#hunger drabbles

[etherealily]

same page? // f.odair

My other Finnick fics, if you have the time.

This was from my poll .

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings: Cuss words.

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

Desc. : Panem's most publicized situationship.

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Make them speculate.

Make them wonder.

Distract them.

Entice them.

Convince them.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, kissing your temple as he did so. Your insides turned. "Are we on or off today?"

"He didn't say."

"Hm.", he murmured against your forehead. "It's up to us, then."

You took a sip of your champagne.

Listen, Finnick Odair was a fucking menace.

Seven years. Seven years of this shit.

"Do you never wonder what it'd be like if we actually did end up marrying each other?"

"The entire Capitol would burn down.", you scoffed softly, eyes running around the room.

"Snow would be pissed, for one. It's a will-they/won't-they until we do."

"Which we won't."

He pouted, shaking his head as he brought your hand to his chest. "You wound me."

Your whirlwind romance had swept Panem off its feet. According to their knowledge, you'd first met at a Post-Games party, after your first time as a mentor, and you couldn't keep your eyes off each other. Cue the mess.

On and off. Sometimes, never, and always. That was you and Finnick, in the eyes of Panem.

It wasn't exactly all false. In the beginning it really had just been you, Finnick, and a couple of nights that neither of you wished to label. But there was no sex, that was what was morbidly hilarious here. Just deep, drunken conversations.

In Panem, the most intimate thing you could do with someone was not sex, no, it was developing a true connection, and that's what had happened all those nights — what had scared you both.

So sue you if you didn't want to label that shit. It'd only end badly for the both of you.

Sure, Finnick might have thought he might, possibly, maybe want more. But that was only on late nights when he was watching the moon or nostalgic footage of District Four on the TV, but at the end of the day, both of you knew this decision was the best.

Toxic, definitely, but at the end of the day, although his long string of dalliances followed his reputation everywhere he went, he always came back to you.

Panem thought it was because no matter how twisted, he always loved you.

Snow thought Panem would like that.

You preferred that than actually discussing with him why he always came back.

"Off.", you replied.

"We've been 'off' too many times this year. Snow's going to freak."

He was right. "Fine. Is Caesar here?"

His eyes flicked around the room, scoping it out. "Yes."

You groaned. "He's going to lip read, then."

Caesar Flickerman was a dynamic host as well as an expert lip-reader. You'd only found that out on your second year of this charade, when Finnick had been talking to you about missing home - taboo topic around the Capitol - and Caesar had caught it.

All over the news the next day. He'd had to cover it up and say he meant you were his home. The Capitol went positively feral.

"Look at you, all sexy.", Finnick whispered, with his maddening smirk. "For me?"

"For me." He rolled his eyes. Wrong answer, his glare told you.

"Tell me, gorgeous.", he breathed, hands placed tantalizingly and strategically on your shoulders. "Do the cameras love you as much as I do?"

His iconic line. He'd come up with it three years ago, and it was a cop-out for when he was too tired to come up with any other segue, and besides, the Capitol loved it. It was basically code for you to chill out on the responses, because he was way too exhausted that day.

"Do the cameras love you as much as your family does? Or do you just live here, now? In the Capitol? In the limelight?"

Wait, what?

"I live in my district. Most of the year." The hell was he doing?

"Do you now, beautiful? And why is it you're always here?"

"Why are you always here?"

"Photo ops, of course. Snow needs his best out here all the time to make the Capitol as spectacular-looking as he needs.", he replied, eyes glistening.

"I'm here for the same reason."

"Yes, but you act like you don't give a shit where you are. Like you winning the Games was nothing. Like you being bestowed with riches - more than most, actually, because of the hot little outfits that you model- is nothing. Impassive, deadpan, nonchalant, innocent but too-cool-for-school Y/N.", he mocked.

No way was he actually letting anyone lip read this.

"Caesar's not here, is he?"

He chuckled, nodding. "You're right. I just needed an excuse for you to listen."

"I will not have you judge me."

"Let me kiss you, Y/N."

"What?"

"Please."

"I am not going to let you kiss me. We've got... we can't act as if we've had this conversation in private. It has to progress slowly. Every single moment of ours must be 'accidentally' captured, and jus—"

"Same page?"

He always asked you that before he did something he thought would get the cameras off your back for a couple weeks.

"No! No, no, not this time, what?", you hissed through gritted teeth, doing your damndest to work on your ventriloquism skills.

He rolled his eyes, his lips moving to your cheek. "Let. Me. Kiss. You. I swear, you'll understand."

Finnick's knuckles on your jaw, he tilted his head, as if to say 'come on, I'm already this close'.

You acquiesced.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, before murmuring against them. "Kill Snow with me."

You didn't pull away, you didn't push him away, you didn't frown, you didn't scream. You just froze.

"Johanna— everyone, basically, is on board.", he said, in between kisses to your unresponsive lips. "And the Mockingjay. She... god, Y/N, please, I can tell you're two seconds away from killing me, but please—."

His kisses kept growing more feverish by the second, his hands cupping your face and using it to pull you closer. It was getting increasingly hard to ascertain whether he was addicted to your lips or the words he was corrupting them with.

"Finnick, Finnick, wait—"

"Please, please, Y/N." He was begging. He was pleading. "Just... shh."

"I'm not — stop.", you hissed, and he begrudgingly pulled away, though his lips lingered on your neck. "I'm not going to kill anyone. Not Snow, not you— though I should probably kill you for this. What if you're mic'd? Snow's done that befor—"

"You wouldn't be doing any of the killing, my love.", he smiled against your neck, his hands pulling you flush against his body, and something told you it wasn't even because this whole conversation was supposed to be a secret anymore.

He was drunk. You'd only seen Finnick drunk a couple times - the nights that had led you two to being friends (?) and being spotted talking (obviously fucking, according to the Capitol) - but it had never been this bad. He'd always had some form of control over his faculties.

"Finnick, there's cameras right now, we can't—"

"I'm in love with you, Y/N, more than the cameras."

One good thing about Finnick was that his words never slurred when he was psychotically, unforgivably inebriated. They simply hastened.

"Okay, Finnick, I'll get you back to your—"

"Like so much, and I—"

Before he could say something that could be picked up by the cameras around you and analysed by Caesar, you shook your head, covering his mouth with your palm.

He frowned, making unintelligible noises against your hand.

You rested your forehead against his as you whispered. "We'll talk about this later. Get some rest."

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Hours later, you knocked lightly on the door to his room before walking in gingerly.

He lay down, looking up at the ceiling as though it had every answer he could possibly need.

"Finnick?"

"I'm... a failure."

Shit. "Now, Finnick, remember what you have to do when you think like this? Think of your family. Who you're protecting."

"Oh, my god, princess, it's not himself he's disappointed at."

Johanna motherfucking Mason.

"Johanna?"

"In the flesh. But I won't be for long if you don't listen.", she reminded, elbow on her knee.

You closed the door behind you, locking it as you turned on the light. "You're in on this? It's crazy talk!"

"It's a rebellion. It supposed to sound out-there until you actually do it.", she snorted, hopping off the bay window and stretching.

"It's that District 12 Victor, isn't it? Everdeen-something? She's got you guys all riled up."

"Katniss Everdeen, yes. The Mockingjay."

"Jesus, you guys are all fuckwits."

"C'mon, baby, that's no way to be. I thought you were the polite, innocently sexy one? The one who could never even call someone stupid, let alone a fuckwit.", she pouted.

"Snow will kill everyone you've ever loved."

"He already is. Except it's slower, torturous. This way, we're nipping it at the bud so our kids don't have to go through this bullshit again. What about, uh, you two?", she teased, raising a brow as she gestured between you and a plastered Finnick groaning the headache away. "Your cute little Capitol-bred lovechild will still be made to go through the Games. You don't want that, huh?"

You groaned, yanking open the bedside drawer supply of water bottles, passing it over to him. "Jo."

She raised a brow, sitting next to you. "Y/N."

"You can't kill Snow."

"Watch me, sweetheart."

"Jo, this isn't even funny. She lucked out, alright? Katniss, you said her name was? She lucked out big time. Snow's seething. He's seething, and—"

"We know."

"Lie back down, Finnick, you're drunk."

"I'm hungover. This was a big deal for me, okay? I was nervous you'd react just like this and jeopardize it all, okay? Needed liquid courage. Cut me some slack."

"I'm leaving. I'm not going to fucking sit here and listen to you talk about a rebellion when the Capitol's at their strongest and Snow's at his angriest, it's your funer—"

"You're going back into the Arena!"

You paused at the doorway, your fingers on the frame like it was your only tether to reality. "What?"

"Heavensbee. He told us that the Quarter Quell will reap previous Victors."

"What?"

"Snow wants - needs - Katniss dead."

Your attempts to force breath to stay in your lungs proved futile when you realized exactly what that meant. "You guys are going to try protecting her?"

"We have to."

"No, actually, you don't. Finnick, please don't tell me you're going to volunteer if you aren't reaped."

He groaned, rubbing his face over his hands as he sat up. "There's one chance, and this is it. She is it."

Good lord, you were fucking surrounded by idiots.

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The moon was the only beauty you'd found in the Capitol.

Finnick had taught you to look at it. Especially when you were scared. Worried. Or feeling nothing. Or feeling everything. Or feeling too many things.

It worked, actually, but this time, you looked at the moon, and all you could remember was when eighteen-year-old Finnick pointed the moon out to newly-sixteen-year-old you.

"Beautiful, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you know it controls the tides?"

"What?"

"Yeah. That was my reaction when I first heard it, too!", he'd whispered. "It's your sweet sixteen, right? So just go ahead and pray that the tides change. Wish on the moon."

"Tides change?"

"You know, that this whole 'we're-in-love-spiel' can stop."

This had been the first ever year of this goldmine of a plotline for Capitol TV.

"I want to go home."

You'd said that some three times the past couple hours, but you knew Snow wouldn't let you do so.

"I know. Wish on the moon that you can do that, too. Wish on the moon you can spend all of your birthdays with the people you love. Well, besides me, of course.", he'd grinned, nudging your shoulder to make you laugh. "Just wish on the moon."

You'd closed your eyes to do just that.

