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anatay004 · 7 days

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YOU WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF SCREAMING. The sheer decibels were enough to break into your reverie and jolt you awake; enough for goosebumps to roll over your skin like cream. For a few seconds, you remained still, blinking away the bleariness in your eyes as you tried to make sense of the situation. Instinctively, you pushed yourself onto one of your elbows to examine the room around you, but confusion quickly flitted across your features when you realized the screams weren't coming from the inside of your home.

"It's the neighbor's daughter." Your father's voice slid into your thoughts suddenly. His voice was soft, as though you might shatter if he spoke too loud as he stood by the doorframe; holding a familiar dress that made you belatedly realize why he was being too gentle. Today was reaping day.

And reaping days called for certain demeanors.

"Oh." Was everything you managed to say.

Suddenly, you understood why the neighbor's daughter must've been screaming; why she must've been scared. She'd just turned twelve last week, the starting age for participating in the mandatory reaping for the annual Hunger Games. Where you were either killed or forced to for the sake of the Capitol's entertainment. It was inessential; the cruelest of punishment, but — somehow, it was the most merciful one the Capitol could have ever come up with.

And that thought alone scared you the most.

You tried not to dwell much on the matter as your father draped the dress over a chair and walked back into the kitchen without another word, but it was almost futile. Days like these called for melancholy; and melancholy called for buried ghosts; especially when they tethered back to your past.

You exhaled audibly as tried to shift your mind elsewhere — anywhere, just not to your sister. But it was inevitable, especially when she'd been taken from you on this exact day; five years ago. When she'd been killed on live television for everyone else's entertainment, but your own. When her heart had been pierced by a trident and her body was left moribund for the whole Capitol to feed on.

And her killer had been crowded Victor.

Your father never recovered from it.

Every year, he dreaded the upcoming of this day with visible pain. In fear, you might just get called upstage too, even if this was your last year at the reaping. But you couldn't exactly blame him for it, not when you were the only thing he'd left in this putrid world. So, you understood. You cleaned away the tears that streaked his face at night, prayed along with him, and took him in your arms when the nightmarish memories of your sister plagued his head at night.

And today was no different; you accompanied his silence with your own; because there was no cure for the malady in his heart.

Because you understood.

Gathering some courage, you climbed out of bed obligingly and made your way to the bathroom. The reaping was to start at two in the afternoon, so you made sure to jump in the shower as quickly as you possibly could; washing your skin, conditioning your hair, and even scrubbing your nails clean. It was easy — manageable, until it was time to dress.

With a towel wrapped around you, you stepped out of the bathroom only to falter at the sight of the dress draped over the chair in your bedroom. You'd seen it before, it was not stranger to your eyes, but you'd never once worn it. The piece of clothing, although it was just fabric, had once belonged to your sister; a green dress with beautiful flower prints. It'd been a gift to your sister from your father when she'd turned sixteen years old. A small present bought with his hard work; a small reminder of his love for her.

But now, it was a cruel reminder of what you'd lost.

With gritted teeth, you fell back a step, suddenly deciding to retrace your steps to the bathroom. Not wanting to remember, you decided to fix your hair instead and shut the door behind you.

Deciding your ghosts could wait a little longer.

The weather was hot and humid.

You don't remember a day being as insufferable as it was that afternoon. After a few hours of dolling up and breaking down, you eventually walked along the cobbled streets of District Four holding your father's hand. Almost everyone in the district was already circling the square for the Reaping when you arrived. You knew the procedure by memory, so when you came to a standstill, you gave your father's hand a last squeeze before letting it go and making your way to the girls your age.

A video played through the enormous screen in the square after a few minutes when everyone gathered. A film of how the Hunger Games started and what purpose they served for the country, but — frankly, you weren't paying much attention. Subconsciously, you allowed your eyes to wander off to the stage; where the victors from previous games stood. But your eyes were glued to someone in particular; a familiar blonde with bronze skin and green eyes.

Finnick Odair.

He was staring at the screen, watching the film that was being played with a nonchalant expression on his face; one that made your blood boil. You remember it all too well: his games, his strategies, and his kills. You remember staring back at the screen, watching with blood-shut eyes how he threw his trident at your sister; the way in which it pierced her skin.

The way in which your father screamed.

District four's escort eventually made her way to the stage and you snapped out your thoughts at once. You didn't bother to remember her name, why should you? Her speech was fatal and, at some point, you were almost certain your eyes were momentarily dazzled by her attire. Bright pink dress and bright yellow wig.

At some point, you'd to avert your gaze to avoid a headache.

"And now, for the female tribute..." She trailed off, digging her manicured fingers into the bowl with all the pieces of paper; with all the names of the women in the district. Strangely, a shiver kissed down your spine when you watched her pull a paper out; it was the same feeling that'd crashed down over your head when Eloise'd name was called five years ago. Daunting and terrifying; a flailing hopelessness in the pit of your stomach that made you falter. It was then; in that moment, when you realized what was about to happen.

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

The air rushed out of your lungs instantly, and you heard your father screaming from somewhere in the back of the crowd. You felt his eyes on you, but you didn't deign to turn around and meet his gaze — you couldn't, the sight would be too painful. So, you inhaled sharply and made your way to the stage without a word; feeling like the world had suddenly played a cruel joke on you.

"Come on up, sweetheart!" The escort beckoned you upstage, and you followed her instructions; climbing up the stairs with evident skepticism. Until she wrapped an arm around your shaky shoulders and pulled you to her side without a warning. "Gosh, you're a doll!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from pulling away — from throwing her a heated glare and running away. You were too smart to consider either of those options, but the temptation was there. No, you thought to yourself, keep it together, just like Eloise once did.

"Now, for the male tribute..." She trailed off again, but your mind was far too preoccupied; mulling over the matter to even register her words. For a moment, everything was silent inside your head as you stared ahead into the crowd; hopelessly. Until a familiar frame stumbled your line of vision, the neighbor's daughter was looking back at you from the back of the crowd. With the kind of emotion only one shows when you don't know what to feel.

And you couldn't help but recall that morning when she'd woken you up by screaming because she thought she was going to be reaped. Now, you wanted to be the one screaming; because of how the tables had turned.

"Jacob Fischer!"

For a moment, you were relieved to learn you didn't know his name. You were relieved to know there was nothing remarkably familiar about him as he made his way upstage. When you finally looked up to meet his face; you realized he looked your age, maybe a little younger. And that made you feel even sicker.

"Come on, shake hands."

With evident hesitation, you stretched your hand out for him to shake. His hands were trembling. Yours were sweating.

This was only the start of the ending.

"You must win."

"Dad — " You started, but your father's grip desperately tightened around your hands. You were inside District Four's Justice Building, where you were expected to bid your goodbyes to your family. But things were easier said than done, and you quickly found yourself feeling like you were standing on the precipice of a clifftop, looking down — waiting to fall.

Had this been how Eloise felt?

When she'd said farewell to you?

"No, (Y/N), you can do it," He interjected, voice strained as his watery eyes searched for yours. "You must, honey. He can train you, he's good."

You shook your head.

After watching Finnick's games on live television, your father gathered the idea that the only sure way of winning the games was through him. Through his skills and way of thinking. But you detested that idea alone, how could you ever possibly follow the man who killed your sister?

"No, dad — "

"— Please, I — I don't think I'll survive if you don't, "A strangled sob slipped out his mouth and you were almost certain the world was on the brink of ending. "Not this time, (Y/N). I won't survive. I'm not strong,"

You love your father so much that you couldn't bring yourself to shake your head again; to shatter his hopes. So, you found yourself debating over your next movement. Fall off the precipice? Or not fall at all? Give Finnick the benefit of the doubt? Or not?

So, you nodded, despite knowing better. "Okay." You eventually acceded. "I promise."

And although you both knew promises were made to be broken, you sealed this one with an embrace. You hugged your father like your life depended on it. You decided not to fall. "I love you, Dad," You whispered against his skin, tightening your arms around him.

"I love you too." He breathed out. "Always."

And then he was beckoned out of the room by a peacekeeper, tears still streaking his face as he walked out the door. For a moment, silence ensued in the room and the hammering of your heart was the only thing that kept you from losing your senses.

But then, the door unexpectedly parted and you froze on your spot as a familiar frame stumbled into the room. A girl with innocent brown eyes, dressed in the prettiest shade of blue you'd ever seen before — simply looking back at you.

The neighbor's daughter, Lily Jones.

"Hi." She whispered, after a few bouts of silence.

"Ern — hi," You breathed out, unsure of what to even respond. To say you were surprised to see her standing there was an understatement and your expression was quite telling. "I wasn't expecting you..."

"I know," she answered sheepishly. "I wanted to come see you. My father is waiting outside. He said we don't have much time. I— I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. "How could I?" You chuckled slightly, appreciating the gesture. After all, this could be the last time you ever saw each other.

"I — " she started, but her words quickly froze on the tip of her tongue. Without a warning, she clung to your legs, arms tight around you — as if she was almost afraid of losing an old friend. "I don't want you to die like Eloise did. Please, win the games!"

For a moment, you felt the weight of a life burning up behind you. It took everything in you not to fall apart; not to burst into tears and allow the pain to wedge open in your chest again. "I — " You started, but the knot in your throat was hard to swallow.

"Here," Lily sniffed, before fishing for something inside her pockets. "It'll help you win the games."

It was a pendant; the most beautiful kind of jewelry you'd ever seen before. A shell was engraved on it and you brushed the pad of your fingers against it; smiling softly. It was a dainty reminder of home. "Oh, Lily," You murmured as you pressed the pendant against your chest. "Thank you for this."

Lily opened her mouth to answer, but the words clogged in her throat when her father and a peacekeeper stepped inside the room. Before you knew it, she was being dragged out the door and you couldn't do anything, but watch with sad eyes.

"Please, (Y/N)! You must win!" She sobbed.

And then, the door was shut again.

And you were left alone.

It was then, when you decided to glance at the mirror in the room, clouded with dust and insecurity. You saw yourself for the first time, a girl whose complexion dimmed in the lack of light in the room. A girl whose self-deprecation marred her face, whose shadows adorned her eyes, and whose tears chapped her skin.

This was not the face of a Victor, you thought.

After bidding your farewells, Aurora Miller (as you later learned) eventually rushed you onto the train. To say you were overwhelmed was an understatement; you'd never been engulfed in such luxuries before — from exaggerated quantities of food to expensive furniture. And the mere sight of everything inside the train was enough to send you reeling. You supposed being transported to your imminent death had its advantages after all.

Not wanting to interact with anyone, you didn't waste time in retreating to your room. Like everything else, your room was ten times nicer than anywhere you'd ever stayed before; and it irked you a little. For a few hours, you sat on the edge of your bed, looking down at the pendant in your hand. Thinking back to home; thinking of the life you'd left behind.

