Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader
Summary: You black out in the Quarter Quell — when you awaken, you believe you've killed your husband. The jabberjays don't help.
The next thing you knew, you were sprinting.
Your chest heaved with full, panicked breaths, each less relieving than the last. You ducked tree limbs, jumped over rocks, did anything you could to just keep running. You were confused. You were terrified.
A scent caught your nose. Metallic, one you'd smelled before. One you hadn't smelled since your Games. Since you'd last slit a throat.
Glancing down, you let out a gasp, almost loosing your footing.
Your hands were covered in a thick sheen of blood, shining in the light of dusk.
You stumbled to a halt, chest rising and falling as the world tilted beneath your feet. The blood was warm, sticky, too real. And it wasn’t yours.
“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the trees around you pressed in too close. “No, no, no—”
What the hell had you done? What had you done that was so bad you couldn't remember it?
Your legs gave out beneath you, knees slamming into the mossy forest floor as you stared at your stained hands. You didn’t remember what happened — and that was the worst part. Because in the arena, if you couldn’t remember, it meant you lost control. And losing control meant someone else had died.
A sob left your lips. Your breaths became more frantic, shorter, and not relieving at all. You felt like you couldn't get a single molecule of oxygen into your lungs.
“Finnick,” you choked, your voice breaking on his name.
The jabberjays heard it.
They swarmed.
Suddenly, the trees were echoing with his voice — agonized, screaming in pain. Your name on his lips. Begging. Crying. Screaming like his soul was being ripped out.
Your hands flew to your ears. “No! Stop it! It’s not real!”
But it was real, wasn’t it? You’d blacked out. You’d been covered in blood. You’d heard nothing from him since you'd come back to. You'd heard nothing from the one that was usually always by your side.
You curled up, sobs wracking from your body, until you felt it. The acidic feeling in your stomach, crawling up your throat. Leaning over, vomit sprayed from your lips. You choked and coughed as the jabberjays continued to wail, your husband screaming in despair.
Blood smeared onto your clothes and onto the ground as you tried to brace yourself. The smell of the blood unearthed another wave of vomit.
You collapsed forward on your hands, shaking so violently it felt like your bones might crack under the weight of your grief. The jabberjays were merciless. They repeated his voice like a broken record —twisting it, warping it. "Please! Don’t — Name — please don’t leave me!" His cry pierced the air like a knife through flesh. "It’s me! I love you!"
And you believed it. You believed every damn word.
Because why else would the blood be there? Why else would you be alone?
Your mind was spiraling, slipping into that abyss you hadn’t touched since your own Games. Since you’d thought survival meant severing yourself from humanity. But Finnick had stitched something soft into your heart again. Something real.
Now it was tearing apart.
You retched again — dry this time, your throat raw and lips trembling. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes? Hours?
You looked up to the sky, a scream tearing through your throat. Hot tears flowed down your face.
You didn't even register the strong arms wrapping around your frame. The familiar scent. The quieting of the jabberjays as you were hauled off somewhere else.
You didn’t fight the arms pulling you in — maybe because part of you thought you were finally dying, and it was death cradling you. Maybe because it didn’t matter anymore.
But then — a voice. Not the high-pitched mimicry of the jabberjays. Not a hallucination.
You blinked, your vision swimming, unable to believe it until his thumb brushed under your eye, wiping away tears and blood and dirt like he was afraid you’d shatter.
"I hurt you—" You sobbed frantically, looking down at your hands. "Blood, there's blood—"
“Honey, no, no, hey — look at me.” Finnick cupped your face in both hands, gently but firmly pulling your gaze back to his. His eyes —those sea glass eyes — were wide, desperate, but whole. “You didn’t hurt me. Not a scratch, okay? This isn’t my blood.”
You shook your head, breath hitching, but he didn’t let you slip away again.
“I swear it,” he said, his voice trembling now, cracking like a wave against rocks. “You blacked out for maybe two minutes. You bolted into the trees. I ran after you. I never stopped.”
Your hands hovered uselessly between your bodies, stained and trembling. “Then whose blood is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There were mutts in the area. Could be one of them. Could be one of the other tributes who didn’t make it out in time. But it’s not yours, and it’s not mine.”
“I thought I killed you,” you whispered, eyes welling again. “And the birds — they used your voice. They knew what it would do to me.”
Finnick’s expression crumpled for a brief, unbearable moment before he pulled you in, arms wrapping tight like he could protect you from everything if he just held hard enough.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”
Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, still trembling, still unsure if any of this was real. But he was solid. He was warm. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, proof of life.
“I couldn’t hear you,” you whispered, voice wrecked and thin. “I kept calling, but I couldn’t find you. I thought — God, Finnick, I thought—”
“I know,” he said, breaking a little with every word. “I know. I was calling for you too.”
You felt his hand slide up your back, anchoring you, grounding you. He didn’t try to rush you or pull away. He just held you, like he was trying to hold your broken pieces together.
The jabberjays were gone now. The screams had faded. All that was left was the humid quiet of the jungle and your ragged breathing as you clung to him.
You began to cry again. To sob. You didn't know why. Fear. Relief. You clutched the material of Finnick's suit.
"Shh, baby. I've got you." He cooed, pulling you impossibly closer.
He rocked you gently, as if you were something fragile — and maybe you were. Maybe the Games had finally cracked you down the center, and only Finnick’s arms were keeping you from breaking apart completely.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into your hair, over and over. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
You wept into his shoulder until your throat burned and your fingers ached from how tightly you were holding on. It was primal, wordless. A grief too big for language, a terror too deep for sense. But Finnick never let go.
Eventually, the sobs quieted into hiccups, then shaky breaths. You were still trembling, your whole body aching with exhaustion, but the panic had dulled — replaced now by the awful throb of aftermath.
Finnick pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering. “Let’s get out of here, alright? Let me clean you up.”
You nodded against him, too tired to speak.
He helped you to your feet like you weighed nothing, like he’d carry you if you asked. You didn’t have the strength to argue.
And as he guided you through the trees, his hand in yours, you realized something that terrified and comforted you all at once:
You would do anything to keep him alive. Even if it meant breaking yourself open all over again.
The walk was quiet.
Finnick kept his hand clasped with yours the entire way, thumb stroking the back of your fingers like he needed to remind himself you were still here. Occasionally, he’d glance over, watching you like you might vanish again — like if he looked away for too long, the jungle might swallow you whole.
Eventually, the trees broke into a clearing, revealing a small stream winding through mossy rocks. The water sparkled in the early evening light, soft and cold-looking, untouched by blood or nightmares.
“Here,” Finnick murmured. “Sit.”
You obeyed, letting him guide you to a flat stone by the edge of the water. Your hands were still shaking, your body humming with fatigue, but Finnick was steady. Solid.
He knelt beside you, pulling a small packet from his belt — standard Games-issued medical gear. But in his hands, even something as impersonal as gauze looked like an act of love.
“Let me see,” he said softly, and you gave him your hands.
He dipped a cloth in the cold stream and began gently wiping the blood from your skin. He didn’t flinch at the stains, didn’t comment on the cuts or bruises blooming along your arms from your frantic run through the trees. He just worked in silence, careful and slow, like he was afraid of hurting you further.
The cold made you hiss a little, and Finnick looked up instantly, his brows pulling together. “Sorry. I’ll be quick.”
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”
He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I scared myself,” you admitted, voice barely audible.
Once your hands were clean, he dried them gently and started wrapping a few fingers with gauze, where the skin had torn. His hands were warm, sure. So careful.
“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, brushing your knuckles. “Want to sit back? I’ll do your face next.”
You let him maneuver you like a doll, leaning against a mossy boulder while he soaked another cloth. This time, when he touched your face, you didn’t flinch — not even when the water traced over scrapes or when his fingers ghosted beneath your jaw.
“Better?” he asked when he was done, voice low.
You nodded, watching him with wide, wet eyes.
He reached out, brushing a thumb beneath your lower lip, wiping away the last streak of blood you hadn’t noticed.
