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flowersforjude · 2 days

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𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢. 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, slight self-injury, mentions of death, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've been working on this for little over a year now. I've posted all current chapters on Wattpad and AO3. I thought I might as well post it here too. This chapter was really just for scene setting and character introduction. The juicer stuff is in upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!!

The crunching of gravel beneath hundreds of feet echoed through district four in a sorrowful song. Each pair of feet belonged to a different person with their own story. Each pair was distinct from the one beside them, in front of them, or behind them. But today they were all moving in the same direction, for the same reason. Today they all had one thing in common. They were all reluctantly marching towards the Justice Building because today was the reaping for the annual Hunger Games. They were hesitant, and yet everyone walked steadily on their path without complaint, as if resigned to their fate.

I walked with my mother Camilla, my father Lyle, and my little sister Shae. We are silent as we make our way to the growing crowd of people in front of the Justice Building. Today was not the day for idle conversation. Today was the day for fear or for hope. Fear that your name would be called. Hope that it wouldn't, or that some other unlucky child would be forced to go to their deaths.

This morning, as I got ready, I found myself sitting in the bath longer than necessary. I watched with blank eyes as I dipped my hand down into the cooling water and lifted it back out. Droplets of water raced down the back of my hand until they faded out like one of the many lives taken by the games every year.

The longer I sat in the cold tub of water, the harder it became to keep my mind focused on the small things. Like how shivers ran races down my spine or how my damp hair rested limply on my shoulders. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts wouldn't stay simple for long. Soon they morphed into debilitating notions of blood and death. My mind ran rampant with scenes of tributes dying in brutal and messy ways.

Now as my feet crunched gravel under my soles, my brain created new ideas of torment. Shae turned twelve this year, and that meant it was her first Reaping Day where her name was in the drawing. It was only once, I kept telling myself. She wouldn't be picked. But the odds never favored ones in our position.

"This is where we go our separate ways." My mother said when we reached the point where we had to split up. I could see unshed tears making her brown eyes glossy as she pulled me and Shae into a hug. She kissed both our cheeks before stepping aside for our father.

"Be brave, girls." He told us and then bent down to hug Shae. When he straightened up, he pulled me in and squeezed. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before he stepped away completely.

"After the reaping, we met back here, and we'll go home." My mom said firmly, as if cementing the idea that both of her daughters would be returning to her. She wiped away a few tears that managed to sneak their way down her cheeks. "We love you both."

"We love you too," I replied.

My parents went off to the area where the adults watched. Watched as two kids were chosen to fight to the death. Shae and I walked on together, our breaths shallow with fear and anticipation. As we approached the spot where our paths diverged, I turned to say goodbye. Her eyes flickered over to me as if to plead for escape. She switched her gaze to her line, staring at it like a slithering viper ready to strike if she dared take even one step closer.

"Shae?" I dropped down to her height.

She started shaking her head, and her pink lips began to wobble. "I can't, Lyssa. I'm scared."

I gave her a sympathetic look and smoothed down her hair with my hands. "I know you're scared, but your name is only in there once. The odds of you being chosen are slim."

She inhaled deeply, her chestnut eyes still wide and fearful. I pulled her close and breathed into her hair the words of reassurance that she needed. I cupped her face in my hands, gave her a gentle nod of encouragement, and watched as she tentatively stepped away from me and towards the other children. It took everything in me not to grab the back off her dress and run.

I took my place in line with the other seventeen-year-olds and watched as the people in front of me got their fingers pricked by an intimidating looking woman.

As the seconds ticked by like the timer on a bomb, it grew harder to breathe. The nerves I chained down all this morning fighting their way up. An anchor pressed down on my chest, weighing my whole form down as it rested in the sand of the sea. I couldn't look scared. I knew it made no difference whether or not my fear was visible. If my name was called, then that was that. But I didn't want anyone to view me as weak. Even if that's what I was in reality.

My feet shuffled forward as the line flowed. The girl in front of me gasped loudly as her blood was drawn. In seconds, she was moving out of the line, and it was my turn.

"Next!" The woman called. "Name?"

"Lyssa Monroe."

She looked down the list till she landed on my name. She silently held out her hand, and I held my pointer finger out to her. She pricked it, but I barely registered the small pain; I was too focused on staying calm. She smeared my blood on multiple sheets of paper; in a way, she just sighed my possible death certificate. Those slips of paper will be sent to the big glass bowl, whose only purpose was to hand out death sentences. And I stood a chance of being called. I wonder if that bothers her. That by doing this job, she's sending kids to their deaths. I wonder how she feels or if she feels anything at all. Maybe she didn't; maybe you have to be void of emotion to do this job.

When she called for the next person, I stepped out of the way and went to stand with my age group. I pressed my still bleeding finger into the fabric of my dress. It was the nicest clothing item I owned, and I hated it. I wore it on reaping day and reaping day only. The atrocious piece of material served as a reminder of the worst days of my life. Days filled with fear and dread. The only thing I felt when I looked at it was anguish.

