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F. Odair

angst, not mentions readers, forced prostitution, sugestive, hurt no comfort.

Finnick's trauma needs more atencion.

_________

Why are things so...confusing?

One minute you are a boy who loved to go fishing with his father and the next minute you are a man desired by women you don't know and don't want to know.

In one minute you are just another person among all the points of life on the planet, and the next minute...what are you? what is he?

That man has a mind so corrupted, so damaged and broken that he can no longer even be considered a human, he can no longer be considered Finnick. He is no longer the son of the fisherman from the south beach, now he is a murderer, a desired murderer, a sexualized murderer, used and discarded like an old and useless, but expensive toy.

And now here he is, with his new owner, who had the privilege of finding his remains somewhere in the trash they call home, found him and is now taking him as her own, as her own toy, her own pleasure.

He feels nauseated, wants to vomit, but remembers that he is a toy. Toys don't move unless their owner wants to make a game, a story, a fake story with them. The owner is the one in charge of dictating his next move, his next kiss, his next bite, his next word.

But somewhere in the plastic that creates his body, in his painted smile and his personalized cloth clothes, deep down, he doesn't want to be that.

So why? Why are things so confusing? Why do you feel the opposite of what you want? Why, despite hating it, does he have to make another move and continue giving pleasure to his new owner?

"Finn...you're mine, did you know that?" Oh, he knew it, he knew it very well, he knew it but he didn't want it, he didn't want it, so why the hell does he live it? Why the fuck does he have to keep holding onto his arm, which his previous owner destroyed, to continue his work? Why does he have to replace the leg, which his previous owner detached and injured, to obtain a better position?

Oh, he felt sick, he felt so disgusted, so used, so hurt, that he just couldn't take it anymore.

His arm fell, unable to be put back into his place, his leg stopped moving as he no longer had enough strength to lift it, his chest hurt, his head turned and his mouth closed.

Oh, he was out of battery.

His owners used him for too long, his battery hit the ground and with it his ability to keep up with his master's game.

"Finn? What's wrong?"

All.

You are wrong, he is wrong, panem is wrong, the games are wrong.

SO WHY? WHY DOES EVERYTHING STILL EXIST?

If something is wrong, then why does it still exist?

It's so confusing.

And he doesn't know where from, or how, but his mind still had a little energy left, his mind was still working, and it simply forced him to leave the room of his owner.

His mind told him to stop being a toy and start being Finnick Odair.

Yes, his mind knew better, he knew how to direct his legs to the home where his parents were waiting for him. His mind knew how to make his breathing enough to run and flee, his mind knew how to make him become him again.

His mind knew.

Then why did his chest hurt?

Why when we get to district 4 are his parents not there?

Why are there blood stains on the wall?

His mind knew, but he shouldn't hold back and he didn't.

His mind knew, but for once he only thought about run and not about how they would catch him.

.

.

.

Why?

Why has his mind betrayed him?

No... that wasn't his mind. And this was not his body.

It was the body they had molded, the body they wounded just to bring it to the standard.

And now the only thing left are the corpses of his parents, the blood on his shoes and the ghost of his owner's hand asking him to play with her again.

Asking for his mind and his body again.

.

.

.

Heey. Well I honestly don't know why I did this, but I'm obsessed with reading this type of stuff on ao3 and there isn't anything here so I wanted to do something like that. or at least try

#thg finnick #hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #odair #finnick odair #finnick odair angst #hunger games angst #fanfic #finnick odair headcanons #heavy angst #thg fanfiction

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HE'S A SWEETHEART

are you sure?

synopsis: atsumu has a bad day and just wants to be alone, but he’s had bad experiences with asking for alone time from past relationships, so is too afraid to tell you.

tags: angst to fluff, atsumu has slightly spiralling thoughts

you hear the front door slam and atsumu groan loudly.

“bad day?” you ask.

“mhm.”

“need some time alone?”

“yeah,” atsumu wraps his arm around your waist. “thanks babe, you’re the best.” he places a soft kiss on your temple before making his way to the bedroom and closing the door. you sigh softly and smile, thankful that your boyfriend has finally let down his guard and trusted you enough to tell you when he just wanted to be by himself.

the first time you asked atsumu if he wanted some space, he was afraid you were testing him.

Seguir leyendo

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SOOO CUTEEE <3

msby photobooth 📸📸

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SO FUCKING PERFECT

atsumu’s carrying a ring around. it’s white gold with a diamond in the middle, and he bought it on monday. so of course, on friday, a week after swiping his card and exiting the shop with a little black box that contains everything certain and uncertain in the world, he drops it down the shower drain.

the first thought that runs through his mind is: the saleslady was right. i shouldn’t have taken it out of the box. i should’ve kept it in my sock drawer like she told me to do —

but he couldn’t keep it in his sock drawer, because your socks have the annoying habit of mixing with his, and by extension, you have to rummage through them every other day.

you finding out before he’s figured out how to do it properly, how to ask you properly, is the last thing he wants to happen. he has to prove that he can do basic tasks, move from point a to point b without getting sidetracked. he’s heard it’s a good trait for a husband, and fuck it all if he isn’t going to be the best at what he does.

he yells desperately, brokenly, “fuck!”

it echoes across the bathroom walls, penetrating the door and moving to the bedroom where you are. you come running, footsteps frantic. you knock. “‘tsumu, what’s wrong? did you fall?”

he doesn’t answer, too busy pulling his hair. his mind is working furiously as he paces around. he kneels down and tries fitting his hand inside the little hole. he knows it’s still there. it couldn’t have been flushed out. he can feel the tip of the diamond, but he can’t go any further.

“atsumu,” you shout from the other side, clearly worried. you turn the knob. “why aren’t you answering —” you see him in the shower, fully clothed and on all fours, hand sucked into the drain, face red and contorted in effort. you move near him, kneeling down as well. “did you fall? are you hurt? is your hand stuck — atsumu, talk to me.”

he only looks at you as he pulls his hand out of the drain. if he waits, it’ll be flushed down for sure. he can go back and get a new one, but that’s plain wasteful. still, he can treat this one as a… first attempt that he didn’t get right. it’s okay. first attempts are usually failures —

“did something fall in?” you ask. you roll your sleeves up without waiting for an answer. “hold on, i have smaller hands. i’ll fish it out.”

he looks absolutely miserable as you put your hand in, sitting back with his head hung. you wonder what it is that has him like this. maybe an important receipt that fell from his pocket or a freebie ticket. your fingers feel something cold, and you quickly clasp it between your index and middle finger, pulling it out.

“there,” you breathe, a smile gracing your face as you lay it on the shower floor. “everything’s okay —”

your eyes widen, registering what the it is. your jaw slackens. you look at atsumu.

in this moment — the moment when you dirtied your hands for him, dampened the cloth of your pajamas without question, he thinks — ah, he loves you very much.

all his extremities are uncomfortably damp and you still have an obnoxious towel-headband on and both of you have had your hands inside the drain. he has to ask you now. he wants to ask you now. you’re beautiful in this light, in the setting lacking tact, and in your favorite pajamas.

(and, well, you already know, so he has to swallow whatever fear he has and ask already.)

he shifts, shuffles. you’re shell shocked, and he’s kneeling. but then you’ve been kneeling too, so it’s not much of the usual proposal position since both of you are face to face.

“i —” he starts.

