#Finnick hurt/comfort

[bettysupremacy]

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

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

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

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

“Finnick.” You strain.

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

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wonderlandwalker]

Living Nightmares | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick wakes up to find you slipping away from him. As he tries to get help, he loses track of you, only to find you in the hands of the careers. The situation seems to get worse before he finally thinks he's at peace, but you're there to remind him to keep going.

Content Warnings/Tags: angst, a whole lot of it, fluff at the end though I'm not a monster, mentions of blood, hypothermia, violence

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I've been obsessing over our boy Finnick so here's a fic full of angst, because apparently that's the only thing my brain can think of. Dividers by @chilumitos

This wasn’t exactly where they had thought they’d be at the moment. It all started during the second day in the arena, they had the allies, they had the supplies, and they thought they had the advantage, but worry took over as they started losing sight of each other in a chase, and they tried to find the others, only to end up in a new part of the arena. It was dark, cold, and they had lost their supplies, and there was no food or water source nearby.

Neither of them was really to blame. It had been a long day, and the surroundings didn't inspire much hope. So, both of them had fallen asleep on some of the leaves that covered the ground. The cold air was still blowing around them.

But at least he wasn't alone, two sets of minds were better than one, at least he still had you.

The rising sun urged him to open his eyes, and he stretched out his arms, which had become stiff from the cold. It was only when he sat up and ran his hand through the hair that had fallen in your face that he noticed how cold you were. He quickly got up from behind you, pulling you into his lap, tilting your head up a little. Your skin was almost as white as snow, and your lips were starting to turn blue. The colour that once held so many fond memories of the ocean and the sky, now being replaced by fear and panic. He shook you lightly, trying to wake up as if you were just sleeping deeply. When you didn't react, he called out for you, his voice laced with concern.

“Y/n? Come on love, wake up.” But the only movement that came from you was your arm falling from where it was, the harsh thud to the ground reinforcing his fears.

“No, no come on. This isn't happening, wake up” Finnick had thought about this happening, how could he not when it was the basis for most of his nightmares? But he always woke up from those to find you resting in his arms, your soft breathing comforting him back to sleep. This time he didn't wake up, and he didn't hear your breathing to soothe him. He checked your pulse for a heartbeat, but all he could feel was his own heart racing in his chest. He looked around him as if there would be someone there to help, but you were alone.

He started CPR to try and quicken up your pulse, to get you to breathe again, and while he knew you probably couldn't hear him, he had to try.

“Do you remember when you came back from your first games, I really thought that had been the scariest moment of my life. When I survived my own, at least I knew you were alright at home. When you came back, I thought it was over, I wanted to see the positive side, but you seemed so weak, and having watched you, I knew how bad of a state you were in. It tore me apart to have to see it and not be able to do anything." His voice cracks a little, his head starting to swim with more thoughts.

"I won’t do this without you. You can't leave me now, not like this." He pushes a little harder on your chest while doing compression. He's sure if he does so anymore, he will crack one of your ribs.

"I imagined us getting married. I imagined proposing to you by the lake, that little spot you showed me, I know how happy you were in the middle of the field of dandelions. Every worry seemed to slip away from you, like a little hideaway from the horrors of the world. That's how you make me feel every time I'm with you. It's like there is no one in the whole world except us. And I know how cliche that sounds, I know you never liked cliches, but it's true, you are my world, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

Right as he was about to pour out more of his heart to you, he heard a noise coming from the distance. The steps were too heavy to be coming from a small animal, but his instincts also told him that whoever it was, they weren't there to help.

He knew he had two options. try and fight off whatever was coming while carrying the love of his life with him. Or keep you hidden, try and fight while distracting them away from you and coming back when the coast was clear. He tried his best to hide you underneath a blanket of leaves, making you disappear into the surroundings, he gave you a light kiss on the forehead, scared to get too close and feel how cold your skin still was. He heard the footsteps come closer.

“Just hold on a little longer darling, I’ll be back before you know it.”

And so he turned around, grabbing his trident a little harder than normal, and came face to face with one of the careers. Finnick's muscles were still sore from the night, but he was ready to run. He had to get away from here before the tribute started to wonder if he had been alone.

He ran towards a clearing, making the tribute follow behind him. He ran to a split in the path, which gave him two options, left or right. He heard rustling coming not far behind him, and his instincts told him to go right, so he did. He ran for a while until he reached a dead end, the line of trees becoming so dense he couldn't get through anymore. The tribute was still on his heels, and Finnick had to think fast again. He saw a body of water nearby and decided that diving in, despite the creatures that might be in it, and the chilling temperature it must be, would be better than certain death. He knew he would be able to outswim the career, it luckily being one of his strengths. He started to run towards it, and when he got to the edge, he jumped like his life depended on it, but it still wasn't his life he was worried about, it was yours.

Once he got to the other side of the water, he looked back, and the tribute was nowhere to be seen, probably having decided that the risk of the wild waters wasn't worth it. Finnick wasn't thinking about the relief of escape, all he was thinking about was how much time you had left.

It was by some sort of miracle he found Peeta, Johanna and the others on a small beach nearby, and he practically ran straight into them at full speed without even announcing himself. Once the others had realized it was Finnick, and he was not a danger to them, they calmed down, but the state of despair he was in did alarm them soon after

Peeta looked up at him, he was completely out of breath from how fast he had run.

“Sit down Finnick, try and catch your breath” He told him, while placing an assuring hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no time to sit down, I need to go back.” He spoke with such certainty it startled the others.

“Go back where?”

“ To the clearing, I don't know where it was, but I remember how to get there.”

“Why do you need to go back?” Johanna asked him, seeming confused.

“Because y/n is still there, and she doesn't have long”

The others didn't need to hear more, and started to pack up the things they had with them to follow him.

When they had made it back, Johanna was in front with Finnick, she wouldn't care to admit it out loud, but she was worried about you as well.

“Where?” She asked him

“Over by the cut-down stumps, next to the maple and the oak tree.” Finnick had memorized the entire area in order not to lose track of you, and with Johanna being from the lumber district, he knew this clue would be the most helpful to her.

“There’s no one here” she said, looking back at him frustrated.

“There has to be, she was right there when I left.”

“She might have been, but unless hypothermia comes with the power to turn invisible, she’s gone.”

“Well, she couldn't have left by herself” His mind was reeling with all the possibilities, each one more horrible than the last.

“Well then who took her, there are no drag marks, it wasn't any kind of mutt.”

“I don't know, maybe-” his eyes fell to the mud next to the fallen leaves, the ground here was in permafrost, it couldn't have come from here. When the tribute started chasing him he had already put distance between where you were and where he was going. They must have gone back after he went into the water to try and see if he had any supplies, and have found you. But your body wasn't here, that was a good thing, that means you must be alive, why else would they have taken you?

“They’re at the swamp”

“How are you so sure?”

“The career, he was alone when he chased me, he has to have set up camp somewhere with the others, it can't be far from here otherwise he wouldn't have carried her.”

“Alright, but we don't even know where that is, the swamp must be massive, they could be anywhere, we can’t just run in without a plan.” Johanna tried to reason, looking over to Finnick, only to realise he was no longer there.

“Where did he go?” Peeta asks her.

“Probably to the swamp, probably without a plan.” She sighed, she was annoyed, but couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would do anything for you, including laying down his own life.

“How do we find him, we don't even know where the swamp is, y/n and Finnick were the only ones who crossed it.”

“You don't happen to have a map, do you?” Johanna asks, sarcasm heavy as usual.

While the others were trying to figure out where exactly Finnick had run off to, he himself ran into some trouble. He knew it was his fault for going in without a plan or any backup, but he had listened to his heart, not his head. His heart convinced him he had to find you, telling him that if he didn't find you and wake you up, he’d never be able to see your eyes looking back into his. His heart was telling him to go and save you, even though his head was telling him it was probably already too late anyway.

He wasn't paying close attention to his surroundings as he should have been, trying with all his might to find you. They had found him when he was distracted and from that moment on they kept trying to break him. He was tied with his back against a tree, most of his body covered in blood and a little dizzy from the loss of it.

“It’s very easy to figure out what makes you tick Odair” the district one tribute spoke to him. He couldn't see very far ahead of him, and he couldn't see you anywhere.

“What’s that supposed to mean” He was confused and angry. Confused about what they meant, why they hadn't killed him. Angry they kept him from finding you, from holding you.

“Don’t worry, you'll find out soon enough.”

And as if it was planned, right after the career had spoken, a loud, soul-cracking scream echoed around him. Finnick immediately recognized it, how could he ever forget? It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick, jabber-jays, something. But there wasn't a flock of birds around, and nothing would be able to replicate such a crushing sound. He tried closing his eyes, but when he did his imagination ran wild with images and scenarios, and it only made it worse. The only thing he could do to calm down was tell himself it wasn't real, even if he didn't believe it, repeating it like a mantra over and over.

“It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real.” It was nothing more than a whisper and most probably only a mumble of incoherent words.

“Oh but that's the best part Odair, it is real, and it's not gonna stop until you give us what we want. to know.”

“You’re lying” He spit out, barely able to say the next words without falling apart completely “I saw her die.” A single tear makes its way down his face as he tries to keep his composure, cracking now wouldn't do him or you any good.

“Are you willing to take that risk? She’s pretty feisty, I'll give you that, but if you don't crack soon and tell us where your friends are, she's not gonna make it.

He tried ignoring it, trying to listen to his head instead of his heart, but once again the attempt was futile. All he could hear was the screaming, even when he was sure it had actually stopped, the sound still lived in his head. It was hard to say which was worse, the deafening screams, or the silences in between.

He tried to think with his head, tried to think what you would say to him. It would probably be something along the lines of ‘don’t do anything stupid when I'm not there.’

It was far too late for that.

When the career returned, he had a smile on his face that seemed way too happy for the situation they were in.

“She’s strong, that girl of yours, that much is true. The question is for how much longer, everyone has a point of no return, and I have a feeling she’ll cross it soon, But you can make it stop, tell us where your friends are, and it’ll stop.” The tribute had bent down so he was face to face with him, and by the look in his eyes, he now knew for sure this wasn't a bluff.

Finnick didn't know where they were, they wouldn't have stayed at the beach where he found them or at the clearing where the two of you had slept for the night. And maybe it was for the best he didn't know, because right now if he was honest with himself, he would have told them anything he knew if they wanted it. He would do anything to get to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your body against his, to feel your lips pressed against his own. But the careers weren't stupid, he had no reason to believe they would actually let you go, and even if they did, he knew a part of you would never forgive him for what he would have done.

“This is a waste of time.” He screamed, silently hoping you were close enough and conscious enough to hear his voice, hoping it would be enough to tell you not to give up. He pulled at the ropes tying his hands together with all the strength he had left, knowing it would likely not achieve anything, but hoping for it nonetheless.

But it didn't make a difference, your screams didn't stop, and his heartache didn't stop. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, up until a point where Finnick couldn't tell how much time had passed. It was difficult to keep track of time when you kept blacking out, but it was peaceful in the most morbid way. He didn't sleep, he lost consciousness, so he didn't dream. When he blacked out he had a moment of peace, a moment where he didn't hear your screams echoing around in his head. But he would always wake up and have to face reality again.

He couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore, he couldn't hear his breathing or his thoughts, all he could hear was the screaming and the cries, even though he wasn't sure if they were there or if his mind kept playing tricks on him. He had always feared this, but he didn't think that his worst nightmares would actually come true.

He looked down and saw a puddle of his blood staining the ground and the leaves he was sitting on. The last thing he heard before he blacked out again was shouting coming from the distance.

When he wakes up he can't see much, his eyes heavy and his body tired. But he can feel his cheeks getting wet, it’s a heavy liquid and he guesses it's his blood until he opens his eyes far enough to see you kneeling in front of him, your hands cupping his cheeks to lift his face while you're silently crying, the tears creating a clear path down the grime on your face.

“y/n?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, but you look up into his eyes immediately.