I didn't know any of the girls I was standing with, so I searched the crowd for Shae. I found her standing between two girls her age, but she was so small compared to them.

I caught her eyes and sent her a smile and a wink. I tried to look carefree for her even if my stomach was twisting in rough knots. Something was off; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, swirling around like unruly waves in a storm. No matter how much I attempted to convince myself otherwise, today was not going to have a good outcome. But Shae needed me to reassure her so she wouldn't break down. I knew she was scared. This was her first year in the drawing; her name was only in once, but it was that one chance that kept her up all last night.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The sharp pain of them digging into my skin was enough to ground me for now.

Sabine Glass, our district escort, strutted out from the Justice Building, and we all focused our attention on her. She had the usual bold and careless air about her as clicked her way to center stage. With each step, her dress glistened in the sun, its green sequins catching the light like tiny mirrors. Around her neck hung a necklace of bronzy-white seashells that matched her earrings, bracelets. The same shells were intricately woven into her updo. Her shoes were the same color as her dress and had heels so long that I wondered how on earth she even managed to walk on stage without falling.

She cleared her throat into the microphone, getting the attention of the crowd. "Welcome! People of District four, to the reaping of the 70th Hunger Games! I know we're all very excited to see who our tributes will be this year, but before that, we have a presentation from the esteemed President Snow!"

The crowd clapped with a small fraction of Sabine's enthusiasm. four was a career district, but only half the population fell into that category. So some of the citizens had pride for this whole charade, but the hatred and fear of the other half far outweighed that misguided respect for the games.

Two huge black screens were set up on either side of the building, and with Sabine's cue, they started to play the origin video of The Hunger Games. We were made to watch this video every reaping day, year after year. It was to remind us of the horror before the games so we wouldn't want to rebel again. When the video was over, Sabine began clapping, and slowly, the crowd reluctantly joined in.

"That was spectacular!" Sabine cheered into the microphone. "Let's begin, shall we? As per usual, ladies first!"

She walked over to the glass bowl and swirled her hand around in it, meticulously searching for the right slip of paper. The tension of the crowd was palpable. Everyone was still and the quietness was suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, like I had just gotten done for a swim and was laying on the warm sand of the beach, soaking up the sun's rays. Though even after all the time I spent out there, my skin stayed its same pale shade.

Sabine plucked out a slip of paper and pranced back over to the microphone. As she neatly unfolded it, my nails racked deeper into my palm, digging into my skin until I felt a slight trickle of blood flow down my palm. My ears clouded with the sound of adrenaline, and only Sabine's shrill voice brought my senses back to me.

"Lyssa Monroe!"

My heart stopped along with everything else as the blaring silence rang in my ears. Chills ran down my body, and the blood froze in my veins. I didn't move; I couldn't move. The girls around me murmured amongst themselves and stared at my unmoving body with sympathy and selfish relief.

"Lyssa Monroe?" Sabine spoke again, this time as a question.

The girls parted like a great wave, creating an aisle for me to walk through. The first step I took was unintentional, but it was like my body had switched to autopilot. My legs numbly carried me all the way to the stage. I didn't raise my head until I walked up the steps and was in front of the crowd.

As I lifted my eyes, the sun seemed brighter than before, momentarily blinding me. When they adjusted, my eyes met the crowd of my fellow District four members.

I found my parents in the cluster of adults. My mother had her face buried in my father's chest. Even from here, I could see her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. My father's face was set hard, but I knew he was trying to keep his tears reigned in.

I turned my attention to Shae, who had pushed her way to the front of her section. Her tiny hands held the barricade in a death grip. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears.

Sabine shoved the microphone at my face, and only then did I realize she had asked me something.

"What?" I muttered dumbly.

"I asked how old you were, dear."

"I'm seventeen," I mumbled.

Sabine took the microphone back and placed her hand on her heart. "And how lovely you are, my dear."

She turned back to the audience, clapping her hands. "Now for the gentleman." She glided over to the bowl that held the boys' names. She repeated the same swirling hand movements around the glass until she snatched up a slip of paper.

She cleared her throat before reading the name. "Hector May!"

A gasp rang out among the crowd, and even me in my numbed state lifted my eyes in surprise. Hector May was Mayor Walim May's son. Of course, being the child of the mayor didn't exclude you from the reaping, but they were rarely chosen. That's why everyone had started to murmur amongst themselves as Hector slowly made his way up to the stage.

He looked behind him at his father. The mayor tried not to show any emotion at his son being reaped, but I saw how his jaw clenched and his hands began to subtly shake in his lap.

"What an interesting turn of events!" Sabine exclaimed. "How old are you, dearie?"

"Eighteen." Hector answered in a deep monotone voice.

"And you're the mayor's son, correct?"

"Yes."

Sabine laughed almost giddily. "What a wonderful pair we have here." She motioned for us to shake hands. We both moved forward and grasped the other's hand as Sabine addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of presenting to you your District four tributes for the 70th annual Hunger Games!"