“yes.” you say.

he breathes easy. he smiles because there is nothing in the world more like the two of you than this moment. and because he doesn’t have to buy you another ring. “damn, ya shouldn’t interrupt someone who’s trying to propose.”

you smile, the happiest person alive. you wouldn’t have it any other way. “you shouldn’t have dropped my ring down the shower drain.”

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You @Atsumu istg

am i suppose to see an issue w being like this

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THIS IS SO FUCKING CUTENSJSISISKSKSKJSISMS

Playing favourites

A/N: a silly little fluffy idea I thought of when I couldn’t fall asleep last night! I’m also almost finished with some Atsumu relationship headcanons which I’ll post later! This has not been proofread at all, be warned! All gender neutral!! Mention of a parent but is referred to literally as that - “parent” - not mother, or father. They refer to you as y/n-chan because they’re BABIES ok

Summary: Atsumu knew and accepted that everyone preferred ‘Samu, and that he would have to deal with being by himself, even at his own 9th birthday party. He feels bad for not enjoying it more when clearly mama had put a lot of effort into this, but the tightness in his chest is becoming unbearable. That is, until you arrive!

Weiterlesen

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They're just 🛐

Can i have a little bit of your time?

If so…

Let’s appreciate

how proud Osamu is

of his brother 

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ATSUMU IS LIFE 😭🤌🏻

[2:12 PM]— MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu hates admitting that his feelings are hurt. 

He feels an odd sense of responsibility to hide his deeper emotions, to keep them locked away from people. Maybe it’s because he’s prideful, or maybe, it’s simply because he isn’t used to someone caring all that deeply about his feelings besides his brother. 

Whatever the cause is, the guilt eats you alive as you watch your obviously distressed boyfriend trying his best to remain unbothered and cocky. 

“Tsumu—”

“Are ya hungry, baby? I can go get us somethin’ ta eat and—” he’s interrupted by his name once more. But this time, the tone makes him shut his mouth, staring dejectedly at his lap. 

“Atsumu.” You’re firm, but laced with a softness he finds he craves.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, pulling on a loose thread of his joggers, avoiding your gaze by all means necessary. You sigh, making his heart ache a little. 

He figures it was a matter of time you got tired of his antics. But you never cease to surprise him, it seems. 

“Baby, can you look at me? Please?” And Atsumu, prideful and incessantly cocky, looks helplessly small, and you can just make out the tremble of his lips when he meets your eyes. 

They’re hurt. They’re so hurt, and so lost, that you’re almost overwhelmed with guilt, almost filled to the brim with self-hatred for making him feel this way. 

Him. Atsumu, a closeted softie, your sweet boyfriend whose only flaw was that sometimes he was rather an idiot, but he was a cute one at least. He peppered wet kisses that made you laugh, he whistled at you obnoxiously and made your face burn, he flopped his body on yours and crushed you under his heavy yet loving embrace, and he, under every circumstance possible, accommodated to you.

Atsumu’s heart beat at your command, and you’d felt like you’d crushed it in your palm. 

“Okay,” he mumbles, voice quiet. “‘M lookin’.” Your hands cup his cheeks, carefully cradling his face in them, kissing his nose delicately as he stares at your chin, fighting the tears he tries so hard to keep at bay. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I really am, Tsumie. I was wrong, okay? And I didn’t mean it. I love you,” you whisper, and he tries to offer you a cocky smirk, and it’s a comical attempt, really, with the tears running down his face, but you can’t find it in you to laugh. Not when his eyes have dimmed like that. The usual saccharine honey is now glazed with a much duller hue. 

“‘M okay, angel, ya don’t gotta worry about lil ol’ me.”

“I always worry about you,” you whisper. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about you, baby.” He looks down once more.

“Oh,” he replies quietly. Sniffling, Atsumu leans in, almost hesitantly, as if he’s testing the waters, as though he’s expecting you to withdraw. But your arms open widely, letting him fall against them, letting him seek refuge in the juncture of your neck and the security of your touch, tightly wrapping around him and pulling him close. 

“Come here, Tsum,” you speak so delicately, Atsumu all but breaks. He exhales shakily when your hands push back the hair from his forehead, threading through the locks as you kiss his temple. 

For the first time, he lets himself admit his true feelings to someone else. 

“Ya hurt ma feelin’s, ya know,” he croaks. And though your heart breaks because of the sentence, it soars because of the confession. 

“I know,” you admit quietly. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you like that again,” you promise, rubbing the expanse of his back, gliding your palm over the slopes of his taut muscles. He slowly relaxes under your touch. 

“Tell me ya love me,” he pleads, and a gentle smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, making him slowly feel as though maybe things will work out in the end for him. Your thumb swipes at a stray tear as you kiss his forehead. 

“I love you, Tsumu. I promise.” And in an instant, Atsumu’s heart is repaired and then some, beating rapidly against his chest, making him grin into your neck as he buries his face once more. And with another kiss to his temple, you bring him a bit closer, smiling into his hair as he gives yet another piece of himself to you. 

reblogs are really appreciated <3

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Unhappy Christmas! | F. odair

Warning: ANGST, mentions of forced prostitution, mean!reader? (Idk lol)

A/N: My first language is not English and blah blah blah

_____

"Merry christmas!" You shouted excitedly at Mags.

You had won the 67th hunger games and, after going a little crazy, you started to overcome it. Obviously it is impossible to completely overcome it but, unlike before, now you know how to be happy. The other Vemcedores of District 4 had helped you find your way out of the fog that embraced you and sent you back again and again.

You could easily say who was the person who helped you the most, the one who gave you a hand when the darkness was consuming you and he got you out of there. The one who said words so your brain wouldn't shut down completely. The one who hugged you so you wouldn't fall even though your legs didn't respond to your call.

He's always been the one to help you, ever since his family helped yours not die in a fire when you were 6 years old. Since then he has always been there for you.

And you would like to do the same.

But lately that seemed like an impossible task and you didn't even know why, you didn't know what was wrong, you didn't know what was changing him. That's why you decided to invite him to the Christmas gathering with your family and Mags (Who, since your games, is also part of the family).

"Do you know if the bakery will be able to sell the cake?" You asked the old woman.

"They said they would have it ready by the afternoon my girl, stop worrying"

"No no no, this has to go well Mags, we've been enjoying a meeting for a long time without someone going crazy, and it's usually me, so I have to have everything under control" You said as you walked around the entire room, checking and criticizing the decorations.

Mags sighed with a smile on his face as your stress continued to grow, you had always been such a perfectionist. "If you keep this up you'll probably collapse before the meeting. Sit down, I'll bring you some hot chocolate."

"But Ma-"

"No buts" she said and walked at a slow pace towards the kitchen. You followed her, Mags was very strong but sometimes her old age worked against her.

"Maybe if Finnick would deign to help" you murmured annoyed, you were the one who had invited him, but he could have the desire to help with something, right?

"Oh...Finnick?" Mags said, looking at you with a look somewhere between amazed, compassionate and sad. That was not a good sign.

"Yeap, I invited him too, lately he's been a little... weird" You said, sitting quietly on one of the kitchen chairs and crossing your arms over your chest.

"My girl... I don't know why he didn't tell you but... Finnick- he's not here" And again, a sad and compassionate look but this time not at you. His gaze was completely fixed on the floor.