Subconsciously, you thought back to how life used to be when Eloise was still alive. You remembered her warm hugs, her silly anecdotes, and her way of fixing everything. But, more specifically, you remembered how happy you used to be when she was around, which was nothing but a daydream now. A memory at the risk of diminishing in the recesses of your mind.

The thought alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes. Angrily, you wiped them with the back of your hand because there was no use in crying; there was no use in bringing up your ghosts now. So, you decided to shift your attention elsewhere; you decided to clasp the necklace around your neck instead, but the task was a lot harder than you initially thought with shaky hands. And, somewhere stuck with the task, you missed the knock on your door — the door being opened.

"Seems like you could use a hand."

Finnick's voice was enough to make you falter. He was leaning against the doorframe, naturally wearing a white button-down that was, ironically, unbuttoned. Leaving his bare chest to the imagination. But, that's not what bothered you the most — no, it was how he stared at you. Intrigued, almost captivated; as if he'd met you before.

"Let me help you, sweetheart."

You didn't have time to protest, before you knew it, he was inside your room; standing just a few inches behind you like you'd known each other forever. His touch was soft as he pushed your hair to the side and settled the cool chain around your neck, but your skin burned. As if his touch had suddenly been an open flame and you'd been terribly hurt.

"I was doing just fine." You tried to argue, standing completely still as his chuckle filled the silence in the room. For a moment, you found yourself clenching your jaw in visible annoyance.

"Sure, you almost had it, honey," He chuckled to himself before clasping the necklace around your neck. "There," He said, falling back a step to look at his finished work. "It's quite beautiful."

It was, indeed.

The shell hung beautifully around your neck, settling against your skin like a gem. Instinctively, you brushed your fingers against the pendant, thinking back to Lily. "Thank you." You whispered, finally deciding to look up. Up close, you could see the green hue in his irises, the faint freckles across his skin, and the charming smile that curved his lips.

"Staring is rude."

"So is walking into my room."

His eyebrows jumped. "In my defense, I knocked first." He defended his case and, for a moment, your lips itched in fleeting amusement. Until his head tilted to the side in evident curiosity. "I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name. What was it again?"

For a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, you stood there in silence — staring at him, as realization flitted across your face. He doesn't even know who I am, you thought to yourself, he doesn't even remember who she was.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)." You eventually replied.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)," he repeated, tasting the syllabus in his tongue. As if he'd never once rolled that name out his mouth before. "You have a beautiful name."

You didn't bother to answer.

"Well, dinner is ready, in case you want to join us," Finnick smiled, if he'd noticed the shift in your behavior, you could not tell. "I do hope you do, they're serving caviar and whatnot."

It was at that moment, as he walked out the room, that you decided there was no benefit of the doubt. No remorse whatsoever. No nothing. At that moment, you decided — you hated Finnick Odair.

Midnight Rain’s first chapter is finally out! You have no idea how excited I am about this story in particular. I promise, it’s for the tortured poets department. Please comment down below what your thoughts are, I love reading theeeeem! t keeps me motivated and active on this platform. With love, Ana.

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anatay004 · 10 days

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i have a hard time coping with things irl and so i make up fake scenarios in my head. recently they weren’t helping. but i started reading your finnick odair work and it was just like what was already in my head. you are such a talented writer. thank you for helping me even if you don’t know it

Thank you for sharing this with me, love. With all my heart, I hope you get better soon❤️ If reading certain stories help you, feel free to request them and I’ll work hard to post them for you.🫶🏼

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anatay004 · 12 days

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𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

one - two

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anatay004 · 12 days

Text

And reaping days called for certain demeanors.

"Oh." Was everything you managed to say.

And that thought alone scared you the most.

And her killer had been crowded Victor.

Your father never recovered from it.

And today was no different; you accompanied his silence with your own; because there was no cure for the malady in his heart.

Because you understood.

But now, it was a cruel reminder of what you'd lost.

With gritted teeth, you fell back a step, suddenly deciding to retrace your steps to the bathroom. Not wanting to remember, you decided to fix your hair instead and shut the door behind you.

Deciding your ghosts could wait a little longer.

The weather was hot and humid.

Finnick Odair.

The way in which your father screamed.

At some point, you'd to avert your gaze to avoid a headache.

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

"Jacob Fischer!"

"Come on, shake hands."

With evident hesitation, you stretched your hand out for him to shake. His hands were trembling. Yours were sweating.

This was only the start of the ending.

"You must win."

Had this been how Eloise felt?

When she'd said farewell to you?

"No, (Y/N), you can do it," He interjected, voice strained as his watery eyes searched for yours. "You must, honey. He can train you, he's good."

You shook your head.

"No, dad — "

So, you nodded, despite knowing better. "Okay." You eventually acceded. "I promise."

"I love you too." He breathed out. "Always."

The neighbor's daughter, Lily Jones.

"Hi." She whispered, after a few bouts of silence.

"I know," she answered sheepishly. "I wanted to come see you. My father is waiting outside. He said we don't have much time. I— I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. "How could I?" You chuckled slightly, appreciating the gesture. After all, this could be the last time you ever saw each other.

"Here," Lily sniffed, before fishing for something inside her pockets. "It'll help you win the games."

"Please, (Y/N)! You must win!" She sobbed.

And then, the door was shut again.

And you were left alone.

This was not the face of a Victor, you thought.

"Seems like you could use a hand."

"Let me help you, sweetheart."

"I was doing just fine." You tried to argue, standing completely still as his chuckle filled the silence in the room. For a moment, you found yourself clenching your jaw in visible annoyance.

"Sure, you almost had it, honey," He chuckled to himself before clasping the necklace around your neck. "There," He said, falling back a step to look at his finished work. "It's quite beautiful."

It was, indeed.

"Staring is rude."

"So is walking into my room."

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)." You eventually replied.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)," he repeated, tasting the syllabus in his tongue. As if he'd never once rolled that name out his mouth before. "You have a beautiful name."

You didn't bother to answer.

"Well, dinner is ready, in case you want to join us," Finnick smiled, if he'd noticed the shift in your behavior, you could not tell. "I do hope you do, they're serving caviar and whatnot."

It was at that moment, as he walked out the room, that you decided there was no benefit of the doubt. No remorse whatsoever. No nothing. At that moment, you decided — you hated Finnick Odair.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader

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anatay004 · 13 days

Text

OHHH, THANK YOU! GLAD YOU LIKED IT ❤️

And reaping days called for certain demeanors.

"Oh." Was everything you managed to say.

And that thought alone scared you the most.

And her killer had been crowded Victor.

Your father never recovered from it.

And today was no different; you accompanied his silence with your own; because there was no cure for the malady in his heart.

Because you understood.

But now, it was a cruel reminder of what you'd lost.

With gritted teeth, you fell back a step, suddenly deciding to retrace your steps to the bathroom. Not wanting to remember, you decided to fix your hair instead and shut the door behind you.

Deciding your ghosts could wait a little longer.

The weather was hot and humid.

Finnick Odair.

The way in which your father screamed.

At some point, you'd to avert your gaze to avoid a headache.

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

"Jacob Fischer!"

"Come on, shake hands."

With evident hesitation, you stretched your hand out for him to shake. His hands were trembling. Yours were sweating.

This was only the start of the ending.

"You must win."

Had this been how Eloise felt?

When she'd said farewell to you?

"No, (Y/N), you can do it," He interjected, voice strained as his watery eyes searched for yours. "You must, honey. He can train you, he's good."

You shook your head.

"No, dad — "

So, you nodded, despite knowing better. "Okay." You eventually acceded. "I promise."

"I love you too." He breathed out. "Always."

The neighbor's daughter, Lily Jones.

"Hi." She whispered, after a few bouts of silence.

"I know," she answered sheepishly. "I wanted to come see you. My father is waiting outside. He said we don't have much time. I— I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. "How could I?" You chuckled slightly, appreciating the gesture. After all, this could be the last time you ever saw each other.

"Here," Lily sniffed, before fishing for something inside her pockets. "It'll help you win the games."

"Please, (Y/N)! You must win!" She sobbed.

And then, the door was shut again.

And you were left alone.

This was not the face of a Victor, you thought.

"Seems like you could use a hand."

"Let me help you, sweetheart."

"I was doing just fine." You tried to argue, standing completely still as his chuckle filled the silence in the room. For a moment, you found yourself clenching your jaw in visible annoyance.

"Sure, you almost had it, honey," He chuckled to himself before clasping the necklace around your neck. "There," He said, falling back a step to look at his finished work. "It's quite beautiful."

It was, indeed.

"Staring is rude."

"So is walking into my room."

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)." You eventually replied.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)," he repeated, tasting the syllabus in his tongue. As if he'd never once rolled that name out his mouth before. "You have a beautiful name."

You didn't bother to answer.

"Well, dinner is ready, in case you want to join us," Finnick smiled, if he'd noticed the shift in your behavior, you could not tell. "I do hope you do, they're serving caviar and whatnot."

It was at that moment, as he walked out the room, that you decided there was no benefit of the doubt. No remorse whatsoever. No nothing. At that moment, you decided — you hated Finnick Odair.

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anatay004 · 13 days

Text

𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐬𝐢𝐱 - 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐢𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʟɪʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴇᴇᴛᴀ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴘɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴏꜰꜰ. ꜱᴏ, ʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ…

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader

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anatay004 · 13 days

Text

And reaping days called for certain demeanors.

"Oh." Was everything you managed to say.

And that thought alone scared you the most.

And her killer had been crowded Victor.

Your father never recovered from it.

And today was no different; you accompanied his silence with your own; because there was no cure for the malady in his heart.

Because you understood.

But now, it was a cruel reminder of what you'd lost.

With gritted teeth, you fell back a step, suddenly deciding to retrace your steps to the bathroom. Not wanting to remember, you decided to fix your hair instead and shut the door behind you.

Deciding your ghosts could wait a little longer.

The weather was hot and humid.

Finnick Odair.

The way in which your father screamed.

At some point, you'd to avert your gaze to avoid a headache.

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

"Jacob Fischer!"

"Come on, shake hands."

With evident hesitation, you stretched your hand out for him to shake. His hands were trembling. Yours were sweating.

This was only the start of the ending.

"You must win."

Had this been how Eloise felt?

When she'd said farewell to you?

"No, (Y/N), you can do it," He interjected, voice strained as his watery eyes searched for yours. "You must, honey. He can train you, he's good."

You shook your head.

"No, dad — "

So, you nodded, despite knowing better. "Okay." You eventually acceded. "I promise."

"I love you too." He breathed out. "Always."

The neighbor's daughter, Lily Jones.

"Hi." She whispered, after a few bouts of silence.

"I know," she answered sheepishly. "I wanted to come see you. My father is waiting outside. He said we don't have much time. I— I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. "How could I?" You chuckled slightly, appreciating the gesture. After all, this could be the last time you ever saw each other.