━

We were marched in silence down a long hallway, escorted by a couple of stern-faced peacekeepers. Hector and I were taken to separate rooms, mine with harsh fluorescent lights that cast everything in a painful brightness. The stark and sterile air felt suffocating as I helplessly waited for what was next. I shifted nervously on the hardwood chair, tracing small circles onto its smooth surface while my leg anxiously bounced up and down. Even pinching myself couldn't make this nightmare go away. My throat tightened in despair while tears stung my eyes.

A creak of the door handle made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet. My parents and Shae entered the room, their faces blurry with emotion. We raced towards each other, a tangle of limbs that collapsed into a heap on the floor. Someone was sniffling, and it took me a moment to realize it was me.

My father wiped the tears off my face and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Everything will be alright." He stated calmly like there was nothing to worry about.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Dad, how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I know you're scared, sweetie. But you can't let your fear control you. You're going to be fine because you're going to win."

"How? I can't–" I couldn't even finish my sentence. How could my father be so sure, so calm?

"Lyssa." My mother said, clearing the tears from her eyes. "Your father is right. I know you're scared, but you can't think about that right now."

"What do I do?" I asked helplessly.

My father was the one to answer. "Find a weapon that fits you. One that's easy for you to use but effective. Try throwing knives. You were always good with those."

"Okay." I nodded along with him.

"You have to come back, Lyssa." Shae blurted out.

I looked down at her small frame and immediately drew her to me. "I promise I will try my hardest." I said into her hair. My lips connected with the top of her head as her arms tightened around me.

The door opened again, and the peacekeepers came in. "Time's up." One of them said.

We hugged each other one last time before one of the peacekeepers escorted them out. They all called their last farewells as they were moved out of my view.

"Be brave, Lyssa! Remember what I said!"

"Win, so you come back home!"

"We love you, sweetheart!"

There was one peacekeeper left in the room with me. "It's time to board the train, Miss Monroe," he said.

I nodded and hesitantly followed him out into the hallway, where Sabine and Hector stood waiting.

"Now then, you're both very excited, I'm sure, so let's hurry along. The Capitol awaits!" Sabine sang, genuinely excited, with a smile plastered on her face. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was from the Capitol and didn't really know any better. Though, as she led a silent Hector and I away, I couldn't help but feel disgust towards her. She was voluntarily escorting us to our deaths.

My face remained blank as we boarded the train. The odds were never on my side, and they never would be.

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story! <3

#ˏ*ೃ➵violent delights #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #thg series #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay #friends to lovers #mentor x mentee #slow burn

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etherealily · 3 days

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𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 // 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗱𝗮𝗶𝗿.

Finnick Odair + fem!reader, brother's best friend (ahhh!), you don't get it, i love this man

Warning: Cuss words .

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Finnick makes quite an impression.

"Hey, what's up, man, if you could just pack up- oh."

You don't even have to turn to know just who in the hell was standing in front of the window of your family's bakery. And this is the one day you decide not to care about how frosting-splattered your apron is, how flour-smeared your hands are. So your brother wasn't lying. He really was all buddy-buddy with Finnick fucking Odair. And this was the one Thursday you decide to actually fill in for him.

"Uh, be right out, sir."

Sir? Sir? Did you really just call him Sir? Well, I mean, yeah, he's a customer, but still... sir? That's too fake. He's going to wig out, he's going to-

"Of course. Take your time. I'm in no rush."

-Be uncharacteristically patient. Hm. Weird. Odd.

Quickly patting off the flour on your hands and watching the flakes fall onto the counter, you wipe your palms roughly on your apron, turning around.

His eyes are fucking ethereal. It's everything you can do to not immediately think of how you would go about replicating the sea-green of them into a frosting colour, or something. However, you decide, it'd be very hard, seeing as there were a kaleidoscope of other hues in there, a tinge of gold, here and there, like flecks of stardust, for one.

The muscles at the front of his arms - across his chest, as he stands - clench, as though he's tightening them. And then you realise : he's waiting.

"So sorry for the wait. How can I help you?"

"Who are you?"

What ?

"Excuse me?"

"Not interrogating you.", he informs you, raising a hand to cut you short. The fucking audacity . "Never seen you before."

"Well, you're seeing me now."

"How do I know you're not just someone stealing from the store?", he inquires, in mock concern. His eyebrows raise just slightly, playfully, even, as he trains his eyes on yours.

Does he also think about how he can replicate the colours in other people's eyes, or is he normal?

"Uh, I've got a key , for one.", you retort, jiggling the keys that you've shoved deep into your apron's pocket.

He shrugs, interlocking his fingers tightly as he cracks his knuckles, tilting his head. "Could be stolen."

"I'm the owner's daughter, Y/N ?"

"Insufficient proof of that.", he shoots back, teeth grazing ever so slightly on his bottom lip as he battles a smirk. "C'mon, do better than that. I'm this close to calling the Peacekeepers, y'know?"

"I can bake a cake?", you suggest, unsure why you're even going along with this.