“Finnick, oh god, please wake up we have to get out of here.” Your voice sounds strained, and Finnick isn't sure if it's because of all the screams that must have taken a toll on you, or if the sounds have damaged his ears, he hopes for your sake it's the latter.

“No we don’t” He says with a sense of peace that doesn't match up with the predicament you're in.

“What do you mean?” You ask him, while trying to remove some of the blood stains from his skin, but failing miserably.

“We’re in heaven, aren't we, that's why you're here, I was hoping I would see you.” A sob from your throat almost interrupts his whispering, and he looks up to you again.

“Why are you covered in so much blood” He reaches out to touch your face ever so gently, as if he's scared you're only a figment of his imagination, and you could disappear anytime.

“It’s nothing, I’m alright, I’m more worried about you, you look like you could open your very own blood bank with how much you’re losing.” Your voice is shaky, and it matches the tremble of your hands.

“No need to worry about that, You're here to bring me to heaven, we’ll be together again, it’ll all be perfect.”

“Finnick listen to me! I’m not here to take you to heaven, I’m real and I'm right here in front of you and I need you to stay awake!”

Only he’s not responding to you anymore, his eyes closed again.

“Goddamnit”

You tried to lift him off the ground, but almost fell over once you got him upright. You weren't in your strongest state, and Finnick not being in any conscious state wasn't helping, his whole body weight leaning on you. You put your arm around his shoulder and put the other around his middle, trying to keep him standing so you could move. But with your hands busy trying to keep Finnick upright, you had no way to defend yourself. All the commotion must have alerted other tributes, but you didn't know how many there were to begin with, or who even started the disturbance that allowed you to break free. You thanked whoever was listening that the two of you made it out of the swamp without running into further trouble, and entered an opening of trees that finally allowed bright sunlight to touch upon your skin. You can hear footsteps close by, and prepare for the worst.

“We need to get the two of you back to the others” A familiar voice enters your ears, and you didn't know you could ever be so grateful to find Beetee.

You make your way to a lake not far away. When you get there, you refuse to leave Finnick’s side when Beetee had insisted you needed tending to as well. It was like an unspoken rule. Whenever one of you was hurt, the other didn't leave their side until you were sure they were going to be okay. But you weren't sure, and you weren't leaving him. So you lay down next to him, and the others knew it was useless to try and separate you.

After some time had passed, Finnick started to softly grunt and woke you up with him. Your face contorted in a mix of anger and pain. You leapt up into his arms. It hurt him a little with how tight you were holding him, but he didn't dare let go. Still a little afraid it wasn't real. But he could feel your breathing against his neck, hear you crying in his ear, and hear your heart beating in your chest, in sync with his, you were here, and you were okay.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #the hunger games #hunger games #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #mockingjay #hunger games mockingjay #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #finnick angst #finnick hurt/comfort #finnick odair angst #finnick odair angst/comfort #finnick fic #finnick blurb #finnick fanfic #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #mockingjay fanfic

[heaven4lostgirls]

promises and dreams

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warning: angst, mentions of throwing up and blood, canon typical death and violence included!

summary: finnick odair is your best friend, but somehow you cant find it within yourself to be aanything more. Now that the 75th Hunger Games calls for Victors to be reaped you make it your plan to bring Finnick back home to Annie or you will die trying

word count: 1.3k

a/n: sorry ive been gone for so long! i have just finished uni so i am working on getting some more content out as soon as i can! have this to tide you over in the mean time but i can't wait to get back to posting! part 2?

part 1, part 2, part 3

You were sitting in the victors village of district 4 as you turned on the television to listen to the reaping news for the 75th Hunger Games. Your glass on the table in front of you was filled with amber liquid to quell the anxiety you felt as you hear Snow’s grating voice flood your home. Your hands are shaking as you’re forced to relive the memories of your own hunger games, which you had won at only 16.  

The victors that came after you were mentored by either you, or Finnick Odair, the Capitol’s prince. You had a harder time disassociating from  being a mentor when your tributes were in the games, Finnick always seemed so determined to get them sponsors and help them  in any way he could but for you, it was almost as worse as being in the games yourself.

Finnick and you had always been close, only drifting apart when his womanly companions found it necessary, he spend more time with them rather than you. You couldn’t blame them, if Finnick was yours you too would probably be uncomfortable but that never meant it hurt any less to see your best friend discard you as though you were nothing.

The only person you could never find it in yourself to dislike was ironically the only one of his  partner’s that  never dismissed  you, Annie Cresta. She was the epitome of beauty to you, there was no question about why Finnick fell in love with her. She had  been dealt just as bad of a hand in her own games and the both of you had found solace in one another. She could  not have been a better fit for Finnick and although your heart felt as though it was shattering each time you were forced to watch him look at her the way you longed, he would  look at you, you stayed strong.

That was how you found a paternal comfort in Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen’s mentor, he was one of the only people who understood how easy it was for you to turn to drinking in favour of trying to find your tributes sponsors because of your own trauma. He knew just as well as you did just how  hard your games were for you; you had fought tooth and nail to make it back to your family only for them to turn you away in disgust for the atrocities you had committed in the games.

One of them always haunting you, You and 12-year-old George were the last tributes standing in the arena and you knew straight away that there was no way you would  be going home, you couldn’t kill him. That was until he ran to attack you and in a strike of defence you had pushed him, he had landed on one of the spears of the dead tributes. His lifeless eyes have haunted your nightmares to  this day.

As you tune back into the Capitol TV, you hear Snow’s voice state, “…the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors from each district”. Your heart thuds inn your chest as bile rises in your throat. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears as you disconnect from reality.  The only thing that brings you back is the realisation that the other victors may  just as well be in the same predicament.

You get up to go to Finnick’s house, the light is on, so you know he must be at home so as you knock on the door, shaking on the front step in either coldness or fear, you’re no longer sure, you’re greeted with Finnick’s hard gaze as he opens the door to let you in. You whisper a small greeting as your eyes travel to the couch in front of the TV where Annie sits, she’s a mess of tears and you can only hold off for so long before you make your way towards her to comfort her.  

Finnick watches the both of you in pain and worry as you try and keep yourself composed to focus on Annie, you know just how hard it must  be for her, she had never truly been okay after her games so right then you had made the decision. If Annie’s name was ever called, you would volunteer for her, you could not sit at home and watch one of your best friends relive their pain on national television as you sat back and did nothing.

“I can’t believe this; how can they  do this?  After our games we were supposed to live! I can’t go back there” Annie says, and you softly rock the both of you as you rub her back, you look over her shoulder to where Finnick is standing and watching you both as his features tighten in anger.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise, you’re not going into that arena, okay?” Annie pulls away and looks  up at you in shock and she’s shaking her head as she lifts her hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. “You can’t” She says, and you smile back at her as you tuck her long hair behind her ear as you move to hug her, whispering in her ear, “I will make sure he comes back to you” and Annie  squeezes you tighter.

You realise then that whatever happens in the reaping and the games, that  its much bigger than you. Since Finnick had a high chance of volunteering for any of the younger and older victors you  knew that it was up to you to bring him back home. He had a reason to come back, Annie needed him more than you did, and you acknowledge that even if he had never loved you the same way you may love him, that with you dying breath you would make sure he came back to Annie.

The day of the reaping, you stood in the middle of Annie and Mags as they took out  the name for the female tribute, “The female tribute from District 4 is, Annie Cresta-“ Before the announcer is done speaking your mouth moves without thinking, “I volunteer as tribute.” You state with confidence and hear Annie flinch as tears rise in her eyes. You let go of her hand and walk to the front of the podium, the announcer looks at you in shock and sympathy before she announces, “Our Volunteer in place of Annie Cresta, Y/N Y/LN!” she states.

You feel Finnick’s hard gaze on you as they wait for the announcement of the male tribute. When Finnick’s name is called, your heart clenches in pain at the thought of your best friend having to see you die in the arena. His demeanour instantly  switches to play the part of the Capitol’s  prince as he makes his way to stand next to you.  You both smile at the crowd as you make your way towards the train to say goodbye  to your loved ones.

As Finnick and Annie say heartfelt goodbye’s you realise that nobody has come to see you, you wipe the tears pooling in your eyes as Annie turns to you after saying bye to Finnick, she runs and hugs you and thanks you softly in your ear. You squeeze her tightly and reiterate your previous promise before you’re met with the solemn gaze of Finnick.

You nudge him with your arm and playfully tease him, “That looks isn’t very Capitol Prince of you Finn”, his strained smile does not go unnoticed, but you attest it to the pain of having to relive the games however the only thought running through Finnick’s  mind is how he plans on keeping you safe.

Somehow you both think that trying to save the other might just be your own downfall.

#juliwrites #hunger gaames #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair hurt/comfort #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair hc #finnick x oc #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games trilogy

[underoospeterparker]

congrats on 600 (and 700!!)

wondering if I can get a 🐬!

Finnick Odair x “who did this to you?”

pls and tyyy!! I love ur writing sm

join the celebration

finnick odair x fem!reader, 0.6k words

You stumbled onto the beach, bending forward to press a hand against the growing wound on your leg. “Finnick!” You screamed, head twisting around in a desperate attempt to find him. “Finnick,” you tried again, looking over your shoulder to make sure that you hadn’t been followed on your way here. 

“(Y/N)?” You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard his voice grow closer. When Finnick finally saw you, he broke into a run, catching you in his arms when you collapsed onto the ground. “Hi,” he whispered as a way of greeting. As soon as he noticed you were injured, he untangled himself from you. “Baby?” Finnick looked worried, lip caught between his teeth, running his hand in his thick hair. He leaned forward to inspect the cut.

He grimaced when he saw it, and you whined in pain when he pressed a hand to the bleeding gash, stretching from your mid-thigh to your knee. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologised, but his face looked stern, which surprised you. “Who did this to you?” 

You looked straight into his eyes when you said it. “Brutus,” you said, and his face hardened. “I was looking for berries like the ones Katniss used last year,” you continued, and Finnick nodded along, “and he came up behind me. I managed to duck so he only got my leg.” At the mention of your injury, Finnick looked back down. 

“Shit, (Y/N), it’s really deep,” he whispered, looking up to meet your gaze. He softened when he saw you, your eyes swelling with tears. One fell onto your pale cheeks and Finnick reached up to thumb it away. 

“Oh, angel,” he cooed, pressing your head back into his chest. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of here, and then I’m gonna take care of you.” 

You nodded, and he pulled away, pressing a kiss to your forehead and surveying your eyes, making sure you were okay. Then, he got to work. “Okay, sweetheart, I need you to put some pressure on it. We gotta stop the bleeding before we can clean it up.”

Finnick stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “Johanna?” He called out. 

The girl popped out from behind a tree trunk. “Is (Y/N) okay?” She shrieked, and you smiled at her concern. “Do you guys need anything?”

“Could you get us some clean water?” He hesitated, then added, “use the spile, please!”

Johanna gave him the middle finger. “I’m not four, Finnick, I know how to get clean water.” She started walking away, then screamed, “What, did you think I was going to bring you saltwater?”

Finnick rolled his eyes affectionately, then turned back to you. “You holding up okay?” 

His voice was softer than when he spoke to Johanna, and you appreciated it. You gave him a barely-there thumbs up and he gave you one of his best smiles. He stepped closer to you, then crouched in front of you, taking your hand away from your leg and pressing his there instead. 

“I love you,” you whispered, a quiet confession, and Finnick looked up in surprise. This was the first time you’d ever said it. “I mean-”

“I love you too,” he reassured you, and you relaxed under his hold. You grinned at him, butterflies swarming in your stomach, so happy he felt the same way about you. 

“I just wanted to tell you, you know, in case we don’t make it out of here.” 

Finnick’s eyebrows creased. “We are going to get out of here,” he said slowly, making sure you met his eyes, “and you’re gonna be okay, sweetheart." He held out his pinky to you, which you clasped gratefully. "I promise."