"Here," Lily sniffed, before fishing for something inside her pockets. "It'll help you win the games."

"Please, (Y/N)! You must win!" She sobbed.

And then, the door was shut again.

And you were left alone.

This was not the face of a Victor, you thought.

"Seems like you could use a hand."

"Let me help you, sweetheart."

"I was doing just fine." You tried to argue, standing completely still as his chuckle filled the silence in the room. For a moment, you found yourself clenching your jaw in visible annoyance.

"Sure, you almost had it, honey," He chuckled to himself before clasping the necklace around your neck. "There," He said, falling back a step to look at his finished work. "It's quite beautiful."

It was, indeed.

"Staring is rude."

"So is walking into my room."

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)." You eventually replied.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)," he repeated, tasting the syllabus in his tongue. As if he'd never once rolled that name out his mouth before. "You have a beautiful name."

You didn't bother to answer.

"Well, dinner is ready, in case you want to join us," Finnick smiled, if he'd noticed the shift in your behavior, you could not tell. "I do hope you do, they're serving caviar and whatnot."

It was at that moment, as he walked out the room, that you decided there was no benefit of the doubt. No remorse whatsoever. No nothing. At that moment, you decided — you hated Finnick Odair.

#finnick odair #fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick x y/n #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair x reader #finnick fanfic #hunger games finnick #enemies to lovers

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anatay004 · 18 days

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Soooo, Midnight Rain’s first chapter is coming soon this weekend. And let me tell you, it’s heavily inspired by TTPD (Taylor Swift) and my recent heartbreak. So, have the issues ready besties 🤍

#finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick fanfic

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anatay004 · 20 days

Note

I lovedddddd part 1 of your peter series! Really hope you continue <3

Of course!! Thank youuu🥰

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anatay004 · 20 days

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𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃 | 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 (part one)

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐰: 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐫 — 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲.

warnings: dark! Peter Parker, dub-con, sexual topics.

"DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?"

Peter's head raised when the dulcet sound of your voice broke into his reverie. Instinctively, he tore his gaze away from the web-shooters scattered over the dining table to focus on you. You were walking into the kitchen, wearing his favorite sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and your hair braided down to your back.

You were rubbing the sleep of your eyes when he beckoned you towards his lap and you sluggishly climbed on top of him. "What news?" He asked, wrapping his arms around you as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Your eyebrows knitted together when you registered the confusion in his voice. For being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, he sure seemed clueless. "About the alien?"

Peter frowned, tilting his head to examine you squarely in the face. "What?"

"It was all over the news last night," You explained, matter-of-factly, before reaching for the phone over the table. "I'm not sure where it came from, the reporter barely had any information at hand when I turned the TV on."

Peter's back straightened when you unlocked your phone and replayed the report for him. His expression was unreadable as he watched over your shoulder the video. You were right — it looked like an alien or some sort of mutation that seemed to have the strength to destroy everything on its path. He was rooming around the city of New York fugitively, climbing buildings and haunting people in the shadows.

Peter didn't say anything for a while.

"Shit," Peter eventually breathed out, tightening his grip around you. "I need to call Mr. Stark."

"How come you didn't know?" You whispered, looking back at him with an eyebrow raised. It seemed strange, you thought, that something like that would've gone unnoticed by Peter. "I thought you were on patrol last night."

"I was," He clarified, but something in his voice betrayed his words and you instinctively narrowed your eyes to scrutinize his features. "I was helping Ms. Chen. Some assholes mugged her store last night, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," You replied, before exhaling a quiet breath. Last night, between whispers and sweet kisses, Peter had told you about the incident. Apparently, some assholes had tried to rob Ms. Chen at gunpoint and he'd just happened to be around the neighborhood to stop it.

Sensing the sudden tension in your muscles, Peter rested his chin on your shoulder. "I don't want you walking late at night in the city anymore, okay?" His warm breath pressed against your skin as he spoke and, instinctively, you faltered at his touch. "Not until I find out who this new villain is."

You opened your mouth to protest, to blatantly point out that you had a life outside of your apartment too, but he was quick to interrupt you. "Please, baby." He pleaded, and your shoulders immediately slumped in resignation.

He knew how to get to you.

"Fine," You whispered, before climbing off his lap in evident annoyance. "But you're going to buy groceries this week, Parker. I hate getting store deliveries, they always mess up our order and then we have to — " But before you could walk any further into the kitchen or finish your sentence, a sudden web was shot towards your direction. Within a blink of an eye, you were pulled back into Peter's lap.

"Stop doing that — "

" — ask nicely."

"Or what?" You deadpanned, and your skin immediately peppered with goosebumps when Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Or else..." Peter trailed off, sliding his hand down to your thigh — teasingly, before giving it a slight squeeze. You winced back, instinctively, but didn't try to fight the grin that was curving your lips as he adjusted you further onto his lap.

"I have to get ready for the internship today." You reminded him when his lips trailed along your neck and his hands began to slide underneath the fabric of your shirt. "Harry Osborn is going to kill me if I'm late because of you again."

Peter threw his head back in annoyance. "Do you have to work at Oscorp Industries?"

You leaned back to look at him. "Obviously. Unless you want me to throw away a perfectly good opportunity to improve my resume and career.”

Peter audibly sighed.

It was more than evident that he wasn't a fan of you working at Oscorp Industries. You never knew why, Peter never bothered to offer his opinion on the matter because he didn't want to upset you. But you suspected it had something to do with Norman Osborn and the rumors that tethered to him regarding illegal experiments on his company grounds — where you worked.

"Fine," Peter mumbled, before withdrawing his hands from under your shirt defeatedly. "See you for dinner then?"

You kissed his cheek. "Of course."

Peter never arrived for dinner.

It didn't bother you at first. You supposed he was running late due to his classes or last-minute patrols. So, you ate alone that night, showered, and changed into your pajamas to rest in bed while you waited for Peter to come home like every other night.

But he didn't this time.

The sound of the door slamming was what ended up jolting you awake the next morning. Instinctively, you turned on your side to search for Peter, but you were more than surprised to find the space beside you empty. You frowned, pushed onto your elbows tiredly, and turned to face the clock standing on the bedside table.

6:00 am

Why is Peter up so early? You wondered, before belatedly realizing that he'd never come home to sleep in the first place. So, you climbed out of bed and followed the sound of the door into the kitchen. And, soon enough, his frame stumbled into your bleary line of vision.

"Where were you last night?" You called out, rubbing your eyes tiredly as his back faced you. You should've noticed that morning — that something was different with your boyfriend, from the moment his muscles wracked with tension at the sound of your voice to the moment he'd refused to even look at you.

But you didn't, somehow.

"I crashed at May's," Peter replied — simply, before he spun on his heel and walked right past you towards the bathroom.

You blinked, unsure of what had just happened. No kiss? No good morning? No sleeping at home? The questions made your head reel for a minute — that was nothing like Peter. Had you done something to make him upset?

"What?" You eventually breathed out, before following his trail with a frown on your face. "Why? Did something happen?"

He didn't answer.

The bathroom's door was shut behind him.

"Peter?" You called again — softer. He didn't answer again, instead, you were met with the muffled sounds of grunts. Your heart skipped, suddenly thinking the worst. "Are you okay?"

For a few seconds, there was a strained silence in the room. You stood outside the door with evident confusion, calling out his name and knocking on the door for an answer. But, when it was more than evident Peter wasn't planning on stepping out of the bathroom any time soon — you picked up your phone and dialed May's number.

"Hello?"

"May? I'm sorry for waking you up, but did something happen with Pe — " Before you could finish your sentence, the door parted and your phone was snatched from your hands. A small gasp slipped past your lips, but before you could even react, Peter latched his fingers onto your wrist — signaling for you to stop whatever you were doing. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," He immediately apologized, loosening his grip around your wrist, but never letting go completely of you. "I — don't know what came over me. Just don't call May, please."

You looked at him for a moment, quietly examining his features as you tried to process the whole situation. You were pissed, it was more than evident, but the sight of fatigue that marred his face and the cuts that adorned his skin made you pause. And a wave of concern soon washed away the anger that sank in your stomach.

"Okay," You eventually exhaled, bringing your hand up to curve the side of his face with the palm of your hand. He leaned into your touch instinctively. "Tell me, what happened?"

And he did — sort of, explained the whole situation. Although you found his answer quite vague, he'd assured you that nothing serious had happened to him. He'd simply run into the alien that you'd previously mentioned the day before and things had gone array for obvious reasons.

"But...did you defeat him?" You asked skeptically, unsure of what to think when he'd dismissed the subject as nothing for you to worry about.

"Yeah, of course," Peter replied, sliding an arm behind your waist to pull you closer to him. For some reason, you didn't believe him. "I just...had a lot going on last night. I'm sorry I didn't come home, May's place just seemed closer at the moment. I'll call next time, baby."

You nibbled your bottom lip. It was more than evident you weren't convinced and that you had a lot of questions running across your mind. But you decided not to push the matter, why would you? It was Peter — Spider-Man, after all.

"Promise?"

He didn't answer, instead, he dropped his gaze down to your lips and kissed you.

As if he'd never done that before.

You heard the news days later at work. You were having lunch with your friend, Gwen Stacy, at the cafe located inside Oscorp Industries. She was babbling on about how horrible her date with Flash Thompson had gone the night before when the news suddenly broadcasted on television.

" — Eddie Brock's death has been confirmed this morning. Earlier reviews of camera footage from the city have revealed that he was last seen fighting Spider-Man, who was not holding back and was seen violently retaliating..."

"Oh, my God!" Gwen exclaimed from across the table when the video of Spider-Man replayed on the screen. Your skin peppered with goosebumps when you caught sight of the images; there was blood — lots of it. The scene was violent, something you'd never witnessed before, with brutal blows coming from both parties; especially from Peter. Blows that you would've never imagined he was even capable of throwing.

It almost seemed as if he wanted to kill Eddie Brock. And the thought alone forced a shiver to run down your spine dreadfully. Oh, God, you suddenly wondered, did he kill him?

Bile rose in your throat at the thought, but you swallowed it down with great effort before mumbling. "I — I need to go..."

"What?" Gwen tore her gaze away from the screen, and concern quickly flashed across her face when she noticed your sudden appearance. "Oh, honey. Are you okay? You look sick."

"I'm fine," You assured her with a tight smile, before fishing for a twenty-dollar bill in your purse and placing it down on the table. "Actually, I have to go home. Something came up and I have to rush back, I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be," Gwen quickly assured you, throwing you a sympathetic smile. "I'll let Harry know you had to leave, don't worry about it, babe."

"Thank you," You breathed out gratefully, before pushing back on your chair and rushing out of the building in the direction of your car.