Oh right, because he's Finnick Odair.

"So can I.", he replies, now resting his elbow down on the windowsill of that godforsaken window your family sold their goods from. You'd always thought it was cute, but now, with the lack of a counter between the two of you, like the normal bakeries, you were resenting the idea. "You're not really selling your identity, you know?"

"I'm literally baking a cake right now.", you exclaim, pointing at your clothes and the oven in which a hopefully delicious cake was rising. "What kind of pathetic thief would help the store they're stealing from?"

"You could be trying to blend in."

"Okay, look, I don't care what you think, Sir. I'm the owner of this place, so you either get your goods or go."

"Good.", he chuckles, softly, although his tone turns slightly, seamlessly more serious. "That's good. That's the response you give, you got that?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What?"

"If someone ever makes you doubt who you are, if someone ever...", he swallows, licking his lips for a moment, looking away before continuing, "... ever forces an identity on you. I don't care what you think, I know who I am . That's what you say."

"You came all the way here, did all that, just to... teach me a life lesson?"

"You don't like it? Come on, that was a cool segue, you gotta admit.", he asks, clearly shoving whatever else he was feeling into the back burner as he snickers.

"Threatening to call the Peacekeepers on me? Oh, yeah, that's very cool ."

"Hey, I managed to get your name, didn't I? Doubt you'd have let me get that far any other way."

Not true. You'd have given him your name. Hell, you'd have given up your last name for him, had he asked normally.

"And what do you need my name for?"

"I don't know.", he shrugs, palpably pushing any dirty responses he might've had away. "Maybe I just want to know?"

"You must have a reason."

"You know what, yeah, usually, I have a reason for everything.", he replies, giving you the charming smile you've seen on television almost a thousand times. "But this time, I don't."

That was so infuriatingly expected. Of course Finnick Odair couldn't have just fucking asked for your name like a normal person.

"Do you at least have a reason as to why you're at my store?"

"Your family's store, sweetie, and yeah, I do.", he says, pointing at a tray of half-a-dozen shimmery blue cupcakes with the number '4' frosted boastfully onto them. "Pack those up for me, will you? My order."

"Insufficient proof of that.", you reply, crossing your arms and mirroring his position from when he'd said those words. "Unless you've got a receipt, which we don't give to urgent orders so there's no chance you could have one , I don't see how you're walking away from here with them."

He laughs, heartily, nodding as though impressed. "Funny. Look, let's not make this more complicated than it should be, yeah? You're a pissed off, whiny little girl who can't take a joke, and I'm Finnick Odair. Just give me the cupcakes."

You scoff, audibly scoff at that. The nerve of him. "I'm not a little girl."

"Your brother tells me you cry when you see butterflies? Like... full-on bawl?"

You'd fucking murder your brother the next time you saw him, that was for sure.

"They're ethereal, and very rare."

"They're insects.", he reasons, shaking his head as he rests his head on his palm, tilting his head and gazing at you condescendingly, like you really were a child.

"Shut up."

He snorts, softly. "Give me the damn cupcakes, sweetie."

"Or what, you'll seduce me into giving them to you?"

His face falls, for a moment, his grin faltering. Then, with a sigh that was an infuriating mix of amused, disappointed and enigmatic, he nods. "That's what I'm known for, right? I could do it, you know? Really effectively, too."

"That wouldn't work on me."

"Give me the damn cupcakes, Y/N."

"How do I know you've paid for them?"

"You'll have to take my word for it. It's called trust, ever heard of it?"

"It's called not being a pompous asshole, ever heard of it?"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you turn your back to him, bringing the tray over to the window sill. "Brought your own bag?"

He nods, a slightly triumphant smile - that you choose to ignore, thank you very much - on his face as he hands it to you, then nodding to the bag. "It's all the rage in the Capitol, you know?"

"Oh, I know. I see the Capitol freaks with it all the time on TV.", you mutter, gently bringing out each cupcake and placing them in each indent in the box you'd brought out. "Any embellishments you want before I put them in the bag?"

"Like a bow or something?"

"Yeah, like a bow, a card, some extra sprinkles taped to the box.", you shrug, feigning nonchalance. The urge to draw him was getting way too strong, and it was the most peculiar feeling ever - one you'd never felt before. Capturing him, in a way the cameras he was always swarmed by never could, that would be perfect.

"Yeah, card would be nice."

"What would you like on it?", you ask, sliding a card over from the cardboard box overflowing with them, as you click open a pen.

He raises a brow. "Do you have good handwriting?"

You tsk, shoving the pen in his face. "Here, you do it, then."

He giggles, mischief swirling in his eyes as he takes the pen from you. "Probably best." He clears his throat, dramatically, giving you a matter-of-fact look before he begins writing. "Dear President Snow, wishing you a Happy Reaping Day, with a delicacy from District Four- uh, what do you call these, sweetie?"

"Cupcakes?"

"Something cooler." He narrows his eyes at you, tapping the pen on the counter.