Finnick didn’t speak. He just leaned in.
His kiss was soft — impossibly soft for someone who’d seen so much war and horror. His mouth tasted like saltwater and something sweeter, like a promise. He kissed you like he was trying to stitch all your broken pieces together again. Like if he loved you hard enough, the Games couldn’t touch you anymore.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"You're so beautiful. So strong, yeah? The strongest woman I know." He said softly, a gentle smile on his face.
Your breath caught, tears stinging your eyes again — but not from fear this time. From the sheer weight of his tenderness.
You shook your head slowly, voice cracking. “I don’t feel strong.”
Finnick leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “That’s the thing about strength,” he whispered. “It’s not about never breaking. It’s about surviving even when you do.”
You blinked at him, lips parted slightly, as if trying to memorize the shape of every word. Every look.
“And you,” he continued, pressing his forehead to yours again, “you survive. Even when the world tries to rip you apart.”
His hand found yours again, fingers threading through like it was second nature.
"I love you." You said, a tear slipping down your face. Through the blurry layer of your tears, you spotted the glint of Finnick's wedding ring. You gently stroked it with a finger.
Finnick looked down as your finger traced the silver band around his finger, the symbol of a promise made long before this nightmare began. His lips trembled with something that looked like awe, like reverence, like he couldn’t believe someone as shattered and beautiful as you had ever chosen him.
He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, slow and tender.
“I wear this because you’re my home, you're the best choice I've ever made,” he murmured against your skin. “Even in here. Especially in here. I love you more than words could ever tell you.”
You let out a soft, broken sound — not quite a sob, not quite a laugh — and leaned forward until your forehead was tucked beneath his chin, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the shaking inside you.
“I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered. “I thought the Capitol had finally taken everything.”
Finnick wrapped his arms around you again, holding you like a man clinging to the last piece of light in the world.
“They can’t have you,” he said, voice fierce and low in your ear. “They’ll never take you from me.”
You stayed there for a long time — just the two of you, curled together by the water as the sun dipped lower and the jungle quieted around you. For now, you were safe. For now, the blood had dried, the voices had gone silent, and you had each other.
summary ۶ৎ you're suspicious over finnick's sudden clinginess.
warnings ۶ৎ allusions to finnick's prostitutions, finnick's awfully clingy
word count ۶ৎ 2.5k
author's note ۶ৎ mi bday special cuz im officially an adult in 42 mins ( ｡ﾟДﾟ｡)
There’s a shift in the air.
You could feel it from a thousand miles away. Hell, it’s like you have a sixth sense when it comes to Finnick—an internal alarm that goes off the second something is off with him. And this morning, it rang the moment you woke up.
Finnick’s arms were wrapped too tightly around your waist, his body practically fused to your back, his nose buried so deep in the crook of your neck it felt like he was trying to melt into you. You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know: he’s hiding something.
The problem is, you can’t figure out what.
It started with how hard you had to work just to get him out of bed. He clung to you like a lifeline, whining and pouting like a lovesick teenager. His sea-glass eyes held a look that was too intense for just morning cuddles, and when you cupped his face and asked what was wrong, he only gave you this goofy, love-drunk smile before pressing soft, distracting kisses to your lips. “Breakfast can wait,” he mumbled, flipping you over with too much ease for someone who looked so emotionally frazzled.
Then came the kitchen.
Your house is small, especially the kitchen, tucked into your inherited little wooden beach cottage, filled to the brim with mismatched pots and hanging herbs. Two people don’t fit in there, not without bumping hips and brushing arms—and Finnick? He was practically glued to you. Wherever you moved, he followed, hands around your waist, his head nestled in the crook of your neck again like he was trying to memorize your scent.
It would’ve been sweet if you weren’t so damn hungry. And if you weren’t still recovering from the thirty minutes of relentless affection earlier.
At one point, you spilled batter down your shirt from how many times you bumped into him.
That was the last straw.
You turned around, firm hands on his broad shoulders, brows raised in tired disbelief. “Baby,” you said, tone edged with warning. “Will you please just sit here and look pretty?”
He let out an exaggerated huff but nodded quickly the second your brows lifted higher, that signature ‘don’t test me’ look you’ve perfected over the years. He pressed a kiss to your nose—loud and wet and obnoxiously smug—and plopped himself down in one of the wooden chairs with a dramatized sigh. You backed away slowly, eyes narrowed, watching him as if he might leap right back up again the second you turned around.
He sat there like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t been acting weird as hell since he got back last night.
Now it’s afternoon, and you’re curled up in the pink nook by your bedroom window, knees tucked under your chin, your fingers holding a book you’re not really reading. You’ve been trying to research flowers for your garden. Finnick built you a greenhouse just last month—white picket fence and everything—because you mentioned once, half-asleep, that you wanted to grow your own vegetables. Tomatoes. Garlic. Onions. Anything so you wouldn’t have to keep hauling yourself down to the market every few days.
It took him a day and a half to build it. Just showed up grinning with dirt on his cheeks and a ribbon tied to the gate latch.
But today, your mind can’t focus on gardening.
You keep replaying everything from the moment you woke up. The bed. The kisses. The slow, almost too tender sex. The shared shower—where Finnick insisted he wash your hair. The way he kept looking at you like you might disappear if he blinked too long. He’s always been affectionate, yes, but this was different. This wasn’t just clingy. This was like he was terrified.
He finally left the house an hour ago to swim, saying something about not missing his daily laps. It took you twenty-five minutes to get him out the door. He kissed you repeatedly. Begged you to come with him. Told you it wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t there. And when you refused—because, frankly, the ocean is freezing and you’re not trying to die today—he pouted like a child and dragged his feet all the way down the porch.
You shake your head, trying to will the thoughts away. Surely, if it were something serious, Finnick would’ve told you by now. He’s never kept things from you—not since the night he finally told you what the Capitol really made him do during those long absences. Not since he looked you in the eye and admitted the truth with shaking hands and a voice that barely held together.
You didn’t flinch, judge or looked at him differently. You just held him. Because you were glad that he let you in. That he trusted you enough to share the darkest parts of himself.
You love Finnick. That much is undeniable. Sometimes you think about where you’d be if you hadn’t met him two years ago—and the image is always darker. He pulled you out of a hole you didn’t even know you were sinking into after your parents died in the fire at District 4’s fish market. It was a freak accident—took several others too, including Finnick’s uncle, the last family he had.
So yeah. It’s an understatement to say you’re worried about him.
You glance down at your notebook and realize, with a tired blink, that you’ve scribbled “causes of Finnick’s sudden clinginess” instead of “causes of pest infestations in a garden.”
Your pen stills, and you blink—once, then again—staring down at the page as the weight of it all finally settles in. Even now, with two rooms and a closed door between you, you can still feel him—his presence like gravity tugging at your chest.
Before your thoughts can spiral deeper, the door creaks open and Finnick steps into the room.
He’s a mess. A towel is draped over his head, soaked and sliding halfway down his neck. His bronze skin is glistening with seawater, droplets trailing down his bare chest and soaking into the waistband of his shorts. He’s left a winding path of damp sand from the hallway, every step tracked in prints that smear slightly with each move he makes. His feet are bare and his curls are still dripping, little beads of water falling onto the wooden floor.
You stare at him from the window nook, frozen for a second, your book slipping slightly from your lap.
He looks at you like he hasn’t seen you in years.
Then, without a word, he crosses the room, moving with that same effortless grace he always has—except this time it’s less like a flirtation and more like a need. When he reaches you, he doesn’t pause or ask permission. He just climbs right in, damp and heavy and all saltwater heat, stretching himself across your curled-up body like he belongs there. Like he has to be there or he’ll unravel.
You grunt under the sudden weight, your hands instinctively bracing against his slick shoulders. “Finnick—”
He silences your protest with a peppering of kisses across your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, lips—he leaves no space untouched. Each kiss is frantic, uncoordinated, wet with ocean and something deeper—something you still can’t name.