"Wha- What are you talking about Mags?" You laughed in disbelief, he accepted the invitation, he is going to come. "He told me-"

"He told you what you needed to hear, my girl. You love Christmas, he has no right to ruin what you had planned."

"He's doing it anyway. He's supposed to- He's supposed to come." You ran out of the kitchen, straight into your room.

Normally you wouldn't get like this, you had to change many plans with Finnick, it was normal. But it stopped being that way when he had been doing it for months, with every damn invitation. You open the doors of your friendship, of your kindness, and he closes them as if you were one of the many girls who are lining up to have him.

_________

Angry, stressed and more angry.

The meeting had already started. There was your family, other neighbors from Victors Village, and some friends of your parents. But he wasn't there, and that made you angry. Because you did this for him, he loved socializing but now he rejected any situation in which he could do it.

Before he took you out of the darkness and now that you are out you want to be in the illuminated area with him. But he is not there. It's like he didn't get you out of there, he just replaced places. And you are no longer able to find him, you do not see a hand to grab and pull, he is not here, not there, he is not anywhere.

Oh, and the damn cake wasn't ready yet.

"If that fucking cake doesn't arrive, I'm going to hang myself" You said annoyed in the patio of the house. You were waiting for the person to take him to your home but he didn't arrive.

"Calm down little one" your father said next to you.

Your impatience was beginning to radiate from you. Your mind only thought bad words and all of them were directed towards the bakery... and a few - or maybe many - towards Finnick.

"Look, it's here. Don't even think about tipping them!" You said towards your father. Sometimes anger makes you a bad person.

Both of you waited for the young man with a hood over his head to approach with the cake, but instead he continued straight, specifically towards Finnick's house.

"Is that Finnick? Didn't you say that he wouldn't be in District 4 today?" No, it couldn't be that you planned a damn mini party so he could fit in. The idiot pretended to leave so he wouldn't attend.

"I'm going to go say hello dad..." You were going to say a lot of things, but hello wasn't on the list of what you planned to say.

Finnick opened the door to his house and with a staggering step he entered, he was about to open the door but you screamed for him not to.

He closed it anyway.

Wow, today he was earning your fury. It's no longer a metaphor, he literally closed the door on you as if he were a stalker. And honestly you'd had enough of that. You had had enough of being ignored repeatedly in the last few months.

"Finnick come on! You lied about the Christmas party and you can't even open the fucking door to apologize?!"

Silence, he didn't answer you. You looked out the window and you didn't see him, you didn't see the friend to shout at, you only saw the darkness that he had entered a few seconds ago.

The window was open and, once again, anger made you a bad person, so despite creating several scratches on your hands and knees, you managed to enter through the window.

"You son of a b-" you screamed as you fell from the window to the floor.

"Y/N? What the fuck are you doing?" The spotlight turned, illuminating the room they were in.

"You! This is for you! Couldn't you be so kind as to open the door for me?" You stood up quickly, pointing a finger at him aggressively and approaching him.

"I- I didn't hear you knock-"

"Of course you listened! It's just that you've apparently changed so much lately that you couldn't even have a bit of fucking consideration."

"What are you talking about? Y/N what the fuck happened to your knee and why are you coming to my house like you're a fucking murderer totally bad at his job?" She raised one of her eyebrows, but her body remained relaxed on the couch, as if you weren't bothered at all.

"Do you want to know what happened to my knee? Well, I got hurt because you couldn't OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" You moved further towards him. and probably thanks to your scream Finnick got up from the couch, confused but still relaxed. "Oh! And you know what? I threw a whole damn Christmas party because we're both supposed to love Christmas and YOU DIDN'T EVEN DEIGN TO COME! What the fuck is wrong with you Finnick?"

"Ok... you're a little upset, aren't you?" He put his hands on your shoulders and crouched down a little so he could look you in the eyes.

And normally you'd punch him but he's your friend, so you kept eye contact with him. You looked at his eyes helplessly, with impatience, but in his eyes for some reason you only saw sadness and sadness. They were a little red, as if he had cried, when he blinked his eyelids took a little longer than normal to return to their place and his eyelashes were shiny. "Look, I'm sorry, I had to leave in an emergency, okay? I figured the party was already over so I came straight home."

"There's literally loud music and people outside the house, unless you're blind, deaf and stupid, no, the party's not over." Tears began to build up in your eyes, 'and it made you upset with yourself. You didn't want to cry in a serious discussion.

"Well, I'm an idiot then. I'm sorry, okay? I swear I'll be there at the next party" he walked away from you a little. Sitting back down in the chair.

"Damn Finnick, I don't give a shit about the upcoming holidays, what I care about is that the last few months you've changed and I haven't even been able to change with you!" You said in a broken voice, tears already sliding down your cheeks and your mouth curling to try to contain the sounds of sadness.

Finnick didn't say mad, he just looked at you. And no matter how much you've been with him for 12 years, you couldn't decipher that look. He looked like the 14-year-old boy who was thrown into the sand again. He seemed without hope, without happiness. The only shine that was in them was tears. that showed their sadness but I don't know that it trickled down their cheeks, the pain that he kept only for him, that clouded only his vision.

"Finnick...I just want to know what's going on with us. Why don't we walk around anymore, or p-play or just- just talk? Why-why don't we do that anymore?"

"I..."

"Just tell me Finnick, because I'm trying but I don't even know what I have to do."

"I-I can't, I can't tell you. He-he doesn't allow it," Finnick said with a broken voice, lowering his head to the floor. You approached him and knelt in front of him.

"Who is he Finn? What are they doing with you?" You grabbed his face and made him look into his eyes, as teary as his own.

"Snow... h-he's worse than he looks..." he sniffed and bit his trembling lip "h-he's s-so cruel, he's a m-monster."

And just by saying who is responsible for why your friend is shedding salty tears, fear came to you. You knew that this man is capable of too many things and that scares you. It scares you that he showed that prick to Finnick and you didn't. You're scared that Finnick is cracking and you don't know how the first crack got.

"I've changed...he's changed me y/n and I dislike that" he sniffed again "and if you find out how he's changed me you'll probably never- you'll just walk away"

_____

What happens when there is so much darkness that no way out has been discovered?

What happens when fear overwhelms you?

Fear is darkness, and darkness is blinding. The problem is that fear is infinite. Everyone has a different fear, some are afraid of the dark, others are afraid of spiders, others are afraid of the sea, others are afraid of blood, others are afraid of heights.

But what happens when you are afraid of fear?

That's what happens with you. You know that the boy you have loved for a long time is afraid, and that scares you. But you can't do anything because the fears are infinite, the fear remains and blinds you.

The fear of your disappointment, the fear of your disgust, the fear of showing what he has become has blinded him. And you have seen it. But you don't know where that fear comes from, you don't know who or what is producing it.

So for now you only have to observe, continue fearing, remain scared but attentive, wait until the moment when his fears are weak, the moment when hope removes the blindfold from his eyes. And at that moment have it again.

Seeing that boy again who, although fear has changed him, will continue to be the same boy who loves having a nice Christmas.

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Unhappy Christmas! | F. odair

Warning: ANGST, mentions of forced prostitution, mean!reader? (Idk lol)

A/N: My first language is not English and blah blah blah

_____

"Merry christmas!" You shouted excitedly at Mags.

You had won the 67th hunger games and, after going a little crazy, you started to overcome it. Obviously it is impossible to completely overcome it but, unlike before, now you know how to be happy. The other Vemcedores of District 4 had helped you find your way out of the fog that embraced you and sent you back again and again.

