes, colours and sizes sitting neatly on your bedside table. They were the only things that got you through the days where he was gone, the memories of him live through the groves of the shells and the sound of the sea that’s trapped within them.

“This one… this one is perfect” You tell him holding up the small shell. It’s chipped slightly at the top but besides from that, it’s in great shape. You hold the shell up to his eyes nodding your head softly.

Finnick frowns ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he watches you press the seashell up to the side of his face. “What are you doing?” He chuckles softly looking over at your hand.

“It matches your eye colour” You whisper as you study the different shades of greens and blues, how some are darker and lighter in areas and how they come together to mimic his eyes.

Finnick thinks you might’ve just broken him, the teasing words die on his tongue and suddenly he’s finding it hard to breathe.

“You’re gonna add it to your collection?” He grins softly as you nod, making a comment about how you’re gonna start a shrine dedicated to him and he doesn’t bother hiding the blush that dusts his cheeks.

He does the same thing, his eyes glancing up to yours and then to the sandy floor in search of a seashell. He picks up one, then another and holds them up to your eyes, his warm hand grazing against your cheek as he does so.

“You’re so beautiful” He whispers, taking notice of how the sunlight hits your eyes. You tilt your chin down to your chest as a breathless giggle falls from your lips and Finnick wastes no time in holding your jaw gently, making you look up at him.

“Why’re you shying away from me honey?” He smirks and you curse him silently because he knows damn well what he’s doing to you, especially when his thumb begins to soothe against your cheek and the space just under your eye.

“I’m not shying away” You breathe glancing down at the seashells that lay in his palm. “Have you found a match yet?” You ask before he can continue with his teasing.

Finnick looks down at the shells with a smile. “Hmm?… oh yeah, this one” He says as he hands you the seashell that matches your eye colour, it twists into a cone and the end is chipped off.

They both sit in the palm of your hand, one that resembles his and one that resembles yours, and there’s something about it that melts him, the thought that no matter what happens you’ll always have a reminder of him.

“I’m gonna add them to my collection” You smile as his eyes meet yours, full of love, an overwhelming feeling that bleeds into his chest and he just can’t seem to get enough of.

The words fall so effortlessly from his lips and he doesn’t hide away from them. “I love you” It’s such a simple declaration but the way he says it takes you back. His tone is soft but passionate, dripping with affection. A soft gasp escapes you as the words linger in the air.

Before Finnick can even begin to question himself you’re already wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “I love you too Finn” You whisper against his neck, the smell of sea salt lingers in his hair.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and more, stored in those special words and now he’s said it once he’s never going to stop. He rests his forehead against yours, his hand against your cheek as he kisses you softly, noses bumping against each other’s slightly.

“I love you so much” He says once more, against your lips with a smile. You whisper the words back in between sweet kisses that soon taper off, breaking slowly as the pair of you smile uncontrollably. He glances down at the shells in your hand, the same ones that’ll sit on your bedside table for years to come.

⋆⁺₊�� ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

1K notes · View notes

cowboylikehim · 4 months

Text

finnick odair would frown at the way you sluggishly walk in the door, after a long day at the capitol. he'd had enjoyed his day at home, spending time at the shore, collecting a few shells that made him think of you. maybe even a funny looking piece of driftwood. he'd frown as you immediately crash into the couch, sighing at the feeling. finnick would finally greet you, his voice gentle and saddened by your exhaustion. however he'd smile slightly at the way you're shoulders lower at the sound of his voice. how you tilted your head toward his voice but kept your tired eyes closed. your eyelids, covered in light blue sparkles and shadows. the shiny blue stars looked that most uncomfortable.

"hey, lets get you to bed." he'd say while putting his hands on your shoulders from behind the couch, starting to slowly massage the day away. you'd whine out some sort of protest, too tired to think about getting up. he'd chuckle and you'd feel his hands leave your shoulders. just before you open your eyes to see where he had gone, you feel his hands grab yours and a tired smile returns to your face. "m' gonna lift you, sunshine."

and he does, his muscles ache from swimming all day but he smiles at the feeling of your weight in his arms. somedays he despises his toned muscles, despises what it represents to the capitol but in this moment he feels proud to be able to hold you and take care of you. he carries you to your shared bedroom, setting you down on propped up pillows.

you whine out a noise and extend your arms blindly at him. he chuckles, more emotionally touched than amused and murmurs that he'll be right back. he returns minutes later, hands full of different bottles that he sets on the nightstand.