“I missed you,” he mumbles between kisses. “God, I missed you. I was only gone for an hour and I missed you.”
“Finnick,” you laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back as he continues his unrelenting affection. “You were literally just—hey! You’re soaking the cushion!”
“Don’t care,” he mutters into your neck, arms wrapping tight around you like you might disappear if he lets go. “You smell better than the ocean.”
“Finnick,” you say again, softer this time. There’s a flicker of something uneasy in your chest, something too big to ignore anymore.
You push him back just enough to see him clearly, your hands moving up to cup his cheeks—firm, steady, squishing them together until his lips pout in that ridiculous way that practically begs to be kissed. It takes everything in you not to give in to the urge.
Instead, you hold his gaze.
His sea-green eyes blink at you, wide and soft, still wet at the lashes.
“What’s wrong, baby?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Finnick blinks at you, lips still squished between your palms. He gives a pitiful little hum, eyebrows raised innocently like he’s got no idea what you’re talking about.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, words slightly muffled through his puckered mouth. “I just love you, that’s all.”
You narrow your eyes. “Mmhmm.”
He tries to lean forward again, aiming another kiss at your jaw, but you tighten your grip on his cheeks and pull back just enough to stop him.
“Nope,” you say firmly. “We’re not doing that.”
His brows knit together, the pout deepening. “Doing what?”
“You trying to distract me with kisses and charm so you don’t have to answer.” You tilt your head, voice still teasing but firm beneath it. “We can sit like this for the rest of our lives if we have to. I’ll hold your face hostage, Finnick Odair. Don’t test me.”
A beat passes.
Something shifts in his expression. The smile fades. His mouth relaxes under your hands, and his eyes—those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes—drop slightly, losing the usual glint of mischief. He swallows hard, and when he looks back up at you, it’s like something inside him finally gives way.
“I had a dream,” he says quietly, almost like he’s ashamed of it. “Last night. You died.”
The words hit you like a jolt, but you don’t move, don’t flinch. You just keep your hands on his face, grounding him.
“You died,” he repeats, voice cracking slightly. “And it felt so real. I woke up and—I couldn’t breathe. I thought I lost you. I thought—God, it was so stupid, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how I waste so much time just… assuming you’ll always be here.”
He leans into your touch then, like he needs it to keep going.
“I realized I can’t do that. I don’t want to waste a single second. I don’t want to go another day without making sure you know how much I love you. How much you mean to me. Because if something happened to you and I didn’t say it enough or loud enough or clear enough…”
His voice trails off, and then he breathes out—soft and hoarse, like the weight is finally leaving his chest.
“I’d rather spend one tomorrow with you, making sure you know I love you,” he whispers, “than a thousand tomorrows without you… and never get the chance to say it.”
You stare at him, heart squeezing painfully, lips parted—but the words don’t come. Not right away. Because what do you even say to that?
You don’t say anything right away. You just release his face with the gentlest touch, then open your arms and pull him into you—tugging him into your chest like you're trying to shield him from the very world that haunts his dreams.
He doesn’t resist. He folds into you like a tide pulled home, arms locking tightly around your waist, his cheek pressed into your shoulder. He holds you like he thinks you might vanish again. Like it’s your last night together. And it breaks something inside you.
You run your fingers through his still-damp hair, slow and steady, the same way someone might soothe a frightened animal or calm a child after a nightmare. He trembles once. Just once. But you feel it. And it makes your chest ache.
“Finnick,” you murmur softly, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “I know you love me.”
His arms stiffen slightly, like he’s unsure if you’re just saying it to soothe him, but you pull back just enough to see his face, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
“I know it,” you repeat, firmer now. “Not just because you say it. But because you show it.”
You smile faintly, eyes locked on his. “You built me a greenhouse in less than two days just because I said I wanted to grow tomatoes. You kiss my forehead every time I fall asleep reading. You get up before sunrise to untangle my wind-chimes when the sea breeze knots them up. And when you think I’m not looking…” Your voice catches a little. You look at me like I hung the stars in your sky.
His eyes are glossy now, red at the rims, but he doesn’t look away. You don’t let him.
“You’ve already told me you love me a hundred different ways, Finnick. Even when you don’t say it.”
You rest your forehead against his, nose brushing his as you close your eyes. “So next time you have a dream like that… just wake me up. You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to hold it in. I want to be the person you can fall apart with. Okay?”
Finnick nods, slow and silent. And then he kisses you—not with urgency this time, not to dodge or distract—but like he’s memorizing the shape of forever on your lips.
It’s warm and slow and almost shy, like he’s still trying to believe you’re real. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that steals your breath, his hands trembling slightly as they cradle your waist, holding you like something precious. Like something breakable. Like he’s scared he might crush you if he holds too tightly, but terrified you’ll slip away if he doesn’t.
You kiss him back just as slowly, threading your fingers into his damp curls and brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, tasting salt—maybe from the ocean, maybe from him. Neither of you pulls away. Time stops. The only sound is the faint ticking of the old wall clock in the corner and the hush of waves crashing somewhere in the distance, just beyond the house.
When you finally part, it’s only because you both need to breathe. Finnick leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Ever.”
“You won’t,” you whisper back, just as fiercely. “You’ve got me. For as long as you want me.”
His eyes flutter open. “Forever, then.”
You smile, tears burning quietly at the edges of your vision. “Forever sounds just right.”
He pulls you in again, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping himself around you until you can barely tell where you end and he begins. His heart beats against yours like it’s trying to speak a language only the two of you understand. The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Heavy with everything that didn’t need words.
You stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other. The sun dipping lower through the bedroom window, casting everything in a soft amber glow. Outside, the waves keep crashing. Inside, he’s holding you like he’ll never let go again.
summary: your stylist must hate you, putting you into a corset so tight. thank god finnick odair is there to save you
warnings: female reader, finnick and reader are friends with implied feelings, mentions of capitol people being awful people, finnick being a sweetheart, no use of y/n
: ̗̀➛ masterlist
If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that you hated Capitol parties. They were always extremely extravagant, filled with the most obnoxiously unaware people you had probably ever met. Being a Victor was nothing less than a major pain in the ass. You lived, but you also lived with the pains of the Capitol and Snow breathing down your neck every five seconds.
It wasn't uncommon for Victors to be invited to parties in the Capitol. It was actually rather unusual for them not to be invited. After all, they were the real Capitol stars. So, here you were, drinking some bubbly liquor that tasted incredibly awful in comparison to any other drink, fake smiling and laughing with some socialites who wouldn't leave you alone for more than two minutes at a time.
Their stories were very unimpressive. Dull and lifeless, like how someone stepped on a bug while shopping, or how another ate so much they had to throw up six times. Stories from the Districts were always better. Folk stories or real, it really didn't matter. At least they were interesting and not about something stupid like fashion or gossip.
The worst part of the whole night was that your stylist must've hated you. You wore some long, pirate-esque, flowy skirt with the most painful heels that had ever been made along with the tightest corset you'd ever worn. It was squeezing all of your insides in all the wrong ways. If you turned the wrong way or breathed too hard, it really hurt. You were sure if you bent over, you'd crack your ribs. It was torturous to be wearing such a thing.
You managed to laugh at all their jokes, share stories back and forth, and pretend to be interested just long enough to tolerate the pain. But now it was becoming a little bit too hard to manage. It felt like you could no longer breathe normally. You were all too aware of your breathing. If you stopped thinking about it, there was a chance you'd stop completely, at least, that's what you convinced yourself. Your fake smile seemed harder to keep up as a socialite finished their story.
"Honestly, isn't that just the most terrible thing you've heard?" You fake laughed, nodding along as best as you could with your circumstances and disinterest. "I mean, I couldn't imagine anything more awful that a broken heel!" How ignorant. Ever heard of The Hunger Games?
"I would have thrown a fit it if were me," another socialite said, seeming very remorseful.
A different one nodded, "Truly the most nightmarish ending to your evening."