"It'll take care of the rest.", he'd whispered.

Sweetest boy on Earth, he was back then.

Right now? Ugh. You wished on the moon that he'd get a brain.

A knock.

"What?!" Fine, snapping may not have been the best thing for you to be doing, as your blood pressure was already terrifyingly high.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, Finnick. Sure. Come in.", you mumbled, rubbing at your forehead.

"I... I can't even begin to apologise. Um... that was—"

"No, it's fine, you're good, it's wh—"

"No, that was... there is no excuse for that. Springing all that on you, and giving you all but five seconds to... I— I don't even know what I was thinking."

"Johanna got in your head, it happens.", you shrugged, watching as he frowned, sitting down opposite you on your bed, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Huh. Your tone was understanding, but your words gave him pause.

"Same page?"

"I'd say we are."

"I don't know.", he muttered, picking at his knuckles for a second before turning to you. "Are you with us?"

"Okay, we're not on the same page."

"I thought not."

"Finnick, this is madness. Snow is at his angriest because he got his ass handed to him by two kids from District Twelve. Twelve. Like...", you scoff-laughed, gesturing wildly to illustrate the sheer bizarrity of the situation. "That shit doesn't happen every day. He's got us both going on more calls because the Patrons need to be pacified. Hell, he's now planning to send us all back into the Arena?!"

"Exactly! Don't you think it's enough?"

"What? Finnick—"

"Enough bloodshed, Y/N, please! Yeah, we're Careers, but when has that ever meant we were safe from the bullshit of the Capitol? Hm?"

"This isn't about us being Careers. It's about the fact that you could die!"

"We're going to anyway! It's like Johanna said! He's killing us slowly! We won't be able to live with ourselves once we're old and not wanted anymore!"

"FINNICK!"

"What?!"

"The first rebellion caused the Hunger Games. What the fuck do you think a second rebellion is going to bring? Hm? Mass genocide of the Districts? An arena with even younger kids? Every rebel and their families becoming Avoxes?! Are you fucking insane?!"

He paused at that. Silence. Good. At least he wasn't deluded enough not to consider the probability of failure.

You stared at him for a little while, before sighing. He wasn't weak, far from it, but you had just violently burst his bubble, the only thing he probably had going for him. And it must have been huge -and have been on his mind for a long time, a perfectly formulated plan that he was very excited about - seeing as he hadn't said anything to you.

He had a habit of doing that.

He never wanted to give you anything that wasn't just perfect.

He'd brought you back this seashell one time. From District Four. It had taken about five months for him to find the perfect one, with the best weight, the best colour, shape, texture, girth, whole shebang.

He stored your return-gift of a trident - you were masonry and weaponry district, after all - in a literal vault in District 4, until you gave him a tiny charm-version. He wore that around his neck.

Another time, he'd decided he'd write you his impression of your district from his Victory Tour. But that day, he'd been incredibly nervous, so he didn't look anywhere but his feet, and oh, how they longed to be home! In the sand, with waves kissing at his heels.

He figured he'd pretend he'd seen you in the crowd, all those years ago. In reality, you'd have only been about twelve, though you were raised above your parent's heads, so it was possible he could have seen you.

He hadn't, though.

For the case of this very humble birthday present, however, he pretended like he did. He took the wildest guess he could, that your hair was not tied up that day, and began to talk of your home.

How lovely everything had seemed.

How excited you looked.

You loved it. You really had. And he loved that you loved it.

And this whole rebellion thing was no different. He knew you'd be reluctant, but he also knew you'd secretly pray on the success of it, and he'd meticulously spent ages going through everything, every single thing, to make sure it was absolutely perfect for you, to make sure you could never call it anything but the best gift you'd ever gotten.

This, though? This argument had thrown him for a loop. You had a point. One he hadn't thought of.

"I'm—", you sighed once more, shaking your head. "Hey, I'm sorry, I... that was harsh."

He bit the inside of his bottom lip. "Mm."

"Finnick, I really am."

"Yeah, I know. I just... what if we don't fail, though?"

Wish(on the moon)ful thinking.

"Then great. But is that a chance you really want to take?"

"What if it is?" It's quiet in your room, and his response is almost engulfed in the silence, but you manage to catch it.

"Don't you think that's what the First Rebels thought?"

You were just dynamite today, weren't you? Finnick loved it when you were like this, but a tiny bit less when it was directed against him.

At least he knew he was an inch closer to receiving your amazing hugs.

"Yeah. Yeah, no, for sure."

You nodded softly, and then he kissed you.

And once more, corruption blossomed on your lips. "But you're deluded if you think when we're in that arena, I'm letting you kill Katniss."

"I won't have to if my theory is right."

"What theory?", he scoffed against your lips, pulling you closer as his hands crept up into your hair.

"That Snow will do things specifically to kill Katniss, and the only way anything will ever work is if you, I dunno, find a way to save Katniss and yourself and Peeta and Joha—"

"We're hacking into the arena."

He really hated kissing you when you didn't reciprocate, but he had to for the next few seconds when you froze, before pulling you away. "What?"

"We're... I can't tell you, but we've got District 3 in on it, they're going to get a wire and basically, like—"

"What, blow up the arena? Are you sure you're feeling okay? Are you still hungover?", you asked, placing your palm on his forehead.

He rolled his eyes, taking it in his and kissing it once. "I promise, I am perfectly fine. And yes, we have a solid plan—"

"Holy shit, this is what you meant by 'the Capitol Patrons give me information' ? I figured it was about the next Games, so you could help your tributes win, not... fuck, Finnick! This is treason!"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!"

You glared at him as he stood in sheer fury. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Wow. Sweetest boy on earth and you'd made him miserable. How do you do it?

"It's alright."

"I don't care that it's treason, alright? But we need to end this bullshit. Okay? So I will ask you for the last ever time, Y/N, because you know that whatever you say next will affect whether we see each other again. Are you with us?"

You licked your lips, picking at the duvet. "Can I have some time?"

"Reaping Day."

"Reaping Day?"

"Reaping Day. I'm not even kidding."

Yeah, he almost never was.

Fuck.

"I'll tell you by Reaping Day."

"Okay."

He didn't leave. It was a long moment of either meeting or vehemently avoiding each others eyes.

"I'm sorry about the yelling.", he repeated.

"You're not volunteering."

"What?" He was halfway out the door when you said it, and he was this close to slamming it.

"If you're not reaped, you take it as the odds being in your favor and shut up. Alright?"

He turned to you, slamming the door and leaning on it with crossed arms. Incredulity painted his face. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Who are you to order me around? Fucking Snow?"

"I'm—"

"Who?! My on-screen-propaganda-lover?!"

That stung more than you'd expected it to.

"Fine. Fuck you! Go ahead and volunteer. Like a fucking dumbass. Go get yourself killed because you can't handle the truth! This is how it is and how it'll always be!"

"It doesn't have to!"

"Yeah, tell that to District 13!"

"Oh, if only you fucking knew!"

"Knew what?! That your half-baked 'plan' is bound to fail?!"

"If you're such a fucking loyalist, go tell Snow the big 'half-baked' plan!"

"Maybe I will!"

"Yeah, go! Go right now, scurry off, become the fearless Savior of Panem, the title of the Most Loyal goes to you!"

You stood, attempting to shoulder past him, but honestly, you should've known better. He grabbed your arm. "If you're going, stay on your knees in front of him so we can shoot you in the back of your head when we storm the Capitol." Pretty picture he could paint, you'd give him that. He could paint a dazzling romance and a grisly murder all just with words.

"That's if you do it. You won't."

"Yeah? Watch us."

You mirrored his clenched jaw. "Let. Go."

"You don't like me holding you?", he asked, tilting his head in mock curiosity.

"No."

"In the Snow regime, in the Capitol, sweetheart, that word has no meaning.", he spat.

"Does treason? Does murder? Does anarchy?"

"Snow gave you a comprehensive list of his favourite vocabulary, how cute."

"Oh, fuck off, Finnick, alright? Let go."

"Are you with us?" He shook your arm.

"No!"

"Are you with us?" More desperation this time. But he knew you, and his eyes held a calm that suggested he knew exactly where your heart lay. With him. With the idea of a free Panem.

"I'm not!"

"ARE YOU WITH US?!", he snapped, finally yelling once more.

"YES!"

The silence had snuck back in unnannounced.

"This is why I love you. You're a fucking trip."

Great. You were not only having to play an innocent, his lover and now a rebel, but you were also, evidently, to play jester for him, since he thought you were so fucking amusing.

"Do the cameras love you as much as I do?"

Oh, my god, he was being funny now, was he?

"Don't die.", you scoffed.

"Not if you won't. Same page?"

You scrambled to come up with a plan. Rig District 4's reaping? Fucking how? Beg Heavensbee for a glimpse into the arena? You barely knew if he was actually on your side, no matter how much Finnick seemed to trust him. Tell Snow and not include Finnick or Johanna or Katniss or — okay, too many variables. Oh! Wait! When he was busy protecting Katniss in the arena, you'd be busy protecting him. Okay. Could work. Right, okay.

He kissed your temple, looking down at you expectantly. He had no idea what he'd do if you hated his gift. "Right.", he muttered, after a little while of watching you play with the hem of his shirt. "I gave you till Reaping Day."

You nodded, and he whistled lowly, looking out at the window, his eyes brightening. "But... you know it's Full Moon Day today.", he grinned.

So you two sat there watching the moon for... quite a while, actually.

Wishing that the other would just fucking listen for once.

Finnick Odair was a fucking menace.

But he was also the sweetest boy you knew.

So, if you had to be on the same page, you would be.

"Same page.", you affirmed, finally, when it got too late and his hands went slack around your shoulder, and your eyes started getting heavy. You were truly, in entire honesty, unable to fathom a future where the rebellion worked and Panem was free.

But your plan was at least still intact. No matter how this clearly poorly thought out rebellion went.

At least, with your plan, he'd be alright, either way.

At least he'd live.

[slaymitchabernathy]

coriolanus snow definitely has this cup.

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

Part Two

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister, Mabel, with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked. 

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel Mabel’s breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home. 