"Cupcakes from the Bakery Around The Corner? Seriously, this is District Four, we're not the Capitol - we don't have fancy icing and a quirky little name for each of our orders."

"Yeah, but he does this thing where each year, you have to bring a new delicacy from your District.", he mutters, a slight scoff present in his voice. "Reaping Day special. So I need a cool name."

Interesting. That almost sounded like resentment, from the Golden Boy to the President.

"I'm flattered you consider my cupcakes delicacies."

"Okay, look, your cupcakes are good, delicious, even, but they're not delicacies.", he reminds, keeping the stream of insults you were throwing at each other going. "I just need to give him something other than seafood this year, apparently."

"Well, that's stupid. We're the fishing district."

"Like he gives a flying fuck. What Coriolanus Snow wants, Coriolanus Snow gets."

You snort, covering your mouth. "That's his name?"

"What, did you think it was President ?", he asks, still not looking up from the card as he spins the pen around between his fingers - both calloused and delicate, preserved and wild.

"No, I thought it'd be something more normal."

He tsks. "Seriously, come up with a name for these things."

"They're for you , so call them Odairs, or something, I don't know. Should stroke your ego, too, so it's a win-win."

"These are supposed to be delicacies. Like, a form of pride among our people. I can't name them after me, no matter how awesome that would be.", he adds, with a slight grin.

"Whores from District Four.", you chuckle, shaking your head. "Call them that."

"Why, 'cause I'm the 'Whore from Four' ?", he asks, smirking. "That's a no-no word, you know?"

"Yeah, well, my patience is thinning with you, Odair."

He snickers, softly, chewing the inside of his cheek, still staring at the card. "You know what, fuck it. Whores it is."

"Really? Just go with no card."

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, a card is expected.", he sighs, spinning the pen around. "I should just call them whores. But, you know, spelt with an 'h'. What's he gonna do, ask around the District 4 marketplace for 'hores'?"

You laugh. "Hey, if that works...", you salute him, nodding. He writes with soft, almost enchanting strokes, and then signs his name.

"Thanks, Y/N.", he adds, after you finish taping the note precisely to the centre of the box's lid, before gently lowering it into his Capitol bag. "If this works, I'm paying you extra."

"If President Snow comes around asking for my District-famous 'hores', I'll pay you extra."

══════════════════ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ══════════════════

The muffled rush of the waterfall, and the feathery tufts of grass you were laying on almost help you enjoy life , for once, and help you forget that Reaping Day is tomorrow. Almost.

"You know you're not supposed to be out here, right, sugar?"

And then suddenly, the 4 o'clock sun isn't the thing that's blinding your senses.

It's him, instead.

Towering over you, almost gleaming hair threatening to spill over and disrupt the calm in the pool of his eyes, he tilts his head mockingly.

"I know."

He gapes in mock scandal. "Aren't you the little rebel?", he muses, raising a brow in amusement before offering you his hand.

You grab it, and he hauls you up with admirable ease. "Your cupcakes were a hit, sweetie. Absolute hit.", he informs, with the twinkly grin that comes with being Finnick Odair.

His mildly calloused hand still grips yours tightly.

"I see. You're welcome."

He shrugs, nodding. "Yeah, I suppose you deserve the thanks."

The silence sweeps past you, the only sounds embossed in both of your hushed breaths, in the gentle songs of birds, the faint roar of the waterfall, and suddenly, his voice, smooth as a wave embracing the shore.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Trust me."

When Finnick Odair asks you to trust him, you do. Rule number one of the rule book of... well, life.

"If you take me to some Capitol party-"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I promise, the last place I'm ever taking you is the Capitol. In fact, it can be said I'm doing the exact opposite."

You raise a brow. "What, you're taking me in the opposite direction? As far away from the Capitol as possible?"

His eyes dart around, above, behind and beside you, before they finally land on yours, and he nods, slowly, hesitantly. "Yeah, exactly.", he muses, his words drawn out as if he was unsure of them, too.

Bad sign.

"You're taking me out the borders?", you hiss, lowering your voice and glaring sharply at him. "That's illegal, Golden Boy."

"Don't call me that. Not here, in District 4."

You scoff. The audacity running through his veins was insufferable. "I'll call you whatever I damn want to. You trying to get me killed or turned into an Avox?"

"I'm trying to show you something!", he snaps, using his tense grasp on your hand to draw you closer, so that your foreheads were borderline touching. See, this was bad, this was bad, this was-

"Just let me!", he continues, his voice almost pleading. "You think I don't know it's Reaping Day tomorrow? That you could get picked to go die in the Games?"

"No, you're just the one helping us go die."

"You shut up.", he hisses, a finger in your face. "Don't say things you know nothing about. I'm a mentor."

"Did you even try with the tributes from last year? Or the year before that? Because I heard that-"

"What you heard is fucking-", he cuts himself short, taking a deep breath. "Please. Just follow me. For the love of God.", he orders, gently tugging you along.

Not like you even wanted to pull away - this was Finnick Odair.

"What is it you love most about District 4?"