As you stood there, you wondered if it could it be possible that the corset was getting tighter. There was no possible way it could have been, but it sure felt like it. The squeezing was becoming incredibly unbearable. Every little breath ached your ribs and sides. You were positive there would be bruises in the corset's place tomorrow. Maybe the injuries you'd sustained during your Games a few years ago weren't so bad seeing as you were sure you were about to suffocate and die right there on Snow's courtyard.
"The only nightmarish ending I can think of is leaving this party without a lovely lady on my arm." It was like the heavens had graced you with Finnick's presence. If you could have released a breath of relief, you probably would have. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen," Finnick turned to you, giving you a small smile. You returned it, strained, but you returned it.
Oh, sweet Finnick. He was your best friend. His presence was so comforting no matter where you were. It was times like these you wondered how he could just waltz over when you needed him the most. You weren't sure how he did it, but you were damn thankful that he did. You were hoping he would get the hint that something was wrong without needing to raise all hell to make it obvious.
"I can't see you having a hard time leaving without a gorgeous, lucky woman on your arm," the first socialite said to Finnick. She must've hoped it was her. "After all, you are our Golden Boy."
Finnick chuckled, smiling with those gorgeous teeth of his. "Well, someone has to keep the standards high."
"I'm sure you won't have trouble leaving here with a lucky man, either, darling." Your eyes shot over to the third socialite who had addressed you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak anymore.
"I'm sure I won't." Your voice felt strained. Did it sound strained? You hoped it didn't. The last thing you wanted was to look like you were suffering.
Finnick, however, could sense the tone in your voice from a mile away. You were his friend, after all. Probably his best one if he was being honest. The sharp nod you gave, the raised, airy tone to your voice were all very worrisome signs. His eyes searched your face for answers you tried to hide from any prying eyes. However, the way you tugged down at the bottom of your corset was.. something. Were you anxious, uncomfortable, upset? Finnick couldn't place it. There were just too many missing details. He knew something was wrong. It was like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box.
The conversation continued onwards. Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Finnick's hand that moved to softly rest on your lower back. You couldn't decide if it was for comfort or in case you passed out from lack of oxygen. You assumed it was for comfort. The good news was that if your face turned blue, you'd match the shades of your outfit for the night. If you considered that good news. Maybe it wouldn't look all that displaced after all.
Only one singular minute had passed and you quickly realized that not even Finnick's welcomed gesture would be enough to help you. You felt yourself begin to panic, the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. The more you panicked, the more your breathing would increase. That would only cause yourself more pain and frustration, not to mention it would double your anxiety. What a horrible domino effect that would be.
Keeping your cool was becoming impossible. You tried to hold as still as a statue to keep from moving and upsetting the corset more, but it was proving very difficult. Holding your breath wasn't really an option here, so the only thing to do was try and remain calm.
When the first very sharp pain radiated through your ribs, you knew you were done for. You sucked in a very noticeable breath, thankfully, only Finnick had heard. The conversation had continued, but the words had fallen deaf to your ears. It had been long forgotten amid your growing panic.
"Ah," Finnick said, abruptly pausing the conversation, "we completely forgot, but we're meant to meet with the president. If you'll excuse us." Finnick was pushing on your lower back, now. He guided you through the crowd, up some stairs and into one of the first open rooms he could find. The moment you were inside, you pressed on your stomach, trying to give yourself comfort, but ultimately failing. "What's wrong?" Finnick quickly asked, approaching you with worry in his expression. "Sweetheart, talk to me."
Now you were positive you couldn't talk. Your head felt dizzy and your tongue felt numb. You shook your head, tears brimming your eyes as you scratched at the corset. Finnick's eyes were darting to your hands and back to your face over and over, trying to understand what you were trying to convey to him.
You opened your mouth, trying to find words, but all you could manage was an awful wheeze. Your lungs and throat burned like fire. You were sure your face was turning red. Finnick's eyes widened as he quickly grabbed your shoulders, turning you around so your back was facing him. You felt his hands on your back again, but this time, they had a mission. Finnick grabbed a hold of the ribbon of your corset, not so much as grunting as he tore it apart.
The moment the ribbon tore, you gasped, sucking in as much air as you could as you fell to your knees, holding the front of the corset to your chest as you heaved, the air feeling so incredible that you took note to never take breathing for granted. Finnick was by your side in a heartbeat, hand on your back rubbing soothing circles on your now exposed skin. "It's okay, you're okay. Slow, deep breaths. Don't rush, nice and slow." His voice slowly worked the panic out of your system, your inhales deep, but exhales shaky and unsteady.
"I couldn't breathe," your voice was soft, almost as if talking were still too much to handle, "every breath hurt."
Finnick nodded, "I know, honey. I know, it's alright now. You're okay." You looked up to Finnick, watching his expression. He no longer looked panicked, but he still looked just as worried as before. "Do you need anything? Water?"
You shook your head. "Sit with me? Please?"
The two of you sat against the couch, sitting on the floor looking utterly exhausted. It was obvious the night had worn you both out, from the socialization to your near suffocation. Your head fell over, leaning on Finnick's shoulder as his head rested on top of you own.
"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?" Finnick quietly asked. "I heard the waves will be perfect. You can bring that book you're reading and we can have lunch."
"That sounds nice," you hummed, "I'd like that a lot."
After a few more quiet minutes, you realized both of your absences would start to look rather suspicious. You both knew that it was long past time to go back to the party, but the silence you shared was too nice to give up just yet.
"Thank you for saving me," you thanked, looking over and up at Finnick.
He shook his head with a soft exhale, "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I got you up here in time." Finnick slowly stood up, holding your head as he stood so you wouldn't fall over. He held out a hand to help you stand up.
"Wait, I can't go back out there like this." You could. The Capitol people would love it. Seeing you holding the corset onto your chest to cover yourself. You knew deep down that the position you were in would make the people go wild for you. It was the kind of attention you weren't looking for. The kind of attention you never looked for.
Finnick didn't hesitate to take off his poet shirt, leaving his upper half bare, besides his shark tooth necklace. He didn't even need a second thought. The moment you started to speak, he knew what you were going to say. It was an easy choice for him to make. He would do anything to protect you.
Denying Finnick's kindness wasn't something he'd let you turn down, so you accepted. Finnick turned around while you put it on, only turning back around when he heard you fumbling with the sleeves. He helped roll them up so they weren't as long, while you began to tuck it into your skirt.
"You'll get cold," you commented worriedly, remembering what the chilled breeze had felt like on your own skin not too long ago.
"Then stay with me and keep me warm," Finnick replied, a small smile on his face. You chuckled airly, smiling back at him. "You look beautiful. They'll think we both just did a small wardrobe change. And that's what we'll tell them if they ask. I doubt they will. Capitol isn't all that observational."
You looked at Finnick, biting your bottom lip, "I wish we didn't have to go yet." You wished you could stay in this room with Finnick all night. Unfortunately, that was no option.
He seemed to agree based on the way his smile turned lopsided. "Just think about all the fun we'll have tomorrow. The waves, the wind, us. I'll even bring us some coconuts to crack open."
"And my book," you insisted. "I'll read it to you."
"My favorite activity," Finnick nodded. He held his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Let's get this night over with." His offer was easily understood, even if he didn't say it. Let's get this night over with together.
dennis whitaker x reader ~~non-descript reader but a minute implication that their hair could whip someone in the face...~ is this angst? like idk? they lack a iil communicaysh.. but it's patootie style .. i've never set out to write angst so maybe it is this but it's also fluffy & like all other items of my own creation... sucks at large xx ~~ cutie nicknames, no y/n ~~ ilysm lil petal pops~~
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Dennis was looking for you, glancing all up and down the street until he spotted you. he'd contemplated calling out to you and waving but it seemed you were speaking to someone and far be it from him to interrupt, especially considering he was a little early. as he started to make his way closer to you and your very tall friend, he overheard something~
"i'm taking you out tomorrow night."
it was a declaration, not a question. so first of all, gross and second of all this has to be the part where you laugh in his face or slap him or set him on fire or something... you were about to be on a date with Dennis... right?