You could easily say who was the person who helped you the most, the one who gave you a hand when the darkness was consuming you and he got you out of there. The one who said words so your brain wouldn't shut down completely. The one who hugged you so you wouldn't fall even though your legs didn't respond to your call.

He's always been the one to help you, ever since his family helped yours not die in a fire when you were 6 years old. Since then he has always been there for you.

And you would like to do the same.

But lately that seemed like an impossible task and you didn't even know why, you didn't know what was wrong, you didn't know what was changing him. That's why you decided to invite him to the Christmas gathering with your family and Mags (Who, since your games, is also part of the family).

"Do you know if the bakery will be able to sell the cake?" You asked the old woman.

"They said they would have it ready by the afternoon my girl, stop worrying"

"No no no, this has to go well Mags, we've been enjoying a meeting for a long time without someone going crazy, and it's usually me, so I have to have everything under control" You said as you walked around the entire room, checking and criticizing the decorations.

Mags sighed with a smile on his face as your stress continued to grow, you had always been such a perfectionist. "If you keep this up you'll probably collapse before the meeting. Sit down, I'll bring you some hot chocolate."

"But Ma-"

"No buts" she said and walked at a slow pace towards the kitchen. You followed her, Mags was very strong but sometimes her old age worked against her.

"Maybe if Finnick would deign to help" you murmured annoyed, you were the one who had invited him, but he could have the desire to help with something, right?

"Oh...Finnick?" Mags said, looking at you with a look somewhere between amazed, compassionate and sad. That was not a good sign.

"Yeap, I invited him too, lately he's been a little... weird" You said, sitting quietly on one of the kitchen chairs and crossing your arms over your chest.

"My girl... I don't know why he didn't tell you but... Finnick- he's not here" And again, a sad and compassionate look but this time not at you. His gaze was completely fixed on the floor.

"Wha- What are you talking about Mags?" You laughed in disbelief, he accepted the invitation, he is going to come. "He told me-"

"He told you what you needed to hear, my girl. You love Christmas, he has no right to ruin what you had planned."

"He's doing it anyway. He's supposed to- He's supposed to come." You ran out of the kitchen, straight into your room.

Normally you wouldn't get like this, you had to change many plans with Finnick, it was normal. But it stopped being that way when he had been doing it for months, with every damn invitation. You open the doors of your friendship, of your kindness, and he closes them as if you were one of the many girls who are lining up to have him.

_________

Angry, stressed and more angry.

The meeting had already started. There was your family, other neighbors from Victors Village, and some friends of your parents. But he wasn't there, and that made you angry. Because you did this for him, he loved socializing but now he rejected any situation in which he could do it.

Before he took you out of the darkness and now that you are out you want to be in the illuminated area with him. But he is not there. It's like he didn't get you out of there, he just replaced places. And you are no longer able to find him, you do not see a hand to grab and pull, he is not here, not there, he is not anywhere.

Oh, and the damn cake wasn't ready yet.

"If that fucking cake doesn't arrive, I'm going to hang myself" You said annoyed in the patio of the house. You were waiting for the person to take him to your home but he didn't arrive.

"Calm down little one" your father said next to you.

Your impatience was beginning to radiate from you. Your mind only thought bad words and all of them were directed towards the bakery... and a few - or maybe many - towards Finnick.

"Look, it's here. Don't even think about tipping them!" You said towards your father. Sometimes anger makes you a bad person.

Both of you waited for the young man with a hood over his head to approach with the cake, but instead he continued straight, specifically towards Finnick's house.

"Is that Finnick? Didn't you say that he wouldn't be in District 4 today?" No, it couldn't be that you planned a damn mini party so he could fit in. The idiot pretended to leave so he wouldn't attend.

"I'm going to go say hello dad..." You were going to say a lot of things, but hello wasn't on the list of what you planned to say.

Finnick opened the door to his house and with a staggering step he entered, he was about to open the door but you screamed for him not to.

He closed it anyway.

Wow, today he was earning your fury. It's no longer a metaphor, he literally closed the door on you as if he were a stalker. And honestly you'd had enough of that. You had had enough of being ignored repeatedly in the last few months.

"Finnick come on! You lied about the Christmas party and you can't even open the fucking door to apologize?!"

Silence, he didn't answer you. You looked out the window and you didn't see him, you didn't see the friend to shout at, you only saw the darkness that he had entered a few seconds ago.

The window was open and, once again, anger made you a bad person, so despite creating several scratches on your hands and knees, you managed to enter through the window.

"You son of a b-" you screamed as you fell from the window to the floor.

"Y/N? What the fuck are you doing?" The spotlight turned, illuminating the room they were in.

"You! This is for you! Couldn't you be so kind as to open the door for me?" You stood up quickly, pointing a finger at him aggressively and approaching him.

"I- I didn't hear you knock-"

"Of course you listened! It's just that you've apparently changed so much lately that you couldn't even have a bit of fucking consideration."

"What are you talking about? Y/N what the fuck happened to your knee and why are you coming to my house like you're a fucking murderer totally bad at his job?" She raised one of her eyebrows, but her body remained relaxed on the couch, as if you weren't bothered at all.

"Do you want to know what happened to my knee? Well, I got hurt because you couldn't OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" You moved further towards him. and probably thanks to your scream Finnick got up from the couch, confused but still relaxed. "Oh! And you know what? I threw a whole damn Christmas party because we're both supposed to love Christmas and YOU DIDN'T EVEN DEIGN TO COME! What the fuck is wrong with you Finnick?"

"Ok... you're a little upset, aren't you?" He put his hands on your shoulders and crouched down a little so he could look you in the eyes.

And normally you'd punch him but he's your friend, so you kept eye contact with him. You looked at his eyes helplessly, with impatience, but in his eyes for some reason you only saw sadness and sadness. They were a little red, as if he had cried, when he blinked his eyelids took a little longer than normal to return to their place and his eyelashes were shiny. "Look, I'm sorry, I had to leave in an emergency, okay? I figured the party was already over so I came straight home."

"There's literally loud music and people outside the house, unless you're blind, deaf and stupid, no, the party's not over." Tears began to build up in your eyes, 'and it made you upset with yourself. You didn't want to cry in a serious discussion.

"Well, I'm an idiot then. I'm sorry, okay? I swear I'll be there at the next party" he walked away from you a little. Sitting back down in the chair.

"Damn Finnick, I don't give a shit about the upcoming holidays, what I care about is that the last few months you've changed and I haven't even been able to change with you!" You said in a broken voice, tears already sliding down your cheeks and your mouth curling to try to contain the sounds of sadness.

Finnick didn't say mad, he just looked at you. And no matter how much you've been with him for 12 years, you couldn't decipher that look. He looked like the 14-year-old boy who was thrown into the sand again. He seemed without hope, without happiness. The only shine that was in them was tears. that showed their sadness but I don't know that it trickled down their cheeks, the pain that he kept only for him, that clouded only his vision.

"Finnick...I just want to know what's going on with us. Why don't we walk around anymore, or p-play or just- just talk? Why-why don't we do that anymore?"

"I..."

"Just tell me Finnick, because I'm trying but I don't even know what I have to do."

"I-I can't, I can't tell you. He-he doesn't allow it," Finnick said with a broken voice, lowering his head to the floor. You approached him and knelt in front of him.