"What?"

"District 4. What is it you love most about it?"

"It's home.", you shrug. "What else is there?"

"Yeah, but I mean, with time, any place is home. Have you never wanted to leave, to explore?"

It's times like these you realize your parents' bakery isn't that important- you'd sell the whole thing to figure out what was going on in that angelic head of his. His words lilting through your senses like sea-breeze.

"I'm exploring as much as I can right now."

He pauses for a moment, turning around. Dimples. "I'm glad I can be your guide, then."

Shut the fuck up, freak of nature. Stop with your beautiful words.

You almost say that. You don't, though.

"Okay, can you jump for me?"

"Jump?", you ask, looking over his shoulder at the huge gap between the part of the rock you were on, and the one you were supposed to go to. "No way."

"Come on, you can do it.", he says, leaping over the humongous gap as if he were playing hopscotch. "I'll catch you."

That's not the part you're worried about. The part you're worried about is you chickening out in front of the Finnick Odair. The interviews he would go through.

'Oh, yes, Hunger Games or not, tragic deaths have always been part of my everyday. Just the other week, a girl I knew slipped near a waterfall and plummeted to her death. Tragic. But I got over it because I'm Finnick Odair. I'm hot. And rich. And did I mention, hot?'

The entire nation wouldn't mourn you. It'd mourn the fact that poor Darling Finnick Odair had to watch you die.

"I don't know about this, Odair."

"Trust me."

That's the second time this man had asked you to trust him tonight. Rule of life.

"I swear, it'll be worth it. Take a leap of faith. Literally."

You grimace, pursing your lips. Your eyes move-

"Don't!", he yells, suddenly, waving his hand from across the abyss so your eyes land on it. "DON'T look down. Just look at me. Leap to me."

Reach for his eyes. Those pools of moss green and cerulean blue that make you want to embrace and destroy the planet for being able to create something so perfect.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to convince yourself he'll catch you. It's an excuse to look at his muscles, yeah, but still, he's strong enough. He'll catch you.

I won't die in front of Finnick Odair.

And you leap.

Instantly, your feet slip on the wet rock on the other side, and you grip onto Finnick's shoulders as he wraps his arms around you.

"Toldja."

"Shut up. I almost died."

"So dramatic.", he chuckles, gently letting go of you as he leads you further behind the waterfall, the tufts of grass on which you lay now faintly visible through the gushing water between you and them.

"There's a tiny cave kind of thing here. Look."

You squint, kneeling down in front of the entrance.

"Don't be shy. Come in."

You crouch down, taking his hand as he leads you further into the cave, walking gingerly until you see a tiny pool, illuminated by a golden ray of sunlight spilling through from a crack in the stone above.

Good god.

And around it, as though crafted for you, placed for your perusal, were hordes of glass-blue butterflies, fragile, delicate, and oh-so-ethereal, twirling around each other, bathed in all directions by the beam of light, which flowed through their transparent wings.

Finnick Odair, marry me.

"So?", he asks, breath gently brushing your ear. "What do you think?" The eagerness in his eyes was obvious, as though he were a child showing you the scribbles he'd just made.

"I..."

"I thought, y'know, I mean, I get excited about the ocean, so there's no reason for you not to get excited about butterflies."

"How did you find this place?", you ask, breathless.

"That's a secret."

Your eyes are transfixed onto the flapping of wings, the distribution of gold, the surreality of it all. It's almost godly. It's so breathtaking, you genuinely need to sit down. He sits with you.

"Are you scared for tomorrow?"

"That's a secret."

He smiles, softly, though the sadness in his expression is palpable and inevitable. It irks you. The way he is supposed to be, according to you, is spinning around the shoreline, laughing as he dances with the waves, sand on his hands and knees, a tan kissing his skin. That's how he must remain, and that is how you will draw him, if you ever get to.

After a tiny while, though, he leans back, against the rock behind him, eyes still trained on your awe as you watch the butterflies glide around blissfully, before looking out, at the curtain of water flowing and concealing the entrance of this little slice of paradise he'd found for you.

"You know, you could just stay here till tomorrow. You don't even have to go to Reaping Day."

"Oh, yeah, because that's smart. I'll be arrested."

"Then just don't go back."

"Leave my family to get punished?"

"Please tell me you didn't need tesserae."

"Well, before you, barely anyone from our District won, and if they did, they most definitely didn't share."

He groans, running his hands over his face. "So it's not even a fair chance."

You shake your head. "It's fine, though." Has been for five years.

He scoffs, borderline laughing at you, derisively. "Please elaborate."

"If you managed to find the one tiny place on earth where butterflies still thrive, and it happened to be here, by the waterfall I spent my whole life admiring, then, there's a chance I won't be reaped."

"You're extraordinary. Genuinely. Phenomenal. Splendid. Fabulous. Amazing." Was that awe in his voice? Awe at... you? What you just said?

"Are you buttering me up because I might be picked to die tomorrow?"

"I'm buttering you up because you're incredible."