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Arcturus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, never to be recovered, because it was followed up by a small yet firm: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world square himself against his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were protesting, crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior, was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games. 

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat, only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his dirtied face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds of the carriage were shut. 

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage. 

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius. 

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor. At just 14, he had made history.

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace. 

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. No one seemed willing to talk about him either. You were left completely and utterly alone. 

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptor, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you except those two harrowed names.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed tighter, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions – alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger, you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage. 

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air. 

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No. 

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish. 

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers that he had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was. 

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time. 

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway. 

“Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers. You were lucky enough in 7 that their presence was limited.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice. 

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body. 

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”. 

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life. 

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t. 

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when you saw him last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering. 

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently. 

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!” 

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete. 

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.” 

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately. 

“Sirius–”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

Part Two can be found here<3

[bruisedboys]

hi!! could you write something about r and finnick in the quarter quell and they are in an established relationship? maybe j how they are with each other in general, and how others perceive them? hope that makes sense xxx

hi lovely, you requested this forever ago but I hope you’re still around to read it!! thank you for your request x

finnick odair x tribute!reader (quarter quell)

“It’s so hot.”

Finnick hums beside you. You’re both stretched out on the damp jungle floor, sweat shining on your foreheads. It’s so sticky in here. Peeta’s alseep a little ways to your left, and you and Finnick are supposed to be asleep too, but it’s much too hot for that. Katniss is perched on a rock keeping watch.

Your boyfriend props himself up on one elbow. Despite the heat, despite the frankly terrible day you’ve had, despite everything, he’s still so pretty. And he’s still yours. For as long as you can both stay alive, at least.

“Do you want me to get you some more water?” He asks. The tips of his curls glow in the soft white moonlight. He brings a hand to your face and brushes some hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. “Might help.”

You nod, turning your head to the side to kiss his palm. You think it’s sweet that he’s still trying to make this okay for you, even though it’s far from that. “That would be nice.”

“Alright. I’ll be two seconds, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

He squeezes your shoulder before getting up and moving away. You hear him ask Katniss for the spile, hear the thud thud thud as he knocks it into a tree.

A few quiet moments pass, and then there’s a soft rustling to your left. You startle, but it’s just Peeta, rolling onto his back. Apparently the heat’s keeping him up, too.

“He’s different to what I expected,” he says quietly.

You roll onto your side. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I just … didn’t expect him to be so nice. He’s really lovely to you.”

You hum. You get what he means. Finnick might put on a show of arrogance, but it’s nothing but that. Just a show, for the Capitol, for Snow. Alone with you, with the people he cares about, he’s the sun, warm and bright.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “He’s lovely.”

Heavy footsteps crunch towards you and Finnick appears out of the half dark, a leaf cupped in his hand, water sloshing inside of it.

“Hey.” He kneels next to you, grinning, his dimples sinking into his tanned cheeks. “What’re we talking about?”

You lift yourself onto your elbows and smile at him. “Just you.”

“Oh, really?” Finnick raises his eyebrows as he gets one hand behind your back, helping you sit up properly. He brings the leaf to your mouth and helps you drink, his hand steady at the small of your back. “Were you telling Peeta how good of a boyfriend I am?”

Peeta audibly sighs, but you just smile at Finnick, properly lovelorn.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Something like that.”

Finnick grins wolfishly and presses a chaste kiss to your mouth.

[ervotica]

“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.

[allisluv]

aaahh yay for a new charger!! Hmmm ok if it tickles your fancy, can I request a Finnick x reader fic post-rebellion where she’s feeling perhaps a touch soft, maybe not even realizing it (like just a heavy/triggering day where she’s feeling anxious) and Finnick knows, doesn’t comment on it, just hovers/takes over stuff for her to lessen her load? (Sorry if it doesn’t make sense - I got excited & wanted to send something in hahaha)

farmers market.

pairing: finnick o'dair x shy!wifey

content warnings: reader is having a rough go of it, use of petnames, pre-established relationship, set post-rebellion, finnick is so soft and sweet it's giving me a tooth ache (/pos), teasing, banter, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, not edited.

word count: 2k

author's note: elle, i hope you don't mind me writing this one for finnick x shy!wifey! i hadn't intended to originally but i started writing and i was like this is so them coded for me not to, you know? so, without further ado... here's my first finnick x shy!wifey oneshot. requests for them are open!! please do note that this can be read as a finn x reader insert too if you prefer that!! also this is my first time writing in a hot minute so please be kind. reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

Bad days tend to creep up on you like the calm before the storm, and without really knowing why, you welcome those days back like an old friend.

Its strange, when you think about it; you would think that the promise of a life without a constant war would feel reassuring but in reality, all it does is instil you with greater fear, and that is saying something.

In no way shape or form are you saying that you would have preferred to live under Snow's rule-- even less under Coin. You're simply saying that it feels terrifying to have this glorious taste of freedom, when in the back of your mind, there's a voice that reminds you it could all be taken away from you in a matter of seconds.

Finnick can tell something is weighing heavily on your mind when you toss and turn in bed all night. He combs his fingers through your hair, and presses soft kisses to your forehead, but no amount of comfort is able to soothe those reeling thoughts.

Eventually, you manage to doze off with Finnick's arms wrapped tight around you. Still, your sleep is broken and even then, you cant escape your anxiety.

Finnick watches over you as you rest. When a crease forms between your brows, an indicator that your dreams are not being kind to your weary soul, he uses his thumb to smooth it out. When a pitiful whine slips past your parted lips, he holds you closer and mutters words of reassurance into your hairline.

It's nearing noon when you finally start to stir. Finnick's arm had gone dead long before now, but he figures the pins and needles that shoot through his arm are well worth it if he has you in his arms like this. He watches as your eyes lazily flutter open and you absentmindedly sink deeper into his embrace. "Hi," He whispers into the silence. You wipe your eyes and mumble something incoherent. He smiles. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

You hum sleepily as you nuzzle your cheek against his bare chest. He is warm and soft and he smells like home. You can't help noticing the absent scent of saltwater and a frown tugs at the corner of your lips. "You didn't go swimming?"

Finnick wraps his ankle with yours under the duvet. "Didn't want to."

Your frown deepens and even in your half-asleep state you know he's lying, so naturally, you call him out on it. "I call bullshit." You try to sit up straighter but he eases you back down onto his chest with a quiet hum. "Why didn't you go? You always go swimming in the morning."

He kisses your forehead. "Maybe I just wanted to stay here with you." His fingers trace a path up your back. He normally does go swimming every morning; it's somewhat of a ritual for him. But he doesn't want to leave you when he knows you're having a rough go of it, especially when you're almost as stubborn as him and won't ask for his help. "Is that okay with you?" He teases.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but his hands are gentle and soft on your body, and it eases some of the pent up tension in your frame. "Hmph. I suppose so." It's meant to be a joke, but your voice falls flat.

He doesn't seem to mind. He knows you're bound to be snippy or sad or on edge or all of the above. Hes had his own fair share of triggering days since the war ended and he's been the exact same. He just gives a quiet hum so you know he isn't ignoring you, and then he allows the silence to settle.

There's still a pit of unease in your stomach, but it's lessened slightly by his presence. "What time is it?" You ask after a while.

Finnick cranes his neck to one side to check the alarm clock on the bedside locker. "One."

You swear you give yourself whiplash as you shoot up and he grunts softly at the loss of contact. "In the afternoon?"

"No, in the morning. See the stars outside?" Finnick deadpans, trying to lighten the mood. You shoot him a withering look, and he grins and sits up now, too. "Its alright, angel. We're allowed to have a lie in every now and then." He soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder blade.

"We've got to go grocery shopping today," You argue, but it's a weak protest, even to your own ears.

"And we've got plenty of time," He responds patiently, smoothing his hand up and down your back once more. "It's a Sunday. The market doesn't close until seven. Just relax, my love. It's all okay." He knows you need to keep yourself busy on days like this; it's a way to remind yourself that you're controlling something.

He shifts onto his knees, the bedframe creaking underneath him, and wraps his arms around your midsection. "It's all okay." He promises. A kiss to your shoulder again. "We can get changed and leave right now if you want to, alright?"

You melt into his touch before giving a stiff nod. Maybe if you're out of the house, it'll ease your worries a bit, or at the very least distract you. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss to your neck this time around. "Okay."

"Yeah? That sound like a plan?"

You nod, more relaxed this time. "Yeah."

Finnick gets changed in a matter of minutes, and is ever so patient as he waits for you. He watches you flit between your wardrobe three or four times, choosing an outfit and changing your mind once you go to put it on,

"I'm sorry," You say quietly on your fifth time around. Your deft fingers anxiously toy with the hem of your sleep shirt as you sift through the contents of your wardrobe.

He's perched on the edge of the bed, and he offers you a gentle smile as he sees your fingers move to your mouth. You gnaw on a hangnail, and he pushes down the urge to lovingly scold you. "It's okay. Take all the time you need, angel. I'm in no rush."

Once you're finally dressed and out of the door, Finnick can't help but notice the way your eyes dart around nervously. He knows that you're no doubt feeling more wary, and he wants nothing more than to help soothe your heightened emotions. "So, angel, I was thinking." He slips his hand into yours as you move. He doesn't seem to mind how damp your palm is.

"Hm?" Your head whips around to see him. "Sorry?"

"I was thinking." He repeats patiently, matching your pace. He knows that you need a distraction right now and he Is more than eager to be of assistance. "There's this lovely cove off the coast. Malcom-- you'd know him, he's the coast guard-- was telling me about it. It's about an hour or two from here by boat. It's meant to be gorgeous out there. I was thinking we could go snorkelling there one day, if you'd like."

"I've never been snorkelling," You remind him softly.

He squeezes your hand. "I know. I could teach you." He offers. "We'd be able to make it a day trip. We could bring a picnic for the boat and we could sail for a while before getting to the cove." He presses a kiss to your cheek. "What do you think?"

The weight in your chest is shifting now that you're not tangled up in your thoughts. You can breathe a bit easier. "Yeah." You nod. "It could be fun. When were you thinking?"

Finnick hums in thought. "Maybe the day after tomorrow? If you're up for it. We can always do it later, I'm easy." He shrugs.