#finnick!! #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #the hunger games finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick x y/n #finnick x oc #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #hunger games #thg series #the hunger games catching fire #hurt/comfort #comfort #fluff

[alavestineneas]

Soul

pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.

warnings: typical hunger games violence, Finnick and Annie aren’t soulmates, minor character death

Haymitch clicks the skip button on the remote; the next pair of tributes shows up on the screen.

''District two,'' he announces. ''Male volunteer, Brutus. His main weapon is a spear. Female tribute: Y/N.''

"Wow," Peeta mutters under his breath.

''I know her,'' Katniss says, glancing at the man beside her. ''She is on TV all the time.''

''Trust me, she is everywhere. Y/N is your main competition—Capitol's darling, lines of sponsors, deadly with a knife. They call her Panther.''

"Panther?" Katniss scoffs.

"She killed one in the arena with her bare hands." Haymitch chuckles, seeing his tribute's face transform from confident to slightly horrified.

''She is committed. I'll give her that,'' Peeta jokes.

The woman on the screen gives the cameras a half-smile, joining hands with her partner. The District 2 audience roars in excitement. Katniss felt shivers coating her skin; something in the woman's gaze caught her attention.

-

''Nice dress, dear. Though I don't know if I can call it that.''

Y/N did not even turn around, completely ignoring Finnick's existence. Her dress, or rather, a piece of cloth, left a little to the imagination. Black, almost sheer fabric lightly coated her body, tracing its curves; the only stronghold of modesty was lace lingerie.

Finnick would lie if he said she wasn't impressive; the woman looked like a goddess. It was her job, after all. Besides, he had seen her in much less. They fucked a couple of times, both too drunk to remember. That's what he told her, at least. That it doesn't mean anything because, to her, it didn't.

Finnick remembers every whisper and every messy kiss. The smell of her perfume mixed with shampoo and sweat; Y/N's hands on his back. Not soft like Annie's; no, in calluses and cuts from hours of training.

He knows it's a dead end and still allows her to kiss him. She never stays, each time running through his fingers like sand. He wasn't in love with her. Love is supposed to feel light and warm, like Annie's smile, and this felt bitter.

And yet, his soul belonged to Y/N. Maybe because she didn't care about him, Finnick was willing to let her keep it. It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be happy with Annie. She was home, his lighthouse.

But Y/N was his sea.

''Look who's talking.'' The woman finally turned around, finishing checking the strings on her horse. ''What do you want, golden boy? An alliance?'' She raised an eyebrow.

''With you? I'd rather be dead.''

''I wouldn't worry about that part, Odair.'' Brutus intervened. ''We have fifteen minutes before the start, so I suggest you keep moving.''

His outfit was much more proper. Finnick guessed it was for the best; he was not particularly excited to see the man naked. Odair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and flashed Brutus a smile instead. ''Of course.''

''Peacock.'' the man muttered.

Y/N chuckled at her partner's remark; Finnick headed to the District 12 chariot. He wished he didn't feel her piercing gaze on his back.

-

''I believe we hadn't met before. I'm Y/N, District 2.''

Katniss looked up from the target she threw knives at. The woman in front of her was truly stunning; the camera did not do her justice in The Reaping.

''Katniss Everdeen, District 12.''

The woman laughed, clearly finding her amusing. Katniss felt the tingle of anger—did she say something funny?

''Oh, darling, I know. Everybody here knows your name. After all, you are the reason we are here again.'' The woman came closer, taking the smallest blade from the row and throwing it into the target. It hit the dummy right in the head. ''Besides, I mentored Clove and Cato in your games. Wonderful children, you know. Marvellous fighters. Had every chance to win.''

Katniss glanced at the woman's face. It was stone-cold, and her eyes focused on the targets. She wondered if the reason Clove chose the knives was because of Y/N's win. How did the career mentors feel about sending children into the arena?

''They were...good.'' Katniss agreed.

''Here is my advice, Katniss Everdeen from District 12.'' The woman hit the last target with ease. ''Pay attention to the hands.''

Katniss wondered what that was supposed to be about until she looked down at her hands. Of course, she was holding the knife wrong.

-

The first interview the Capitol aired was more of a warning. Finnick is too lost to comprehend anything Caesar is asking Peeta, his attention fixed on the Y/N next to him.

She sits on the chair, anxiously tapping on the armrest. Her eyes follow every move Caesar makes. Y/N answers carefully and thoughtfully. She didn't know the rebellion was being planned.

''Katniss, can you remember when you spoke to Y/N in the training centre?'' Plutarch asks.

''I think so.'' Katniss frowns. ''She told me these games were done because of me.''

Beete shares a look with Plutarch. Finnick doesn't know why they are surprised; Y/N always was smart.

''Anything else?''

''She talked about Clove and Cato. And that I have to pay attention to my hands.''

''Your hands?'' Plutarch doesn't sound too sure.

''Yes. I was holding the knife wrong.'' Katniss looks around the room. ''I decided.''

Plutarch nods at him, and Finnick is finally free to leave the room. After seeing this, he has a lot to think about.

-

''Finnick, there is something we want to show you.'' Haymitch nods, and Finnick steps into a small room filled with screens.

Beetee is there too, as are Katniss and Plutarch. An uneasy feeling covers his stomach; if they have him here, something happened.

His mind floods with hundreds of possibilities. Annie is at the Capitol. Y/N is there too. He did not know if they tortured her; the woman didn't know about the plan. But so did Peeta, whose ''interview'' he is watching on the screen now.

His face is beaten, and he looks like he hasn't slept for days. The boy lost what looks like fifteen pounds, the ridiculous suit on him hanging like a sheet. Peeta says something about rebels using Katniss. His interview finishes, and the screen fades to black.

Finnick feels like he missed something until the screen lights up once more. This time, a figure is tied to a chair in the middle of the cell. Finnick almost jumps, the realization hitting him—it's Annie. She is crying, begging not to kill her. Her hair is a mess, and her skin is covered in bruises.

''Move in front of the camera.'' a male voice orders.

A person comes to stand to the left of Annie. It's Y/N. She is in a military uniform, her hair tied tightly. She looks different from the first interview—now calm and collected. Her steady hand holds a gun.

''Proceed.'' the same voice commands.

Katniss gasps. A loud gunshot fires, echoing in the chamber. The screen is covered in blood and brains. Finnick doesn't hear a word Plutarch says to him. Annie is dead. They killed her.

-

''Are you sad again?'' Y/N asks, sitting beside him.

Finnick doesn't answer, still fidgeting with a piece of rope.

''You have to eat, you know?''

''Why did you kill her?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

Y/N smiles. ''She was dead way before I pressed the trigger. You killed her when you picked me over her.''

''No.'' Finnick whispers. ''It's not true.''

''Not true? Each time you looked away when you kissed her, each time you whispered my name instead of hers, you think she didn't know?"

Finnick's lower lip trembles, tears blurring his vision. ''Shut up.''

''You can stop lying now, Finnick. For once in your life, be honest with yourself. It's kind of liberating, isn't it? Not having to worry about pretending anymore. You are free.''

''I said shut up!'' he shouts, throwing the nearest mug at her.

It hits the wall, crashing. The room is empty. It always was. A scared-looking nurse watches him through the glass, ready to call for help. He waves her off - just another one of his visions.

It haunts him that the only one appearing in his dreams is Y/N. It should've been Annie, but she is dead, and Finnick hopes she finally found her peace.

Y/N is with Capitol. It's not surprising; she has no reason not to be. She was saving herself. Annie was as good as dead anyway. Still, it broke him. All of these things they had to survive because of Snow, and she still chose to serve him.

He can't blame her—Finnick saw what they did to Peeta. He doesn't know what he would've done under that torture. Still, he hopes it hurts her, given the way she betrayed herself.

-

The rescue mission was successful. Peeta and Johanna are in District 13. They captured Y/N too, but Finnick doesn't care. Coin and Plutarch spent most of their time in her room. Nobody tells him anything, but Finnick guesses that Katniss's condition isn't going to work this time.

A few days after that, Coin has an announcement to make. There are numerous cameras present, and she, as usual, wants the surviving victors to be present. So, he sits near Katniss in the first row, waiting for the tribunal to start. He knows what his vote is going to be.

The president's Coin speech is unnecessarily long and dramatic. She waves her hands around, talking about lost fighters and the need to continue resisting. ''And now, I want to award a few of our bravest soldiers.'', she concludes.

''People are dying.'' Finnick hears Katniss mutter under her breath. He is not happy with the idea either. He just wants to get over this.

The first to get a medal is a man who was leading the rescue mission. Next: two rebel soldiers.

''The last person I want to honour made the rescue of our victors possible. They spied in the heart of the Capitol and were dedicated to the revolution even in the face of death.'' Coin gestures to the bottom of the improvised stage. ''Sergant Y/L/N.''

Finnick freezes. Annie. Her screams. A gun. She is an enemy. A killer. Anxious tapping. Pay attention to the hands. The world around him begins to collide.

Y/N steps are firm. She shakes the woman's hand, accepting the medal. A few claps ring in the hall—people are surprised and likely scared. District 2 victor's face holds a few new scars.

She gets off stage as quickly as she got on, taking her place beside Plutarch. Y/N sits straight, focused on the president's words. Finnick wonders why he can't hear anything except for the heartbeat in his ears. A taste of blood fills his mouth.

''Finnick?'' Katniss whispers.

The world stops spinning.

-

Y/N is tying the laces on her boots tightly, checking everything. She blends in with the soldiers easily; they even throw around a few jokes. This is her element, something she was born and raised to do. Y/N has the most weaponry on her hands: knives, guns, and a few grantees. They have another mission.

Peeta is right next to her. For some reason, he feels the most content having her around. When Katniss asked Y/N about it, she just shrugged. ''Mutt things.''

She is in Squad 451—of course. Coin wouldn't let such a famous face get away with just living. Finnick hates having her around and hates admitting that he understands her now. There was no other choice—Y/N had to kill Annie to prove her loyalty.

The mood in the team changes completely after Mitchell's death. Finnick doesn't know what to say to Peeta, too busy calming everyone else down, and Katniss is frankly completely useless, so deep in her own emotions.

''I'll talk to him.'' Y/N stands up, checking the gun.

Katniss looks at her in horror. ''No!''

''Let her,'' Finnick says, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose.

''How could you say that?" Katniss turns to him in anger. ''You saw what she did! You saw!''

''I did,'' Finnick agrees, his jaw tense. ''And because of that, you got Peeta back. So let her go, Katniss.''

Y/N watches their bickering silently. Finally, Katniss nods. The woman leaves them, approaching Peeta. Their voices are still heard, and Katniss eventually relaxes.

''They were right. I am a monster.'' the baker boy says, his eyes still closed.

''It makes two of us, then.'' Y/N jokes, sitting beside him. ''You are the one Capitol created, and I am one by choice.''

''How could you say that so calmly?''

''I came to terms with it pretty early. People see what they want to, Peeta. What do you see when you look at me?''

''You saved my life.'' he shrugged.

''Yes, but I lied, and I killed people to do it. Am I a monster?'' Y/N asks. The question is rhetorical. ''When I look at you, I see a scared eighteen-year-old boy, who just wants to survive. You are strong, Peeta. Stronger than most of us. This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.''

Peeta stared at her for a solid minute. ''You aren't as bad as you think you are.'' he finally says.

Y/N smiles sadly. ''You aren't either.''

-

Katniss tries to focus on the wet ladder when she hears a shout.

''Why is he there alone?'' It's Y/N.

Katniss looks down - Finnick is fighting off mutts with his trident. There are a lot of them, she realizes. He can't handle that. Just as she turns to grab something to help, she sees Y/N coming down.

''Climb!'' she shouts at her, pulling out a gun. And Katniss does.

A mutt breaks Finncik's trident in half with a loud thud, lurching at his head next. Just as its mouth opens, it falls, lifeless.

''Here.'' Y/N throws him one of her knives. ''On your left!''

They are fighting back to back - Y/N has run out of bullets, so she uses knives instead. Duck, step, and push. They have done it thousands of times, both from career Districts.