"Who is he Finn? What are they doing with you?" You grabbed his face and made him look into his eyes, as teary as his own.

"Snow... h-he's worse than he looks..." he sniffed and bit his trembling lip "h-he's s-so cruel, he's a m-monster."

And just by saying who is responsible for why your friend is shedding salty tears, fear came to you. You knew that this man is capable of too many things and that scares you. It scares you that he showed that prick to Finnick and you didn't. You're scared that Finnick is cracking and you don't know how the first crack got.

"I've changed...he's changed me y/n and I dislike that" he sniffed again "and if you find out how he's changed me you'll probably never- you'll just walk away"

_____

What happens when there is so much darkness that no way out has been discovered?

What happens when fear overwhelms you?

Fear is darkness, and darkness is blinding. The problem is that fear is infinite. Everyone has a different fear, some are afraid of the dark, others are afraid of spiders, others are afraid of the sea, others are afraid of blood, others are afraid of heights.

But what happens when you are afraid of fear?

That's what happens with you. You know that the boy you have loved for a long time is afraid, and that scares you. But you can't do anything because the fears are infinite, the fear remains and blinds you.

The fear of your disappointment, the fear of your disgust, the fear of showing what he has become has blinded him. And you have seen it. But you don't know where that fear comes from, you don't know who or what is producing it.

So for now you only have to observe, continue fearing, remain scared but attentive, wait until the moment when his fears are weak, the moment when hope removes the blindfold from his eyes. And at that moment have it again.

Seeing that boy again who, although fear has changed him, will continue to be the same boy who loves having a nice Christmas.

#finnick odair #hunger games #fanfic #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick odair angst #finnick odair headcanons #thg finnick #odair

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ABSOLUTY ME 😭

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So This Is Love | F. Odair

So this is love, you told yourself when you saw those eyes. So this is love, you repeated to yourself as you saw his smile. So this is true love, you convinced yourself as you placed his hands around you.

Finninck Odair was the representation of true love, he makes you feel loved and appreciated. He knows exactly how it feels to feel used and discarded like a toy, so he knows how to make you feel like the luckiest, happiest, most loved, and most valuable person in Panem.

He doesn't need expensive jewelry or fashionable outfits, like the people at the capitol. He doesn't smile at you every time he sees you either, he isn't perfect, he doesn't have to be fierce all the time to make you happy. With just one hug, whether it was a hug of immense joy for being able to share a day together on the beach or a desperate hug full of sadness for spending a few hard days in the capitol, he always made you feel loved. The warmth of his arms made you feel true love.

And perhaps there are days when you are in a bad mood, but it is simply impossible to end up falling for his charms, it is impossible not to give in to his kisses, his caresses and his little jokes.

Every little detail is made with the aim of making you happy. From bringing you a pearl that he found on the beach to preparing a romantic dinner for you. All.

But what you love most, more than hugs, more than their gifts taken from the sea, more than their details to make you happy, what you love most are their "I love you."

Seeing him smile at you, walk up to you and kiss you, followed by "I love you, swetie." Even sometimes he doesn't need to say it to show you, sometimes simply after you console him after a nightmare, he looks at you with his teary eyes and gives you a beautiful smile, that's also an "I love you."

Anyway, whether he is hugging you to get rid of your bad mood or you are hugging him to get rid of the pain, he ALWAYS shows you what love is. And you love him for that.

"I love you, did you know that?" He said, while he finished preparing breakfast for both of you

Yes, you knew that, because it is not the first nor the last time he has told you and he will tell you those same words.

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So This Is Love | F. Odair

So this is love, you told yourself when you saw those eyes. So this is love, you repeated to yourself as you saw his smile. So this is true love, you convinced yourself as you placed his hands around you.

Finninck Odair was the representation of true love, he makes you feel loved and appreciated. He knows exactly how it feels to feel used and discarded like a toy, so he knows how to make you feel like the luckiest, happiest, most loved, and most valuable person in Panem.

He doesn't need expensive jewelry or fashionable outfits, like the people at the capitol. He doesn't smile at you every time he sees you either, he isn't perfect, he doesn't have to be fierce all the time to make you happy. With just one hug, whether it was a hug of immense joy for being able to share a day together on the beach or a desperate hug full of sadness for spending a few hard days in the capitol, he always made you feel loved. The warmth of his arms made you feel true love.

And perhaps there are days when you are in a bad mood, but it is simply impossible to end up falling for his charms, it is impossible not to give in to his kisses, his caresses and his little jokes.

Every little detail is made with the aim of making you happy. From bringing you a pearl that he found on the beach to preparing a romantic dinner for you. All.

But what you love most, more than hugs, more than their gifts taken from the sea, more than their details to make you happy, what you love most are their "I love you."

Seeing him smile at you, walk up to you and kiss you, followed by "I love you, swetie." Even sometimes he doesn't need to say it to show you, sometimes simply after you console him after a nightmare, he looks at you with his teary eyes and gives you a beautiful smile, that's also an "I love you."

Anyway, whether he is hugging you to get rid of your bad mood or you are hugging him to get rid of the pain, he ALWAYS shows you what love is. And you love him for that.

"I love you, did you know that?" He said, while he finished preparing breakfast for both of you

Yes, you knew that, because it is not the first nor the last time he has told you and he will tell you those same words.

#finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #hunger games #x reader #fanfic #finnick imagine #fem reader

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Hi! how are you? I discovered your profile recently and saw that you said that you needed a few followers to reach 200! Congratulations you deserve it! ❤️ Obviously I already started following you.

I saw your requests are open and well, I don't know if you like it, but I need soft things in my life lol, so I was thinking about district4!reader (I mean, not a game winner) taking care of finnick when is sick or when he feels insecure (you know, because of that whole capitol thing), he deserves to be cared for and loved 🫶🏻

HEALING HEARTS

PAIRING - finnick odair x district4!reader

SUMMARY - you tend finnick back to the health

WC - 800

EXTRA - mentions of cold, fever, and the sickness, mentions of the capitols ways with finnick, but fluff all the way

NOTES - hi angel, thanks for the follow i really really appreciate it:)) i hope this is what you were looking for, enjoy!

PS. - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point it out:))

—

the cold, dreary days of district 4 often cast a somber shadow over its residents, but none felt it more deeply than finnick odair. the once dazzling victor now bore the weight of his past like a heavy cloak, his radiant smile dimmed by the ghosts that haunted him. vut amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of light, warmth and love in the form of you, his companion and confidante.

it was on one such bleak day that finnick found himself bedridden, a fever raging through his body like a tempest. you entered his modest home, a home that was gifted to him by the capitol, armed with bundles of blankets and vials of herbal remedies, ready to tend to him with unwavering care and devotion.