"sure! yeah!" you said, all shiny and beautiful
oh.
Dennis couldn't get his feet to carry him away fast enough.
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you were admittedly a bit overexcited and got there quite a bit earlier than the agreed upon time but there was a street vendor with a flower stall on the corner and you decided to take a look. as you lifted your head out of a beautiful arrangement of daisies and violets, you were met with the gaudy features of a blockheaded mouth breather who had decided that your personal bubble was the perfect place for him to stand.
"excuse me." you snipped quietly, shifting yourself away but he followed like an aqua di gio soaked nightmare,
"hi, i'm Corey." he offered with a weird amount of pride,
"congratulations." you bit, not even looking at him as you got back onto the sidewalk and headed towards Plots & Pourovers to meet Dennis,
"i'm taking you out tomorrow night." he announced with his chest puffed, making your eyes roll like your ankle joint randomly on a flat surface...
"sure! yeah!" you feigned excitement with a nod and a slight pause before dropping your voice an octave and adding, "you can pick me up right after my lobotomy... leave me alone." your tone was loaded with venom and you wished your hair would whip him in the eyes as you spun away.
you thought it best to just head inside and wait for Dennis, less chance of rogue pests in there.
you'd sat yourself close enough to the window that you were getting good light but not obnoxiously close to it that you'd be taking up a coveted booth spot whilst you were alone and waiting, which would also mean you'd still be in view of creepy Corey who was undoubtedly hovering out there like the noxious cloud he seemed to be. you waited for around twenty minutes before deciding to check in, landing on that being the appropriate amount of time to not seem insane but also a relatively cool level of unbothered.
you: hihi! just making sure you're okay?? x
Dennis🚜🌾: •••
then nothing.
oh.
still, you waited a little while longer. maybe he was driving or something truly urgent had come up and it was hard to explain in a text or some kind of hideous mutant sea creature wriggled its barbed tentacles up his drain pipe and abducted him right as he was telling you he was just running a little late... maybe.
eventually you started to feel the clammy fingers of shame wrapping themselves around your throat and chose to graciously admit that you'd been stood up. not that anyone else had even a breath of a clue that's what had happened but your mind was a wonderful actor and put on an emmy winning performance to convince you otherwise.
you did the typical downtrodden thing and walked home from the tragically charming bookstore cafe without even bothering to fish your headphones out of your bag. you'd buried your phone in there too, banished on do not disturb in an attempt to protect yourself from any further humiliation. you ended up leaving it in there even after you got home and decided to drown your sorrows in a tube of BBQ pringles, a crisp diet coke and an ill conceived rewatch of Dawson's Creek. you thought you'd cry. you definitely felt like you wanted to but it just wouldn't come. not even when Jack McPhee was forced to read his poem in front of his class and started to cry... that part always got you. had you finally been broken for good? did Dennis Whitaker really have that kind of intrinsic hold over your entire being already?
"ugh." you groaned out loud to your audience of no one and peeled yourself off the couch to shower. you shuffled over to the kitchen bench where your bag had been discarded earlier and rummaged for your phone. it was pivotal to the effectiveness of the shower that you'd have the perfect queue of songs to accompany it. duh.
Dennis🚜🌾: 3 messages
Dennis🚜🌾: 1 missed call
hmm...
Dennis🚜🌾: i'm okay, sorry. something came up
Dennis🚜🌾: okay, no it didn't. or i mean it did but i don't know how to talk about it i don't think
Dennis🚜🌾: please call me back, i'm sorry
calling Dennis🚜🌾
thank god, hi
"hi... i'm glad nothing seriously heinous seems to have happened to you"
how long were you waiting?
"is knowing going to make you feel better or are you searching for a means to torture yourself?"
both maybe... i guess? his voice was quivering slightly
"i waited til the menus changed over"
fuck. okay.
"that's it?" you paused for a couple seconds, "no monumental reveal of a reasonable turn of events that lead to your total absence?"
nothing that seems reasonable unfortunately
"so apply a little frivolousness and be unreasonable for a minute. what was it?" you were admittedly losing patience and it was obvious,
well i showed up actually...
"what? when?"
i was kinda early and i saw you talking to that guy and then he asked you out and you said yes and i felt dumb and i know we've only been on one date so far but it really-
"jesus, you're funny." you giggled purely at the absurdity of it all,
i- what?
"you caught me talking to a human foot cramp, Den. he was a colossal douchebag. what you missed was the part where i shot him down."
y-you did?
"yes, of course i did."
he fell silent again for a little while but you didn't push
i'm really sorry. i freaked out and i assumed the worst of the situation because i... actually, that doesn't matter, what matters is that i'm sorry and id really like the opportunity to make it up to you... if you'll let me.
you giggled softly, "yeah Dennis. i'll let you."
oh thank god. okay, i mean thank you... so, any ideas how i can do that?
"you want me to plan my own make up date? that's bold..."
no! no, no. uhh-
"i'm kidding, you can unclench." you laughed breathily, "i'm gonna shower but i haven't eaten yet..." you lead,
okay good! don't!
you laughed with your whole body this time, "sir, yes sir."
i'll come pick you up in an hour?
"see you then, you beautiful idiot."
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the very first thing he did when you opened the door for him was kiss you. the kind of kiss that was an apology in it's own right and a declaration all at once. it was a sure kiss. certain. dizzying...
you stumbled a little and you both started laughing as you pulled away,
"that's quite the hello, mister."
"i've decided i'm not letting opportunities pass me by ever again. and also, hi." he said, finally allowing a second to fully take you in, "you're pretty."
you smiled as your cheeks flushed, "thank you."
"you ready to go?" he asked, a genuine question with absolute intent to wait if the answer was no
"mhm, let's go." you nodded, lacing your fingers between his and making him smile broadly
"so you're really not mad at me?"
"oh please, mad really isn't my style." you shrugged, tugging your apartment door closed behind you
"no? good to know."
"don't go getting any ideas, Whitaker. having me sad at you is significantly worse." you warned, some levity in your voice but the message was still crystal clear
"i'll make it my life's sole purpose to never let that happen. ever." he proudly proclaimed and you laughed again, "i love that sound."
"huh?" you scrunched your nose in confusion, "the elevator dinging?"
"your laugh, dummy."
your expression was almost comically overdone as you realised, "oh! i guess today's theme is misunderstandings."
"maybe it is but that doesn't make us even. i plan on reunderstanding the shit outta this day."
you tried to stifle it but the bubbling laughter that erupted from you could've been heard two floors in either direction, "that's not even a word or a thing."
"it is now, sugar." he chimed, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, "besides, i'm not afraid of a little work."
"this much i know about you." you nodded,
"yeah? what else do you know?" his head was now gently resting on yours
"that you're also taking me to get ice cream later." you sang and it was his turn to laugh
To me, one of the most intriguing undercurrents to Whitaker's arc this season has been about his feelings of alienation, emasculation, and inability to connect with the other men in the department. Javadi calls him an astrology-girlie. The betting boys club mock him and visibly look down on him. He very awkwardly compliments Robby on his motorcycle . Langdon teases him about the med student badge and then gets in his face about the librium faux-pas, physically intimidating him. Ogilve doesn't take him seriously until the very end, Park the Shark calls him an idiot, Joy loudly outs him as having been unhoused in front of the entire department.
And it is both very telling and very interesting that his final straw is Langdon openly mocking his masculinity, the back-handed compliment of stating Whitaker doesn't seem like a gym guy, starting to make what was obviously going to be a crude and inappropriately derisive joke about his sex life. And I don't think Langdon is intending to be as mean spirited or triggering as Whitaker is perceiving it--he has had moments of trying to be a genuinely good teacher to him, being helpful and kind. But still, he has been condescending and patronizing all day, forcing a familiarity and power dynamic to their non-existent relationship that Whitaker is very clearly not okay or comfortable with at all. And exhausted from this shift, stressed about his badge and the shitty old lady and Amy and money, Whitaker has completely lost his ability to swallow it all down. And so for the first time that day, maybe ever, he asserts a firm boundary and stands up for himself.