"it's gonna be warm, pretty." he says it quiet, almost as an afterthought as seconds later a warm washcloth meets your closed eyelid. his hand move gently, far too gentle than needed to get the stubborn glitter off but neither of you complain. he puts some facial oil to get most of the makeup off, rubbing it away. he hums softly as he works until he's satisfied. he opens some moisturizer, rubbing it between his hands to warm it up. he smiles as he softly rubs it into your face. your eyes open as you mutter your thanks and his hands still on your cheeks, thumbs moving back and forth.

"welcome, sunshine." he smiles at the tired but lovesick look in your eyes. he smiles at how you lean heavily into his left palm, moments away from sleep. he leaves the nightstand a mess as he climb into bed with you, gently rubbing your back as you sleepily nuzzle into him.

#this was not supposed to be so long #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair one shot #finnick odair x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games imagine

882 notes · View notes

anatay004 · 4 months

Text

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃

𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐬𝐢𝐱

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

eight

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 (ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ)

ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ 65ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʀɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. ꜱᴏ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ sister.

𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 (ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ)

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ

𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐫 | ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʟɪʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴇᴇᴛᴀ

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴅ

#fanfic #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick odair drabble #hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick fanfic

753 notes · View notes

ervotica · 5 months

Note

"I'm here, I've got you-" with mentor!finnick right after reader wins the games?! ilysm 🥺🥺

pairing: mentor!finnick odair x victor!reader.

warnings: finnick greets you after you win the games, and consoles your anxiety. something more ensues…

hunger games masterlist

Your bruised knuckles shake where you wring them in your lap; the tribute quarters are so empty, hollow and bereft of any signs of life other than yourself. You've scrubbed your skin raw in the shower, still flushed and tingling from the coarse brush you used to rid yourself of the dried blood and dirt.

You want Finnick.

You know mentors are always the first to greet victors after the games, and you need him more than anyone else right now.

The door creaks your head snaps up where you're laying. He’s at your side in an instant, concern carved into his features as he reaches out for you.

You tremble at his touch; palm against your cheek, arm hooked around your waist as he begins drawing you up and into him.

"How are you doing?" he asks, voice low and soft and caring.

The tears well almost unconsciously, catching on your waterline and spilling down your hot cheeks.

"Not so good," you admit despite yourself.

"I know, honey. I know," he murmurs, tugging you toward him as gently as he can manage. You're in his lap before you can register what's happening, and you tuck yourself up small, head under his chin, shoulders under his armpits.

"I'm sorry," you cry, "I'm so sorry."

"Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did everything you were supposed to." He kisses the top of your head, hair still damp from the shower.

"Okay." You nod vehemently, almost like you're trying to convince yourself that he's right, that you're not a monster after what you had to do in the games. "Will you hold my hand?"

Finnick smiles and it pushes his dimples out- they're crescent moon shaped. You resist the urge to reach out and touch them.

"Of course I will."

His thick fingers entwine with yours like puzzle pieces, like that's where they've always been, where they're always meant to be. You bring his knuckles to your face and hold them there, against your cheek as you rest on his broad shoulder. Your bottom lip starts to tremble.

"I'm here, I've got you," he murmurs. "I'm right here."

You tilt your head to gaze at him, uninhibited affection practically oozing from your every pore. He leans in- you’re close enough to feel his breath on your face.

Your lashes kiss at the corners as your eyes flutter closed and he takes that as an invitation. His lips slot between your own like they live there and the kiss feels like coming home. When he pulls back, you chase him.

He meanders away from your lips with his kisses: the corner of your mouth, your cheek, a lingering one on your forehead. Your hand, still laced with his own, is holding him so tightly you’re scared you’re cutting off his circulation. He can feel your anxiety.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You’re smiling this time when you say,

“Okay.”

6K notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 5 months

Text

thinking about finnick odair and casual dominance !!

him taking your jewellery off for you before you sleep because you always forget to, and even if you do remember he’ll always offer to help. (he likes how his fingers on your skin always result in goosebumps and a shiver you can’t quite hide.)

him retrieving things off high shelves when you can’t quite reach them, a hand on you lower back as he stands behind you, easily snagging whatever you wanted and handing it to you with a lopsided smile. the soft “thank you, finnick,” you give him is enough to make his heart swoop.

him making sure you’re eating and drinking properly, and then making you something to eat if you haven’t. speaking of, he always wants to do all the chores while you “sit there and look pretty for me, sweetheart.” and if you try to help he’ll just manhandle you back to your seat, hands firm on your shoulders. “do you ever listen?” he’ll ask you, a brow quirked, something like affectionate amusement in his smile.

he’s a little bossy but only because he cares! and you don’t mind it very much (or at all, really) you kinda like when he tells you what to do <3

4K notes · View notes

ficmenrhot · 4 months

Text

Speechless

TW: slight choking, hair pulling, dirty talking, p in v, dacryphilia kink, slightly mean!finnick

Finnick Odair is the smuggest, cockiest man ever, and nothing boosts his ego more than when he fucks you speechless.