"finnick," you murmured softly, your voice a soothing melody in the silence of the room. "i'm here. let me take care of you."

as finnick lay in bed, his brow furrowed with discomfort, you wasted no time in springing into action. with gentle hands and a heart full of compassion, you set about tending to him with unwavering care.

first, you gathered an assortment of blankets, and with gentle hands, you layered them over his trembling form to ward off the chill that had settled in his bones. you tucked the blankets around him snugly, ensuring he was cocooned in warmth and comfort. finnick's eyes fluttered open, weary and vulnerable, but there was a flicker of gratitude in their depths—a silent acknowledgment of the solace you brought him in his darkest hours.

next, you brewed a pot of steaming hot tea, selecting herbs known for their soothing properties to help alleviate his symptoms. the fragrant aroma of the tea filled the room, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, easing the tension that had settled in his shoulders.

with a soft smile, you pressed a warm cup of tea into finnick's hands, urging him to take small sips as you sat by his side, offering words of comfort and reassurance. you watched as he drank, the steam rising from the cup in gentle wisps, the warmth seeping into his tired body.

as the tea worked its magic, soothing finnick's aches and pains, you turned your attention to nourishing his body. you prepared a simple yet hearty meal, selecting ingredients with care and attention to ensure they would be both nutritious and delicious.

you chopped vegetables with practiced precision, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board a soothing melody in the quiet of the room. the savory aroma of the food filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the tea, and finnick's appetite stirred at the tantalizing scent.

with a soft smile, you plated the meal and set it before finnick, encouraging him to eat slowly and savor each bite. you watched as he ate, the weariness in his eyes gradually giving way to a glimmer of vitality as he savored the nourishing meal.

but it wasn't just the physical care you provided that comforted finnick—it was the warmth of your presence, the softness of your touch, the unwavering devotion in your eyes. you stayed by his side throughout the long hours of the day and into the night, offering solace and support in the face of his illness.

as the days passed, you remained faithfully by finnick's side, administering medicine and comfort in equal measure. you read to him, sang him lullabies, and held him close when the nightmares came, a steady anchor amidst the turbulent sea of his memories.

but it wasn't just physical ailments that plagued finnick; it was the lingering scars of his past, etched deep into his soul by the capitol's cruel hands. he often spoke of his struggles, his fears, and his insecurities, laying bare his fragile heart for you to mend.

"you deserve so much better," he whispered one night, his voice raw with emotion. "you shouldn't have to waste your love on someone like me."

but you shook your head, your eyes brimming with unwavering determination. "finnick, you are worthy of love," you insisted, your words a steadfast declaration of truth. "you are strong, and brave, and resilient. and you deserve to be cared for and cherished, just as much as anyone else."

and in that moment, finnick saw himself reflected in your eyes—the man he could be, not the broken shell of who he once was. he saw hope, and light, and love, shining bright amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

as finnick's fever broke and his strength returned, so too did his spirit, rekindled by the warmth of your love. and though the scars of his past would always linger, for in your arms, he found solace, and in your heart, he found home.

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I NEED MORE 👹

hi could you possibly do a modern AU where finnick and readers parents set them up on a blind date and they hit it off please 🙏

☼ mother knows best (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing,

wc; 2.6k

notes; modern au!!

--

“(Y/n).” Your mom says, coming in through the door. “We need to talk, again.”

From where you’re sitting on the couch, you can see that she’s got bags of groceries wrapped around her arms. You close the laptop on your thighs, setting it aside when you get to your feet. 

You were trying to get some extra schoolwork done, wanting to get ahead so that you have nothing to worry about tomorrow. You have plans all day with your friends to go to the city fair that you can’t cancel. You’ve been putting it off for weeks, waiting for the perfect time, and it’s finally come.

“Do you want help?” You ask, walking around the couch. 

“No, your father is grabbing the rest.” She breathes, disappearing into the kitchen.

She sets the few bags on top of the counter, and immediately begins to open them to put the goods away. You pull out a stool that’s tucked away on the other side. “What do you want to talk about?”

She gives you a pointed look, before turning around to open the fridge.

You sigh. “Mom, please don’t start.”

“Will you please just listen to me?” She asks. “I talked with Zillah today, she says that her boy is free tonight.”

You stare at the back of her head, halfway contemplating whether or not you’ll get away with sneaking out of the kitchen right now. You don’t think she’d hear you, unless the stool scrapes against the hardwood. It might be awkward then, when she turns around and you have to pretend like you weren’t trying to run out.

“Well, that’s good for him.” You say.

When she turns around to grab more canned soup, she stops long enough to look at you. “I really think you should get to know him, (Y/n). He’s a nice boy. All of Zillah’s kids are polite.”

“I’m not into dating.” You tell her, slouching in the stool. “I’m trying to focus on college right now. A boyfriend would just distract me.”

“That’s right.” Your dad says, coming into the kitchen, setting more bags onto the counter. “That’s my firstborn.”

“Your only born.” You murmur.

“Honey, you can’t fool me. I know you can focus on both, because that’s what you do with your friends.” She shakes her head. “You make time for them, don’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“How’s that?” She asks.

“I’m not kissing my friends.”

She laughs, “I never said you had to kiss him.”

“That’s what will happen eventually.” You wave your hand. “And I don’t want any of it.”

She gives you a frown. “You worry me. I just don’t want you to end up by yourself.”

As much as you love and appreciate your mom, there’s nothing you hate more than when she tells you that she thinks you’re going to end up alone. This is an idea that she’s held on to for the past couple of years, the one thing that’s really consistent about her. It’s gotten worse lately, due to her and her friend coming together to form the idea that you and her son should be together.

Granted, she doesn’t tell you outright that you’re going to be by yourself for the rest of your life. She usually tells you to get out of the house, afraid that you’re lonely at times. Despite you constantly telling her that you’re happy with your friends, and you don’t need to be with someone every waking second.

She’ll then give you this look—which is normally more than a frown—because you know what she meant. She knows that you’re happy with your friends, you’re around them constantly. What she’s referring to is boys. She thinks that if you don’t find a nice boy now, they’ll all be taken by the time you’re ready.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Each time she brings it up, it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes and try to leave the room as fast as possible. If you don’t. Then she’ll go on about it forever. You can’t even ask your dad for help most of the time, because he wants nothing to do with the conversation. 

If you’re content with being single, then who’s to say he should be the one to intervene?

You wish your mom had that same philosophy.

“Mom, that’s not going to happen.” You tell her. 

“We don’t know that. The future isn’t certain.” She says, “(Y/n), you know I would never tell you to do something if it was a bad idea.” 

She’s facing you now, tired of pulling the bags apart while having this conversation. 

“I don’t know, you’re telling me to do this.” You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head. “Even if I do agree, I won’t have fun, because he’ll be looking for a relationship, and I won’t be.”

“I’ll have Zillah tell him that you’re just getting your feet wet.” She reasons. “It’ll be a no-pressure situation.”

She’s reaching for her phone. It doesn’t matter what you say now, because she’s going to confirm it with Zillah, either way. You let your mom text her, and once the message is sent, you sigh.

“If this goes awry, I get to say ‘I told you so’.” You tell her.

“It won’t, baby, trust me.”

—

The city fair this year looks amazing. 

These past few weeks leading up to today has been worth it. While you would’ve liked tomorrow to be your first time here, because you’ll be with your friends, you honestly can’t complain that you’re going early. Especially since you’re here at night.

There’s nothing you like more than feeling the cool air on your skin, seeing the bright colors, smelling the fair food, and listening to the screams of terror around you. It brings you back a little bit, to when you were younger and had the bravery to get on each and every ride.

You could now, if you wanted to. The lines are fairly short because it’s a weekday. You could probably hit more than half of these before the night is over. The issue is that you don’t want to be alone when you do it. 

That’s why you’ll try to find Zillah’s son—Finnick—first, and go from there. You’re not entirely sure what to expect from him. You know his older brother, he was on the university swim team when you started your first year of college. If he’s anything like Alaric, you think you’ll get along pretty well.