And crucially this is the first time, too, we see Langdon take in a boundary, hear it, receive it, and respect it. He apologizes, genuinely, and doesn't deflect or defend or respond with hostility. And when Whitaker feels bad, second-guesses himself and start to backtrack, Langdon says--hey, no. You were right. It's okay. It's a huge moment of growth for them both, and the fact that they really hardly know each other is exactly what is critical to allowing so much development.
i love you dr. nazely toomarian. i love you dr. jack abbot. i love you dr. crus henderson. i love you dr. parker ellis. i love you dr. john shen. i love you night shift. night shift i love youuuuuu
Frank Langdon x Reader ~~ FLUFF... non-descript reader but gets called princess at one point & u know i love a lil steamy hook through so... lets call it PG rated xx ~~ cutie nicknames used but no y/n ~~ they just have a fun time at the arcade y'all idk what to tell u xx ilysm~
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"what do you think of the arcade?" he asked, a charming smile spread across his face.
you quirked your head slightly and furrowed your brows,
"like what's my opinion of its existence in general?"
he chuckled and shook his head, "no, i mean how do you feel about our date being at an arcade."
"oh! i feel pretty favourable about it... unless you're a sore loser of course, then i don't know." you teased and he smirked,
"i'll pick you up at 8."
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•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
you stood with him at the kiosk as he loaded the game cards and you bounced excitedly,
"i hope you're prepared for utter annihilation, Franklin." you teased and he shook his head at you,
"hearing you trash talk is very sexy but you're goin' down, buttercup."
you giggled, "well i'm glad you find me so alluring baby but i'm about to rock your world."
"you already do." he charmed, leaning down to kiss you and dipping you backwards playfully, "cmon, what do you wanna do first?"
"bike race. obviously."
"oh, obviously." he sassed and you rolled your eyes,
"just get on the bike Langdon."
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
after the bikes, the dance machine, some goofy little fishing game and air hockey, the scores were all tied up~
"okay, okay, so we still have the basketballs, the kart racer and pac-man to determine the overall winner." you announced, adjusting the scorecard you were keeping in your phone
"the claw machines aren't part of it?" he asked with a tilted head,
"no, beetlebrain. you can't add those to the scores, they're totally rigged."
"hmm... that sounds like a fancy way of saying that you suck at them." he sang, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly as he waited for you to bite,
"you're baiting me..." you snipped, narrowing your eyes as he smirked,
"of course i am. you're my favourite little fishy." he fussed, making smoochy noises at you as he peppered sloppy kisses all over your face,
"stop trying to distract me... im onto your wily ways mister." you warned and he laughed,
"okay, fine. you caught me." he put his hands up in faux protest, "but after we eat i'm going to kick your ass at the hoops."
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
you went up the handful of stairs to the bar area and grabbed some pizza. as you started telling him about the first time you ever went to an arcade as a kid, he kept glancing down at your chair so you interrupted yourself,
"what?" you asked and he just smirked before dragging your chair closer to his until your legs were touching,
"that's better... keep talking, princess." he encouraged and you blushed like crazy but continued your story.
once you'd finished eating, you decided to acknowledge it,
"you're quite the move maker, Frank Langdon."
"am i?" his question was very almost genuine and you smiled,
"the chair thing?"
"wasn't a move." he shrugged, "i just needed you closer to me."
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
turns out he absolutely did kick your ass at basketball. you made a valiant comeback with pac-man and it all came down to the kart racer.
you made a playful yet ultimately pitiful attempt to shove him away from the green car and ended up having to settle for the ugly red one with a pout on your face,
"who's the sore loser now, precious?" he teased an you just scowled at him,
"you in about 30 seconds." you chipped and he chuckled,
"alright then, bring it on."
you scanned your game card and chose your on screen vehicle, making sure it was as aesthetically pleasing as it was aerodynamic and gave Frank one last little expression of challenge before the game began.
you'd barely made it around the very first turn before he slammed you off the track-
"hey!" you gasped, "you suck."
"oh i'm sorry baby but i told you i came to win." his feigned sympathy just pissed you off even further,
"you fight dirty Franklin." you grumbled,
"yeah... how else do you think i always get what i want- woah! what the fuck?"
you were giggling like a triumphant child after sabotaging him right before the finish line and winning, "what was that about getting what you want, handsome?"
"i can't believe you just did that." he gawped, shaking his head in disbelief
"what? you've never been beaten before?"
"not here, no." he was almost sulking but you couldn't figure out if it was for show or not
"first time for everything i guess," you said softly, leaning over the fake cars and scratching the hair at the nape of his neck
"wait a sec..."
uh oh
"what?" you knew what was coming,
"double or nothing." he suggested and you laughed,
"double what? we never set a prize dummy."
"so let's set one and race again." he urged and you sighed,
"i can see that this is of paramount importance to you and your fragile sense of self being tied to the archaic idea of being held in noble regard after being the victor of competition."
he let a beat pass before he spoke,
"exactly." he nodded with a smile, "so? what do you say?"
"i mean yeah, whatever but what are we playing for?" you shrugged and then saw the deviousness return in his smirk,
"winner gets to leave marks."
"oh, you're so on."
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
after yet another devastating ego blow and some borderline humiliating begging for a rematch, Frank finally accepted defeat
"i can't believe you beat me."
"twice." you chimed, lacing your fingers with his, "i beat you twice."
"no i needed that reminder, thank you so much." he quipped and you giggled,
"you're welcome Frankie."
"ha ha." his head see-sawed with insolence and you just glared at him for a second, "no, no. you put that face away please. it's photo booth time."
you sat in his lap for the photos. the first you both just smiled, big, bright, silly smiles. the next was goofy and you both pulled funny faces. then you were looking at one another fondly and the last picture was of you kissing.
when you got out of the booth Frank printed off two copies of the photo strip, one in colour and the other in black & white. he held them up on either side of his face and asked,
"which one do you like more?"
"hmm..." you mulled it over, looking between them for a few seconds before settling on the colour and he handed it to you, "i like you in this sweater. brings out your eyes."
"oh yeah?"
"mhm." you nodded, "it's soft too."
"i'll keep that in mind." he was beaming and you could hear it in his voice even with your head leaning against his arm,
"good. in the meantime... i'm gonna win the blueberry plushie from that machine." you announced, pointing at the claw machine on the end of the row
"the blueberry?" he parroted,
"yeah, i think it's cute. besides, it'll go with the pancake one perfectly."
"what pancake one? you don't have a-"
"the pancake one you're gonna win me from this machine, duh." you declared, tapping the glass as you walked past another, "see you in a minute, stud."
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
Frank strode over and handed you the stack of pancakes so proudly that it made the sting of not winning the blueberry almost fade away. he grabbed you by your waist and kissed you softly before manoeuvring you out of the way so he could try it. it didn't take him long at all to get it out, along with a couple others
"how the heck did you do that?" you almost squealed you were so excited,
"ah, it's just gravity." he shrugged, "knock the right one loose and they all come down"
"that's like the hottest thing you've ever done." it slipped out, quietly. you were just in awe and the very proud new owner of a plushie fruit salad...
"is that right?" he drawled, cupping your face and kissing you sweetly... doing a brilliant job of maintaining the evenings PG rating.
Langdon asking Dennis if he's been working out because he looks like in shape and bigger LIKE YEAH BABE TRUST WE'VE ALL BEEN LOOKING AT HIS ARMS THE ENTIRE SEASON
fluff fluff fun farm fair fluuuuuufffffff~~~ kinda a lil steamy at the end but like misty at best u kno... Dennis Whitaker x reader ~~ petnames: sweetness, baby, sugar. im gonna adopt a pig after this lemme tell u something~ ilysm my petals, have fun!