You nod. "Sounds like a plan."

The market is practically empty when you two arrive. Finnick insists on carrying the wicker basket you brought with you, and he follows your lead as you drift between stalls.

On your way out of the market, he tugs you toward a jewellery stall. Without even giving you time to ask what he's doing, he holds up a necklace, testing it against your complexion, before turning to the seller. "I'll take this one please."

You arch an eyebrow and give his hand a tug. "What're you doing?"

"Buying you a necklace." He replies simply.

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"You don't have to."

"I said I want to, not that I have to." He corrects you, pressing a kiss to your joined hands. He pays the vendor for the necklace and secures it in the basket before letting you lead him out of the gazebo.

It doesn't take long to get back home, even with your goods from the market weighing you down. Finnick flicks on the air-con once you are inside, and once he sees you moving to turn the stove on, he secures his arms around your waist and practically manhandles you all the way back to the sofa. "Nope. Not happening."

"What are you--"

"Youre gonna sit there and watch something or read or... I don't know, do whatever you want while I cook dinner." He grins as he lets go and you flop down on the sofa. You open your mouth to complain, but he simply kisses you quiet before pulling away and pecking your head. "I have it covered. Don't worry about it, okay? Just relax. It's fine. Relax."

You sigh, but admit defeat, anyway. "Alright. Just... don't burn the house down."

Finnick arches a brow. "Are you doubting my cooking abilities?"

"Yes."

"Says the one who nearly did burn the house down making toast on my birthday."

"That was one time! And I was doing something nice!"

Finnick laughs and pecks your forehead again before sauntering into the kitchen. He's glad you seem to be feeling a bit better. "I know. But it still happened." He calls over his shoulder.

It doesn't take long for you to follow him into the kitchen; you're a tad bit clingy when you're feeling anxious like this. He doesn't make any remarks on it; he simply taps the countertop beside him in invitation and goes back to stirring a pot of sauce.

You swing your legs back and forth before finally finding your voice. "Finn."

He glances up from the pot. "Yeah, baby?"

You sigh. You've never been very good at naming your feelings, even when you were a kid. It makes you feel stupid. "I'm anxious today." You finally blurt out.

Finnick turns down the heat on the stove to give you his undivided attention. He nods sympathetically. "I know. Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head. "No. I'm just letting you know."

He nods. "That's okay. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You've done more than enough," You rush to say.

"That's not what I asked." He retorts gently. "Is there anything you need?"

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Asking for what you needed or wanted was also another thing you weren't very good at, but Finnick doesn't make you feel silly for it, and it feels easier to tell him. "Can I have a hug?"

Finnick wastes no time in reaching for you. His arms fit around you as snugly as possible but it doesn't feel constricting. It just feels safe. He rests his chin atop your head and nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Love you."

"I love you," You reply, melting into him. You can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips when you see the steam bubbling from the pot over his shoulder. "Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah, angel?" He pulls away just enough to smooth your hair out of your eyes.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's awful at cooking."

He frowns and looks over his shoulder when you laugh. "Shit!"

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii I don’t know if you are taking requests….but if you are I have a slightly odd one of you don’t mind.

I was just rewatching the hunger games and idk if you have read or seen the book/movies but I was wondering if you could do any of the marauders x reader in a sort of hunger games AU?

Okay hear me out… it’s like the cave scene in the first movie, one of the marauders (your choice) is injured and the reader finds them and tries to help them and it’s angsty with hurt/comfort and confessed feelings and the reader is like “I need to go get medicine for you” and the marauder is like “no I don’t want you to risk your life for me”

Anyways just a silly little idea bc I love your writing smmm

<3333

Babe calling this idea "silly" is absolutely absurd of you haha, thanks for the request <3

cw: disabled Remus, typical thg universe angst, imaginings of death

tribute!Remus x tribute!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Since Remus’ name was drawn at the reaping, he’s known he was going to die. He can’t run fast or far. He’s no good for throwing spears or swinging an axe or really wielding anything that requires him to use both hands. He doesn’t have the charisma or good looks to win sympathy from sponsors. His best bet was always to survive on the vegetation in the arena for as long as he could and then curl up in some hidden place like a sick cat to die. 

But you. Lovely, generous, softhearted you. You just won’t let it happen. 

Your cave is damp. Dirt clings to Remus’ clothes and the air tastes of mildew. Every now and again, a drop of water will fall somewhere to his left, making an echoey plopping sound in some unseen puddle. It’s the loudest noise that’s passed through the cave for nearly an hour. Maybe it’s that taut silence that makes Remus’ voice come out so soft. 

“You’re not really thinking of going.” 

“I’m not?” you hum, noncommittal. 

“No. You’re too smart for that.” He watches your face carefully. You’re looking down at your hands, practicing knots on a bit of rope, but at his words your brow tenses. Remus says gently, “You know it’d be a fool’s errand, and you’re not a fool.” 

Your eyes flicker up to his. Dark in the low light of the cave, though it’s daytime outside. They’re Remus’ favorite color. “It doesn’t seem foolish to me.” 

“It is,” he practically pleads. “It is.” 

“Remus.” Your expression is resolute. “You need medicine.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do.” 

“It won’t matter.” His right leg is as fucked as it’s always been. Remus wasn’t allowed his cane in the arena, though it hardly mattered; even when he found a good stick to use as a substitute, he was never going to be as fast or as lethal as the other tributes. The throwing knife that sliced through his left thigh seemed almost a cruel joke of fate. Now he truly is useless. “I’m no good to you.” 

“Yes, you are,” you insist stubbornly. You tug at the knot you’ve made, tossing the rope away from you.

“Sweetheart,” he gentles his tone, “I’m not. This is nothing to give your life for.” 

“What about yours?” 

Remus gnaws the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell you what he’s known for weeks; that he was never going to make it out of here. That he was never driven by survival, only a half-desperate hope to distract the careers well enough to keep you safe. Now, your safety relies on him in a different, much more frightening way. 

You move closer to him. Your hand twitches as if on instinct toward the torn-up shirt bandaging his leg, seemingly forgetting for a moment that you checked on the wound only a couple hours before. 

“If they have medicine there,” you say, your voice gone quiet, “it could save you.” 

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Remus looks at you imploringly. “If they have medicine, and if you’re able to get it back here, and if it works, I still won’t be any use to you.” 

“Would you stop saying that?” You sound pained. “I don’t care about how useful you are. You’re not a tool.” 

“Y/n, these are the games,” he says. “Please, listen to me. I’m the worst ally in this arena. You need someone who can protect you. Or if not that, at least someone who can watch your back and keep up with you. I can’t do any of those things.” 

“I don’t need you to.” Your hand lays over his on the cold stone floor of your little home. Remus thinks he might be trembling. He loves you so hopelessly it twinges like a stitch in his side when he breathes. Your next words come out in a whisper. “They said tributes from the same district can win together. All I need is for you to stay alive.” 

Remus shakes his head. It hurts him to make you so solemn, but he needs you to understand. “That rule won’t do us any good if you die first.” 

“I won’t.” You sound surer of yourself than Remus thinks can possibly be true. “I’ll go tomorrow, at night—” 

“The careers will be waiting.” 

“—and I’ll make some sort of distraction somewhere else to be sure they’re not around. It’ll be quick.” 

“You can’t know that will work.” Remus’ voice scratches against the emotion welling in his throat. “They could leave someone behind to keep watch, or they might not go at all.” 

You’re resolute. “It’s our best bet.” 

“Our best bet is for you to stay here.” He’s definitely trembling now. He doesn’t care. You can chalk his shining eyes up to the fever or whatever you wish, all that matters is that he convinces you. “Please, y/n. Please. I’m asking you not to do this. Not for me. It isn’t worth it.” 

“It’s not just for you.” Your fingers tighten over his hand. In the dark of the cave, some of your fear finally shines through. “It’s worth it to me. I need you to be okay. And I’m—I’m sorry if you want to die peacefully, but I can’t just watch it happen.” 

Remus shakes his head. His thoughts won’t stop running a feverish, horrific loop—your terrified, panting breaths as you sprint away with the careers on your heels; you not returning by the nightfall, and Remus crawling outside to watch your picture project across the false sky; your mutilated corpse being scooped up by a hovercraft’s unfeeling claws, a vial of useless medicine falling from your pack to lie on the forest floor. 

“I can’t help you,” he says. “You can’t go. I won’t do you any good.” 

“Remus.” You say his name like your throat tightens around it. Like a wish, or an ache. “I can’t do this without you. Okay? I won’t make it. I need you.” 

Remus feels like his chest is cracking open. “Why?” 

“Because I do,” you say, and now it’s you who sounds pleading. “I just do.” 

You’re both silent for a heartbeat, one that feels too heavy in Remus’ chest. And he finally understands. Maybe it’s something he’s known for a while, only he hasn’t wanted to know. Because it’s so, so much easier to think that he could just die here, with this awful, twinging, unrequited love for you, and you could simply go on. It’s worse if you both have to weather the ache. 

“I need you more,” Remus tells you selfishly. 

“It’ll be okay.” You lean against his side, letting his head rest on your shoulder and combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you all healed up, and then we’ll get out of here together, yeah?” 

Remus has about a thousand and one objections to that. The first being that he’s simply never letting you leave this cave until the packs of supplies are surely gone and you need to go out again to find food. Whatever you think, his life isn’t worth you risking yours. He’ll restrain you if he has to, or threaten to crawl out of the cave and shout until somebody comes to kill him and your fruitless mission is truly for naught, or do whatever he has to to keep you from letting your tender heart get you killed. 

But for tonight, you’re still safe. He can indulge you in your sweet fantasy. So Remus only utters a soft, “Yeah,” waits for your breaths to even out, and goes to sleep. 

[ficmenrhot]

Possession and Jealousy /drabble/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[etherealily]

green // f.odair

This is essentially a blurb, but then again, it's too long to be one. Just go with it.

My other Finnick fics, if you have the time.

This was from my poll .

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings: Cuss words + mentions of what they did to Finnick.

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

Desc. : Showing you the ropes.

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The mirror lies to him. It always has, always will.