Finnick doesn't have the time to count, but mutts are slowly covering the floor, painting the water red. He feels a sharp pain in his stomach—one of the bastards managed to get him good - and grabs the nearest wall for support. Finnick watches as Y/N kills the last monster, pulling her knife out of its chest.

''Y/N,'' he says, trying to grab her attention.

''You know, you could've asked them for hand-to-hand combat if you wanted to die that badly. What were you thinking, staying here with one piece of metal on your hands, huh?''

''Y/N.''

''That's why I said you are all not fit to be fucking soldiers. You lack common sense!''

''Y/N.''

''WHAT?'' she snaps, turning to him. Her face changes from angry to concerned in a matter of seconds. ''Finnick, you are bleeding.''

He nods, feeling his knees weaken. Y/N is already beside him, sitting him on the cold floor. The water hits and soaks her pants, but she doesn't seem to notice.

''It's okay, let me look,'' she mutters, removing his hands from the injury.

It's big; she notices with horror. If they can get him help in twenty minutes, he will survive. Anything longer, and it's a dead end. Finnick knows it too; he has seen enough wounds to understand his chances. He watches as Y/N takes off her jacket, pressing it into his stomach.

''Can you hold it for me?'' she asks.

Finnick nods, feeling a sharp pain coming back. Y/N searches in her pockets until she finally finds a radio set. She tries to turn it on a couple of times, her hands trembling.

''Y/N, it's okay.''

She shakes her head. ''No, you are not going to tell me it's okay. I'll get you help, no matter if you want it or not.''

Finnick looks at her, a slow smile appearing on his face. ''Kiss me.''

''What?" Y/N looks up from the radio, mortified.

''I said kiss me, Y/N.''

She leans in closer, salty tears staining her cheeks, and places a soft kiss on his lips. ''You are getting out of here alive,'' she whispers.

''I love you,'' Finnick mutters. He closes his eyes just for a second. He is so exhausted.

-

The first thing he sees is the overbearing light. Finnick struggles to open his eyes. If this was death, it was certainly not peaceful.

He comes to his senses slowly—first, he hears beeping, and then he feels his stomach.

''Fuck.'' Finnick groans. The pain is impossible.

''Finnick?'' He hears a familiar voice. It's Y/N.

Her face is puffy, but she looks real to him. Even if it is one of his visions, Finnick is still happy to see her.

''How do you feel?'' she asks, moving the sweaty hair out of his eyes.

''Are we dead?''

Y/N stops to look at him. ''No. The radio worked, and the team managed to find us in time.''

''Good.'' Finnick closes his eyes once more. ''Because you didn't say it back.''

A choked laugh escapes her lips. ''You are an idiot, Odair,'' Y/N says, pressing a kiss on his temple. ''But I do love you.''

Finnick smiles. He always knew his soul was safe in her arms.

#thg #hunger games finnick #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair #au #imagine #district two #hurt/comfort

[jaqofalltrades]

Finnick Odair x Reader Oneshot

Finnick comforts you after having a nightmare of being back in the games. You are both in district 13, a few days after escaping the quarter quell.

You had fallen asleep with your head on your boyfriends chest. It was a jam-packed day and you were exhausted. The day consisted of meetings with President Coin and Plutarch, war plans and more. You were constantly anxious that 13 would be discovered by the capital so you were always on guard and took no time to relax.

Finnick reassured you that everything would be fine, but he couldn't actually know that. So here you are sound asleep when clear images start running through your mind.

Your legs burned as did your lungs. Finnick was running alongside you, trying to get away from the mutant monkeys. They were just behind you and they were gaining speed by the second. One of them clawed out and snagged your ankle causing you to fall. Your nose smacked hard on a rock and you immediately felt the blood pouring out.

"Y/n!" Finnick yelled and ran back to help you. One of the monkeys had gotten on top of you and was about to attack. Finnick threw his spear instantly killing it. You pushed it off and stood up as fast as you could, pulling his weapon out of the animal and handing it to him as you continued to run. The smell of blood was overwhelming your senses and some of it trickled onto your lips. "Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly as he ran.

"I'm fine," you replied, even though your head was spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out at any moment. You turned your head to see that the monkeys were no longer behind you, seeming to be blocked by an invisible wall. As you slept your breath quickened and you turned onto your side harshly, facing away from Finnick. It all felt so real, and you didn't even know you were having a nightmare.

You both stopped running and tried to catch your breath. He walked up to you and used his sleeve to wipe the blood from your nose and lips. You would have thought that was kinda gross if you hadn't been in the position you were in. His hands cupped your cheeks and he looked into your eyes. "You need to be more careful. I don't know what I would do if I lost you," he said gently but sternly.

You sighed at the calmness of his touch, "I know, I'm trying." You looked past him and you saw a thick fog rolling in. "Finnick turn around," he turned and saw the fog. It creeped closer and you both stayed still to see what was going on. It was just a few feet away from you both and Finnick stuck his hand out, making him wince in pain. You didnt know what happened but you grabbed his other hand and started running away from it.

Your arms thrashed around lightly, and sweat started forming on your forehead. The anxiety from the dream leaking into reality.

"Fuck!" he yelled from the pain on his hand and wrist. His skin was bubbling and burning, but he pushed past the pain and tried to focus on running.

You felt a searing pain on your leg where the fabric was ripped. The skin started to bubble and blister and you yelled out in pain. You could practically smell the salt water from where you were and knew you'd be fine if you just kept going for a few more minutes.

Suddenly an arrow flew at you and straight into your shoulder. You screamed and fell to the ground from the impact. The tribute that had shot you started running in the opposite direction. Blood was pouring from the wound and you knew you weren't going to make it out of this alive.

Tears formed in your closed eyes as you thrashed around more, but not enough to wake up your oblivious boyfriend. You were sweating and breathing heavily now.

All you felt was anxiety and dread. "No! Y/N!" Finnick yelled out to you once more. The fog slowly started to consume your body, reaching your ankles, then knees. You screamed and cried in pain, knowing you couldn't do anything to stop it. Finnick tried to pull you up as you screamed and thrashed around.

Tears were clouding your vision but you looked up at Finnick with a solemn look on your face, "Go, please, you can make it. I can't." You watched as he shook his head violently. You felt the pain go further up your body as it came closer and closer to covering you whole.

"No, I wont leave y-" he got cut off when another arrow was released, going straight through his chest. He looked down at the arrow before he started to slump to the ground.

You gasped loudly and cried harder. "Finnick! " That was the last thing to leave your mouth before the fog rolled over you entirely.

Tears were fully streaming down your sleeping face. You thrashed and sobbed in the bed next to him. Finnick stirred at the movement and slowly awoke. At this point you were calling out his name in a panic. "No, please no. Finnick, Finnick-!"

He sat up quickly and he hovered over you, shaking your shoulders trying to wake you. "Hey, hey Y/n, wake up. Its okay its just a nightmare, everything's okay," he attempted to calm you as you came out of the nightmare.

Your eyes flew open and you gasped. Sitting up, sobbing heavily, the ptsd hit you hard. You saw Finnick in front of you and felt slight relief. You wrapped your arms around him, crying into his shoulder.

He squeezed you tightly and pet the top of your hair, trying to calm you. "I'm right here, you're safe. I promise you're safe. It wasn't real, the games are over. I've got you," he whispered calmly in your ear. The feeling of his warm breath brushing your ear helped solidify your surroundings, making you feel less stressed.

You both sat in relative silence, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and Finnick shushing you endearingly. He rubbed your back as you clung to him, until you eventually pulled back, "Thank you… and I'm sorry." You were so grateful for the man you had sitting in the same bed as you right now. You felt bad for waking him because of your nightmares. You used to get them often after your first round of games. You just forgot how insanely real they felt.

Finnick shook his head with a small, warm smile. "Don't apologize sugar-cube, you did nothing wrong," he gently swiped some stray hairs behind your ear, "If it makes you feel better, I used to have nightmares too. At least you didn't punch me; like I did with one of the poor medics fixing me up." He spoke to you gently, trying to raise your mood. His words did bring a quaint smile to your lips. But, you still felt a little shaken. And it was worse because you were still exhausted as well.

You took a deep breath while snuggling up to him again, sprawling over him while hooking your arms around his neck. Knowing he was this close helped soothe you even more. "Thank you for being here with me." Your words were quiet and your eyes were once again closed.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips forming a smile against your messy hair. "Until the day I die, sugar-cube," he whispered against you.

You both stayed silent, letting the sounds of your in-sync inhales and exhales fill the room. He softly trailed his fingernails over your back, until he felt you relax and finally fall asleep again. He kept his eyes open for a few extra minutes to make sure you didn't immediately go back into your nightmare. Eventually, his eyelids slipped shut and his breath evened out, his grasp of you loosening slightly. The rest of the night was peaceful. You were grateful for the sleep, tomorrow would be a big day. Tomorrow you infiltrate the Capitol.

(Heyy, this is the first thing I’ve posted on tumblr and im excited😍. Feel free to leave a comment for constructive criticism. ALSOO please please send me a request for a fic idea! I think im a good writer I just stuggle to think of prompts! I can write for a lot of diff fandoms, but my main are Star Wars, Hunger Games, Supernatural, the 100, HP, PJO/HOO, Marvel, and a few others lol. Anyways I hope you loved it!)

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #x reader

[lovingonryles]

right where you left me

this fic is for @liseytopia and i’s lovely fic exchange. hope you like it, tysm for putting the extra time into making two i seriously don’t deserve you 😭🫶🏻 hope you like it <3

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: you haven’t seen finnick since the games; at least the true finnick. ever since he got whisked away to the capitol, you haven’t seen his old self. but, one day, things change

warnings: angst angst angst, hurt/comfort, sad little finnick, cursing, friends to strangers to lovers

word count: 1,392, should take about ten and a half minutes to read (longest to date 🤭)

listen to: right where you left me - bonus track by taylor swift

IN THEORY, IT wasn’t a long time since finnick’s games. only six years. in the long run, that means nothing. you could waste six years at any other point in your life easily. but not these six years.

you and finnick had a bond. close friends, you were. you looked out for each other, came to the other’s rescue. whether it was for a bad dream, bad day, bad family, or anything else, you’d always come running for each other.

you’d patch the other’s wounds, wipe away the other’s tears. whenever somebody needed a shoulder to lean on, the other was there.

you should’ve been there for finnick when he got reaped, but you weren’t. you already dodged a bullet by not getting picked, so you were just trying to rid yourself of anxiety after the female tribute was called. but, it all came back when you heard the familiar name roll off the capitol member’s tongue. “finnick odair.”

your heart stopped. nothing could've prepared you for that. your head immediately shot to where he was standing. his face dropped. he looked like a figure made of wax; unmoving, unalive.

it took a jab in his back by the peacekeepers to get him to move, but his eyes immediately found you when he did.

"no," you whispered. "no, no, no, no." tears welled in his eyes as he mouthed "sorry," and that was it. you were expecting the world to collapse or something, anything, but nothing happened. everyone just went home.

it might've been better if the world ended right then and there, you thought, because finnick was gone forever, and hell, he was starting to be your world. you didn't even watch him on tv. you avoided the situation as much as possible by sleeping.

you almost went to you two's favorite spot, a creek near his house, every once in a while, but you couldn't bring yourself to. too many memories.

that was until it was announced finnick won. news of the century, it was to you. you remember waiting on his porch with a bouquet of flowers you snagged from the meadow earlier. but he never showed up.

maybe the train was late. but that train was late for a day, then two, then a week, and at that point, you'd far given up. you had to admit you'd maybe never see finnick again.

when he did finally show up, it had been a month since his victory. you were out grabbing some food at the market when you saw his face; beautiful blonde hair, tousled as always, and green eyes that looked like emeralds in the daylight. you could recognize it anywhere.

"finnick!" you yelled, completely dropping what you were doing. his head turned to see you, a soft smile on his face.

you almost cried seeing him. you immediately engulfed him in a hug, but he didn't really wrap his arms around your back. he didn't enjoy the hug; he just tolerated it. you didn't seem to notice or care at the moment, though. "oh my god, finnick, where have you been?" you asked, excitement pouring through your eyes.

