#finnick drabble

[luxbub]

oooo can you do Virgin!reader with experienced Finnick?

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

also this is the longest smut i’ve ever written

virgin!reader and experienced Finnick

minors DNI +18

not proofread!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[loveliestlovelygirl]

finnick odair runs the tightly woven string over his palms and through his fingers and ties it into knots, efficiently making a fishing net with his own two hands. You sit on the pier together, your feet dangling off the edge and over the dark waters. Intently, you watch him in admiration for his handiwork. You know that you could never keep up with him though you both grew up in District 4. He’s just very good with his hands in ways that you are not. Those are the same hands and long, nimble fingers that work magic inside you and touch where no one else has. Watching his hands and fingers move, bend, and manipulate the string into knots isn’t quite enough to tempt you to beg for him to take you there… right here, right now. But it is enough to make your heart race and your soul drown in memories of all the times he’s held heaven in his touch.

add yourself to my taglist!!

[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.

[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."

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🌀⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

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.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🌀⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

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.

[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.

[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!"

[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.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

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

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 3.5k

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

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

Wow. 

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

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

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

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!” 

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

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

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

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

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

Weird.

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

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

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

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

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

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

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

Very weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

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

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

“Sure am,” he murmured.

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

Now this got your attention.

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, speechless.

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

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

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

He then pulled away to observe you. 

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

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

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

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

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

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

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

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

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

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

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

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

He was insatiable.

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

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

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it was.

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

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

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

At least for a brief period.

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

[luxbub]

100% finnick would massage your feet and your shoulders and he’s GOOD at it

I cant stop thinking about that side of finnick, i mean he is the king of massages!!

And especially after a stressful day and you come home as if like the whole world is weighing on your shoulders, finnick would massage you SO GOOD. He just can’t help it, with your lips in a little frown and slumped shoulders, he just has to do something about it.

So he sits you both down on the couch, gently pulls your legs into his lap and starts kneading the skin on your feet. He slowly trails his hands higher and higher up to your calf and something about his hands working at the tension in your legs makes you whimper at his touch.

Maybe some time after, you would turn to lay on your stomach and finnick’s thighs would go on either side of your hips, as his hands start trailing across the taunt muscles of your back, the tension melting away.

[loveliestlovelygirl]

finnick odair means business when he offers to cook you dinner. It also means he will be MIA until he calls for you late in the evening time, giving you the whole day to get ready for the special night if you please. He goes out in the morning on his rowboat and fishes for flounder lurking on the murky bottoms of the sea. He only brings home two fish, no more, no less. Just enough for you both. He prepares the fish himself. Sometimes, you watch. And when you do, it’s clear he’s been doing this his whole life. It comes so naturally to him. When it’s his turn to make dinner, he won’t let you do anything. He won’t let you bring side dishes or dessert. He gets moody if you argue with him about it. When it’s time to eat, he sets the table and pours white wine. He always offers to cut your fish for you, but you always refuse because of your pride. All he wishes for in return for his endeavors is a smile from your beautiful lips and sweet love to warm his bed all night long.

add yourself to my taglist!! @jaanefitoor @minniluvs @parkersvogue @marvelxhrry @motherphoebe @marcyss @hasalazzo @shaysevxx @miserablebl00d @junoxstevens @heroinhchicblog222 @hoslunix @ellenonesblog @theycantseeus @arxtixmonkeysxxx @lingerologist @mistyyrooms @scoliobean

[bruisedboys]

ummmmm so finnick and manhandling 😁😁 especially casual manhandling 😁😁 we have any thoughts abt that orrrr 😁😁😁

ummmm yes!!!!!! I absolutely have so many thoughts ….. (also I’m very sorry this took me the longest time to answer. it was stewing in my brain hehe)

finnick odair x fem!reader

finnick odair is constantly manhandling you. it’s so easy for him, and even if he wasn’t as strong as he is it’d still be anything but a challenge because you’re so compliant and practically putty in his hands, and you’d do anything he wanted, you’ve told him as much — so yeah, it’s a breeze.

you’re brushing your teeth at the sink when finnick comes into the bathroom. he wants his razor, which is in the cabinet in front of your thighs, but rather than asking you to move he just takes you by the hips and moves you to the side easily. it’s so casual, but that’s exactly why it unravels you so much. “sorry, honey,” he’ll murmur, bending at the waist to grab what he needs, a hand on your lower back to keep you in place. he kisses your shoulder as he straightens up and you melt.

or like, he’ll be sitting on the couch, watching you do something, maybe arranging a bunch of flowers in a vase. and you look so so pretty — finnick thinks he could watch you for hours. when you move past him to grab something you need, you don’t make it far because finnick sticks out a hand and pulls you in between his legs with ease. “finn,” you’ll say, all breathless and giggly. “what’re you doing?” finnick shrugs, squeezes your hips and presses his face to your abdomen. “dunno,” he’ll murmur into your top, nosing the space under your breasts. “jus’ wanted a hug.” and then you put your hands in his hair and finnick almost whines out loud. it turns out to be a veerrry long hug.

also let’s talk about how strong he is??? like he can move you around with just one arm if he wants to. if he wants you up on the counter to kiss you he’ll just wrap one arm around your waist and hoist you up in an instant, not even a breath spared for the effort it takes. if he wants you to stay in bed with him, you best believe you are staying put, because as soon as he gets his hands on you it’s over. all he has to do is get his arm around your waist and you’re stuck for as long as he wants. he’s just too strong and too lovesick to let you go!!!!! <3333

[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.”

[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.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

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."

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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.

[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.

[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.