Finnick looks away from it, head snapping at the sound of the door clicking. Smile, smile, smile. He watches the hinges as the sight of them slowly gets covered by the actual door , and continues smiling as his eyes move to who enters.

His smile drops. As does yours.

"Odair?"

"You?", he asks, his eyes no longer surprised but ferocious, the pain that usually takes reign of them overthrown by fury. "What are you doing here?"

His favourite and most troublesome tribute. You seemed to hate him for reasons lost on him. He had helped you win, hadn't he? Why the animosity? Perhaps that was not something he was to learn in this lifetime.

Your eyes look down, then around.

Okay, no. You were lost, you poor kid. "Yo, I think you got the wrong room. You lost or sum'n?", he asks, willing himself not to look over to the mirror and ensure that his eyes don't give it all away.

"No.", you sneer. "I'm not." Classic. He almost tells you to relax.

"Why are you at the Capitol then, kid?"

"I told you, you're almost the same age as me, don't call me that."

"And I told you, that doesn't matter. What matters is that I won the Games five years before you. So, there. Now, answer me. Why are you at the Capitol? You should be at home, being a nuisance to your mom and dad.", he says, adding in the insult that keeps your interactions as familiar as possible.

"Why are you at the Capitol? You should be at home packing your trinkets from the Victor's Village so that you continue being a shitty mentor.", you spit back.

Okay, everything is going as normal as he could hope for it to. Animosity, check. Snappiness, check.

"Wow. Remember, I was your mentor, and you won. So, I probably did something right."

"No, all you did was drink and party with Capitol people. On the off-chance that you did talk to me, you just told me the bare minimum.", you hiss, narrowing your- fuck - beautiful eyes. But there's something else. You're fidgety, constantly looking halfway out at the hallway, and halfway to him.

Okay, ouch. But... fair. He can't fault that, seriously. That is what he was doing back then.

"Alright. You win this one. Now, shoo."

"What do you mean, shoo? I'm supposed to be here.", you mutter, though you make no effort to actually walk in, as if you're waiting for him to do something first.

"No, you're not. You looking to raid the pantry before you leave for home with all your Victor-riches? I know where it is."

"No. This is room 580, right? I'm meant to be here."

No. No. No. No.

It takes a while. Perhaps a whole minute.

"Sweetheart...", he breathes finally, unable to trust himself to say your name, as though that would cement this moment to reality. Fuck.

Your eyebrows furrow. You've never been called that before. And definitely not by him.

"What?", you ask, still attempting to maintain the hostility you're both so used to, your unrelenting gaze betraying it. You're curious. You're worried. You're realizing.

"Are you... here 'cause of Snow?" He can barely get those blasted words out without coughing up blood, all Snow-esque.

Your eyes widen. He grips the edge of the vanity, his nails digging in, just as you grasp the door handle, clenching your jaw.

"No. Pfft. What? What does that even mean?"

Okay, now is not the time for this 'pfft, no' bullshit. He's been through the same dose and it's not a pretty sight.

"Y/N. Look at me. Answer me."

You shrug. "Okay, yeah. Uh, he assigned me this room to stay in for a while, okay? My family has to move out, first, right? They're renovating the Victor's Village house, so I gotta hang out here till it's done. What's it to you?"

That was almost the same excuse he'd used.

"How much you going for?"

"What? How much am I going for? You know the prizes that Victors get isn't varied , right? It's the same for everyone. You probably got the same thing. Actually, I remember the year you won. You definitely got the same thing. A house, food, and—"

"Jesus, Y/N, how much is Snow renting you out for?!"

You absolutely freeze, grip loosening on the handle, and your sanity, too, it seemed.

He doesn't meet your eye. How could he? After he'd just essentially summarized the cause for his (and now your) internal turmoil in about eight words? He really needed to be patient, but he wasn't particularly that sort of person, especially in matters like this. Time was literally running out, because in two seconds, the door behind you would widen and some Capitol freak would walk into his fucking wet dream come true.

You're quiet for a long while, and he can't help but chew on the inside of his cheek. He'd fucked up. He was more used to it than you were, that's for sure, but it didn't help to just say it so casually. It might land in your head that this was somehow less terrible than it actually was.

He turns back to the mirror, preferring to see his own face than yours, but that just makes it worse, because the fucking asshole in the mirror had just made an already traumatic ordeal sound like a casual Tuesday.

Shit, shit, shit.

He goes back to working on himself. The hair. It should be strategic and sexy. It should be—

"Five hundred thousand.", you whisper, voice hoarse and shame-filled.

Fuck. He was about to kill himself. He did that. He did that to you. He'd figured if he acted like you didn't matter to him, or that you were rough around the edges, Snow would've spared you, but clearly not.

He swallows, pursing his lips as he nods, sniffing slightly and adjusting his hair before saying, "I go for six."

He doesn't even have to have been turning around to know that your jaw has dropped. That everything's clicking. Why he was a shitty mentor. Why he was always drinking or partying with Capitol residents. Why he was almost never seen around the District. Why Snow had (probably) said that the experience was going to be familiar.

"So you requested me?"

His eyes widen, and he swivels around in record speed. "Excuse me?"

"So it was you who requested me. So that you could have one night of peace instead of with a Capitol Resident."

He can't even scoff anymore. He's just staring at you incredulously. He understands your mind's immediately going to what you would do, but seriously. You can't possibly think he would toy with your emotions like that.

"You think that I would willingly put someone through that anxiety? No, sweetie, we were both requested."

Okay, he's coming off kinda condescending, but he didn't have time to brace you for everything. He can't just show you the ropes here. It's not like mentoring for the Games. Though, it's very much like the Games. The not knowing who will attack. The survival instinct. The fear.

"Both? Like... us ?"

"Yes, us. You, me, and some Capitol sicko."

"Three people? How would that even—", you cut yourself off, closing the door and locking it behind you.

Like that'll help.

"You got the tattoo yet?"

"The what?", you snap, glaring up at him. As if he did this to you. Actually, yeah, he did do this to you, passively. And he'll beat himself up for the rest of his life.

"The tattoo.", he repeats, frowning. "Y'know, the, uh... wait, hold on. Is this your first... ever ?"

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You frown, immediately at the same defence that he'd been in when he was fourteen. "Yes. So? I'm eighteen, it's weird that it's not yours.", you spit, before your face softens slightly. At least it softened. At least you clearly didn't mean that.

You don't even have to say sorry. It's not like it's going to change anything anyway.

"Well, I meant is this your first time with a Capitol cunt , or the first time ever?"

It takes a moment. He can't imagine what this conversation must feel like as a girl, so he gives you the moment gladly.

"Ever."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Jesus. Do you, uh..."

"Yeah, I know how it works .", you say, clenching your jaw once more as you stare straight ahead, at the bed that you're going to lose your virginity - and part of your soul- in.

"I was going to ask , do you want me to cover for you?"

"Cover for me? What, you'll do all the work?"

"No, I mean... actually, yeah. I'll do it. I'll say you're unable to make it, or you're late. And once the hour is up, they'll leave, and you'll be in the clear. This time."

He needs to add that last part, because it's more likely you're going to have to go it alone most of the time. Such weird-ass requests were rare. Too rare to expect this to always be the case, but at the same time... too common to brush off.

"They'll get mad. You know they will. They'll say this isn't what they paid for."

"Then I'll fucking blindfold them! Seriously, Y/N. Just... let me handle this, alright?"

His magnanimity would be short-lived if you kept smart-mouthing him. He was this close to just letting you face the whole thing the way it was supposed to be ; the way he'd had to. With no cushion and no easing the blow.

But he wasn't even remotely that cruel.

"Go. No, wait, wait. No, don't leave, there's cameras outside. In there. In the restroom. Go."

He may have lost your respect then, but as long as you also lost your animosity, he was fine.

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It took a while for you to stop apologising, and an even longer while for him to show you the ropes. Like, actually show you the ropes. How to while away time to make sure most of the hour was just you talking, no matter how filthy your words were. How to get them to talk for longer. How to live with yourself, though he hadn't particularly mastered that one yet.

And thus evolved a pattern. After every single sickening time a Capitol cunt paid to touch you, you walked straight out the door and into Finnick's arms once the hour was up. You never spoke about it, and it both irked him and soothed him. Because one, how could someone go through that with no protest? Even he'd lost some sanity his first month or so. But two, he couldn't handle hearing it happen to you, so perhaps that was a blessing in disguise.

You changed, too, and in a strange sort of dichotomy, these miniscule differences were both exactly what he'd gone through, and the opposite.

For instance, you spoke less. Ditto.

However, you became colder. Not just to the touch, but your heart, as well. That did not happen for Finnick, in fact, he'd go so far as to say he became someone with much greater appreciation for the humanity of doing something with your entire heart, with emotion.

The only indication that you were still you was if you two were on his couch and an advertisement with him came on it and you let out a scoff, because 'his hair isn't even good enough to promote that'.

He'd smile. "Green's a beautiful colour on you."

You'd flip him off and he'd side-hug your shoulder.

It was worse, though, when Snow was on TV.

Which he almost always was, because the dear President was the light of Panem's lives, yes? Because then, you'd throw absolutely anything in your line of sight at the TV and his hard work of bringing things back from Four all preserved and lovely would go to waste.

The first couple times it happened, he'd just watched.

That being said, maybe about the fourth time, he held you back, didn't let you scream, didn't let you feel anything but his arms around you and his chin on your head. You kicked and screamed, and honestly? Finnick had taken a huge risk.

That move could've gone either way.

You could've felt the same as you did with the Capitol patrons and been severely triggered.

Thankfully, though, you didn't. You just writhed and struggled until you couldn't anymore, and when you went limp against his chest, you allowed him to stroke your tear-streaked hair out of your face, and look into your reddened eyes with concern so insurmountable you almost pushed him away and hid yourself from him forever.

But with his grip on you like a vice, you really couldn't.

"Breathe.", he coached, his thumbs rubbing arcs on your cheeks.

"Don't do that."

He tilted his head in question, though he didn't have a question, truly. He knew. "Don't what?"

"Make me look crazy."

"You're not crazy."

"I know, but you're acting like I am."

"I'm just helping you out. It's not an attack on you."