"so..." he dragged, leaning up against the nurses station's edge beside you
"so...?" you parroted with a sweet smile on your face,
"well, there's this fair next weekend and i was kinda hoping that maybe you'd wanna go...?"
you paused for a second, blinking at nothing until you looked back up at him, "you want me to go to a fair?"
he swallowed nervously and nodded, "uh, yeah." his voice was shaking with sudden uncertainty and he was worried he'd messed up for a second,
"do you need me to get something for you from it or-"
"no! oh my god, with me." he interjected, rupturing your confusion, "do you want to go to the fair with me?"
you giggled, "yes."
"yeah?" he clarified, his eyes widened even further with hope,
"yes, as long as this is a date." you whispered, subtly biting your lip as you looked at him one last time before dashing away to continue checking on your patients and leaving him rosy cheeked and reeling.
•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•
you were giddy with excitement as you walked towards the entrance of the fair. Dennis had his fingers interlaced with yours when you started swinging your arm and skipping,
"do you know that they're doing a whole dog show?" you rambled excitedly, "and, they're also showing cows and then there's like this whole section of baby animals and a reptile tent and-"
you were cut off by the sensation of his free hand cupping the side of your face and his lips connecting with yours softly, "well, that's one way to shut me up." you charmed,
he loosely and quietly laughed, shaking his head, "that's not what that was. you're just so cute when you're all animated like that... couldn't help myself."
"good. don't help yourself." you chimed and his smile turned a little bashful as you both continued making your way inside.
"what do you wanna do first?" he asked, watching fondly as you studied the map the attendant had given you on the way in,
"hmmm... reptile tent!" you pipped and he smiled so broadly that even his moonlike eyes crinkled,
"okay sweetness, let's go."
Dennis watched as you bounced around from stall to stall, listening intently to the keepers and handlers and even took every possible opportunity to hold the creatures. his favourite photo of the day ended up being one of you holding a python because you were making a cute little kissy face and he found it adorable.
next step out of the tent was the ferris wheel because it was practically right outside. Dennis helped you into the carriage like a gentleman and you two just talked the whole time,
"you're kinda fearless, huh?" he asked as you tucked yourself against his side,
"the heck do you mean? i'm scared all the time." you confessed and he was baffled,
"of what? you just played with snakes and lizards and scorpions and now we're like a thousand feet in the air."
"yeah... so?" you murmured,
"so... that seems pretty fearless to me. not to mention you work in the emergency department of a trauma centre..." he chuckled lowly, pressing a kiss to your temple,
"those are not all the same and i just don't think that animals are scary or that being up here or helping people are frightening things but im scared like all the time."
"what are you scared of?" he asked gently,
"harrowing existential stuff mostly..." you shrugged and it stumped him for a second,
"yeah, that makes sense."
"what are you scared of?" you asked, shifting against him to be able to look up at his face,
"ostriches." he said all too quickly and you laughed,
"what?"
"yeah, ostriches. birds have no reason to be that big or that angry. attitude problems you know." he shook his head and kind of shivered as he thought about them and it just made you laugh harder,
"and yet... you live with Santos. that's a choice."
it was his turn to laugh. his head was thrown back as he softly cackled,
"at least her outbursts are relatively predictable. you never know what an ostrich is thinking." he said, tapping his temple with his forefinger and you nodded slowly,
"oh okay..."
after the ferris wheel and a couple other rides, you practically sprinted over to see the dog show. the entire time, you were mostly just spouting off little facts you knew about each of the breeds and Dennis listened intently. he wondered where you stored all this information between your medical expertise and that thing he'd noticed you do... the way you seem to have open files on people in your brain and could just recall details about them instantaneously. you fascinated him. particularly because it never seemed to take you any effort at all, it was just kinda there.
next stop was the livestock pavilion and you both lit up at this one. there were so many different animals to look at and talk about. this time, Dennis did most of the talking. he was recalling specific anecdotes from his upbringing and you spent most of the time shocked or laughing. that is until you got the end and there was a big makeshift enclosure full of piglets and lambs and calves and even a miniature pony. you were a goner. Dennis was going to have to pry you away with some fancy machinery to get you to go anywhere else. of course, he'd never dream of resorting to such extreme measures when he could just sit there and watch you coo over all the babies. he wanted to burn this memory into every cortex of his brain even if he knew damn well that wasn't how it worked, he'd find a fucking way. until then he settled for just filming you on his phone.
the sun had long since gone down and the harsh stadium lights everywhere were only broken up by the moonlight and colourful string lights that were strewn around between all of the structures. Dennis stood to his feet and dusted off his jeans,
"c'mon, we gotta eat something." he said and you just peered up at him from where you were sat with a pig in your lap and shook your head,
"nope. i live here now." you announced and he couldn't help but smile,
"we can come back right after, i promise." he assured but you refused,
"i'm not abandoning her. i think we're soul tied, Den. i'm gonna adopt her." you insisted and he was suddenly rife with concern because he knew you weren't joking,
"you can't adopt a pig, sugar. you live in an apartment."
"i can move, i'll move. it's whatever." your heels were completely beyond dug in, they were kicking the earths core
"could we maybe discuss a few logistics over food or else you're gonna be down a mover." he offered sweetly, intent on not actually bursting your bubble but equally disinterested in ruining any potential romantic moments with a heinous rumble from his stomach
"okay, okay fine." you huffed softly, very delicately lifting the pig from your lap and setting her down beside you before letting Dennis help you to your feet. you brushed the straw off your butt and looked back down at the pig with a prominent pout, "Den, she's sad."
"no, she's sleepy." he gently corrected, "c'mon before i lose you again." he playfully gritted as he slipped his hand into your back pocket and used it to sort of steer you out towards the food trucks.
as you ate, you kept trying to make your case for becoming the parent of a pig and Dennis was being the voice of reason with shockingly strong resolve. he made excellent points but you weren't open to accepting any of them because you'd made your heart up. he was shaking his head at you with a softly exasperated smile by the time you were finished with the food and he made a suggestion... definitely a distraction tactic
"i'm gonna win you something, come on."
"win me something?" you mirrored, helping to clear up the table,
"mhm." he nodded with his chin held up and you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip as you watched him. it was the kind of confidence that had began to seep through at work lately too and made your mind wander right towards the gutter, "you'll see."
and see you did. you were certain everyone around you could see the filthy thoughts rolling around in your head as you watched him throw darts at balloons and shoot water into clowns mouths but you did a great job of covering your face with your phone. making sure you recorded memories... or whatever...
he'd made more than good on his promise to win you something. you had a little plushy cow keychain hanging from your belt loop and a giant plush piggy in your arm. your other arm was holding onto his bicep as you walked,
"so," he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your jaw, "what do you wanna do now?"
"go back to my daughter, obviously." you chirped and he groaned dramatically, burying his head in your neck
"you really are making this hard work."
"what's hard about it? she can just sleep in my bed until i find somewhere else for us to live... duh."
it didn't take you long to realise he was not at all listening, he was far too preoccupied with kissing along your neck. your eyelids fluttered shut as the sensation started to make you dizzy in the most welcome way, "D-Dennis,"
"what, sugar?" his lips dancing over your skin as he spoke without detaching,
"get me outta here." you whispered roughly and he excitedly growled as he let his head come back up to the real world,
"with pleasure baby." he said over your little squeals at him throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you out.
++ you still pulled up real estate listings with yards the very next morning but he made a gallant effort to distract you nonetheless ~~
fluffy~ silly~ goofy~ this is like not good~~
frank langdon x f!reader~ slice of life?? grocery shopping tomfoolery~ no use of y/n~ typical cutsie nickname warning**also ps, this is part of something bigger i have in my wip pocket and Frank gets called Franklin despite it not being his name but thats fun so shh... & reader's fingers get jammed in a shopping trolley/cart towards the end xx ilysm, look after urselves always
Franklin 🐢💕is calling...
"May i help you?" you chipped, lowering the volume on your tv,
"yes actually, i need go grocery shopping."
"okay... the fucks that got to do with me?" you sang, teasing him
"come with me idiot."
"to go grocery shopping?"