You arrived home in a matter of minutes, heart hammering against your chest as you unlocked the door to your apartment. Your hands were trembling and your eyes burned from the unshed tears that collected at your bottom eyelid, but you dismissed them as you pushed the door open.

"Baby, is that you?" Peter called when you stepped inside, and you followed his voice into the kitchen as his back faced you.

For a few minutes, you stood there in silence — watching him, examining him. As if you almost wanted to break him into pieces right there and then, only if so you could make sense of him. Was he capable of killing? You suddenly wondered. Was the sweet boy who'd once sworn to keep his hands clean suddenly gone? And if so, would you still love him the same?

Peter didn't take long to sense your gaze on him and when he turned back to face you, his features shattered into evident concern. "Babe — "

"— What did you do?" Your voice was low, barely a whisper as you interrupted him. At the sight of your distress, his eyebrows immediately knitted together and he stepped closer to your frame, but, to his surprise, you fell back a few steps.

"What's wrong?" He frowned, taken completely aback by your sudden behavior.

"Did you do it?" You tried again, voice rasped with a sentiment you couldn't even place into words.

"What are you talking about, (Y/N)?"

You took a deep breath, trying to stifle the cry that was threatening to escape your lips. "Eddie Brock." The room grew silent. "Did you kill him?"

Peter's face was hard to read. He was staring at you, but you weren't quite sure if he was even looking at you — his gaze was empty. You swallowed hard when he took a few steps closer to you again, but you were unable to move under his foreign gaze. He seemed like Peter, he sounded like Peter, but there was something in the tenor undertones of his voice that forced the hairs on your arms to stand up.

And you couldn't quite place a finger on it.

"Where did you hear that from?" Peter questioned, looking down at you cautiously.

"The news..." You answered, feeling painfully small under his eerie gaze. It was so intense, how he suddenly looked at you, eyes so dark and deeply focused on your face. As if he was staring into your soul, stripping the skin off your bones, and exposing you whole.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

He'd never looked at you like that before.

A dry laugh escaped his mouth and you shivered at the sheer sound. "And you believed them? You know they manipulate pictures."

Your mouth went dry. "I saw the videos — "

" — I didn't kill him." He cut you off, narrowing his eyes at you — as if you'd suddenly said something barbaric. "You know I would never do something like that, (Y/N)."

The tone in his voice forced a shiver to run down your spine and guilt immediately overtook your senses. For a moment, the videos that were broadcasted on television of him didn't matter. For a split second, his strange behavior slipped off your mind. For a moment, his words felt like gospel and you were subconsciously ensnared in.

He had that effect on you.

"I did get carried away," Peter confessed when you made to open your mouth again. "He was the guy that mugged Ms. Chen the other night and I was just so angry that I — " he paused, and sighed as he reached to curve the side of your face with the palm of his hand. " — I shouldn't have beaten him like that, but I swear I didn't kill him. I turned him in to the cops, actually.

You remained quiet but leaned into his touch. There were so many things you didn't understand at that moment. Like, for example, his peculiar need for justice, his evident rage, and the intense way in which he maneuvered around you. But, you supposed you had to trust him because he was Peter — your Peter, after all.

Wasn't he?

"Okay," You whispered, exhaling a sharp breath as you looked up to meet his gaze evenly. "Just...promise me it'll never happen again."

There was a moment of pause. "Okay," He eventually promised, leaning down to press his lips against yours softly. "I promise."

Five days later, he broke his promise.

You were furious, pacing after him across your apartment for a coherent answer. Because how could someone just lose control like that? How could someone, who'd promised to never act like this way again, could have nearly killed another criminal without a moment of hesitation?

And for the media to see.

"You nearly killed him!" You argued behind him, as he walked into the kitchen — nonchalantly as if you were merely just babbling. "Why didn't you stop? You already had him, Peter. You'd already won!"

"You don't understand." Was all he said, before opening the fridge and reaching for a bottle of water as he dismissed you.

Your skin burned with rage as you recalled the videos that'd circulated on social media. "You act like you weren't caught on camera."

He pretended not to hear you, pushing past you without another word as he walked out of the apartment to start his patrol for the night. You exhaled shakily when the door shut behind him with a loud thud, wondering whether if the person losing their mind was you and not Peter.

Until the ringing of your phone broke into your reverie and your thoughts were pulled elsewhere. Instinctively, you fished your phone out of your pocket and glanced at the screen.

Harry Osborn was calling you.

"Harry?" You answered, evidently confused. It wasn't like Harry to call you in the middle of the night, especially on a Saturday night.

"Hey, doll," he replied cheekily, voice hoarse and engulfed in a familiar inebriated tone that made you roll your eyes.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Kind of," He admitted, and you sighed audibly. "Listen, I don't really have a ride back home. Some asshole kind of stole my car...and my wallet...and maybe some of my dignity too."

"And you called me?"

"Do you want to get fired?"

"I could hang up, you know?" You challenged, not really in the mood to argue with a drunk. "Besides, don't you have like a million people at your service to drive you around?"

"Well, yes, but — " Harry paused, and you could've swore you heard him curse on the other side of the line. "I thought I could call a friend, okay? No need to be an asshole about it."

A smile curved on your lips. "We're friends?"

"I said no need to be an asshole about it."

"Fine," You sighed, subconsciously throwing your watch a glance. Suddenly remembering what Peter had asked you a few weeks ago. I don't want you walking late at night in the city anymore, he'd said. And you thought about keeping your word, but, then again, Peter wasn't really good at keeping his either. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Just send me your location."

Twenty minutes later, you were helping Harry Osborn into your car like you'd promised. He reeked of alcohol and tobacco, but you decided not to comment anything on it; it seemed as if he'd already had a pretty rough night on his own.

"Why are you so moody tonight?" Harry asked, after a couple of minutes in silence. You'd been driving with a pensive expression on your face, never really in the mood to follow his topic of conversation. "You're usually much more fun to be around."

"I'm not." You argued back, which was a futile attempt to turn the conversation elsewhere. "I'm just a little tired. It's midnight, remember?"

"Mhm," Harry hummed, before sluggishly straightening up to look at you in the face. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, so there is trouble."

You groaned. For someone supposedly drunk, he sure seemed shrewdly observant. "I don't want to talk about it. Pass out or something."

"Excuse me?"

You sighed again.

"Fine, there's no trouble in paradise," Harry corrected himself, but the mocking tone in his voice made you throw him a glare. "But, if there was trouble, I bet it's nothing a good night out with Gwen and I can't fix."

You chewed on the inside of your cheeks at his offer. To say it wouldn't be nice to consider going out with your friends for once would be a complete lie. Things had been pretty tough on you lately — with everything going on with Peter, and a nice change of weather wouldn't be too bad on you. But you knew it would only cause trouble between you and Peter, so, you decided not to jump on the subject too quickly

Maybe another time, you thought.

"Thank you, Harry." You eventually whispered, glancing his way, only to find him passed out on the passenger's seat after just a few minutes.

You didn't read the time or even realize it was past two in the morning when you eventually dropped Harry off at his penthouse. And you ended up accompanying him up to his room to make sure he was okay — which you found to be quite a handful task on its own, especially when you were the one carrying him.

Your phone was dead by the time you came back home, meaning that you were completely oblivious to the fifty missing calls from Peter or the commotion that was waiting for you back. So, imagine your surprise when you unlocked the door and stepped inside your apartment to find Peter already waiting for you.

Your eyebrows jumped slightly at the sight of him. It was more than evident you weren't expecting him to be there and he didn't miss that. He was furious, you could tell, by the way he gritted his teeth and looked at you. He was still wearing his suit, leaning against the doorframe with his mask completely off his face when you finally broke the silence.

"I thought you were on patrol — "

"— Where the hell were you?" He spat, and you winced at the venomous sound of his voice.

"I was helping a friend — "

" — Do you have any idea of how scared I was?" He cut you off again, taking a deliberate step closer to you. "I came back to apologize only to find you gone for two fucking hours! And you didn't even bother to give me a heads-up! I searched for you everywhere in the fucking city! And I called you a hundred times, why didn't you pick up the damn phone?"

"I'm sorry," You quickly apologized. You felt awful for not considering telling Peter you would be gone, but, in your defense, you never actually considered the possibility of him even coming back to apologize in the first place. "My phone died and I honestly didn't think you would notice with everything that's going on with you lately."

Peter stopped at your words. As if you'd suddenly slapped him hard across his face. "What?"

You nibbled your bottom lip, nervously, debating whether it was an appropriate time to touch the matter or not. "You haven't been acting like yourself, Peter."

Peter's face darkened. "I'm fine." He limited himself to answer, snapping his eyes to the side to avoid looking in your direction.

"No, that's not — "

"— We're fine, (Y/N)!" He snapped, and your muscles faltered momentarily when he latched his hand onto your wrist harshly when you reached to touch his face.

You blinked.

"We?" You repeated, subconsciously turning to look around the room in complete confusion. "Who's 'we', Peter?"

When he didn't answer, the hairs of your arms raised in concern. He didn't let go of you, not when you asked him to or when you tugged your hand back. For a moment, he simply stood there quietly, dark eyes boring into your own — drinking you in, and you shivered at the sight.

"Baby..." You breathed out, trying to break into his reverie until you were unexpectedly tugged forward without a warning. You gasped into his mouth when his lips crashed against yours painfully as if he was almost desperate to prove something as you stumbled back in surprise.

Subconsciously, you raised your hands to press them against his chest to steady yourself as he pushed you back. You winced into his mouth when you hit the nearest wall. "Peter..." You tried again, but he completely ignored you as he pressed himself against you. It didn't take long for you to falter under his touch, to return his kisses with equal fervour and allow him to trace your silhouette with his bare hands.

Erasing any remnant thought or rationality you could have possibly had in mind before.

You didn't notice when he hooked your legs around his waist and carried you into the room. When he tore apart the fabric of your clothes and his suit mysteriously sank back into his skin. When he pinned your hands above your head and used his strength to keep you in place — in whatever position suited him the best. Without considering the bruises that would streak your skin the next day.

But you did notice it wasn’t like him to make love to you like this — so desperate, like you could be gone at any minute. It wasn’t like him to push himself hard inside you, to suck the skin of your neck and make you whimper in pain. It wasn’t like him to make you come and continue to thrust inside your walls until you were on the brink of passing out. It wasn’t like him to come inside you (after what had felt like hours) and drop his weight down on you as his heavy breathing filled in the room.

To not whisper he loved you.

And toss to the other side of the bed.

Sorry for the long wait on this one, I was literally adding and erasing parts because I wasn’t completely satisfied with the story😫 but, anyway, comments are much appreciated! I’ll love to read your thoughts on thisssss.