You know nothing about Finnick, besides the fact that he went out of state for university. He graduated a couple months back, you had to dog sit for Zillah because no one else was available. When they came back, you were at home, so you never got the chance to actually meet him.

You’ve seen the outdated pictures on her walls, so you have a vague idea of what to be looking for. They’re from many years ago, making you afraid that you’ll miss him in the crowd. Which is why you texted his number to tell him that you’re waiting next to the slingshot ride.

Honestly, you shouldn’t even have his number, especially if it’s a blind date, like your mom was telling you. It’s unfair that she’s playing both sides of the court, because she wants this to work out so badly. You’ve mentioned the fair to her over a dozen times in the past month, what a coincidence that an unknown number shows up in your phone, suggesting to come here, huh?

You’ll give it to them both this time, but once he gets here, you expect there to be no cheating.

You pull out your phone, checking the time. You’re here early, you’ve already walked around half of the fair, getting a good idea of where everything is. The only reason why you stopped is because he told you he was parking his car, and he’d meet you soon.

“(Y/n)!” A voice calls out.

You look up from reading the group chat between your friends, all of them encouraging you to have fun tonight. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, the response you were curating begins to melt from your mind when your eyes land on him.

Finnick looks nothing like those photos anymore.

He’s tall, there’s a couple inches between him and Alaric, easily. His bronze hair bounces each time he takes a step, there’s a bright smile on his face, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Hey.” You lower your phone, going to tuck it back into your jeans. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” He says, taking you into a hug.

You blink, a little surprised, but give him a good squeeze. He smells good, and he looks good, too. And you’re not just talking about how handsome he is, you mean that he has a great fashion sense. He’s coordinated in his colors, a trait that’s hard to find in guys these days. 

“I wasn’t.” You tell him when he takes a step back. “I walked around to get a look at what they have up this year.”

“Any good food?” He asks, standing straight. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

You give him a smile. “I could go for some food. It’s down this way.”

“Lead the way.” He motions, letting you step first. 

As you lead him down the road and to the row that has most of the stalls, you glance at the rides, thinking about how you won’t ride half of these anymore. And if you do, you’ll need a hand to hold.

“Are you a fair ride type of person, Finnick?” You ask, looking over at him.

“I won’t say no.” He gives you a look, “But I won’t do them alone. It’s always better with a friend, or a sibling.”

“Alaric.” You murmur. 

“You know Alaric?” He asks.

“He was a senior when I was a freshman at Sacred Heart.” 

“Oh, that makes sense.” He nods. “Were you friends?”

“Through our parents.” You nod. “We never actually hung out. I went to a swim meet once, to cheer him on, but that was about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Swim meets are so boring. I spent my entire life watching him do them.”

“Did you do any sports?” 

“Kinda, but not really. I went to a bunch of different clubs to see what I liked. I thought I was going to do volleyball, until they switched coaches. He hated me, so I quit and decided to focus on schoolwork and parties.” He laughs slightly.

“Well, at least that worked out.” You come to a stop in the road, landing right in the middle of the stalls. “You have your pick of the litter.”

“I’m going to be honest, I just want a burger.” He starts toward the line. “Do you want anything? It’s on me.”

You hum, thinking about it while you look at what’s on the menu. “How about a lemonade and fries?”

“Whatever you want.” He says. “What about you? What are you doing for college?”

“Medical field. I want to be a nurse.” You beam.

“A nurse, I can see it. Isn’t your dad a surgeon?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m impressed.” 

He tilts his head. “I did my homework.”

“Well, yes, he is. He’s an orthopedic surgeon.”

“I’ll be sure to call him doctor when I meet him for the first time.” Finnick winks, stepping forward to order.

You laugh, shaking your head at him. You were sure that this date would be hard, or at least awkward because it was set up between your mom’s, but Finnick’s got this easy demeanor that makes it hard for you to overthink. Which is another factor you were afraid of. You have a tendency to question every sentence on dates, not wanting to turn the guys away.

He doesn’t seem to care, and he’s asking you just as many. There’s an effort being put in, you’re not the only one interested. This thought causes a bubble of excitement to rise, forming a smile on your face.

It was a good thing you agreed to this date, because if you’d missed it for homework, you would’ve been upset with yourself for the rest of the week. And you’d never hear the end of it from your friends, who were telling you to give him a chance. 

“What’re you smiling about?” Finnick asks, passing over the lemonade so he can hold the fries and his burger.

“I’m just happy I’m here with you.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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I'M DIYING 😀🔫

whumptober, day 2

There are many things Finnick Odair is good at. He's good at swimming, good at fighting, good at making knots. Good at baking decently tasty bread. He's also very good at pretending.

It's a skill he's honed throughout his whole life, ever since he was a little child. Pretending that he likes his mother's vegetable casserole. Pretending that he's completely fine when his father leads him to Mags’s house, his hand held in a forceful, painful grip, and proclaims in his booming voice that it would be the greatest honour for his son to train for the Games, right, boy? Pretending that he isn't scared to die and to kill.

Pretending that all the things that are done to his body on a regular basis aren't happening to him.

It’s somewhere past three at night and Finnick is sore and extremely dizzy and in the backseat of a car, coming back from his client. He’s in a car, because despite being just a District whore, he's an expensive one. President Snow doesn’t want anyone else to harm his investments. At least, not anyone not paying.

He’s just glad that it was the only appointment for today, because the guy, a flamboyant man in his thirties, a grandson or a nephew or a step-son of one of the influential Gamemakers, wanted to spice things up a bit in his sex life and made him swallow some colourful tablets before the act itself.

Well, it certainly spiced things up for Finnick, though probably not in a way the man intended to. He spent the whole time hearing the colours, and tasting the sounds, and seeing the images from his past and present all mixed up together.

The man was pounding into him and moaning and exclaiming something animated and probably over-the-top sexual in his shrill voice, but all Finnick could think about were the glistening in the sun tridents and spears and knives, and faces of the dead children, and his late father and ill mother and disappointed sister, and, for some reason, the Capitol's latest obnoxious vogue of inserting precious gemstones into their skin.

He desperately wanted to cry, so he laughed frantically, and he wanted to push the man away from him, too overstimulated, so he willed his muscles to relax.

The lights of the never-sleeping party area of Capitol fly by dizzyingly behind the window and Finnick has to lean onto it in an attempt not to puke. It's got a bit better in the past half hour, but the thoughts are still floating around his brain like dozens of little brightly-coloured butterflies. It’s hard to properly grasp any of them in a sticky daze of disorientation, though.

The car stops near the entrance to the Tribute Centre and he staggers out, swaying on his feet and almost ending up on the pavement. His limbs finally rearrange themselves in the correct order after a few moments and he musters a lazy salute with only some of his usual flourish to the back of the driving away car.

Still performing, even now. Gods, what a mess.

He doesn't know how exactly he reaches the elevator, but he does and the numbers swirl a bit in his eyes before settling down properly on the buttons.

He remembers well the first time he was here.

The thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to participate in the Hunger Games that year. That questionable honour was supposed to go to Jacob Maren, not yet eighteen, but the oldest among the trainees.

Instead, Dorothea, their escort, gracefully put her powdered hand with baby-blue nails, that matched her enormous wig, and pulled out his, Finnick's, name. There was a bit of a standstill after that - Jacob locking eyes with him across their separate pens. Should he volunteer, should he not. Finnick was too young yet but still a Career. In the end, Jacob stayed silent.