"You're holding down my arms and legs."

"You'd have broken the TV."

"So? It's a Capitol TV."

He nodded, letting go of you. "You're right. Go ahead. Throw the remote at the TV. Poetic justice or something."

"What?"

Schooling his face, he shrugged, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. "I totally get it."

"Well, I'm not doing it now. The moment's over."

"Mm-mm. No, you wanna make a scene, you commit to the bit."

"The bit?!"

"Yes, the bit of you being a fucking idiot and breaking an extremely expensive Capitol TV and turning my floors into a hazard by having glass shards all over it."

Silence.

"This is the part where you impart wisdom?"

"No, this is the part where I tell you something and you choose whether to go with it or not. We don't get many choices, you and I, do we? But I'm giving you the luxury of one now."

He waited, and when the nod came and you hugged your arms around your knees, he sat straight. "You can keep your composure and show that no matter what, you're stronger. District Four is, and always will be, stronger than anything the Capitol can throw— that Snow can throw at us. But then again, you could also smash pictures of him and bad mouth him and— hell yeah, break TVs whenever they show their face until even the static goes static."

"Those are my choices? Stoic or stupid?"

"Stoic or stupid.", he snorted, nodding. "Exactly. Unless you can think of a better one. And if you say Second Rebellion—"

"I'm not that idiotic.", you mumbled.

"So? What's it going to be?"

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"To be stoic? Because I, uh... I don't want everyone back home to think I'm some sort of—"

"Sellout?"

You nodded.

"It hurts. Yeah. But it hurts Snow more."

"I doubt it. He probably just sends more and weirder patrons."

"I get secrets, sometimes.", he offered.

"What?"

"Information. I get it. You could probably get something else you want. Access to things you want to send home? Hell, you could even get one of the treasurers to wire money to specific—"

"Finnick."

"What?"

"I'll be stoic. But only because of your whole District Four pride spiel. I don't need any special things. I don't need a thing from the Capitol."

A smile slowly took hold of his face. "Yeah?"

"You're really good at this giving-speeches thing. On TV, and in real life. Bleh."

"Green's a beautiful colour on you."

It all went great, actually. He successfully averted a crisis of you going apeshit and getting you and the rest of your District annihilated, and he didn't lose an arm doing it.

But then he did what he'd trained himself not to do.

He got personal. He got attached.

Fancy talk for he fell in love with you.

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"Seashells."

"The sea."

"The marketplace."

"Mera's Reaping Day casserole?"

"Oh, yeah, no, you win.", you relented, your hands up in mock surrender.

"I figured. Checkmate."

"That's officially the best thing about being back in the District."

"'Seashells' you said.", he scoffed, shaking his head, his mind saturated with his tirumph.

"Have you seen a single seashell in the Capitol that wasn't a replicated, plastic, flimsy piece of gaudiness? The seashells here are real and imperfect, as they should be."

"That's true.", he nodded. "But still. I want it now. The casser—hey, don't do that, come on, c'mere, I won the Games once, I can do it again.", he sighed, bringing your head to rest on his chest so you didn't seethe or cry or whatever it was you were about to do at the prospect of losing him. You'd never been in this position before, and he didn't want to find out what your reaction would be, because it'd just lead to him breaking down, too.

"You're not supposed to be going back in."

"Yeah, well, I'll be sure to file a complaint. I don't get too long, you know that. We need to go, Mags and I, okay? I promise, the destination's much better than the journey. Yeah?"

"What?" Now was not the time for this cryptic riddle bullshit.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You'll get it. Don't worry, alright? I got this."

"You said the same thing before my Games."

"And you did 'got this'. Aka, I was right. We're both strong. Okay? We're gonna change the world, Y/N, okay?"

You didn't understand what he was talking about then. If you had, you wouldn't have let him walk out that room.

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"Where the fuck is he?! Where— Where is he?!"

Yes, you were hysterical, feral even, because the Mockingjay had blown up the fucking arena, and you now had absolutely no idea where Finnick was, and yes, this fucking 'Haymitch' character had to get the hell out of your way, and— who the fuck was this guy? 'Plutarch'? Fuck him! "MOVE! I'M NOT FUCKING KIDDING!"

"He needs space, he needs to recover."

"You don't know shit about what he needs, where is he?!"

"If she's that eager, just tell her."

The two men glanced at each other. You were ready to throttle them both.

"Room 13."

Three nights and two days you stayed in that infirmary bed with Finnick. You startled awake whenever District 13 med teams came in, and you shot up, shaking your head and asking them each and every thing they were putting into his body, each and every instrument that wanted to touch Finnick had to be approved by you.

You avoided his gaze - not that there was much eye contact going on. He was far too spent to even stay awake for too long.

And then one night, you felt a nudge.

Your eyes desperately attempted to adjust to the light - or lack thereof - in the room, the only things around you the beeping and buzzing of whatever machines were keeping him alive, and you were just about ready to go back to sleep (if it was an axe murderer, you'd deal with it later) when you heard it.

Fatigued. Strained. Feeble. Quieter than a ruffle of feathers.

"Green's a beautiful colour on you."

You almost gasped when slightly trembling fingers gripped your wrist with all the might they had, and you glanced down to see them. Your green District 13 'Visitor' band.

"Don't ever do that to me again."

"Then you're going to listen to me."

No. You knew him well enough to know what was going to come out of that mouth of his.

"Finnick, I swear if y—"

"I love you."

Silence.

"I love you. Listen.", he repeated, kissing your hair as gentle as a breeze.

Reluctantly, you did. Because who'd argue after that revelation?

"You're going to go back out, and tell them I'm up. Alright?"

"But then they'll make you go on missions. And besides, the Mockingjay isn't even up yet!"

"She has a name."

"I don't care. She's the reason we're in this mess!"

"Is she?" Okay. Yes. You knew she wasn't. She was just a kid. But still. Fuck this shit!

"Finnick, we could just, like... okay, listen, the rebellion is causing unrest, right? The Capitol is more focused on the districts that rebels have got control of, like Three and Eleven, so they're not going to be focused on if you and I—"

"What? If you and I what?"

"Escape! Leave! Come on, Finnick.", you hissed, sitting up and glancing momentarily at the door to ensure no one had heard. "We don't need this shit, you know that. We could just slip out under their noses and t—"

"And leave everyone behind?"

"No, obviously! Bring our families, and then—"

"You're making no sense, beautiful. No sense at all."

His thumb grazed your jaw where it clenched, and he shook his head. "We owe it to them. Don't we?"

"We don't owe anyone shit, we've both sacrif— less me, more you, but we've sacrificed enough."

He smiled sadly, resigned, and there was no valid reason for how much it irked you. "Maybe you should be the Mockingjay. You've got the fire for it.", he remarked, bringing his thumbs behind your ears so he could pull you down to meet his lips for the first time ever, and it shut you up, but only for a moment.

"I'd make a shitty Mockingjay. I know too much about Snow, I'd just walk into his quarters - because I know when he's there - and shoot him between those beady little eyes, point-blank."

"Scarily enough, I believe you. Are you a good shot?"

"Who cares? I'll have to learn anyway."

"What? Here?"

"Well, yeah, when we go on missions—"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. No. You're not going on missions."

"Excuse me?"

"Not a chance in hell."

Oh, you were about to throttle this man until you saw the life go out of those sea green eyes. "Finnick, I swear—"

He cut you off by brushing his lips against yours again, gently shifting onto his elbows to sit up and deepen it as if this were a new power he had just discovered he could wield to get you to shut the fuck up. And then he held you against his forehead, almost like bracing you for impact. And impact it was. "I need your brain, that beautiful, rage-filled, slightly psychotic brain of yours here, okay? In District 13, so that you can be the mastermind and—"

"No! No, no, no, Finnick, no! It's not funny anymore, the whole patronisation thing, alright? It's not! I'm not staying here when there's a rebelli—"

"When Katniss wakes up - which she will - she will see that her entire district is... it's gone. And she will be —hey, stop that, stop!", he warned, grabbing onto your wrists to make sure you didn't cause a scene and storm off. He did not need your misery on his conscience. "She will be the Mockingjay, you know she will. I'm not letting you go out there, when you're much more useful here!"

"Letting me? Okay, listen, Finnick, I'm not letting you go out and do missions and whatever the fuck else Coin has planned! Propos or whatnot, I won't let you!"

He shakes his head, once again, tracing his finger across your features. "This is no longer a rebellion, alright? It's a war. I'm not letting you be in the frontlines of a war, alright?"

"If you think I'm letting you go back to the Capitol and be Coin's lapdog, you're very wrong!"

"You don't trust Coin?"

"No! I don't trust anyone here except you."

He nodded. "Same. Alright? Same. Which is why I need you here, to make sure they're not setting us up, alright? Be part of the mission assigning and I'll be safe."

You're quiet for a moment as his knuckles brush your cheek.

"I overrule Coin, okay?"

He raised a brow.

"Your primary mission is coming back safe. Alright? Hey, stop grinning. I'm serious. Don't be a hero, or a martyr. You're coming back safe."

He let you hold his face. "Did I just hear you say you overrule Coin? Because I think that's blasphemy around these parts.", he muttered, in a mockingly hushed tone.

"Don't change the subject. Finnick, if I lose you—"

"Coming back to annoy you is my primary mission. And hey. Speaking of subject changes, was this your first kiss?"

First real kiss, he meant. But you always knew what he meant.

"Yeah. So?"

"So that means this is your second?", he murmured, accompanied by one more press of his lips to yours. "And this is your third?" Another one. "And your fourth— lucky number four, huh?"

"You're changing the sub—"

"I know, I warned you.", he reminded, moving his kisses to your cheek. "Tell me when."

"When what?"

"When to stop.", he replied, his kisses now blooming down your jaw.

"Stop."

He did. He pulled back, and smiled down at you. "Done. What's wrong?"

"I just wanted to see if you'd stop.", you admitted.

"I'm Finnick. I listen to rules. Ask Snow.", he grinned, earning an eye roll from you. "Come on, give me your fifth."