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anatay004 · 20 days

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#peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #dark! peter parker #tasm peter parker

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anatay004 · 25 days

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𝐈’𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝖥𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖮𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗋 (18+)

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘢. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘪��𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘧𝘧. 𝘚𝘰, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫’𝐬 “𝐢𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤”

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵

𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

YOU FOUND IT FUNNY.

Hilarious, actually.

How something so simple — so harmless, could make Finnick's jaw tick with anger. At first, you chose to dismiss it, cataloging his behavior as something as silly as him just being an asshole. But then you began to notice it more often until the ticks in his jaw were death glares and backhanded comments.

And, surprisingly, it all started with a compliment. Back when the lovers of District Twelve won their games President Snow had thrown an enormous party in their honor. As a Victor, you'd been forced to attend the event alongside Finnick Odair; whom the people of Panem loved to interlace you with. Yes, he was from your District. And yes, he was gorgeous.

But, curiously enough, you both detested each other.

Perhaps, it had something to do with the fact that he lived right across from you in the Victors' Village. Or that you'd been mentoring tributes with him for years. Or that he loved to step on your garden on his way home just to make you knock on his door and watch you throw a fit about it.

The list could go on — infinitely.

But, on that particular night, when you were forced to interact with the lovers of District Twelve; Peeta's eyes caught your attention amidst the conversation.

"Your eyes are beautiful." You'd said, harmlessly, as you tilted your head to scrutinize his features curiously. Peeta simply blushed and mumbled something along the lines of, "Thanks. You are very beautiful yourself."

But that was enough to send Finnick fuming.

And, simultaneously, you'd managed to piss off Katniss too; who more than often tended to get under your skin for various reasons you didn't care enough to list. So, in your personal opinion, it was a win-win situation for both of you. You pissed off Finnick. And Peeta pissed off Katniss.

At first, you did it for the fun of it, but then the aftermath of the interaction set ablaze your skin in the most pleasurable manner you'd ever experienced before. Seeing Finnick so pissed — so angry, was a mercurial high you'd never experienced before. Its bone-deep effect was enough to turn you greedy and that greediness eventually turned into a routine.

So, when you were reaped for the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games and left with no choice, but to be stuck with Finnick again; you tried to make the best out of the situation. So, you entertained yourself by flirting with Peeta, which was the easiest and most effective way of pushing down on Finnick's bottoms. You flirted with him in the elevators, in the training room, and — sometimes, even in the rooftop.

Anywhere near Finnick sufficed, really.

It was the highlight of your day.

And it was easy to keep the act with Peeta; he was surprisingly good at toying with words. And the best part, in your opinion, was that neither of you took the game seriously enough to build something more beyond that.

So, it was fun — until one day it was not.

The day before the games, when you were waiting for Finnick to finish his interview with Caesar Flickerman backstage, was when your own little game ended up hitting you in the butt. Under the limelight, you could appreciate the green hue in his eyes as you watched him through the screen. He was gorgeous, you couldn't deny that, and it almost irked you how much he knew that as he smiled at the camera; dimples creasing.

Naturally, the audience cheered for him.

"You're drooling, sweetheart," Peeta's voice broke into your reverie and, almost instantly, you threw him a glare over your shoulder. "Careful, I might just think you want him too.

"Who?" You asked, feigning innocence.

"The tall, blonde muscular man in front of you."

"Oh, him?" You turned back to face the screen, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know him."

Peeta scoffed, incredulous at your indifference.

"Well, for someone you don't know, you sure seemed interested enough to piss him off." He acknowledged, shifting closer to your frame.

"Guilty?" You quipped, allowing the warm skin of his arm to brush against yours. "Besides, you love pissing Katniss off. And trust me, she's way worse at hiding her dislike toward me than Finnick is."

"She's not." Peeta quickly objected, and you rolled your eyes. "Besides, she's different."

"She tried to shoot me once."

"I said different, not sane."

"Besides, she looks at me like she wants to hunt me down and eat me." You confessed, subconsciously sweeping the brunette a glance. To your luck, she wasn't paying attention to you; too preoccupied talking with Johanna about the wedding dress she was wearing and whatnot.

"I could eat you." Peeta suddenly grinned, and it took everything in you to not let your mouth fall agape. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

"I knew you weren't as innocent as you pretend to be," You laughed, completely oblivious to the words Finnick had just blurted out on stage. "What?" You asked Peeta when you noticed a shift in his expression. "Did I say something?"

Peeta swallowed hard. "No, not you..." He trailed off, and you instinctively followed his gaze back to the screen. "But your boyfriend just did."

"My what?" You exclaimed.

"I can't believe it!" Caesar suddenly gasped, relishing the way the audience loudly cheered for something you'd just missed."Finnick Odair and (Y/N) (Y/LN), ladies and gentlemen, are officially our lovers from District Four!"

"What the fuck?" You cursed, trying to dismiss the heat that was traveling up your cheeks as you took in this new information. Peeta, on the other hand, found the situation quite entertaining to watch.

"How long were you planning on hiding this from us, Finnick, huh?" Caesar confronted, and the audience naturally laughed along with him. "Tell us, what more are you hiding from us? We are dying to know, aren't we?"

The audience cheered loudly.

It was so swift, the faint smirk that itched Finnick's lips as he thought about his next words carefully (as if he hadn't planned them out already). But the expression had been there — for a split second, and you'd caught it. Fuck me, you thought, when you recognized the malice behind the familiar gesture.

"We are expecting a baby."

No, you weren't.

But you should've seen their faces.

The statement alone was enough to make you falter on your spot. For a moment, you watched as the audience stood up from their seats and erupted into an inconsolable mess. Demanding answers and, surprisingly, even for the games to be stopped — for the sake of your child. His child.

"Congratulations," Peeta remarked, and you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

"I'm not pregnant!" You hissed, throwing the blonde a look. Belatedly, catching the teasing smile that curved his lips as he raised his hands in defense. To his luck, your attention was quickly redirected to Finnick, who'd happened to step back into the room with a nonchalant expression on his face.

You made sure to waste no time in confronting him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You venomously hissed, pushing him back in evident anger.

"Are the pregnancy hormones hitting you already, sweetheart?" Finnick deadpanned, relishing the way the skin of your face flushed.

"You bastard." You spat, almost throwing daggers at him, before realization quickly flitted across your face. He'd just labeled you as his on live television; he'd just made you his ally and forced an act to fall upon you. "Oh, fuck me."

A grin stretched across his lips. "I thought I did." He said, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

But he only blinked in response.

"Wha — no we didn't!" You argued, dismissing the looks that you were starting to receive from the Victors. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should relax," Finnick dared to suggest, and it took everything in you to not slap that grin off his face. "It's not good for the baby.

"You fucker —"

" — okay, separate." Haymitch suddenly interjected, forcing you to step back from the blonde. "Whatever this is, you need to keep it together, and — you, sweetheart, are about to step on stage in front of all those people. So, I suggest you cool it down and follow along with his little act if you want to stay alive. We are in the games, honey, remember that."

You supposed Haymitch was right; the damage had already been done. The least you could do was take advantage of the situation, but that; somehow, managed to piss you off more. Now, you were stuck in a fake relationship with Finnick — scratch that, you were stuck with Finnick and his baby.

You clenched your jaw tightly as you tried to quench the fire that retaliated in the pit of your stomach. You hated this; you hated Finnick, but more importantly — you hated not having the upper hand in the situation.

"(Y/N) (L/N), you're up next."

With a knot in your throat, you managed to collect your thoughts and follow the directions you were beckoned to. But not before pushing past Finnick on your way upstage, "I hate you."

He grinned. "Break a leg, baby,"

A few hours later, you found yourself inside an elevator. You were on your way back to your floor, where you were hoping to get a much-needed rest. Today, as you could tell, was not your day. Most of the tributes were already back in their rooms by the time you'd stepped inside the elevator and you were thankful for that. So, you threw your head back, shut your eyes, and leaned against the wall to enjoy the fleeting and rare bouts of silence.

Until the doors parted.

"Oh, fuck me!" You audibly groaned, when you opened your eyes and caught sight of Finnick's figure.

A smirk stretched his lips. "What's wrong, baby?" He deadpanned, pressing the number to your floor.

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck off."

"Mhm," He clicked his tongue, stopping just in front of you. Establishing a dangerous short distance between you two. "That's not the way to talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He gave you a one-shoulder shrug. "Given, you know, the fact that I'm going to be the father of your child."

Irritation alongside anger shoots down your spine; forcing your body to visibly vibrate. Or, perhaps, it was the electric tension in the elevator that made you shake— the small gap between you and Finnick. Whatever it was, you tried to dismiss it. "I'm not pregnant!"

Finnick watched you for a moment; without a word, simply examining your features. After a minute, when you were almost certain he was going to back off and leave you alone, he added. "But you could be."

You froze on your spot, trying to keep your head from reeling as you thought about his words. He must be joking. "You think you're funny, don’t you?"

"Think about it," Finnick suggested, taking a deliberate step closer. Instinctively, you fell back a step. "We could get you pregnant. Take all the sponsors. Make the Capital love us," Your back hit the wall. "And that could save our asses in the arena again. Easy win."

Inwardly, you found yourself considering his suggestion — for a split second, before reality (and embarrassment) washed over you. "That would never work." You said, matter-of-factly, before straightening your posture and looking at him in the eye.

"Want to test it?"

The elevator stopped.

"You're sick." You hissed, taking advantage of the opening of the doors to exit the situation, but before you could even take a step out — you were pulled right back in. Within a blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the wall and your arms were pinned over your head as Finnick Odair looked down at you with evident amusement on his face.

"What?" He breathed out, ignoring your loud complaints and attempts to escape him. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"

Incredulous, you blinked. "What?"

"I know you do it on purpose." Finnick elaborated, and your eyebrows knitted together; unsure of what he was referring to. He must be losing it, you thought.

"What the hell are talking about?"

"I know about the game you play with Peeta."

Oh.

Your face dropped.

That game.

Then you frowned as you belatedly realized he was getting back at you. Well, two can play that game.

"Is that a fantasy of yours or something?" You tried to change the subject elsewhere, dismissing the way Finnick rolled his eyes as you played dumb. To your luck, you couldn't quite fool him or escape him.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"What is it to you, anyway?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Suddenly remembering you could easily take the upper hand in the situation. "What I do or don't do with Peeta?"

Finnick's jaw ticked.

"Oh, I see," You teased, puffing your chest out; trying to gain advantage. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

A chuckle escaped his lips; low and humorless, as his eyes traveled down to follow the movement of your chest. "You think I'm threatened by lover boy?"

Your lips twitched. "Admit it."

Finnick's lips suddenly stretched, dimples creasing as he looked down to stare at yours. "You're crazy."

"I can tell when somebody wants me, you know?" You toyed with him, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible when his eyes suddenly darkened with a shade of green you couldn't put into words. Jesus, you thought to yourself, he's stupidly gorgeous.