He’s pounding into you from behind, his strokes deep and rough as his large hand wraps around your throat, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure which has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He’s hitting all the right places effortlessly, his tip continuously grazing that spot which has your legs trembling and pussy clenching around him, feeling every vein and detail of his cock.

“F-fuck…’m making you feel so good, aren’t I, honey? I can feel the way your sweet pussy is clenching around me so tightly”

You can’t see his face but you can sense that smug smirk on his face, and when you don’t answer to his question, he angles his strokes to thrust even deeper, a loud moan falling from your mouth.

“I’m fucking you so good right now you can’t even speak huh, sugar?” Finnick asks with a chuckle to which you reply with an incoherent babble.

Finnick continues to thrust into you in that angle and soon you feel your knees buckle as your climax approaches. Finnick senses that you’re close by the way you clench around him again and he brings a hand down to your heat, drawing circles and figure eights repetitively on your clit with his long fingers.

“Finn- f-fuck..I..I”

You struggle to form a sentence, the immense pleasure fogging your mind as your body melts in Finnick’s touch. You mumble as a tear rolls down your cheeks from the overwhelming sense of pleasure…bliss.

Finnick smirks at your reaction, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging it back, forcing you to look him in the eye. You whimper as he slowly increases the rhythm of his thrusts, attentively studying the way your chest rises and falls and mouth falls open. Your eyes water even more as he speeds the pace and a Finnick wipes away your tears with his thumb, kissing your tear-stained cheek.

“I want to look at you when you come on my cock honey….so keep your pretty little eyes open, hmm?” Finnick hums, and you can only respond with a nod as you babble some random words.

Finnick Odair who chuckles quietly to himself, knowing that only he can make you feel this good…….only he can fuck you so well that you’re unable to speak.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick smut #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #finnick odair drabble #thg smut #thg finnick #finnick imagine #finnick x you #the hunger games smut #sam claflin

1K notes · View notes

st0nesnglitter · 4 months

Text

Finnick Odair would know your body better than you. And be smug about it.

And he should be, he’s put hours into figuring out how to get you the most pleasure possible. He’s done his studying. So now he doesn’t even need to think when he moves his hips, his fingers, it all just comes naturally.

You could be propped against his chest, cuddling in front of a movie, and then 10 minutes later he’d have you screaming. Finnick would be smiling with his mouth hovering over your nipple, pink tongue slipping out to give a quick lick and your mind would go.

Or his hand would sneak it’s way over your panties as you’re about to go to bed, soft lips tracing around your ear.

“Finn, it’s 1 AM, I’m tired” you mumble, back towards him.

“Oh you know I don’t need much time, sugar” he mutters back, forefinger teasing the edge of your panties, silently waiting for permission.

And you’ll push your ass back against him, grazing his semi teasingly. The sound he makes is closest to a growl.

His favorite nights, though, are the ones where he has all the time in the world. Because even though he can make you cum quick, he much rather prefer making you cum hard. And over and over.

Propped up on his arms above you, mouth agape in wonder and eyes flitting over every available centimeter of your body. His cock is deep in you but he craves it deeper. Moving your body, taking ahold of your thigh and moving it over his shoulder.

And as he starts thrusting your eyes roll back completely, only the whites visible, before you have to squeeze them shut.

“Look at me” Finnick murmurs, not a demand, not quite, but you obey immediately.

Your eyebrows are knitted together in what he’d describe as the ‘prettiest frown’, and your eyes are struggling to focus on him. At a particularly hard thrust your mouth opens to say something but it’s just left hanging.

“I know, oh I know” he’d coo in the most condescending way, green eyes staring into yours as he nods with a fake pout.

“Feels good, right darling?” Finn mumbles, grinding his pelvis against yours in a filthy manner, hand snaking down to play with your clit to completely erase any thought process in your head.

“Say it.”

This time it is a demand.

“F-feels so good Finn, so good” you babble, eyes desperately searching for some compassion, any sign he’s letting up.

“Yeah, I know” he’d smirk down at you before maneuvering your other leg over his shoulders.