"needed to take a victory tour for the capitol. did you not watch on tv?" he asked, chuckling slightly. the question almost set you back. why would you? who actually watched anything after the games?

"no. didn't know there was one. glad to see you're okay, though. god, i haven't seen you in ages," you practically beamed. he didn't seem to care, though. what was wrong with him?

"happy you care," he smiled before turning back to what he was doing. any conversation you had after that seemed like you two were just meeting. like you were complete strangers.

that’s how it remained for a while. finnick and you rarely talked, only when you were next to each other. you still waved hello to his parents, and they still asked if you'd like to come to dinner, but you had to refuse. you couldn't face the man you once called your friend. most times he was doing things for the capitol anyway, so it's not like it was hard to avoid him. he wasn't even in 4 half the time!

and that's how it stayed, this near-constant torture, for six years of your life. you made other friends to cope and nearly forgot about the boy you used to hang out with at fourteen. his presence was just a distant memory to you. you almost despised him for leaving you as suddenly as he did.

you thought you'd never come to his aid again. until one random day.

it wasn't much different than any other. you got a house for yourself and you, so far, didn't have any complaints. finnick's house was relatively close to the heart of 4, so you often passed by it while running your errands.

the sight of his house brought unease to you. you couldn't even look at it without feeling sad. even if you didn't want to admit it, you really missed finnick and you'd rather cut out every aspect of him than think about him.

that was until you heard something. it sounded almost like a cry. the sound was so faint you could almost barely hear it. you walked a bit closer to your ex-friend's house, and sure enough, the sound got louder.

it couldn't be from the house; his walls weren't that thin. the only place you could think of was behind the house. you checked to make sure nobody was around before sneaking around to the back side of his house.

the sight before your eyes you surely weren't expecting. poor finnick, the boy you used to know so long ago, was hugging his knees into his chest, all but sobbing.

suddenly, your sadness and guilt hit you like a brick. you ignored everything between you two at the moment and gently knelt down next to him. you weren't sure if he heard you, so you tried your best not to startle him. "you okay?" you asked.

he jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to be at his aid. especially not you. his eyes suddenly filled with a kind of comfort. "i can't lie, no," he admitted. you got down to his level, sitting beside him against the house.

"what's up?" he sniffled, drying his eyes with his hand.

"just...life. i have to go back to the capitol soon and i don't know if i can do it." you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"you don't like it there?"

"no, not at all." he threw his head back, letting in a big gulp of fresh air. "they’ve done things to me. ever since the games, i've just been...i don't know, different."

you thought back to the month of his arrival. the sudden loss of all emotion from him. “ya, i can tell.”

“shit, i’m sorry,” he cupped his face in his hands again.

“wait, no, don’t apologize, hon.” you weren’t even sure why the nickname slipped out. It happened without you thinking. he looked up with his eyebrows furrowed. “it’s not your fault.”

“did you call me hon?”

“not important right now, what i’m trying to say is i forgive you. for everything. none of it was your fault. the games do things to people and i understand that, so don’t feel bad. i just want you to feel happy.”

he barely paid attention to your words. he just smiled, slowly realizing the best part of his life was back. finnick didn’t mean to leave you like he did, but he didn’t want to hurt himself; get too attached to you just to get ripped apart.

when you noticed his grin, you almost damn near melted. you hadn’t seen him like this since you were kids. you sighed, tears threatening to spill out your eyes. “you look so pretty,” you said, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“you do too.” without thinking, his eyes darted to your lips. you sniffled before leaning in and closing the gap between you two.

the kiss was possibly the best of your life. it was filled with remorse and passion and “i’m sorry”s, and “i love you”s.

once you pulled away, you rested your forehead with his. “don’t ever leave me again,” he mumbled, tone soft.

“i don’t know how i could.”

#spotify #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #angst #hurt/comfort #thg #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 4)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You take care of Finnick, in the aftermath.

warnings: mentions of drug use, depictions of a psychotic breakdown, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, aaaangst, fluff.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <;3

a/n: a short but sweet chapter, I hope. Calm before the storm, etc etc

wc: 2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“....Are you mad at me?.” Finnick winces as you dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

You’re perched on his kitchen countertop, between his legs as he stands and leans towards you. Due to the height difference, it was the easiest way you could get to his injuries; the contents of his first aid kit strewn onto the marble. Still thawing from the cold; your fingers clumsily swipe at the wound. Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying; more out of frustration and exhaustion than anything. Your arms hurt, your back aches, and you’ve got a pounding headache. Finnick almost died and he’s barely fazed; giving you a lazy grin in the soft light of the kitchen.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what to expect from his house. It certainly wasn’t this: a modest home at the Capitol’s edge. You’d expected the sterile white and marble that you’d seen a thousand times over. Instead it feels like a home: warm lamps and clutter and throw pillows. It looks like someone lives a life, here. 

You chewed your bottom lip on the way there, silk slip dampening the leather of the car seats. You were worried; eyes darting between the road and him - looking for jittery hands or glazed eyes. Every bump in the road puts you on edge; you can barely feel the warmth of the car’s heater - sitting in dull cold despite it all. Even Finnick was quiet, bundling you up the stairs and into his room with few words. When he hands you a sweater and joggers, there’s nothing to be said except in the brush of fingers; I’m sorry it hurts. The words die in your throat.

His fingers brush the soft fabric, his hands flat on the countertop. Pressing cotton heavy with disinfectant to his temple, Finnick hisses softly. He takes your hand in his to stop you, momentarily.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s insensitive, sure, and makes you look insane. The first time you’ve so much as smiled in the past couple hours, and he has no idea why. 

“W-What are you-” You’re still laughing, soft and melodious in the hum of lights. “-What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uh..” He cocks his head. Despite the circumstances (he thinks you’re delirious from the adrenaline of it all), your smile hurts him in a way he didn’t think possible. “For… everything. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“You weren’t awake for what I did, Finnick.” And then, softer. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. Dirty blonde locs, curled from the spray of lake water. 

“You keep surprising me.”  

“Surprising you? How?” Cradling his cheek now, he waits with baited breath.

“Hmmmm,” you titter, pretending to think. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”

He smiles, crooning. “...Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand is still on yours. “And you’re perceptive. You see everything with those freaky green eyes of yours.”

Lidded, his eyes flit down to your lips. He’s in a trance, unable to think of anything but the way his heart swells when you talk to him like that.

“And you’re kind. You were kind to me, on the balcony. You didn’t have to stay, or remember me but you did. And… when you talk to me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world. You’re good at that; making people feel wanted. Making me feel...”

“I like you.” It tumbles out of his mouth, wincing at how desperate it sounds. Suddenly, he’s barefoot on the shores of District 4, gap-toothed and sunburnt. He’s stretching sticky fingers towards the other kids, trying to make friends. To be seen.

“I like you too. I-” you swallow, imperceptibly. He notices the quiver of your lip. “I know it’s not my place. You’re a grown man, and you don’t need a lecture - but whatever you were taking; you need to be more careful. I need you to be more careful-”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I was taking them.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, free of judgement. You’re not satisfied with his answer, but it’ll do, for now. You don’t want to push him away. Gently, you nod. “You scared me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Stop apologising, Finnick.” You close your eyes, and lean into his touch. 

You stay like that for a little too long; basking in the warmth of each other. Slow steady breaths to remind the other that you were both alive. When you separate, you brush light fingers at the apex of his cut. It stopped bleeding long ago, split and angry red on his flesh. Peeking out from under his sweatshirt, you see the dull mauve of bruises; older, they couldn't have been from today. Finnick looks as exhausted as you feel. 

"You need stitches." He nods, resigned. 

They're serviceable - likely to scar, but serviceable. His grey-green eyes follow your hands, your lips, the tilt of your head; and suddenly, you're grateful that you've learnt at least one thing from your years with the Junior Peacekeeper Scouts. The rest, you've learnt from your years around the capitol's elite: how to hide shaking hands under scrutiny. You're tying the knot on his stitches when you hear soft creaking coming from the stairs. 

From the kitchen, you see a pale hand wrap around the bannister. Annie, in a nightgown and robe pads onto the hardwood. Her hair flows down her back as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen - like a ghost in sheets. 

"Lucas?" Her eyes are wide and glassy - wet-rimmed like she's been crying. Again, she squeaks. "Lucas?" 

His body language changes, but Finnick doesn't miss a beat. Slowly, he closes the gap. "You ok, Annie?" 

Her voice cracks. "T-think I had that dream again."

You see his Adam's apple quiver. Hoarsely, he swallows. "Okay. Let's get you t-"

"No!" She clenches her fist and stumbles backwards, into the counter. "Please don't- I can't- please don't make me…. Lucas-" 

"-to bed." He says, impossibly soft. You've fallen away to the sidelines as they are framed in lamplight. He throws a glance to you over his shoulder, unreadable. "Annie, let's get you to bed."

He stands in front of her, hands at his side. Hesitating? No, asking for permission. When she pulls at his shirt, manic, he wraps her up. The woman's eyes are frenzied; her breathing speeding up and hands clawing at her wrists and throat. He's gentle when he takes them and places them in his own; whispering something you can't hear. She stills, breathing erratically, but calmer by the minute. 

"Finnick… F-Finnick, I can't-" 

"I know… I know,"

"-where did y-you go? Finnick, I called for you and you weren't t-there. Where di-" 

"I know… and I'm sorry," He soothes. She still can't see you. They make their way up the stairs; where you can hear the dance of their voices. Finnick: low and calm. Annie: frantic, strained. 

You're left feeling bare in the aftermath. Like you've just seen something you shouldn't have. Her face is etched into your mind's eye - terror you've only ever seen on a screen. A voyeur, looking in through a dirty spyglass - gripped with the shame of getting caught. You look around, and reality slams into you at full force. You shouldn't be here. 

You clean up, close to tears. 

It's almost an hour before he comes down again. You've cleared what's left of the first aid kit from the counter, and curled up onto the sofa. Before you know it, you've passed out like that; knees drawn into yourself between plush cushions. Finnick finds you there, wading in fitful sleep. You look peaceful; in his clothes, in his house, nestled in his couch. It feels right, he thinks. 

You start awake, blinking back sleep. You're met with Finnick above, arms full of blankets and pillows. 

"Shit. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighs, collapsing onto the sofa. 

"S'okay." You mumble. Stretching, you move to get up. "It's probably time for me to get going anyw-" 

"-No! I-I mean…" Exhaustion creeping in, he rubs at his eyes. "You must be tired. Sleep, even for just a little bit." 

And then, quieter. "Stay. Please." 

You lean your head back and look at him, tilted 90 degrees. Even from this angle, his puppy-dog eyes claw at your heart. 

"You can take my bed?" He adds, hopeful. 

You scoff. "And where will you sleep?" 

"Down here's just fine…"

"No, no. Absolutely not. Finn, you need rest - in a proper bed with back support, and silk sheets and-" 

He cuts you off with a snort. It's cute, he thinks. When you get passionate and a little mad, you shake your fists at him like a fairytale villain. He shrugs."Haven't been getting much sleep anyways. S'how we got into this mess in the first place."

You purse your lips. There's a grab made at the pillows in his lap, but he snatches it away just in time. You feint, elbowing him playfully, before going for the blanket by his other side. Successful, you ball it up crudely, and stretch onto the sofa. Makeshift pillow under your head you fake a yawn, pointedly (smugly, he thinks). 

"Goodnight." He rolls his eyes at your dramatics. The white woven blanket, the one that had been with you both for the night, ends up on your back. Finnick leaves the extra pillows at your feet, before turning off the lamps. He gives you one last look, before heading to bed. 