Finnick's eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning deliberately closer to your face until his breath was pressing against your skin.

And it was then; in that moment, when it suddenly dawned on you that you had to make a choice. The choices were simple — no-brainer: curse him out, flip him off, or take him back to your room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Finnick chuckled when he noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor. "Nervous?"

Pick your poison, babe.

"You wish." You retaliated, a little faintly, trying to keep yourself from giving in. "Asshole."

"God, you're incorrigible," Finnick whispered, but before you could open your mouth to answer back, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was rough and it clouded your head momentarily; you don't think anyone had ever kissed you like this before. But it didn't matter because you reciprocated with equal fervor — to no one's surprise, and quickly followed his lead.

Heat retaliated in the pit of your stomach when his knee parted your legs, sliding his thigh in between yours as he deepened the kiss. Your arms eventually fell to your sides when he let go of them; putting his hands to better use as he ran them down your body. Down your neck, your chest, your hips, your ass.

But you didn't attempt to escape him this time.

"We're in an elevator." You reminded him, breathing heavily as he slid his hands underneath your dress.

"Mhm," Finnick hummed, dismissing your comment as his mouth trailed down your neck. As if he almost didn't mind the inconvenience; the morality wrong misconduct. "I'm in the middle of something."

Take him back to your room.

A small chuckle escaped your lips. "Come on, we're not animals." You beckoned him, ignoring his audible groan as you dragged him out of the elevator. But before you could step out — you abruptly stopped in your tracks, making him stumble right into your back.

"Jesus, you want it here or there?"

"Shut up!" You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, trying to hide the faint hues of pink that tinged your cheeks. "I still hate you, by the way."

Finnick's laugh ricocheted off the walls; warm and almost contagious. He knew it wasn't true.

"As long as you have my baby, sweetheart."

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anatay004 · 25 days

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ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part six)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T BE SCARED," Dean's voice slid into your thoughts; breaking into your reverie as you visibly flinched. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze, allowing his hand to squeeze your arm comfortably. "The fabric is light, not thermal," Your stylist revealed, referring to the wetsuit you were wearing, trying to dissipate the tension in the air. "So, I'm guessing tropic."

You swallowed hard, trying to take in his words. You were in the Launch Room in the arena, waiting for the countdown to begin as Dean finished braiding your hair down your back.

"And tropic means water," Dean acknowledged, offering you an encouraging smile as you slowly nodded. "You're good in water."

He was right — you were good in water, that's how you'd managed to win your first games. You remember it all too well; an earthquake breaking the dam, the flood in the arena, and you swimming for your life. You swallowed hard at the memory, trying to ignore the pain that tormented your chest. After all, you supposed Dean was right; having an arena close to home could be a great advantage to you and Finnick.

You exhaled sharply.

"Sixty seconds to launch."

You swept Dean a glance. He was looking back at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes — one you'd seen before, and you couldn't help, but reach for him. "Are you still beating on me?" You whispered in his embrace, and his arms immediately tightened around your frame.

"Always." He answered, a little strained.

And with that, he stepped back — wiped the tears in his eyes, and watched as the glass cylinder slid down around you. You watched him blow a kiss at you before you felt the plate underneath you moving upwards. The plan was simple in your head as you leaned against the glass: get to Finnick, get some weapons, and run the hell away from the blood bath.

Simple, simple, simple.

You eventually forced yourself to straighten up when the glass started to retreat, but you found yourself frozen in place when the arena stumbled into your line of vision. For a moment, you faltered as you took in the sight of water in every direction you turned. Only one clear thought formed in your brain as you took in the landscape: Snow was beating on you too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, suddenly broke into your reverie. And, instinctively, you searched for Finnick around, but panic quickly flitted across your features when you couldn't find him.

"He's on the other side of the Cornucopia," Peeta's voice slid into your thoughts, and your shoulders slumped in evident relief when you heard his words. "Don't lose focus."

Belatedly, you realized Peeta was standing on the plate next to yours. And he was watching you with concerned eyes, trying to quench down the panic that threatened to break you in front of the cameras, but you didn't notice. You were far too preoccupied with staying alive.

Eventually, you dived into the water.

Hence to your ability to swim, you were quick to reach the spoke of land that balanced your plate and Peeta's. But, to your surprise, you didn't run towards the Cornucopia right away like the others; instead, you found yourself looking back for Peeta. He was struggling to reach the land, so, you impulsively offered him a hand and pulled him out of the water.

"Allies?" Peeta asked, trying to catch his breath as he climbed onto the land.

You didn't answer, but your silence was quite telling, and it took everything in you to ignore the smile that curved Peeta's lips, before sprinting towards the Cornucopia. Within a few minutes, you eventually reached it and immediately grabbed the closest weapon at hand — a trident. A satisfied smile twitched your lips as you balanced the weapon in your hand, but the moment was fleeting, before you knew it; Peeta was already back in the water fighting a tribute.

"Peeta!" You shouted and made to run in his direction when a steady hand dropped on your shoulder. Instinctively, you made to throw the trident, but another hand on your wrist stopped your movements altogether. "Oh." You breathed out, in sudden relief, when you realized it was just Finnick. "Are you okay?"

"Stay with Katniss, I'll get Peeta," Finnick commanded, dismissing your question, his voice powerful enough to make you obey him. In that moment, as Finnick dived effortlessly back into the water to help Peeta; you realized he'd made his alliances too. Katniss was close by, watching the scene with a horrified expression on her face. At the sight of her distress, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all an act like everyone else said. Or, if Mags was actually right, and there was something real about it?

You couldn't quite piece together an answer yet.

When the canon finally fired, your heart skipped for a moment, but relief quickly washed over you when you caught sight of Peeta's moving figure and Finnick pulling him back onto land.

The other tribute had died.

"You okay?" You eventually turned to ask Katniss, when Peeta was finally out of danger and you were both waiting for him and Finnick to come back. Katniss threw you a skeptical look, one that underlined you were not friends. "The baby, I mean."

Realization quickly dawned on her face, as if she'd suddenly remembered she was supposed to be pregnant. "Yeah, we're fine."

You nodded.

"Are you alright?" Peeta was quick to ask you, when he rushed back to the group, with Finnick strolling right behind him. The concerned tone in his voice caught you off guard, but you decided not to show it as Katniss watched you.

Carefully.

"Are you?" You asked instead, scrutinizing him for a moment; just to make sure he wasn't terribly hurt. To your surprise, he wasn't. "I barely even left you." You mumbled as you recalled he was running right behind you before he was even thrown back into the water.

"Don't." Peeta scoffed, a little faintly.

And you blinked in surprise.

"Hey," Peeta suddenly turned to Katniss, as if he'd suddenly remembered the cameras. "Are you okay?" He asked, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. You watched their interaction with curious eyes, unable to hide the perplexed expression on your face as you studied the scene.

"Yeah," Katniss replied, offering him a faint smile before turning to look at you. The weight of her gaze made your muscles tense; for a moment, you could've sworn she was throwing daggers at you. "We're okay."

The atmosphere suddenly grew thicker.

"We need to head to the jungle." Finnick suddenly spoke, breaking the tension, before sliding his free arm unexpectedly behind your waist. "We need water and a place to rest before night falls."

You nodded and made to move forward, but Finnick kept you in place; making sure Peeta walked past you first. "What?" Finnick asked innocently when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. "He can take the lead."

You opened your mouth to reply something along the lines of, " We should probably separate" but he muffled your words with his mouth— silencing you with a kiss.

"Come on," Finnick whispered against your lips, beckoning you to follow behind the group. You hesitated and lingered there for a moment before he lifted your chin to look at him. "Trust me."

You pressed your lips together and — for a split second, you thought back to the conversation with Haymitch you'd overheard from the previous night. Perhaps, this is what it was about, you thought, about this alliance with them. So, with that in mind, your grip tightened around the trident in your hand and you turned to follow Peeta and Katniss.

With Finnick right behind you.

Peeta took the lead, cutting through the patches of vegetation with his long knife as you walked through the jungle. Now and then, Katniss turned back to look at you and Finnick; as if she was almost expecting for you to attack them at any moment. You supposed you couldn't blame her for that.

You, yourself, didn't trust her either.

"God, it's hot," Peeta hissed, stopping suddenly on his track to catch his breath after a few miles. The jungle was hot and humid; you could feel your hair damp and plastered over your forehead from the sweat. Simultaneously, your lips were chapped and dry from the lack of hydration. "We need to find fresh water."

"You don't say." Finnick deadpanned, to which Peeta threw him a glare in response.

"What if we move to the other side?" You suggested, cleaning some of the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. "Maybe there's a spring or something."

"There isn't." Katniss limited herself to answer.

"How do you know — " You started, but the words quickly froze on the tip of your tongue when the cannon started to go off again; indicating more deaths.

"I guess we're not holding hands anymore," Finnick quipped, stifling a chuckle as he counted the number of times the cannon fired.

You counted three.

"You think that's funny?" Katniss hissed, throwing your husband a heated glare.

"Every time that cannon goes off, it's music to my ears," Finnick replied, matter-of-factly, before he added. "I don't care about any of them."

"Good to hear," Katniss scoffed, reaching her arm back to pull an arrow from her quiver. Instinctively, you aimed the end of your trident at her, but Finnick was quick to lower your weapon.

"You want to face the Career Pack alone?" Finnick questioned her, rather indifferent to her threat. His reaction took you aback; for some reason, he seemed certain she was not going to shoot him. "What would Haymitch say?"

You, on the other hand, were not.

"Haymitch isn't here."

You tilted the trident towards her direction again, but Peeta was the one to break the interaction this time. "Come on, let's keep moving." He said, beckoning Katniss to move along. And, from the corner of your eyes, you could've almost sworn he threw you an apologetic smile.

You watched them walk ahead of you for a few seconds without a word. She's going to kill us, you thought to yourself, as you watched the girl on fire with cautious eyes. And if she doesn't, she's certainly going to try to — at one point or another.

You nibbled your bottom lip pensively. Would this be a good time to separate? You wondered again, trying to think of a coherent plan. To turn the other way and let them face the Career Pack on their own? It's what Snow would want. But what about Peeta?

You paused, the question caught you off guard; as if you'd suddenly realized what you'd asked yourself subconsciously.

What about him?

"Put the trident down, baby," Finnick's words slid into your thoughts, and you blinked; belatedly realizing that you were still holding the trident up defensively. "They're harmless."

"You sound a little too sure about that," You questioned him, tilting your head suspiciously. "As if she didn't just threaten to shoot you."

"Just — " Finnick paused as if he were choosing his next words carefully. " — just trust me, love."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I'm trying to."

Finnick's lips twitched, clearly dismissing the seriousness of the conversation. "You're gorgeous when you're mad."