He did not feel like letting up.

#finnick odair blurb #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick odair x you #finnick odair drabble

2K notes · View notes

theaawalker · 5 months

Text

I Promise [Finnick Odair x Reader]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Song Inspo: About You Now by Miranda Cosgrove Word Count: 829 Series: 1 | 2 | ? Summary: a day of fishing brings reminiscence for you and Finnick. District 4 never felt like home, but you've always had each other. Finnick has his soul mark, as do you, but that doesn't change anything. You know he'll find someone better, but nothing is promised in District 4. Warnings: none Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

You loved fishing with Finnick. He was so good at it and you were very impressed. You also didn’t mind diving into the water as deep as you could to catch his eye.

It was like any other day, Finnick would cast out the nets and spear what he could and you would dive in to retrieve the nets. You had been doing this since you were kids and this was the first time Finnick wasn’t wearing a shirt. So let’s just say you were a little more distracted than usual.

As he pulled back his trident you watched his back muscles and noticed something. On his shoulder was a seashell tattoo. But this wasn’t any ordinary tattoo. It was a soul mark.

You looked down at your wrist and pulled your shell bracelets off to reveal a seashell soul mark identical to Finnick’s. He was your soul mate.

“What’s wrong?” He called to you. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” You said shaking your head. “I didn’t know you had a soul mark”

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. Do you have one?” You shook your head and he shrugged. “It’s too bad, I haven’t found her yet”

“Yeah, what a shame.” You sighed and turned to the setting sun. “Listen, we have to finish up.” You said, running and diving into the water.

You loved Finnick, but he deserved better. He was amazing and you were, well, you. He didn’t know you were his soul mate and it’s very possible for a soul mark to disappear when circumstances change. There had to be someone better to be his soul mate and that is what you would hold out for.

As you swam to the surface you were met by Finnick’s sea blue eyes staring back at you. His hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you close.

“My little fish was underwater for a very long time. Are you ok?” He asked concerned.

“Yeah” You nodded pushing yourself away from him. “I have to go” You said swimming to shore.

After the next few months despite your best efforts you fell more and more in love with Finnick everyday. You tried to stay away from him but it was almost impossible. Oddly enough you thought that maybe Finnick was in love with you too.

You were fishing one day again when Finnick spoke up. “You know I don’t think this soul mate stuff is true. I mean how can a mark on my body that matches someone else mean I love them. What if I already love someone else”

You couldn’t tell if you were upset or relieved so you nodded. “Well I don’t have to worry about it”

“I just wish I wasn’t carrying this on my back” He paused. “Get it?”

“Ha, ha” You said splashing him with water.

“Oh, you want to do that do you?” He said charging at you and knocking you backwards and into the water with him on top of you and your back against the sandy bottom.

When you both came to the surface you laughed but Finnick’s face turned serious.

“Are you nervous for the reaping next week?” He asked, breaking the happy moment.

“I don’t know.” You said shrugging. “I always wonder what are the odds.”

He nodded and looked off into the distance. “Yeah... I suppose.”

“Come on.” You said pulling him up. “It’s almost dark”

The next week went by and Finnick seemed distant. He was really worried about the reaping. You weren’t sure if he was right to be, but today would be the day to find out.

You dressed in your best blue dress and braided your hair back in a single fishtail braid. Sadly, you couldn’t meet up with Finnick before, but you would see him after. You hoped.

After you were all lined up in the square that’s when your nerves finally hit. You fidgeted with your dress and tried to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of Finnick. To your despair he was nowhere to be found.

As they drew the girl’s name you breathed a sign of relief when it wasn’t you. When they got to the boys you crossed your fingers it wasn’t Finnick.

“For the boys!" The woman called out. “Finnick Odair!”

“No...” You whispered. You watched in horror as Finnick walked up to the stage. “No!” You said running up after him the guards in quick pursuit. You grabbed his hand and gave him a hug. That was all you had time for before the guards were tearing you apart.

Finnick still had your arm and through all the grabbing and pulling your sleeve pulled up revealing your soul mark. Finnick saw it immediately. “I knew it was you. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked desperately.

“I’m sorry.” You said as you were finally pulled away.

“I will come back to you!” He yelled as he was dragged into the justice building. “I promise!”

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

If you enjoyed this imagine :

follow me 🫂 like 👍 comment 🗨 repost 🔄

If you have an imagine request :

ask❓️AND tip 🪙

683 notes · View notes

wife-of-all-dilfs · 19 days

Text

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

290 notes · View notes