"Goodnight." You whisper into the dark as the sound of steps subside. No-one answers. 

~~~

In the morning, you're woken up to the smell of coffee and something sizzling in a pan. Light streams in from where you lie, bundled up in blankets and pillows. A dull ache settles in your bones, as you try to blow away the morning fog - blinking back sleep. Through the doorway to the kitchen, you see a sliver of someone's bare arm. 

Finnick stands at the stove top, dressed in a light tank top and sweats, a flowery tea towel slung over his shoulder. The tip of his tongue sticks out when he pokes at the pan with a wooden spoon; deep in concentration. You walk in and lean on the doorframe. 

"Morning." The pan nearly goes flying, Finnick almost jumping like a startled cat. His hand grazes the heat of a burner, and he hisses in frustration. Without thinking, you leap to his side, quick to guide him towards the sink and run his burn under cold water. 

"Morning," He says despite himself, leaning into your soft touch. You trace the lines of his palm under the running water.

"They say," You're careful to circle around the burn forming at its base. "…you've got your future written out in your palms," 

"And what do my palms tell you?" He says softly.

"It's not that simple, see," You huff. "Like…. roots in a tree. All mapped out before you were even born. This one," you trace one spreading the width of his hand "..is your heart line. It tells me all about the way you love the people around you. It says you give too much, despite yourself. The one below it, is your head line. Right now, it says you're stubborn and…" You laugh. 

"…pig-headed."

"Really?" Unwittingly, he's been reeled in. 

"No. Not really. I wouldn't know, Finn. Made it all up." Your lips pop at the last sentence, grinning up at him. 

"Very funny." His tone is dry, but still he smiles. 

"I've got a friend who's obsessed with it: divination, fate, destiny, all of it. She'll probably give you something a little more accurate than I can." 

He hums. "Does that mean…. you want to see me again?" 

You're standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink. You shut off the tap, and grab a piece of toast from a plate on the counter. His plate, most likely. Your answer comes in the form of a flash pink tongue. 

"...Maybe."

"I want to see you again." 

There it is; something red-hot at the base of your chest, spreading like a wildfire until it makes your fingers numb and face warm. You'd die before you admit how what he said made you feel; I want, I want, I want becomes a broken record on replay in your head. 

"I'd like that," You breathe, and then clear your throat. “I’d like that.”

_

_

_

taglist: @starhastoomanyfandoms

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x capitol!reader #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #the hunger games fic #angst #slow burn #Spotify #thg #thg x reader #kat_writes😼 #hurt/comfort

[sleepy-gee]

stay with me - finnick odair/gn!reader fluffmas ao3 link

The Victory Tour being conveniently placed in the holiday season leads to some lonely nights. Thankfully, you're not alone.

pre relationship/very beginning of relationship, mostly plotless just hurt/comfort, more winter themed than christmasy but shh, pre-canon, read on tumblr v or on ao3 (link above ^)

The Victory Tour being conveniently placed in the holiday season leads to some lonely nights. A lot, in fact. Sure, it's just twelve days, but those days conveniently cover both Christmas and New Years. New Year's Eve is funnily enough your last official night of the tour, spent in the Capitol with a glamorous party. Maybe it's supposed to remind you that in the end, you'll always be with them. You can never escape.

The dull hum of the train you're in aggravates you more than anything, spurring on the bitterness and resentment you feel. Being pulled away from all your families and loved ones to only spend it reliving the horrors of the games- The 23 innocent lives lost, rubbing it in their faces that you were alive to celebrate it all while the others were nothing but a pile of dirt and bones now. Some were a pile of ashes, if their family was rich enough for it. You definitely were. The thought made you sick.

Bitterness turned into anxiety, which made itself a nauseous nest in the pit already formed in your stomach. You couldn't stay still. Not for much longer. All you wanted was to go home and run away from it all, hide in your ridiculously fancy house under your ridiculously fancy bedsheets and pray for everything to stop.

But, of course, you couldn't. You had a show to put on. Smile and wave for the adoring crowd- Just be yourself!

The funny part was, you nearly made it out somewhat unscathed- 18 when you were reaped. You had survived 6 years, and had 1 more to go- But your luck ran out. The odds were never in your favor.

You'd puke if you thought about it any longer.

Not able to stay still any longer, you climbed out of your plush bed and grabbed your robe, wrapping the silky material around your shivering body as you crept down the hall into the main room. The resemblance to your own house was a little frightening- You swear you have a lamp in your living room just like the one on your right, lampshade covered in seashells with a soft green light coming from the bulb.

No one else seemed to be awake, which equally relieved and upset you. While you didn't have to explain your jittery demeanor, familiar human contact would've been nice. You plopped yourself down on one of the sofas in the main room and curled up into a small ball, staring into space as you tried to calm yourself down. Everything felt off. Nothing was right. 

The sound of a door opening caught your attention, and your heart skipped a beat. Footsteps followed, leading to your location.

".. What're you doing out here?" The low voice of your mentor asked. Finnick Odair. Capitol sweetheart. Everyone everywhere loved him, and he managed to guide you to victory. The two of you were.. Acquaintances before you ended up getting reaped, family friends if you will. "It's four in the morning, and we gotta get up unfortunately early for District Ten." He sat down beside you, patting your head sympathetically.

".. Can't sleep." You rolled over onto your back, head nudging his thigh as you looked up at him. "What're you doing up?"

"I fell asleep a little earlier than intended.. So I kinda screwed up my sleep schedule a bit." Finnick said with a small laugh, looking down at you. "I can see it in your eyes. Something else is up. Talk to me."

You bit your lip. ".. Just a little homesick, is all. I haven't spent the holidays away from my family before.. and technically, I won't see them until next year, so.."

Finnick nodded in understanding. "I get that. It's.. It's hard.." He was choosing his words carefully. You never knew who could be listening in. ".. Spending so much time away from your family. It was hard on me too, I definitely get it.."

".. How did you do it? Get through it all?" A question disguised as another. "How did you move on from the Games? How do you live your life after it's been flipped upside down? How do you move on when the old you is gone? How? How? How?"

"Well.." He ran his fingers through your hair. "I try and focus on the positives. They're hard to find, but they're there. I got to see the world, meet new people, eat a lot of different kinds of food.. Fish gets boring after a while." You chuckled. How did he always have such a way with words? "But the biggest thing I kept in mind was that I was safe, and I'd never have to go through anything like the Games ever again. I had my happily ever after."

You nodded, moving your head to rest on his lap. Finnick was the human equivalent of a space heater, always warm and ready to warm others. It was nice. ".. Thank you."

He smiled. "Don't thank me. Just get some rest, yeah? Got a big day tomorrow, and I need my victor well rested."

“I nearly forgot about that..” You yawned. “Mkay.. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Your eyes flickered shut, and you found yourself lulled to sleep by his fingers gently carding through your hair, keeping you safe for the night.

#the hunger games #thg #thg fic #fanfiction #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #thg finnick #pre canon #pre slash #hurt/comfort #ao3 writer #ao3 #12 days of fluffmas #fluffmas 2023

[briarlovesginny]

“Real.”

!!spoilers for hunger games: mockingjay!!

cw// grief, grief processing, trauma responses/panic, not knowing what’s real

(this is based off of the book series and is pre-relationship everlark hurt/comfort)

It only takes a week of making the book before Peeta remembers. 

Katniss had been staring at him, barely paying attention-- she was too busy marveling at how the light reflected off of some hairs but shone through others-- when all of a sudden the pen is dropped, ink gushing out of the tip as it burst on the parchment. She jumped backwards, preparing for an attack, only to see Peeta shaking so violently he looked like he was in an earthquake. 

“Peeta?” She asked, reaching out to touch him, but he was far beyond hearing her. His eyes were open and shining, and his arms were out in front of him like they were still cuffed. She had seen him do it before, the rocking motion of his hands as if to soothe himself, but never this violently. “Peeta!”

She wasn’t sure if it was the right idea or not, but she grabbed his arm and, when that did nothing, threw both of hers around his body. She felt him jerk slightly, and after a minute or two, his breathing started to slow down. 

“Peeta?” The mumbled softly into the back of his shoulder. “What is it?” Gently, she pulled away, but Peeta grabbed her hands with his as he turned to face her. His cheeks were red and splotchy now, tears streaming down his face as he gulped for words. 

“Finnick.” He said, tentatively, as if he was afraid of the answer, “He died, in the Capitol, from the mutts. Real or not real?”

Katniss’s heart crashed in her chest, and judging by Peeta’s reaction, so did her face. He let out a low whine, beginning to shake harder, but she knew she had to answer him.

“Real.” She said, clear but quiet, and a loud sob burst out of her. She loathed this-- loathed that she was crying when Peeta needed her, loathed that she was this weak, that she couldn’t hold it together for her friend, but once she started, she couldn’t stop herself. 

Her grief came in waves-- after her return to 12, it had been a morning routine, but with gentle hugs from Greasy Sae’s granddaughter and warm bowls of soup from the woman herself, she was usually able to make it days at a time without a breakdown. 

“Humans,” Peeta choked out, “humans are supposed to feel pain this deeply. This is what grief is.” Katniss threw herself forward again, this time wrapping her arms around his solid, warm torso itself, and felt him mirror her. Her hands clenched his back, and she felt his press against her shoulder blades. She let out a shaky sigh and a small laugh before continuing. 

“Real.”

#thg #the hunger games #hunger games #everlark #finnick odair #finnick and katniss #peeta and finnick #katniss and finnick were siblings your honor #fanfic #hunger games fanfic #the hunger games fanfic #my fics #everlark fanfic #everlark hurt/comfort #hunger games mockingjay #hunger games post mockingjay #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #greasy sae mention

[prettylittlewrites]

Sinners

A Gale Hawthorne Story

Chapter 1

Summer was never a pleasant time. Specifically the middle of the warm season. While the weather was warm and the sky didn’t seem so gray, there was a foreboding sense to the air.

The Hunger games took place in the middle of Summer, the day used to be called Independence Day before the collapse of the old nation.

The weeks spent leading up to the reaping were full of Wren taking care of Haymitch and attempting to get him somewhat sober. She’d dump all his alcohol down the drain or hide it in her own home. But he always seemed to have some more whiskey stashed somewhere. It seemed like such a tedious task but, for them it was normal. Repetition, the sad normalcy of it all is what kept them sane.

Wren and Haymitch would never have your average father-daughter relationship. They would share the same eye color and their hair would lay flat on their heads the same way. But resemblance-wise, that was all they shared.

Wren looked like a spitting image of her mother. From the size of her button-shaped nose, right down the way her eyes squinted when she truly laughed. Had it not been for her bright blue eyes, Haymitch would have been convinced that it was the ghost of her late mother.

After Haymitch won the 50th Hunger Games, he returned home to find his whole family slaughtered at the hands of President Snow. A sickness is what they told Haymitch, a cover up for Snow's murderous pastimes.

Haymitch knew why they were killed of course. A couple of the Victors warned him what he might find in his old home. He had outsmarted the Game makers. Using their own arena against them. Rebelion. Even if he didn’t see it that way, that’s how Snow saw it. Therefore in Snow's eyes he needed to be punished.

He wasn’t desirable to the Capitol, at least not enough to bring in a steady clientele. So instead of the remainder of his innocence being taken by the Capitol. They took the remainder of his security and support.

He would have no one to support him and get him through the aftermath of his games. Not very many Victors could offer much support for the teenager.

They were restricted in communications between Districts, and it wasn’t like District 12 had any living Victors. He was utterly alone.

It wasn’t until his Victory tour did Haymitch finally turn to alcohol to calm the raging night terrors. It had been a Victor in District 11 who had offered a bottle to the teenager. ‘An easy way to cope’, he had claimed and he was right. Gulp after gulp, the world blurred around Haymitch, blurring his reality and numbing his mind as he watched the amber liquid disappear.

His Capitol escort quickly caught on to his reckless behavior and took it upon herself to remove all alcohol from any and all events. She couldn’t stand the idea of her Victor being intoxicated during such prestigious events. Forcing Haymitch, for the time being, to relive the games at full force with a sober mind. He was ruined, every Victor could see it. But to the Capitol, all they saw was their most recent Victor.

It was in District 2 where he found the second thing that could numb his brain. Sex. He could turn off and just feel good. And plenty of people were willing to offer that feeling to him in the inner Districts. Because to them, winning the Hunger Games was a reason to celebrate. To be honored and showered with favor.

Soon the Victory Tour ended, and Haymitch returned to District 12. Where everything was gray and gloomy.