"I'm not mad," You clarified, but the annoyance in your voice betrayed your words. "But if it has to come down to choosing, I'm choosing you."

Finnick looked at you for a moment, eyes softly lit with vulnerability. "I know."

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the sound of Katniss screaming quickly cut you off. In a split second, you watched as Peeta flung back from a force field he'd just hit, bringing you and Finnick down along with him.

"Peeta!" You screamed, rushing over to his motionless body, where Katniss was trying to shake him awake — with no luck.

"He's not breathing!" She yelled, almost frightened. "His heart's not beating!"

At the sight of this, you suddenly remembered something Mags had taught you a few years ago — when your dad had almost drowned once, and you didn't know how to bring him back. Instinctively, you pushed Katniss aside, ignoring the way she immediately reached for an arrow.

Finnick yelled something at you, something along the lines that he would do it, but there wasn't time. So, you pinched Peeta's nose and pressed your mouth over his to blow air into his lungs. You did this for a few minutes until a cough eventually slipped out his mouth and you leaned back to look at him in relief.

"Shit." You breathed out, subconsciously resting a hand over his chest as you watched his eyelids part. For a few seconds, he lay there on the ground, simply looking up at you as he slowly regained back his consciousness.

"Careful," He eventually mumbled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist harmlessly. "There's a force field up ahead."

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Thanks, I almost didn't notice."

Peeta smiled, despite the evident pain he was in, and you were just about to help him get back to his feet when Katniss slightly shoved you aside. You didn't mind, you supposed she was in the right too. But you could've sworn Peeta's grip tightened around you — for a split second as if he almost didn't want to let go.

You decided to dismiss it, thinking nothing of it as you made your way back to Finnick and Katniss pulled Peeta into an embrace.

One that made you look away — for some reason.

"I thought you wanted to separate." Finnick confronted you sometime later when you were both leaning against a tree, trying to catch some sleep before sunrise. Your head rested on his shoulder sluggishly as you watched Katniss take the first watch from a comfortable distance.

"What?" You returned, unable to hide the confusion in your voice as you looked up.

"You saved Peeta." Finnick suddenly pointed out, but his tone was hard to label. Was he angry? Unhappy? Nonchalant? You couldn't tell.

"You said they were harmless." You answered, throwing his words back at him. But he didn't answer, instead, he looked down to scrutinize your features carefully — as if he almost wanted to decipher something, but couldn't. "What?"

"You saved him twice."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I didn't — "

" — During the blood bath, when he was pulled into the water, you were willing to jump back in to save him," Finnick interjected, and you supposed he wasn't entirely wrong. You did go back for Peeta, but only because you considered him a friend. Someone who would, strangely, do the same thing for you. Or, that's the first thing that came to your mind anyway.

"Where are you going with this?" You eventually asked, trying to read the emotions that flitted across Finnick's face, but — like always, there was nothing you could place a finger on.

"It's — just an observation." He simply said.

But you didn't like the tone of his voice, it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. If you didn't know any better, you were almost certain his tone was accusing. But of what exactly? You didn't know, he didn't elaborate any further.

"Mhm," You hummed, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. "I'm starting to get the impression you just want me to yourself."

Finnick stifled a chuckle, grasping onto the fact that you wanted to change the subject. "You? My gorgeous wife? I don't think so, no."

Your heart skipped at the word "wife". The truth was, you were still not used to it. And the word alone was enough to have your heart hammering against your chest. "Dork," You quipped, snapping your eyes to the side, but Finnick didn't miss the pink hues that tinged your skin.

"You're pretty when you blush." He teased, dissipating the tension in the air, as he curved the side of your face with the palm of his hand to make you turn to look at him again.

"I'm not blushing.” You argued, but it was a futile attempt when you felt the heat rolling up your cheeks. Naturally, Finnick pulled your face closer to his; until you could feel his breath pressing against your skin and there was barely a gap between you. Instinctively, your eyes dropped to his lips and he took the opportunity to brush them against yours.

"Sure you're not," Finnick whispered into your mouth before he allowed his tongue to sweep past your lips in a passionate kiss. As if he was almost needy; as if he almost needed to prove something. Whether it was to the cameras or himself, you weren't exactly sure, but you kissed him back — with equal fervor.

Until the sound of the arrival of a silver parachute broke you apart. For a moment, neither of you reached for it; allowing the item to land before you peacefully. After a few seconds, Katniss walked over to your spot and, subconsciously, your eyes traveled past her frame in search of Peeta.

"He's sleeping," Katniss informed you, just as Peeta's body stumbled into your line of vision. He was a few feet away, curled on the ground — sleeping almost peacefully. You nodded, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just read your subconscious thoughts.

"Whose is it?" Katniss eventually asked, eyeing the parachute on the ground with curiosity.

Finnick shrugged, pushing himself back to his feet. "I have no idea."

"Open it." You encouraged her, ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes at you. "Or not."

Katniss sighed audibly, but she eventually took your advice and opened the parachute. Curiously, you peeked over to catch a glimpse of a metal object inside alongside a note. "It's a spile!" She informed you, to which you only blinked — dumbfounded. "It's to access water."

Relief washed over your features when Katniss took the metal object and hammered it into the green bark of a tree. For a few seconds, nothing happened as you stood there watching; until a stream of water eventually ran out. After Katniss, you rushed to hold your mouth under the tap, allowing the water to wet your parched tongue.

And, it wasn't until Katniss was waking up Peeta and Finnick's back were facing you when you finally decided to search for the note that was attached to the parachute. But a chill soon kissed down your spine when you took the parchment paper in your hands and read through the letters:

Remember why you're here for.

— S.

Finnick was sleeping next to you, his arm was wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. The jungle was quiet — too quiet to your liking, but you supposed you could appreciate the silence as you warred with the thoughts inside your head.

To say the note scared you was an understatement. You were terrified. Because Snow was watching each and every one of your moves; listening to every one of your words. Unsure of how everyone else would react, you fisted the note in your hand before anyone else could read it. And when anyone asked about it, you simply answered it was from Haymitch.

But, now that you were lying down and thinking about it — one thing was clear; Snow wasn’t content with your choice of alliances.

He didn’t approve of them.

How could he? If you and Finnick were both reaped for a purpose and one only: to kill the Mockingjay. To annihilate any chances of her winning, to win over her sponsors, and to make the fight seem fair. And, so far, Snow had done his part of the deal; he’d placed you and Finnick under the limelight, made you both the Capitol’s favorites and even incarcerated you inside an arena close to home.

With tridents, especially made for you.

So, now, it was time for you to do your part too.

You swept Katniss a look, then Peeta. They were both sleeping on the other side of the ground; just a few feet away from you.

One wrong move and everything could go wrong very quickly. For you — for Finnick, and the thought alone forced a sickening feeling to retaliate in the pit of your stomach. Because you didn’t want to kill Peeta or Katniss, as much as she managed to get under your skin.

But if it had to come down to that, would you do it? Was Katniss right in mistrusting you after all? Would you really kill her and Peeta?

You exhaled pensively as your eyes searched for Peeta again — almost subconsciously. The mere sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took made your heart skip. Would you be able to kill him? His soft features, the strands of blonde in his hair, and his kind heart.

No, you thought quietly, not Peeta.

And then, as the thoughts quietened inside your head, something in the distance caught your attention. For a moment, you watched as a wave of fog slid into the jungle. Instinctively, the hairs of your arms rose and you pushed up on one of your elbows to examine the scene a little closer.

Simultaneously, Katniss stirred awake and quietly turned her attention to the mysterious curtain of fog too. In a matter of seconds, you watched as she reached to touch it with the tips of her fingers — and a scream quickly erupted.

“Run!” She yelled in pain.

Finnick snapped awake instantly, pushing your body behind him; ready to encounter an enemy, but to his surprise, Katniss clarified. “It’s the fog! It’s poisonous! We have to run, Peeta!”

Katniss helped Peeta climb back to his feet as Finnick beckoned you to run. For a few minutes, everyone sprinted, but the curtain of gas was expanding in every direction you turned. And it didn’t help that Peeta was tripping over everything on the ground either — he was weak, you could tell, perhaps it was the aftereffects of hitting the force field. So, without thinking, you gripped his arms securely and pulled him forward.

“Come on!” You encouraged, but your eyebrows jumped when he pulled his arm back. You opened your mouth to berate him — tell him there wasn’t time for this, when he intertwined his fingers with yours instead. Amidst the circumstances, you didn’t have time to coherent a reaction or a reason to let go.

Droplets soon sprung free of the vapor and landed on your bodies. You hissed in pain, it burned your skin searingly — like a chemical. After a few minutes, Peeta eventually fell to the ground and, despite your and Katniss’ efforts to pull back to his feet, his legs gave up.

“I’ll have to carry him.” Finnick eventually sighed, when there was a good distance between the fog and your group, and Katniss nodded.

For about a mile, you watched as Finnick carried Peeta on his back until he eventually collapsed on the ground too. You rushed to him, but the pain that seared your skin was equally as defeating, and, along with Katniss, you hit the ground almost instantly. But Finnick mumbled something under his breath, something along the lines of “go to the water” when you belatedly realized you were just a few feet away from the water that surrounded the Cornucopia.

After a few tries, however, you eventually faltered and turned to face the curtain of fog. But the chemical didn’t suffocate you as you’d expected. Unlike, it grew thicker and condensed as it suddenly pressed against a force field.

After a few minutes, it eventually went away.

“It’s gone,” Katniss murmured, but her voice was strangled and barely audible. “The fog.”

Your body was still twitching when you heard a wail slip out of Katniss’ mouth from somewhere close. Then you heard Peeta’s and then you heard Finnick’s. You tried to part your eyes when you eventually felt someone slide his hands under your armpits, but you couldn’t even do that. Naturally, you hissed in pain, but the action was abruptly interrupted by another pair of hands on you.

“I’ll do it.”

“I already got her.”

“Peeta.” The voice, you later recognized as Finnick’s, was dangerously low — as if he was suddenly speaking through his teeth.

Giving out a warning.

The only thing you could remember after that was your skin being torched. As Finnick pulled you into the water, a heart-wrenching scream ripped out your lips; as if you had suddenly been thrown into an open flame.

“I know, baby,” Finnick cooed, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “I know…”

After a bit, the blisters in your skin slunk back into your flesh and disappeared along with the pain. “Motherfuckers,” You cursed, falling back against your husband’s chest in evident exhaustion. “I’ve never run that much before.”

Finnick laughed, incredulous at your sense of humor. “You and me both.”

You didn’t say much after that, instead, you allowed yourself to indulge in the fleeting moment of peace in Finnick’s arms. But the moment didn’t last for long when you began to wonder if maybe— just maybe, this was a warning from President Snow.

And you needed to do your part of the deal soon.