You allowed him to kiss you a fifth, sixth, seventh, hell, a hundredth time, probably, attempting to pull away so you could tell him to swear he'd come back, but he shook his head. "Give me all your kisses. Kiss me forever, come on."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

Finnick wasn't heartless, alright? He yearned, actively yearned for what you whispered to him in the dead of night - every night since he'd been moved to the Training Center while you all waited for the Mockingjay to wake up, your forehead against his temple and your breaths against his neck as you clung to him like the scent of all his sins.

"Last chance, Finnick. We could run."

"And do what?"

"Leave Panem. Come on, there's no chance they'll even know—"

"District 13's security is hardly lax."

"We'll find a way."

He inhaled deeply, reaching for the side of your head as he gently moved it to his cheek. "We'll find a way to win. You'll be here, waiting for me after hatching a master plan so outrageous, Coin will be slow-clapping, and I'll come back here after I execute said outrageous plan. And we'll be free."

"Snow's not dumb. He's only quiet now because he knows he has to stack up his offences against Katniss like dominos.", you sighed, watching dim silhouettes of his fingers playing with yours. "First it's District 12 gone. And then who knows what's next? She may not even agree to be—"

"You said Katniss.", he smiled, a faint phenomenon in the dark. "You said her name."

"We were kids, she's a kid. None of this is an inch fairer for her than it was for us. And you're changing the topic again, Finnick. She's only seventeen, she really can't be the Mockingjay if Snow throws her a curveball. I mean, her husband isn't even here! You think she's going to react rationally to that?"

"No. No, she isn't. But she's a smart kid. She'll know the importance. And we'll win."

"We have to."

"We have to. You realize how lovely it will be? Hm?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on. Panem without a Snow? Panem without the Capitol? It's going to be beautiful. We could roam the Districts, do whatever we wanted, when we wanted to."

"Mm. That does sound nice."

"And without all the guns and firing, I mean, maybe mother nature will heal? Bring back the number of fish we had in Four at the beginning of the Games? That was, like, what double?"

"Ten times."

"Ten times the number of fish we have now. Oh, and, and maybe mother nature brings back the trees. Oh, green's a beautiful colour. Just picture it."

You hated Finnick for being able to so easily convince you of such - in retrospect - unrealistic things.

You hated Finnick for not allowing you to do anything but go over strategies with Plutarch, Coin and Haymitch.

You hated Finnick for leaving on the mission, and the unneccessarily short kiss he gave you before doing so, because 'I'll finish that when I get back'.

You hated Finnick for leaving.

You loved Finnick for everything.

You loved Finnick.

[fclsebnnyodair]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . finnick odair and his unwavering love for seeing his gorgeous girl in a sundress.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader.

summary: you are heading out to the market when your husband can’t help but stop you in your tracks just to shower you with compliments as he sees you in a pretty sundress.

warnings: another fluffy one. finnick being finnick (gentle, loving and overly sweet).

a/n: guys, im a mush. i love fluffy fics. i think finnick adores whenever you wear a sundress, but not in the weird way other guys do, yk? like this is finnick odair.

it was a warm summer day in district 4, the kind that made the sea glisten like glass and filled the air with the scent of salt and sun. finnick lounged on the porch of the small cottage you and him shared, a fishing net tangled around his fingers as he half-heartedly mended it. the task was menial, his mind wandering to his favorite distraction —you.

he heard the creak of the door behind him and the soft shuffle of your bare feet across the wooden floor. "sweetheart," he called without looking up, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "what are you up to?"

"I was thinking of heading to the market," you replied softly, your voice carrying that quiet tenderness that always made his heart stutter. 

he turned his head to glance at you and froze.

you were standing in the doorway, sunlight pouring in behind you like a halo. you wore a simple sundress, a pale yellow that made your hair and eyes shine. 

the fabric flowed over you like water, clinging in all the right places and swaying around your knees. you looked like you’d been plucked from a daydream, and finnick was utterly helpless against the sight.

he dropped the net, forgetting it entirely as he stood. "sweetheart," he breathed, his voice thick with awe. "pretty girl... you're gonna kill me."

your cheeks flushed a soft pink, and you fidgeted with the hem of the dress, your usual confidence retreating under his intense gaze. "It's just a dress, finnick," you said shyly, your lips curling into a small, nervous smile.

"just a dress?" he crossed the room in a few long strides, his sea-green eyes locked onto yours. "no, no, no. sundresses aren't just dresses when it's you wearing them." 

he stopped in front of you, towering over your frame, his hands immediately finding your hips. his fingers kneaded the soft flesh there, holding you as if to keep you from slipping away or keeping himself from falling forward.

"you look like the ocean in the middle of summer," he murmured, his voice low and reverent. "warm, bright, and completely irresistible."

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "you're ridiculous."

"and you're stunning," he shot back within a second. his lips were on yours before you could protest further, a slow and deep kiss that made your knees buckle. he held you close, his hands firm and sure, anchoring you to him as he poured every ounce of his admiration into the kiss.

when you broke apart, your cheeks were flushed, your coy smile back in place. finnick took advantage of the moment, peppering your face with kisses, starting at your forehead and working his way down to your jaw.

"my love," he murmured between each kiss. "my pretty girl. you don't know what you do to me."

your laughter bubbled up, light, and you swatted at his chest. "finnick, stop! you're going to make me late for the market."

"let them wait," he replied, grinning as he pulled you closer. "this dress deserves my full attention." 

he lifted you off the ground, spinning you once as you laughed and clung to his shoulders.

you buried your face in his neck, the heat of your breath sending shivers down his spine. "hopeless," you mumbled, but the affection in your tone betrayed your word.

"hopelessly in love with you," he corrected, setting you back on your feet. he cupped your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over your flushed cheeks. "and hopelessly weak for this sundress. you should wear it every day."

"I'll think about it," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

his grin widened. "you better, sweetheart. because every time you wear it, I'm going to remind you how much I adore you." 

he leaned in, kissing you once more, long and lingering, as if the world beyond your little cottage didn't exist, —and maybe it didn’t for him the moment he got his hands on you.

finnick couldn't tear himself away from you.

he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips. your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. It was wild, rapid, and entirely because of you.

"you make me sound like some goddess in this dress," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"you are, sweetheart," finnick murmured, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your hips. "you don't see it, do you? how everything about you makes my world stop. the way the light catches your hair, how your smile -shy or not- makes me forget my own name. and this dress?" he let out a low whistle, his grin turning boyish. "It's like it was sewn just for you. they must've had my pretty girl in mind."

your cheeks flushed again, but there was a flicker of something else in your eyes now, —something playful. "you're laying it on thick, odair," you said, your lips curving into a small smirk.

he feigned a gasp, his hand dramatically clutching his chest. "me? thick? honey, I'm just speaking the truth. besides..." he leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "you can’t really put the blame on me when you look like that?"

you laughed, the sound warm and bright. you tilted your head, studying him with mock seriousness. "you really do have a weakness for sundresses, don't you?"

"only when you're in them," he admitted shamelessly, his grin so wide it made his dimples deepen.

you shook your head, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you over and over again. "fine, I'll wear more of them," you teased. "but only if you promise not to make such a big deal every time."

"not a chance," finnick said immediately, his hands sliding around to the small of your back. "making a big deal about you is my favorite hobby. especially when you're standing here, looking like this."

your soft laughter bubbled up again, and you rested your head against his chest, your body molding perfectly to his. finnick wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as the two of you swayed gently in the warmth of the day.

"do you remember the first time you wore a sundress around me?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

you hummed, your fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. "I do. It was the one with the little daisies, wasn't it? the one l borrowed from mags because all my clothes were too plain for the harvest festival?"

"that's the one," he said, his lips brushing against your temple. "you walked into that festival, and I swear the whole world stopped. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"you tripped over a table trying to get to me," you pointed out, your voice laced with amusement.

he chuckled, shaking his head. "worth it. I'd trip over a hundred tables for you, sweetheart."

you tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes soft and full of affection. "you're such a fool," you murmured, but you leaned up to kiss him anyway, your hands tangling in his golden locks.

"a fool for my pretty girl," finnick whispered against your lips.

the kiss deepened, slow and tender, your world narrowing until it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other. the sea breeze flowed around you, carrying the sound of gulls and the faint crash of waves, but finnick barely noticed.

he was too busy memorizing every little detail-how the sundress felt beneath his hands, how your lips curved into a smile mid-kiss, how your laugh seemed to echo in his chest.

eventually, you pulled back, your face flushed and your breathing uneven. "I’m really going to be late for the market," you said, though your tone was reluctant.

he smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "they can wait. besides, I think the market's seen enough of you for one week."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh? and what are we supposed to do instead?"

his grin turned mischievous, and he swept you up into his arms effortlessly, ignoring your surprised squeal. "stay right here. just us. I can't think of anything better, can you?"

you laughed, your arms looping around his neck as he carried you inside. "my god, you're impossible, finn."

"Impossible to resist, you mean," he teased, kissing the tip of your nose as he set you down gently on the couch.

as you settled together, the sundress bunched around your knees and your laughter filled the room. and as far as he was concerned, the world outside your little bubble could wait forever.

[risingoftime]

coriolanus snow x fem!reader | smut below mdni

“Coryo, stop teasing,” you whined.

Coriolanus rubbed his tip against your puffy clit. The tingling sensation began to overwhelm you while he continued to stroke your folds with his cock.

“Shhh.” He softly kissed your forehead and leaned his head close to your ear, licking the skin from the base of your neck to your jaw. “You hear that?” he whispered. Before you could respond, Coriolanus slammed his cock into your hole, forcing you to take in all of him with no time to adjust. He spread your legs further apart to give him more access. Coriolanus took his precious time thrusting in and out, and your wet cunt gripped around his length. You cried out his name, pleading for more.

“You sound so pretty, baby. I love to hear you moan my name,” Coriolanus praised.

He pushed himself in more profoundly, hitting your G-spot, “Ahhh Coryo, fuck yes right there.” You could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. When attempting to force him to move faster, Coriolanus removed his hands from your legs to pin your hands above your head on the mattress. “I will fuck you when I want and how I want,” he snarled. And Coriolanus did just that, engulfed in your wet heat and edging himself to orgasm, one stroke at a time.