Like a child, his mouth was always glued to a bottle. He was nothing again, no one special to anyone. He was okay with that. The least amount of contact he had with people, the better.

But then came the fact that he didn’t know how to do anything on his own. Before the Hunger Games, he worked with his family in the local store. They received all the basic necessities that each business needed to keep going. But with the loss of the whole family, the store sat vacant. Each family now receives their materials directly from the Capitol trains.

But that was when he met her. Someone he didn’t want, but desperately needed.

She was a Coal Miner's daughter, Oldest of eight siblings. She had taken on the job of collecting laundry from the citizens of District 12, for those who could afford to have their clothes washed by others.

Haymitch always rolled his eyes at the thought of having someone who wasn’t family wash you stuff. But he didn’t exactly know what to do now that his mother wasn’t around to teach him, so he gave in. And that is when his eyes landed on Fauna Ridge.

At the time the two denied any and all attraction to each other. Haymitch out of fear and Fauna out of defiance.

Fauna somehow had weasel her way into Haymitch's life. Becoming a confidant when he needed it. She was the one who would clean up after him, but made sure he knew she hated the smell of old alcohol each time she walked in. She would pick him up food from the town square, but said it was only so she would have something to eat when she came over to clean. She would wake him from the nightmares, but only because she said she didn’t like all the screaming.

She did all of this without him asking her to, and even though each time she found an excuse when he asked her why she was helping him, he knew it was because she cared. She cared about him. In what way he didn’t know yet. But he cared about her just as much.

When he knew Fauna would be coming over, he would take extra long to finish his drinks, so he wasn’t completely drunk by noon. He would try to clean up but would often get distracted. He had even attempted to make her lunch one day but failed miserably. He cared for her, and she for him. But they were just too blind to see it.

When Haymitch left for his first Hunger Games as a Victor, Fauna had never seen someone become so hollow. Haymitch turned into a shell of himself. All Fauna could do was watch and count down the days until the reaping. Praying that her younger siblings weren’t reaped.

The morning of the reaping, Fauna watched helplessly from the kitchen as Haymitch chugged his drinks in between sobs and sputtering. Each time Fauna tried to approach her friend, he would just back further away, mumbling for her to stay back.

“I can’t go back. I can’t go back there!” He sobbed into his arms. His words slurred and broken as his drinks slowly began to take hold of him. Fauna, finally gathering the courage, approached her friend. Knowing that the reaping was beginning soon and that Haymitch needed to be present.

“Haymitch we have to go. They will send peacekeepers after us if we don’t go soon.” She stressed trying to tip the drunk out of his chair.

“Oh what are they going to do? Put me in the games? Kill me? Punish me? I don’t care anymore.” He slurred, pushing his anger onto the brunette girl.

“These kids deserve a Mentor. Whether you like it or not. You are all they have the second their names get called.” Fauna seethed at him. The two stared at each other, suddenly they found their positions switched. Fauna the calm and composed one was raging, and Haymitch oddly quiet as he felt himself sober suddenly as a thought occurred to him.

“How many times?” He mumbled his eyes bordered into her face as her face rapidly paled but didn’t answer him. “How many times is your name today?”

“66” She whispered back, her face downcast at the thought of how small the odds of her not being picked were. “Lennon and Lacie have 44 each. My mom and I wouldn’t let anyone else take any out. But there are six of us eligible today. I guess the odds aren’t really in favor of my family.”

Hamitch sat quietly for a second before he stood up and held his hand out to his only friend. Vowing to himself that if any of Ridge’s went into The Games. He would do anything in his power to bring them home.

The odds were in their favor that time.

Haymitch returned home just three weeks later. His tributes did not make it far in the games, and he was left with nightmares and relapse all over again. It felt like it was his games all over again. But one good thing did come out of the ending of the Hunger Games.

He was back.

When he opened his front door, he was met with the smell of food cooking, and a clean home. The smell of alcohol and Bile, not present in the large home. He could faintly hear the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen. He peered into the room and smiled at the sight. Fauna had seemingly taken over his home, she was moving about the kitchen like she had lived there her whole life. Like she was comfortable in his home, as it was hers.

He knew then how he cared for her. He didn’t know if she felt the same way, but he didn’t care as long as she stayed.

With a quick sharp knock on the arch way, Fauna spun around to see who had entered the home. With a bright smile, she raced towards him and embraced him, locking her hands around his waist and holding the newly eighteen year old tight. Burying her head in his shoulder. His hands found their own way to the small dip in her back where her spine ended and pressed his face into her hair.

He was Home.

Seemingly the years passed without incident. Fauna’s and Haymitch relationship remained stagnant, until it didn’t.

Neither one knew exactly when the shift happened but the now twenty two year old adults often found their touches lingering, their gazes holding longer than a friend would. They were together, just without the official labels.

Waking up next to each other every morning. The nights where Haymitch would wake up screaming were still frequent, but now he would wake up to Fauna holding him. Slowly Fauna unintentionally moved in. Only going home once a week to see her family and help out at home. Often bringing meals to her large family. Haymitch would often accompany her. The one day a week when he made sure not to drink, no matter how much he wanted to. Because Family days were important to Fauna.

When Haymitch returned home after the 56th annual Hunger Games, the last thing he expected to find was Fauna sitting on the couch with a tear stained face, pale as her olive skin would let her go.

Then she said the two words he never thought he would hear. He felt his heart drop as panic set in. He reached out and gripped her hand as he sat next to her on the couch. Staring into the unlight fireplace. His mind is going a million miles an hour.

He was going to be a dad.

He wanted to be happy. He was happy to be starting a family with Fauna, but the thought still stuck him cold. The Games. His child could be reaped. They probably would. There was a reason Victors didn’t really have kids.

“Everything is going to be okay.” He soothed the Sobbing Fauna as she leaned into him. He knew she was terrified. They had talked about kids once, only once. Fauna told him her greatest fear was having a child, only to have them ripped away from the Games. So she didn’t want any, not when she couldn’t protect them from the same fate of every tribute. Because, no one ever won The Hunger Games.

The couple sat there for a couple of hours, just holding each other. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that they were going to become parents. After the tears had been shead and the fears had been discussed, they finally began to feel the giddiness and excitement cloud over the fear.

They were going to be parents.

Because there were no real doctors in District 12 they would guesstimate how far Fauna was along. Fauna herself wasn’t even sure what was going on until an old school friend came over to keep her company with Haymitch gone for the time being.

The woman had been lovingly rubbing her Large baby bump, talking about how she found out she and her husband were expecting. In the mits of their chatting Fauna felt her resolve crumble, as the connections were made in her mind. How she was feeling, and how her body had been acting lining up with Hazelle’s. She promptly broke down and ran to the Apothecary shop, where they confirmed that her symptoms were most likely due to pregnancy. Fauna, having full access to Haymitch's winnings, bought the extremely expensive test to confirm her suspicions.

Hazelle had comforted Fauna, and promised her that they would get through their pregnancies together and could raise their children to be best friends.

Haymitch and Fauna quickly grew to love their unborn child. They would dream of a girl who looked like Fauna or a boy that resembled Haymitch.

As Fauna grew larger and hit every milestone, Haymich became more and more anxious. He slipped away for the day to the Hob. A place he frequented often for Alcohol but knew that some of the booths sold finer things. Most selling their prized possessions so that they could put food on the table for their families, or buy the medication needed to keep their sick family members alive for a few months more.

At a booth near the back, A woman sat, worn items sat around her. Pretty dresses that had seen better days, hand stitched dolls, old looking chests, and jewelry.

Haymitch knew he could just take the train down to the Capitol and buy a new, expensive, ring from there. But he knew that one that had history, and meaning, would be more meaningful to Fauna than the size of the stone or the price of the metal.

The asking price for the ring was high for the Hob. Most men and women in the districts couldn’t afford rings to symbolize their marriage. So it wasn’t a custom, but Haymitch, being a Victor, knew he could splurge on something other than alcohol for once. Especially if it was for Fauna or his Child.

The ring was a silver color, and had one small black crystal in the middle in the shape of a raindrop. On either side of the black crystal sat two small Black stones. It was perfect.

Haymitch quickly passed over the money to the woman, his eyes only focused on the ring in front of him.

2 months later he was a husband, 2 months after that he was a father.

Officially he was a father, a father that could hold his baby in his hands instead of just feeling the kicks through Fauna’s stomach.

He had a daughter.

The second that he heard the sharp cries from the hallway outside of the guest room, he knew he would do anything for his child. When he found out he had a daughter, he was filled with so much joy his heart felt like it would burst.

Haymitch up until that point didn’t know you could fall in love with another person so quickly. But the second that his daughter wrapped her small hand around his finger, a burst of love, and protection overcame him and brought him to tears. He couldn’t help the overwhelming smile as he sat next to Fauna and admired the small human they had made together.

Fauna would admit only to herself that she had never seen Haymitch smile so wide as he held their daughter to his chest. She felt her heart grow in love for her husband, and she suddenly understood why people purposefully had multiple children. She suddenly couldn’t imagine a world without her little girl, where she wasn’t a mom.

They named her Wren Neva Ambernanthy

Haymitch looked over his shoulder at Fauna, and pressed a hard kiss to her sweaty forehead. He felt like he was on top of the world.

Then suddenly he wasn’t.

Eight days.

That’s how long it took for Snow to find out that his daughter had been born. Eight days for bliss as a complete family, before Snow showed his ugly face.

Fauna had refused to recover for longer than a week in bed and had left the house to go to see her siblings and parents for the day and bring them lunch. Haymitch was supposed to be with her, but Wren needed to go down for her nap. Haymitch had offered to stay back and meet her at the Ridge’s household once Wren woke up.

One hour after she left, a package arrived at Haymitch's house. A bouquet of white roses, 16 white roses that reeked of perfume with a gift tag.

Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, I look forward to meeting her in the future. ~ President Snow’

Suddenly Haymitch couldn’t think, he couldn’t breath. To anyone else who had not met President Snow face to face would assume that he was genuine in his gift. But any Victor could read the threat that was woven into the innocent message.

He scooped his sleeping daughter into his arms hastily. Not caring that the sudden movement woke her up or that she was screaming as fat tears rolled down her face. Not pausing to look at her pouting lips or the distressed look on her face.

He couldn’t think of anything but the life of his infant daughter. The message from Snow was a promise. A promise that due to his act of defiance, his daughter would go into The Hunger Games. A promise that she would become a pawn to the Capitol. His worst fear was on the horizon, and He didn’t know how much time he had with his family as a whole before it was to be torn apart by the sadistic man.

While Haymich was running, his only thoughts being about protecting his daughter. He failed to see the dark clouds of smoke coming from the Seam. He failed to hear the commotion of people screaming as his heart pounded in his ears. His body fully on autopilot as he raced towards his second family.

But he was too late. Fauna’s childhood home was up in flames. It hadn’t even occurred to Haymitch that up until that point Fauna wasn’t mentioned in President Snow's note. The man had signed off on the marriage certificate but they never received any congratulations from the President. Haymitch felt his body collapsing onto his knees, Wren still whaling in his arms as the Peacekeepers pulled up from down the road to extinguish the flames.

There was a crowd of people who were watching the flamed house from afar. But it was Quiet now. Not a sound escaped the house that was alight, or the crowd of people who watched as Haymitch sobbed into the ground.

Snow had taken his second family from him.

#romance #fanfic #catching fire #gale hawthorne #haymitch abernathy #hunger games #katniss and peeta #mockingjay #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #effie trinket #primrose everdeen #hurt/comfort #gale x oc #president snow #finnick odair #johanna mason #annie cresta #rue #cato #Ceaser flickerman #family

[rosaaeles]

THE FOREST, THE FIRE, AND THE WITNESSES WATCHING

prompt: "can you write something about the Victor's reactions while watching Katniss and Peeta in the 74th Hunger Games? I always imagined Johanna laughing and cheering when Katniss pulled out the berries."