Drawing him isn't enough.

Sonnets, prose, stories, love songs, ballads.

Those would be enough.

"If I get reaped, you better mentor me good."

"If you get reaped, you'll win. I'll get you sponsors, I'll train you so that you'll be an absolute force to reckon with."

The promises are beautiful and fragile and absolutely ludicrous. But that would be the name of his biography.

"If I survive, we're coming here every day."

It's like you've already resigned yourself to the fact that you were going to get chosen.

"You're a Career. You'll be fine."

"Who are you trying to convince?"

Silence suddenly enters the cave.

"We should go."

Both of you say it, both of you agree, and both of you get up.

"Thank you, Finnick."

His name tastes oddly sweet coming out of your mouth. However, the next moment shows that his lips taste even sweeter.

His fucking dimples.

"C'mon. I think this time, leaping will be easier."

What he means by that, you don't know.

Not like you want to, not immediately. Spending your whole life trying to figure him out seemed like a solid career plan.

You leap again.

41 notes · View notes

wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

Text

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

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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.

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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 🤍

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coryosbaby · 4 months

Text

18+, MDNI

The Water Scene in Catching Fire Defines how Peeta, Finnick, and Katniss Eat pussy.

I’m sorry, but I believe this wholeheartedly .

Peeta Mellark is gentle, smooth, and soft. His tongue leaves trails in brushy strokes against your clit, lips wrapped around the swollen bud and suckling. He uses his fingers to slowly curl into your sweet spot— the tips of them massage your inner walls perfectly, and he lets out tiny whimpers as he devours your cunt. He may talk, mumbling out tiny praises against your lips, blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Love your pussy, love it so much..”

“squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait for you to squeeze my cock, baby.”

“Cum, please please cum all over me… I’ll be a good boy!”

He eats you out anytime you ask him to, and sometimes a lot of the time when he feels like using his tongue. When he cums, he’ll do it grinding himself against your leg like a desperate, whimpering puppy. <3

Finnick O’Dair is wild, untamed, and sloppy. His mouth devours you as he fucks your hole with his tongue, his fingers bruising against your thighs as he laps at your cunt. Groans spill from his lips, and honestly he’s too busy tasting you to speak. But sometimes, if you’re being extra bratty, he loves to slap your thighs and pull away with his chin dripping with slick to scold you.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop squirming? Keep your fucking legs open.”

“If you yank my hair like that again, you aren’t getting my mouth for a month.”

“what’d I tell you, huh? Don’t make me have to duct tape that pretty mouth shut.”

Oh my god, he literally is always between your legs. He mostly always initiates it because he just loves your pussy so much, and you get shy when asking him. Sometimes he’ll pull out his cock and jerk it sloppily between your legs and ride out his high by marking his cum all over your lips. <3

Katniss Everdeen is skilled, precise, calculated. Her mouth latches onto your pussy without a second thought, the tip of her tongue rubbing circles into your clit. She presses her fingers deep, draws out orgasm after orgasm. She doesn’t care if you say it’s too much. Her mouth will move hot between your legs and she’ll make you cum over and over again until she wants to stop. She respects your boundaries, of course, but in this case you almost always ask her to push you over your limits. She’ll tell you where to put your hands, or where to guide her when she’s eating you so she can get it just right.

“No, I said to put them over your head. Don’t make me tell you again, okay?”

“How many times have you came? Three? Four? Oh, that’s cute. But you’re going to have to give me one more.”

“Grab my hair, not too hard— just like that. There’s my good girl.”

She does it when you suggest, or when she’s stressed and needs a snack distraction. When she cums, she does it by letting you return the favor. Your mouth kisses up her thighs, and you practically drool as you settle yourself between her legs <3

@mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper

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ficmenrhot · 4 months

Note

Hii could u do a smut where reader calls finnick ‘Finny’. Like she moans it out while they’re yk and it absolutely makes him feral. And he’s all like:

“What was that sugar? Say it again.” Etc.

Say it Again

Pairing: Soft dom Finnick x shy fem!reader

Notes: Dom/sub themes, voice kink, praise kink, p in v, slight corruption kink, Finnick Odair is such a munch. Minors DNI

A/N: I haven’t had the motivation to write and I’ve still got a few requests in my drafts, I’m really sorry if they’re yours. Hope I hadn’t lost my touch

————————————————————————

Finnick was your first everything- first relationship, first kiss….the first one to break you in- and quite frankly, he intends to be your last too. He loves how he gets to be the only one to teach you all of these things- to be the person who corrupts your innocence, explores different ways to give you pleasure, and work your body better than you can.

Finnick is always sure to praise you during sex to ensure you’re fully comfortable with him. Sex was never really an intimate or enjoyable thing for him before he had met you, so Finnick wants to make sure you are given the experience he never did. More than anything else, Finnick would like to hear your be more vocal during sex.