He kept your wrists pinned down with one hand and took the other to caress your clit. Coriolanus found joy in watching you squirm under his intense stare, waiting to see your eyes roll back when you orgasm. He loved admiring your pussy squirting on his cock even more.

“Tell me that this pussy is mine.”

“It’s all yours.”

You watched in awe as his thick veins pulsed before spouting his cum on your pussy before pumping more inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

[bruisedboys]

I don't know if this would be something you're interested in but I'd really like to see a protective!finnick. Doesn't have to be related to the games, like reader doesn't need to be a tribute or a rebel but she can be! Up to you, but it'd be interesting to see that side of him

thank you for your request lovely! I challenged myself to write something actually in universe for once, so I hope you enjoy it! (set in catching fire)

finnick odair x fem!tribute!reader cw for reader fainting from the heat

“Be careful.”

Finnick’s big hand on your back, his torso not far behind. He points to a thick tree root in your path. You step over it easily, exasperated. This is maybe the fourth time in the past ten minutes he’s said those same two words.

“I am,” you say simply. You are. If not for your sake then for Finnick’s. If you were to get so much as a cut on your leg he’d lose his mind. “S’hard when you’re standing so close, though.”

Finnick makes a face at you over your shoulder. “Sorry. You’re precious cargo, y’know?”

Your face warms, which is not ideal. You’re already well on your way to becoming a human furnace — the jungle you’re surrounded by is sticky and overly warm. You’re definitely overheating though you won’t tell Finnick that, he’ll only get worse. The water back at the beach is sure to cool you down — you’ll hop in as soon as you get back.

“You’re hopeless,” you tell Finnick in the meantime.

Finnick grins. “For you, yeah.”

You roll your eyes and march on ahead. Slowly the jungle gets thinner and thinner until you’re emerging onto the beach and your makeshift camp. The sun beats down on the landscape, glinting off the ripples in the water and rolling off the white sand in waves. You’re struck suddenly by how agonisingly hot you feel. It was sickeningly warm in the jungle but this is somehow much worse, the heat like a knife, sharp, cruel, and enough to make you dizzy.

“Ah, the lovebirds are back,” Johanna drawls when she spots you and Finnick emerging from the deep green trees. “What took you so long?”

Finnick shrugs. “Oh, you know. Sight-seeing. Did you— hey, what’s wrong?”

You’ve grabbed a tree for support as your vision swims suddenly. Your head pounds, as if your brain is trying to punch it’s way out of your skull. The dizziness you’d felt as soon as you stepped into the sun builds until you’re swaying on your feet.

You try desperately to keep your eyes open but the sun glares at you until you’re forced to squeeze them shut. “I don’t feel very well. I think I’m…”

It’s all you get out before you collapse in half like a rag doll. Finnick shouts your name and surges forward to grab you. He slides an arm under your back while the other grabs at your waist, tight as a vice.

“What the hell?” Johanna says loudly, standing up fast. “Is she okay?”

“Get me some water, please,” Finnick says, strained. You’re clearly not okay. His heart pounds in his throat and threatens to choke him. Johanna runs off and Finnick pulls you into the shade of the trees, carefully lowering you into the sand on your back.

He kneels next to you, panic rising like bile in his throat. Your eyes are closed, your head heavy in his hands.

“Y/N,” he says, an edge of panic to his voice. Please wake up, he thinks. “Y/N, honey.“

You’re completely unresponsive. Thinking the worst, Finnick presses his fingers to your throat. Thankfully, he feels a steady pulse, though it doesn’t do much to calm his spiking worry, not when you’re still unconscious.

“Can you hear me?” He tries gently tapping your cheek but to no avail. He curses. “Johanna!” He yells out, past being polite. “Water, now.”

“It’s coming!” Johanna yells back from the shoreline, clearly as agitated as he is.

Finnick grits his teeth and takes your face in his hands, trying his best to be gentle when he’s so panic stricken. “Hey. Baby, come on. Wake up.”

When you don’t respond, he carefully lowers your head and swiftly slides his hands to your shoulders. He’s careful but firm as he shakes you. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t ever want to be rough with you, but he’s glad he’s done it because it works. Just as Johanna arrives with a seashell full of water, Peeta and Katniss hot on her heels, your breath catches. Then your eyelids flutter, and then your lips part.

“Finnick?”

Finnick releases a shuddering breath, his heartbeat a pounding drum in his ears. The relief in hearing your voice is akin to a spear being pulled out of his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, hey, I’ve got you. You can hear me, right?”

“I can hear you,” you say. You try to turn your head, searching for him even in your disoriented state, but Finnick holds you in place.

“Don’t move, sweet thing,” he tells you. Unable to look away from you until he knows you’re absolutely alright, Finnick puts his hand out for the water wordlessly. Johanna hands it to him quick as a flash. “Can you open your eyes?”

You can, though it takes you a little while, blinking sluggishly in the harsh light. Finnick’s quick to shade your face with one hand. Your eyes appear, glazed but beautiful as always.

“Good girl,” Finnick tells you, hand on your cheek. He’s still buzzing — the heat of the sudden onslaught of panic hasn’t dissipated just yet. He carefully strokes your hair away from your sweaty neck with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna cool you down, okay? Can I unzip you?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Finnick unzips your suit halfway down your chest, taking care to angle his torso so the others don’t see anything they don’t have to. Slowly, he tips the water over your hot skin. It slides over the slopes of your shoulders and creeps down into your suit. It must feel good because you shudder and let out a small breath.

Finnick thumbs your collarbone, feeling overwhelmed with relief. His hands don’t leave you, afraid you’ll disappear again if he lets go. The panic ebbs slowly as he watches you come back to life, your eyes becoming clearer by the second.

“She’s okay?” Peeta speaks up after a long moment of silence.

Finnick nods. “She’s okay,” he assures. “It was the heat, I think.” He finally lets himself look away from you, if only to ask Peeta, “Could you get us some more water?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The other three all trail off, leaving you and Finnick on your own. You try to sit up as they leave but Finnick presses his hand to your chest, palm flat on your warm skin.

“Don’t,” he says. “You’ve gotta lay flat, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, looking bashful. “Sorry,” you say softly.

“Don’t be sorry. No more fainting though, okay?” He rubs your shoulder. “I know I’m really handsome, but you don’t have to be so drastic about it.”

You groan but it quickly morphs into a laugh. Finnick kisses your forehead and then holds your hand until Peeta returns with the water.

-

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

[ervotica]

"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.”

[allisluv]

imagine finnick and reader having to comfort each other after the capitol made people watch them have sex😢 it would be so hard for them to feel comfortable enough to do it privately

disconnected.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: please note that while this work is not explicit it is very heavy! finn and reader are sold into prostitution together. while everything is consensual in terms of sex, they do not consent to being watched. this is pure angst hurt/comfort. crying, dissociation, self-deprecating thoughts, not edited. if there's anything else you think should be added, please let me know!

word count: 0.7k

The silence is deafening, like static in your ears, as the room slowly but surely begins to empty of people.

Finnick hovers on top of you, shielding your naked body from view. Every so often, he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, a silent reminder that he’s sorry and that he’s there.

The door thuds closed behind the last Capitol man.

Finnick wraps a loose sheet around his bottom half and pads across the room, quickly sliding the lock into place, preventing any unwanted visitors from returning. His body feels like it’s made of lead as he rests his forehead against the wooden panel of the door and swallows around the rough lump in his throat.

You roll onto your side numbly and watch him from where you’re situated on the bed. Your hair is knotted and your body is slick with sweat. Everything feels like you’ve been thrown off-kilter and that feeling only worsens when you see Finnick’s thin frame rack with muffled sobs.

“Finnick.” Your voice cracks. He doesn’t move. You call out for him again, this time more firmly, but still gently. “Finn. Come here.”

Finnick hesitates, and you know his mind is bombarded with thousands upon thousands of badly intrusive thoughts. Eventually, he listens to you, and he brings himself back to the bed, the sheet still draped around him and tear stains on the apples of his cheeks.

He hovers by the edge of the bed, and you can see the signs of him clearly coming down from the dissosciative high that he so often falls into to protect himself when the two of you are forced into this scenario.

“Sit down with me?” You ask.

He nods once, but it’s disconnected, and you can tell he’s not fully back with you yet.

You’re not either, really.

Finnick’s movements are heavy and uncoordinated as he lies down next to you, flat on his back, as stiff as a board. You roll onto your side to face him but neither of you say anything. The only sound is the two of you breathing unevenly.

“Baby—”

“Don’t,” Finnick cuts you off, voice emotionless and full of dread. “Just don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t give me your sympathy and act like everythings fine when it’s fucking not. Don’t…” He cuts himself off with a sob that makes your heart twist in your chest.

“You’re right,” You whisper, carefully moving your hand to tread your fingers through his hair in a way that you know keeps him tied to reality. “Its not fine. But its not your fault, either. You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“That’s easier said than done.” His voice is harsh, but you refuse to take it personally; you’ve had your own fair share of lashing out after this experience, and Finnick had been nothing but soft and gentle and caring.

It’s about time you return the favour.

His eyes flutter shut as you continue to run your fingers through his hair.

“I don’t blame you.” You whisper, knowing that he needs to hear the words from your mouth.

“You should.”

“I would never.”

“Why?” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “I’m just as bad as they are. I’m—”

“No.” Your voice is firm, broking no room for argument. “You are nothing like them, baby. Do you hear me? Nothing like them. It is not your fault what Snow makes us do.”

Tears trickle down his cheeks, and you want to kiss them away, to make it all better, but you don’t know how.

“Can I hold you?” You ask gently. You can see the gears in his heads working overtime. You know he feels like he does not deserve it, that he is tainted and bad and cruel, but that couldnt be further from the truth.

He’s Finn.

He’s your Finn.

He’s your bright, funny, kind-hearted, lovable Finnick and all you want to do is soothe him.

Eventually, his need for comfort outweighs his need to punish himself, and he nods.

You waste no time in bundling him up into your arms, and it’s like the floodgates open.

He sobs and sobs and sobs until there are no more tears left in his body.

You hold him and hold him and hold him until he falls asleep.

[ficmenrhot]

Speechless

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finn- f-fuck..I..I”

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

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

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

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