word count: 5,389

read on A03

The realisation that Rue’s body must still be warm under Katniss’s touch makes Johanna vomit there and then. Except she hasn’t eaten anything sufficient for days so all that comes up is bile as she retches and tears stream down her face.

If Finnick saw her like this, she thinks, he would unplug her television and make her sit outside in the cold. Pull her against him and rub at the gooseflesh on her arms like a brother would his younger sister. He’d ruffle her hair maybe, squeeze her shoulder comfortingly. Tell her that it’s going to be okay.

But Finnick isn’t here. No one is.

And so, without anyone to stop her from doing so, Johanna continues watching the Games.

#The Hunger Games #the hunger games fic #everlark fanfiction #finnick odair #annie cresta #johanna mason #odesta #Annie x finnick #hurt/comfort #katniss everdeen #thg fic #odesta fanfiction #thg fanfic #angst with a lil bit of fluff at the end because im not a monster #❀ my works ! #❀ requests

[johanna-calls-them-nuts]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Beetee Latier/Wiress, Beetee Latier & Wiress Characters: Beetee Latier, Wiress (Hunger Games), Finnick Odair Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Daydreaming, Dancing, Memories, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Beetee is not coping well Summary:

Beetee prefers to box his emotions away, but sensations can bring up the most expected memories

#the hunger games #beetee #beetee latier #wiress #finnick odair #hurt/comfort #bad coping mechanisms #memories #fanfic #ao3fic #unbeta read and unafraid #finnick is a good friend #we deserved to see Beetee grieve #he finished her sentences #screaming

[underoospeterparker]

Omg you write finnick so perfectly!! I was wondering if you could write something about finnick dating somone with POTS syndrome and how he reacts to it? 🫶🫶

thank you that is the best compliment! and thanks for requesting!! i think this is one of the best things I've written tbh

fyi: POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome) is a medical condition that can lead to an increased heart rate when standing up. it can cause lightheadedness, dizziness or fainting.

finnick odair x reader with POTS, set during catching fire (reader volunteered for annie instead of mags), 0.6k words

You were sitting on the sofa, curled up in Finnick's arms while the two of you rewatched Ceasar's interviews with the tributes for the 75th Hunger Games. Finnick played with loose strands from your ponytail while you fixated on the television, despite your oncoming headache and lightheadedness.

"You okay, lovely?" Finnick asked, concerned. He had always been sweet to you, a fact that hadn't changed when you'd told him you'd been diagnosed with POTS a couple years ago, and still didn't change when you had volunteered for Annie in the place of Mags. In fact, he'd grown even more protective over you.

You nodded, but the movement made your vision blurry. Pausing, you tried to turn around to Finnick. "I don't know," you whispered, a slightly panicked tone in your voice.

He frowned, and he shifted under from you, trying not to rock you too much. "That's okay. Can you just stay here for me, just for a second, honey? I'll go grab you some water."

When you gave him a thumbs up, he got up quickly, resting a hand on your shoulder for a second before heading into the kitchen. It took him a while to return, or at least, it seemed that way to you.

You grew worried, anxiety building up in your throat even though logically, you knew nothing would have happened to him. "Finnick?" you called, a croak in your voice. When he didn't respond, or you didn't hear it, you got up and immediately regretted your decision.

He rushed into the living room just in time to set down the glass of water and catch you as you fell, almost hitting your head on the edge of the coffee table. "Shit," he murmured, the expletive hot under his breath.

Finnick placed you gently back onto the sofa, a pillow under your head to keep it elevated. "Honey, c'mon," he said, his hands desperately cupping your cheeks. "Wake up for me, yeah?"

You blinked your eyes open, straining against the bright lights and he took notice of that, quickly shutting them off and returning back to your side. "Hi," he whispered, clearly worried about you.

"Hi," you whispered back, attempting to sit up. Finnick pushed you down with a firm hand to your chest. "No," he said sternly, a tone in his voice that dared you to defy him. You did not.

He reached to the table where he'd set down the glass and lifted it up to your mouth, watching intently as you gulped down a couple of sips. "That's it," he said, moving the cup when you finished.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. Finnick looked distraught. You felt the strangest urge to comfort him.

You gave him the biggest smile you could muster, and since you were exhausted, it wasn't big at all. He looked almost constipated as he reciprocated the smile. "I'm okay," you muttered, a small reassurance in Finnick's eyes.

He let a breath of air he'd been holding release, and he climbed onto the sofa next to you, pulling you into his chest. You gladly went inside, feeling the remnants of your dizziness dissolve as you pressed yourself deeper into his body.

Finnick reached his hands up to your hair, kneading gently at your scalp. His movements were soothing and they helped calm down your aching headache. When you sighed in pleasure, he let out a surprised laugh, muffled by your hair.

Soon, you fell asleep, accompanied by the sound of his deep breathing and his soft scratching of your hair. You dreamed of the sea, the ocean, and Finnick, and you clung onto the dream for as long as you could, because you knew that when you would wake up, everything would be different.

#comfort #fluff #comforting #hurt/comfort #finnick fanfic #the hunger games finnick #finnick!! #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick oneshot #finnick imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick x y/n #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfiction #finnick odair fanfiction #thg x you #the hunger games #hunger games #fanfic #thg fanfiction #pots syndrome #my inbox 💌

[ervotica]

“C'mere, sweetheart-“ & “Breathe, just breathe-" with finnick please 🤍

a life of our own

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: finnick helps you find yourself again when you’re rescued from the capitol. you’re desperate to trust him again.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a lil fluff, a lil angst, r was tortured and brainwashed in the capitol after catching fire (i got sooo carried away with this but i luv it! hope you enjoy, please remember to like/comment + reblog!)

hunger games masterlist

Your chest is red-hot with anguish; it’s all you feel lately. Confined to this white room, locked in, spending all your time waiting for something that won’t come.

Nothing is real anymore. Your life is a thick fog that you can’t decipher, can’t tell which bits of it are real and which were planted by the Capitol. They made you a weapon against the revolution, against Katniss and Coin and Finnick.

You know him, that much is evident in your unconscious reactions. The way your chest tightens and squeezes when he walks into a room, how your breath catches and you hunger after his touch despite not knowing exactly why. But you know that he’s familiar and that - at one point or another - you loved him.

He visits routinely like clockwork, every day at around the same time. And each time you don’t push him away, don’t flinch at his touch like you do the others, his confidence grows.

Your doctor has been practicing memory games with you, which parts do your life are real and which are fabricated. You repeat them in your head over and over and sometimes they slip out when you’re talking, too. You’ve been incorporating opinions on top of the basic facts you know, and you’ve been including what you know about him.

You rock on the bed with your knees to your chest, feet tucked underneath you as you recite everything you can remember about him. You mutter it under your breath, tongue clicking as you whisper.

The door creaks and you stop dead mid-sentence. Finnick slips in without a word, pulling a chair up to sit by you. He doesn’t miss the way you eye him warily, watching every movement, every tick of his jaw and twitch of his muscles. You’ve always been perceptive- it’s one of his earliest memories of you. How you watch people.

He sits and watches you in return; you trace every inch of his body with your eyes, the bruises on his arms, the points of his shoulders, the slope of his nose and chin, the curve of his jaw.

“Finnick,” you say. He smiles; his fingers rest on the edge of the bed.

“That’s right.”

You reach out to touch him; he stays dead still as instructed by your doctors, but lets you lift his hand to place it in your own much smaller one. You turn so you’re sitting cross legged facing him, holding his hand in your lap. His heart could burst with the way you’re looking at him, a cocktail of fear and longing in your eyes. Something else lies deeper than that, like you’re being pulled through the rubble of your own mind and to the surface. Something a lot like love.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice is small, more timid than he’s ever heard from you.

“Anything.”

“You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” he murmurs.

“I think I love you, too. I know I did before. I just don’t know which parts of my brain are real.” You fiddle with his fingers, the pad of your thumb rubbing over his knuckles methodically. If this is the only way you’ll ever touch him again, he’ll take it. He’ll take every scrap, every morsel of affection he can eke out of you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.

“We can figure that out together.” He’s soft as he speaks to you and it’s a voice that you remember. A very distinct one in your memory.

“Finnick,” you say again. He nods and shifts closer.

“Sometimes you call me Finn,” he starts, pressing lips to your knuckles. “Or honey. Or idiot if you’re mad at me.”

You smile and he catches a glimpse of you in there, engulfed by everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve been told. But he knows he can pull you out.

“I don’t think I’d ever be mad at you,” you mumble. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“Well, sometimes I am an idiot. And I know you tell me that because you want to keep me safe.”

You’re in agreement there, not knowing everything but knowing undeniably that you would do anything to protect Finnick.

You shuffle over in the bed and tug at his arm. He tilts his head curiously, knowing what you’re asking but not wanting to be presumptuous.

“You want me to come sit up there with you, sweetheart?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay.” He settles himself next to you, legs outstretched where yours are tucked up tightly to your body. “If it gets too much, you tell me and I’ll go, okay?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t.”

You shuffle round and swing your legs over his own so you’re almost completely in his lap; his arm comes up and over your shoulders automatically, like muscle memory. This is how you are in your clearest memories- together, a tightly knit partnership. He’s holding his breath, waiting for you to realise what you’re doing and lose composure, but that moment doesn’t come. You just sit and close your eyes, ear to his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“I’m tired,” you croak.

“You want me to leave you to sleep?”

“No.” Your voice is thick and uneven where you’re full of all these new emotions that you can’t quite place. “Will you stay?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He pulls the thin blanket over your body and smiles as you needle in close to him, face in the juncture of his neck. Hiding with him instead of from him.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” You relax at the pet name, your body going lax against his own as you start to fall asleep.

You can’t be asleep for more than 30 minutes before you start to stir. You’re muttering in your sleep as you start to twitch and reach out for something.

Your brow knits and it forms a crease in the middle of your forehead as you start to cry.

“Honey, c’mon,” Finnick murmurs, his hand pressed to your neck in an effort to rouse you. “It’s just a dream.”

His chest aches; he can’t bear seeing you in this state, knowing there’s not much he can do to make it better. Thinking it’s his fault for not getting to you in time.

You scream and wake with a start, wide-eyed and frantic. Your eyes flit around the clinical looking room as you try to gauge your surroundings and reorient yourself.

“Honey, it’s okay. It was just a dream, you’re safe.”

You scramble back and push him away, curling yourself up into a ball at the foot of the bed. Tears paint your cheeks and they shine in the harsh white lights, hiccuping sobs. He crouches a metre or so away, palms up, arms outstretched in hopes you’ll make contact again.

“Breathe, just breathe,” he says. “You’re okay. I’m here, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

You’re like a wild animal the way you look at him- panic-stricken and agitated, frenetic in the way you move.

“Honey, it’s me. It’s Finn.”

You swallow thickly and nod, your body slowly starting to unfurl.

“Finn,” you sniffle, holding out your arms. “Finnick.”

He creeps closer still and you practically throw yourself into his arms, face against the hollow of his throat, arms locked around his middle like a vice.

“I have you. I’m right here,” he says, over and over like a mantra. A promise.

“I don’t wanna live like this anymore.”

“You’re not going to,” he whispers. “I’ll be here until you feel well enough and then we can start planning our life. Together.”

“Okay.”

Your fingers card through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, wet eyes meeting his.

“I love you. I know it now, I can remember that.”

“I love you too,” he says, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “You’re my girl.”

You’re hesitant as you tilt your head up to press a kiss to his lips but he welcomes it, his thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place as he pecks you a few more times.

“We’re gonna have a life of our own, I promise.”

“A life of our own.”

#writer #writers on tumblr #writing #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair fanfic #the hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #thg finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick odair #finnick imagine #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fic #finnick odair fluff #hurt/comfort #writing for fun

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

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