Just as well, thought Finnick, pushing through the crowds to the stage and already putting on a brilliant wide smile, I've trained for this, I can win, it'll be easy.

He knows now what his dumb, arrogant younger self didn’t understand back then - that even if you manage to become a victor, the only one who ever wins the Games is the Capitol.

Jacob did go the following year and died to a back-stabbing One girl. And Finnick has spent three years cursing that day and all that led to it.

Gods above, it has only been three years, hasn’t it? It feels much longer than that, so far away, so long ago. Almost like ancient history.

He did kind of make history with that one, didn’t he? The youngest Victor ever. A fat lot of good that did for him.

Fourth floor. He practically falls out of the elevator, only managing to catch onto the wall at the last moment.

Mags, curled up on the couch, perks up at the sound of sliding doors. In the dim lighting of the lounge her silver hair looks like a halo above her head. Ironic. It makes him burst out in a fit of hysterical high-pitched laughter. One would have to completely lose their marbles to call the woman an angel. An angel of death, at best. Some forget it, but she also killed in her Games, the same as all of them. And she's led enough kids to their deaths in the following years. He loves Mags with his whole heart, but she's no saint.

Mags always waits for him on appointment nights. He wishes she didn't see him like this, wishes no-one saw him like this and often snaps at her, but she only tuts in disapproval and keeps doing it. Despite his temper tantrums, he's glad she does.

Mags looks him over and frowns and he's sent down the rabbit hole of memories again.

They approach him the next day after he turns sixteen. The two of them look grim and apologetic and he doesn't know what to make of it.

‘I’m sorry, Finnick, I’m so sorry about what's probably going to happen,’ Mags says and lets out a sigh, sorrowful and tired and world-weary, and he, in a rare moment, is reminded of how old Mags really is, ‘Just… Remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what.' She inclines her head a bit, gesturing at her companion, ‘Or to Delia, if you need someone who truly gets it.'

Delia, who is wringing her hands half a step behind Mags, and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, glances at him and gives him a bleak, perfunctory nod. He doesn’t know why he would need to or want to talk to her, but anyway it’s quite unlikely that he will take her up on this offer.

Finnick knows Delia, of course he does. Delia, a constantly nervous, twitchy Victor in her forties, teaches knife-throwing, and knife-stabbing, and other knife-related skills to the trainees and has never seemed to be a particular fan of long conversations. She's communicated with them mostly with sharp nods and half-aborted, jittery gestures, always looking on edge and shaky.

Her hands have never ever shaken with a blade in them, though.

Then, he gets the summons to the annual post-Victory tour party and President Snow asks to speak with him in his office after. He's told in detail what he's expected to do, now that he's finally sixteen, and what will happen if he doesn't.

Oh.

Oh.

That's what that meant.

His first appointment with a client is the next day and it's the beginning of the end.

His sister screams at him a few months later, when he returns from one of his trips to the Capitol, ‘They don’t care about you, you stupid boy! Why won’t you understand that! Why the Hell do you keep going there?’

But it’s her who doesn’t understand, who could never understand. He can’t tell Carolyn, he can’t, not just because he doesn’t want her to know what he does, but because he’s not allowed to.

President Snow was quite straightforward about what would happen to his ill mother and his sister with her husband and their baby twins, if he were to tell anyone, even them, anything. So he keeps quiet and let them think the worst of him. The same thing that everyone else does.

(Other than his fellow victors, who are all aware of the work he and the ones like him are made to do, the only person who doesn’t look at him with badly concealed disgust, or jealousy, or fake friendliness, or lust in Four is Annie Cresta. Her eyes (also sea-green, though a few tones lighter than his own) only ever look at him with sympathy and pity these days. He would have absolutely hated being looked at like that not long ago, but now it’s just so goddamn refreshing. He used to find her annoying with her righteousness and softness when they trained to be careers together, thought her weak and kind of cowardly, but maybe there is actually nothing wrong with gentleness and timidity, he ponders.

Of course, it’s hopeless, getting used to even such a small thing. Annie Cresta is a Career. She will go into the Games soon. In a couple of years she will likely be dead.)

Mags approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly, trying not to spook him. He must look bad, because she checks his temperature with a hand on his forehead. From her pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows he gathers that it’s not very good.

'What, doctor, am i dying yet?' he ironizes.

'Well, you certainly don't look too lively, boy,' she snaps back,'Sit down, I'll be right back.'

She lets him settle on the couch and leaves to fetch her first-aid kit. They’re not allowed to bring any pills to the Tribute centre, so as to not let tributes get anywhere near them, but she has some other basic supplies. Luckily, today they are no flesh wounds to patch up.

She comes back with a thermometer in her hand. And that’s what sends him over the edge and into hysterical tears, the goddamn thermometer. It’s an old-fashioned but trusty mercury thermometer, very common back in Four, but considered obsolete by Capitol standards.

Finnick, having been many times in the local medical over the past year and a half to get patched up after rough encounters with clients, is intimately familiar by now with Capitol’s high-tech, reliably produced in Three.

She waits a bit before his sobs and shaking subside, finally takes his temperature and asks,'You're burning up. What on earth happened to you?'

'He gave me something, I don't know what,' Finnick replies reluctantly and watches her face twist and her arms cross on her chest. She's staring at him pointedly.

'Do we really have to?' he groans,'I'm almost fine by now. You're only wobbling a bit in my eyes.'

'Come on, up you go,' she pulls him up, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old, and leads him to his room, to the bathroom. She walks out again and returns with a glass and a closed water bottle.

She fills the glass with tap water and makes him drink it again and again and then throw up, repeating and repeating it until there's nothing left in his stomach at all.

Then she hands him the water bottle, lightly shoves him in the direction of the needlessly overcomplicated shower and exits.

When he finally emerges into his room he's almost feeling like himself again. Mags is still there, leaning on the frame of his bed. He finds some clothes to sleep in and drops next to her. She hums softly and smooths his hair out, running her fingers through his wet curly locks.

She's been much gentler with him since his Games, but she's taken a fancy to him a long time ago.

He was a bit of a troublemaker as a child, like little boys so often are, always sneaking away to the creek to play on the wet rocky shores, or trying to catch fry with his bare hands, or diving from the pier to see how long he could hold his breath, generally making his mother exasperated. He showed up at home in the late afternoon tired but joyful after a day of exploring with a wide toothless grin, seaweed in his hair and damp dirty patches on his knees.

His father didn’t like that much. So at a ripe old age of seven he’s dumped on Mags’s doorstep, who looks at his father weirdly over Finnick’s head and then takes a look at him, slowly lowers down to his eye-level and grasps his tiny hand with her veiny, old-woman one. ‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, little one?’

She's never been cruel to any of the trainees, definitely not, but she wasn't particularly warm-hearted either. She was kind, but also stern and strict, like a proper trainer. He knows that it's because, despite all the preparations, most of them would die in their Games. She didn't really believe that he would win his Games either.

But he survived and she became more willing to show her affection for him after that. And to him, she, the person who practically raised him, instead of his distant mother and constantly angry father, has always felt the most like a real family, even when she acted all grumpy.

He drifts to sleep, relaxing under the silent watch of the only person in the world he fully trusts.