Although you occasionally make a few noises here and there, letting out small moans and soft whimpers (because let’s be real, it’s impossible to keep quiet when the Finnick Odair is railing you), you often try to conceal your sounds because you feel a bit insecure about your voice. Unbeknownst to you, Finnick would like nothing more than to hear you moan out his name and to tell him how good he makes you feel. If only you know the ego boost it would give him and how his heart would race at a single comment.

This night, Finnick has you laid out on your shared bed, the mattress soft yet supporting underneath you two as he thrusts deeply into you at a steady pace. His warm mouth is latched onto the crook of your neck, sucking and nipping, sure to leave love marks on your skin as one of his hand reaches for your clit to trace lazy circles. The sex, as usual, is phenomenal and your back is arched in pleasure, legs folded as they hang over his sculpted shoulders.

A few soft whimpers fall from your mouth involuntarily at the undeniable pleasure you’re feeling and you bite down on your bottom lips to control your noises like always. Finnick cocks his head, his mouth momentarily detaching from your neck as his lips form that signature smirk which you are so familiar with. You’re confused as of what Finnick is doing but you’re way too cockdrunk to care. His thick and lengthy cock is pounding into you so well, grazing over your cervix with every thrust and you’re surprised that it isn’t bruised by now.

Finnick grabs a pillow from the side of the bed and swiftly places it under the small of your back as he lifts you up and places you back down with ease. Your mouth falls open and you forget about controlling your volume, a loud moan mixed with a gasp leaving your mouth. The pillow has put you in an even better position, raising your hips slightly so that each of Finnick’s thrust is angled to hit that spongey spot inside of you which makes your toes curl in pleasure and back arch further.

“Hmm honey, you like that, huh?” Finnick teases after seeing your reaction, and you can only nod as you attempt to babble something incoherently.

“F-fuck…Finny, s-so good” you mumble, your mind in a state of haze right now.

Hearing your words and the nickname that just fell out of your mouth, Finnick’s eyes immediately light up and an even bigger smirk replaces the former one on his face. Although you don’t realise in the moment that Finnick has bitten his lips at your comment, you sure can feel his reaction to it as his thick cock pulsates in arousal, causing your warmth to tighten around him, feeling every vein and curve.

“What was that sugar?” Finnick chuckles both smugly and proudly, “say it again for me”

“I-I….”

Only then do you realise what you’ve said and your cheeks immediately turn pink, a flustered look appearing on your face which Finnick finds so, so adorable. You struggle to find the right words to say, only blinking shyly as you attempt to cover your face, but Finnick pulls your hands away as he stares down at you with the same smirk.

“Don’t be shy honey, your whimpers and moans are music to my ears……besides, your voice turns me on so much, you have no idea.”

Finnick whispers into your ears, and you feel a tingling sensation in your stomach, ‘butterflies’ Finnick calls them. You blink, not knowing that that is what Finnick feels about the sounds you make, and it makes you feel better.

“Now..I’ll ask you again, sugar, what is it you called me, hmm?”

Finnick hums as he cocks his head with a small teasing smile, waiting for an answer.

“…Finny. I called you Finny..”

“Good girl.”

God save Finnick Odair from the things he is going to do to you.

———————————————————————————

A/N: to whoever had requested this, hope this is what you had wanted <3 Once again, all likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!

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a-aexotic · 1 year

Note

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

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bettysupremacy · 5 months

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

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

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

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

“Finnick.” You strain.

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

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick fanfic #finnick imagine #finnick fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #finnick angst #Finnick hurt/comfort #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n

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lucy-gray1075 · 4 months

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finnick odair who braids your hair after a long day at the beach. finnick odair who loves taking showers or baths with you, really anything that involves water and you is heaven to him. finnick odair who wants you to "just sit pretty like the princess you are" while he does all the chores. finnick odair who teaches you how to surf and then carries you home on his back when you get tired. finnick odair who is so protective of you it makes your heart hurt. finnick odair who is a terrible chef but insists on cooking for you anyways because his "pretty princess needs to relax." finnick odair who surprises you with jewelry he made himself from little seashells he collected at the beach. finnick odair who gives you baby fever when he teaches the local children how to fish.

#the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair headcanons #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick odair drabbles #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x y/n

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lovelybucky1 · 5 months

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no bc finnick would fuck you so hard and deep but say the sweetest things. like brain would be mush from how hard he'd be going but he'd be holding your hand and praising you♡

some little dialogue bits from finn 🫶🫶🫶

“you’ve got the sweetest fucking pussy, honey. could spend all day between your thighs. god, i’m addicted to you.”

“is it that hard to be a good girl? all you have to do is sit still and don’t cum until i say so.”

“you feeling good, baby? i can tell, you’re screaming your head off.”

“feel how deep i am in there, sweetheart. my dick’s all the way inside you. i know, i know you’re so full. but thats how you like it, you like being stuffed.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games smut #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

Text

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.”

tags: @tayrae515

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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ervotica · 5 months

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"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.”

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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

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ilguna · 5 months

Text

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle.

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case.

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise.

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder.

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack.

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up.

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively.

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees.

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—”

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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