Author’s Note

I’m back after a horrible writersblock! It took me so long to write this, I’m sorry, besties, but don’t worry, I have the rest of the chapters planned already. Anyways, I would really appreciate you guys could interact with the story! Lately, I don’t have that much motivation and reading you guys thoughts and comments on my inbox helps so much!

With that being said, I left some Peeta content for those of you who are #teamPeeta. Enjoy!

@serrendiipty @avoxrising@queerqueenlynn

@darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@stayc-a-I-m

@chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425

@leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-

tamanna @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@syd649 @flavorofsalt @wisewidowweasley-

blog@meikoo@mozz-are-lla

@nomorespahgetti

@aestheticOcherryblossom

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anatay004 · 26 days

Text

𝐈’𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝖥𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖮𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗋 (18+)

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘢. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘧𝘧. 𝘚𝘰, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥…

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵

𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

YOU FOUND IT FUNNY.

Hilarious, actually.

But, curiously enough, you both detested each other.

The list could go on — infinitely.

But, on that particular night, when you were forced to interact with the lovers of District Twelve; Peeta's eyes caught your attention amidst the conversation.

But that was enough to send Finnick fuming.

Anywhere near Finnick sufficed, really.

It was the highlight of your day.

So, it was fun — until one day it was not.

Naturally, the audience cheered for him.

"You're drooling, sweetheart," Peeta's voice broke into your reverie and, almost instantly, you threw him a glare over your shoulder. "Careful, I might just think you want him too.

"Who?" You asked, feigning innocence.

"The tall, blonde muscular man in front of you."

"Oh, him?" You turned back to face the screen, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know him."

Peeta scoffed, incredulous at your indifference.

"Well, for someone you don't know, you sure seemed interested enough to piss him off." He acknowledged, shifting closer to your frame.

"She's not." Peeta quickly objected, and you rolled your eyes. "Besides, she's different."

"She tried to shoot me once."

"I said different, not sane."

"I could eat you." Peeta suddenly grinned, and it took everything in you to not let your mouth fall agape. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

Peeta swallowed hard. "No, not you..." He trailed off, and you instinctively followed his gaze back to the screen. "But your boyfriend just did."

"My what?" You exclaimed.

The audience cheered loudly.

"We are expecting a baby."

No, you weren't.

But you should've seen their faces.

"Congratulations," Peeta remarked, and you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

You made sure to waste no time in confronting him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You venomously hissed, pushing him back in evident anger.

"Are the pregnancy hormones hitting you already, sweetheart?" Finnick deadpanned, relishing the way the skin of your face flushed.

A grin stretched across his lips. "I thought I did." He said, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

But he only blinked in response.

"Wha — no we didn't!" You argued, dismissing the looks that you were starting to receive from the Victors. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should relax," Finnick dared to suggest, and it took everything in you to not slap that grin off his face. "It's not good for the baby.

"You fucker —"

"(Y/N) (L/N), you're up next."

With a knot in your throat, you managed to collect your thoughts and follow the directions you were beckoned to. But not before pushing past Finnick on your way upstage, "I hate you."

He grinned. "Break a leg, baby,"

Until the doors parted.

"Oh, fuck me!" You audibly groaned, when you opened your eyes and caught sight of Finnick's figure.

A smirk stretched his lips. "What's wrong, baby?" He deadpanned, pressing the number to your floor.

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck off."

"Mhm," He clicked his tongue, stopping just in front of you. Establishing a dangerous short distance between you two. "That's not the way to talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He gave you a one-shoulder shrug. "Given, you know, the fact that I'm going to be the father of your child."

You froze on your spot, trying to keep your head from reeling as you thought about his words. He must be joking. "You think you're funny, don’t you?"

"Want to test it?"

The elevator stopped.

"What?" He breathed out, ignoring your loud complaints and attempts to escape him. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"

Incredulous, you blinked. "What?"

"I know you do it on purpose." Finnick elaborated, and your eyebrows knitted together; unsure of what he was referring to. He must be losing it, you thought.

"What the hell are talking about?"

"I know about the game you play with Peeta."

Oh.

Your face dropped.

That game.

Then you frowned as you belatedly realized he was getting back at you. Well, two can play that game.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"What is it to you, anyway?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Suddenly remembering you could easily take the upper hand in the situation. "What I do or don't do with Peeta?"

Finnick's jaw ticked.

"Oh, I see," You teased, puffing your chest out; trying to gain advantage. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

A chuckle escaped his lips; low and humorless, as his eyes traveled down to follow the movement of your chest. "You think I'm threatened by lover boy?"

Your lips twitched. "Admit it."

Finnick's lips suddenly stretched, dimples creasing as he looked down to stare at yours. "You're crazy."

Finnick's eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning deliberately closer to your face until his breath was pressing against your skin.

And it was then; in that moment, when it suddenly dawned on you that you had to make a choice. The choices were simple — no-brainer: curse him out, flip him off, or take him back to your room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Finnick chuckled when he noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor. "Nervous?"

Pick your poison, babe.

"You wish." You retaliated, a little faintly, trying to keep yourself from giving in. "Asshole."

But you didn't attempt to escape him this time.

"We're in an elevator." You reminded him, breathing heavily as he slid his hands underneath your dress.

"Mhm," Finnick hummed, dismissing your comment as his mouth trailed down your neck. As if he almost didn't mind the inconvenience; the morality wrong misconduct. "I'm in the middle of something."

Take him back to your room.

"Jesus, you want it here or there?"

"Shut up!" You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, trying to hide the faint hues of pink that tinged your cheeks. "I still hate you, by the way."

Finnick's laugh ricocheted off the walls; warm and almost contagious. He knew it wasn't true.

"As long as you have my baby, sweetheart."

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anatay004 · 26 days

Note

girl when are you gonna be done with the finnick story i need them other two parts 😭😩

Soon, I promiseeeee❤️

1 note · View note

anatay004 · 26 days

Text

𝐈’𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝖥𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖮𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗋 (18+)

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵

𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

YOU FOUND IT FUNNY.

Hilarious, actually.

But, curiously enough, you both detested each other.

The list could go on — infinitely.

But, on that particular night, when you were forced to interact with the lovers of District Twelve; Peeta's eyes caught your attention amidst the conversation.

But that was enough to send Finnick fuming.

Anywhere near Finnick sufficed, really.

It was the highlight of your day.

So, it was fun — until one day it was not.

Naturally, the audience cheered for him.

"You're drooling, sweetheart," Peeta's voice broke into your reverie and, almost instantly, you threw him a glare over your shoulder. "Careful, I might just think you want him too.

"Who?" You asked, feigning innocence.

"The tall, blonde muscular man in front of you."

"Oh, him?" You turned back to face the screen, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know him."

Peeta scoffed, incredulous at your indifference.

"Well, for someone you don't know, you sure seemed interested enough to piss him off." He acknowledged, shifting closer to your frame.

"She's not." Peeta quickly objected, and you rolled your eyes. "Besides, she's different."

"She tried to shoot me once."

"I said different, not sane."

"I could eat you." Peeta suddenly grinned, and it took everything in you to not let your mouth fall agape. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

Peeta swallowed hard. "No, not you..." He trailed off, and you instinctively followed his gaze back to the screen. "But your boyfriend just did."

"My what?" You exclaimed.

The audience cheered loudly.

"We are expecting a baby."

No, you weren't.

But you should've seen their faces.

"Congratulations," Peeta remarked, and you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

You made sure to waste no time in confronting him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You venomously hissed, pushing him back in evident anger.

"Are the pregnancy hormones hitting you already, sweetheart?" Finnick deadpanned, relishing the way the skin of your face flushed.

A grin stretched across his lips. "I thought I did." He said, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

But he only blinked in response.

"Wha — no we didn't!" You argued, dismissing the looks that you were starting to receive from the Victors. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should relax," Finnick dared to suggest, and it took everything in you to not slap that grin off his face. "It's not good for the baby.

"You fucker —"

"(Y/N) (L/N), you're up next."

With a knot in your throat, you managed to collect your thoughts and follow the directions you were beckoned to. But not before pushing past Finnick on your way upstage, "I hate you."

He grinned. "Break a leg, baby,"

Until the doors parted.

"Oh, fuck me!" You audibly groaned, when you opened your eyes and caught sight of Finnick's figure.

A smirk stretched his lips. "What's wrong, baby?" He deadpanned, pressing the number to your floor.

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck off."

"Mhm," He clicked his tongue, stopping just in front of you. Establishing a dangerous short distance between you two. "That's not the way to talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He gave you a one-shoulder shrug. "Given, you know, the fact that I'm going to be the father of your child."

You froze on your spot, trying to keep your head from reeling as you thought about his words. He must be joking. "You think you're funny, don’t you?"

"Want to test it?"

The elevator stopped.

"What?" He breathed out, ignoring your loud complaints and attempts to escape him. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"

Incredulous, you blinked. "What?"

"I know you do it on purpose." Finnick elaborated, and your eyebrows knitted together; unsure of what he was referring to. He must be losing it, you thought.

"What the hell are talking about?"

"I know about the game you play with Peeta."

Oh.

Your face dropped.

That game.

Then you frowned as you belatedly realized he was getting back at you. Well, two can play that game.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"What is it to you, anyway?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Suddenly remembering you could easily take the upper hand in the situation. "What I do or don't do with Peeta?"

Finnick's jaw ticked.

"Oh, I see," You teased, puffing your chest out; trying to gain advantage. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

A chuckle escaped his lips; low and humorless, as his eyes traveled down to follow the movement of your chest. "You think I'm threatened by lover boy?"

Your lips twitched. "Admit it."

Finnick's lips suddenly stretched, dimples creasing as he looked down to stare at yours. "You're crazy."

Finnick's eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning deliberately closer to your face until his breath was pressing against your skin.

And it was then; in that moment, when it suddenly dawned on you that you had to make a choice. The choices were simple — no-brainer: curse him out, flip him off, or take him back to your room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Finnick chuckled when he noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor. "Nervous?"

Pick your poison, babe.

"You wish." You retaliated, a little faintly, trying to keep yourself from giving in. "Asshole."

But you didn't attempt to escape him this time.

"We're in an elevator." You reminded him, breathing heavily as he slid his hands underneath your dress.

"Mhm," Finnick hummed, dismissing your comment as his mouth trailed down your neck. As if he almost didn't mind the inconvenience; the morality wrong misconduct. "I'm in the middle of something."

Take him back to your room.

"Jesus, you want it here or there?"

"Shut up!" You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, trying to hide the faint hues of pink that tinged your cheeks. "I still hate you, by the way."

Finnick's laugh ricocheted off the walls; warm and almost contagious. He knew it wasn't true.

"As long as you have my baby, sweetheart."

#finnick odair #finnick x y/n #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair x reader #peeta mellark x reader #finnick x reader x peeta #hunger games finnick #enemies to lovers #finnick fanfic

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