"yeah... why not? is that weird..."
"i mean... i am beginning to suspect that you're disgustingly codependent."
"i am not," he snipped defensively, "besides, quality time is my love language."
"oh come on," you groaned, "don't be gross."
"gross and disgusting... i'm on a roll."
"mhm, you sure are. say something freaky and you'll hit the pervy trifecta."
he laughed, "don't tempt me, i need to stay mission focused."
"on groceries?"
"well yeah i guess ultimately but mostly on convincing you to come with me."
"you're being weirder than usual Franklin." somehow he could hear that your eyes had narrowed in suspicion,
"why? because i wanna see my girlfriend?" he challenged and you paused for second,
"and you still fight dirty."
he laughed again, "i was honest... how is that fighting dirty?"
"emotional manipulation."
"for gods sake baby, calling you my girlfriend isn't manipulation, it's just the facts."
"you really need me to come with you?" you dragged,
"i really want you to come with me because i need to see you."
"why?"
"i miss you dumbass."
"wow, idiot and dumbass... you must really really like me."
"i sure do. now come on..."
"ugh... fine. but you're getting the sunday version of me"
"the hell does that mean?" he chuckled,
"you'll see when you get here." you chimed and hung up on him.
He got there so fast, as if he'd been in his car waiting for you to cave, and you buzzed him in. You'd already unlocked your door so he let himself inside, calling out softly for you as he sheepishly popped his head in,
"bedroom!" you sang and he treaded further inside, closing your apartment door behind him. You were semi buried in your closet when he spotted you, on your highest possible tiptoes and reaching for something,
"what the hell are you doing?" he asked, clearly amused by the sight of you struggling,
"those," you said, pointing at a pair of glasses on your dresser, "don't go with this outfit so i want my other pair."
"mhm, and i bet that's a dealbreaker for you coming with me isn't it?"
you stopped stretching and turned around in a huff, "well what do you know... you are a genius."
"ah ha... move out of my way." he said, striding over and quickly grabbing your chin to kiss you on his way past before standing right where you had been, "what exactly am i looking for?"
"the shoebox, obviously." you grumbled,
"oh, of course. where else would you keep glasses..." he muttered sarcastically, reaching in with no effort and taking the box down.
You took it from him with a triumphant little smile on your face, "thank you."
The box was full of odd things you hadn't settled on places for, including some photos of you as a kid and your diplomas but your other pair of glasses were in there too sure enough. You took them out and cleaned them crudely with the sleeve of your sweater before putting them on.
"Oh, now i get it...." Frank lead and you were already half pouting at whatever smartassery he was cooking up,
"get what?"
"these would've looked ridiculous." he sassed, tapping your other pair and smirking at you.
"ha ha..." you puffed, closing the shoebox, "you ready?"
"am i- yeah i'm ready." he nodded before his eyes dropped to the box, "you want me to put that back?"
"nah, you can do it later." you shrugged, walking out of the room,
"later huh..."
"mhm. unless you plan on kidnapping me, you'll have to bring me back here eventually." you teased, slipping your boots on and grabbing your apartment keys, "what?" you paused when you noticed he was just leaning against your wall and staring at you,
"no, nothing." he shook his head and straightened up, "just considering that as an option now."
"creep." you chided and he smirked, snaking his arms around your waist,
"oh, totally." he nodded slowly before leaning down and kissing you. slowly. like he had all the time in the world. that is until you pulled yourself away and giggled,
"come on, these groceries aren't gonna buy themselves and you, sir, made out like it was urgent." you said, poking his chest with your finger,
"it was urgent." he argued, "i told you i needed to see you."
"i knew this was all a ploy..."
"so what? you didn't say no." he volleyed, pressing a soft kiss to your nose
"well, you got me there."
he raised his eyebrows as he smiled, "finally... a win for me."
you rolled your eyes and shook your head but said nothing,
"come on, i'll even let you be in charge of the list."
"ooh, now you're talking" your face brightened up as you smiled and he handed you his phone as he ushered you out the door.
you asked as you walked from the car to the entrance of the supermarket,
"well let's get a big one just to be safe." he smiled and you nodded, trying to yank it out of the ranks but the were jammed together, "let me do it, love."
"but-" you cut yourself off when he gave you a stern look... he knew what you were about to say so you just kept it to yourself. You opened his notes app and went over the list again, strategically deciding to start from the frozen aisle and work through to the produce so nothing got squished.
"You want the four pack or the six?" you asked, opening the doors to the popsicles,
"six or they'll be gone before i get any..." he said and earned himself a soft glare from you,
"you're so dramatic." you scoffed, tossing the box into the cart and checking the list off before checking for the next thing.
as you weaved through the aisles, taking your time and making decisions together it all started to feel so normal and domestic. something so far removed from the way you were spending the majority of your time together. sure, you still had to deal with people having no spatial awareness and hideous lighting and lots of conflicting noise but you were also calm and had the freedom to just kiss him or lean against him whenever you wanted. it was nice. you noticed that he'd put your seaweed snack things on the list (literally written that way...) and at this particular market they also happened to be on the very top shelf.
"Frankie...." you whined and he stopped the cart to turn back around to you,
"what's up baby?" he asked,
"it's too high... this is becoming a pattern." you muttered and he let out a breathy laugh,
"at least i'm useful to you." his voice was laced with overdone charm and you giggled,
"hmm, for now. until i figure out stilts."
"very funny." he chided, "come here." he said, positioning you in front of him so you were between him and the shelf that was holding your snacks for a height ransom,
"what are you doing?" you fretted, "Frank, don't- what about your back?"
"i'm lifting with my knees princess, trust me. i got you." he assured and bent his legs as he held your waist and lifted you to reach what you needed.
once you were safely back on the ground, you turned to scold him,
"that was risky for no reason you maniac."
"shh. what's next?" he asked, caging you between his body and the cart as he continued to push it,
"this is an impractical way of moving." you pointed out, turning your head back up to look at him,
"so?" his head shook like a sassy child before he leaned down and kissed the top of your head... shutting you up as you suspected he had intended.
admittedly, despite the bubble of domestic bliss you'd been in, you were starting to get over it by the time you made it to the produce section. you were sifting through a mountain of nectarines when Frank picked one up and offered it to you like a puppy bringing you their favourite toy. You looked at it quizzically and then held the bag open for him to put it in and his face lit up,
"fuck yeah." he beamed and you laughed,
"i didn't realise stone fruit was such a high stakes item for you..."
"it's not the fruit babe, it's the whole process." he said, fanning his hands out in front of his face as he became 'playfully about to mansplain' Frank,
"the whole process huh?" you asked, giving him the green light for whatever train of ridiculousness was about to come hurtling out of his mouth,
"yeah. it's like how ancient societies used to make sacrifices and those sacrifices included offerings to appease the gods or deities or whatever it happened to be and only if the offerings were good enough... would the entire ritual be worth it because the gods wouldn't like bring about the end of the world."
he's so cute when he rambles
"so... your choice of fruit is the same as giving a virgin to a mythical being?" you challenged and he just shrugged with a soft nod,
"yeah, exactly." he leaned forward over the cart handle and watched as you finished double checking the list before handing his phone back to him, "everything to your satisfaction, captain?"
"seems to be in order." you nodded, flicking your eyes over to him and smiling at how bizarrely proud he looked, "what?"
"i just like this." he confessed, straightening up a little in preparation to move again, "its fun."
"well yeah of course it is. having your fingernails pulled with pliers would be fun around me." you teased, spinning back to grab the front end of the cart and guide him to the checkouts.
"yuck." he scoffed, flexing his fingers on and off the handle a few times as he tried to shake the sensation away, "no, no i don't think that would be fun at all you sicko."
you just giggled, tipping your head side to side almost triumphantly.
continuing your role as diligent little grocery elf, you handed him everything out of the cart in a particular order that made sense only to you as he scanned and packed and whilst he finished up paying, you went to return the cart to the corral at the front of the store. it had gone completely unnoticed by you because Frank had been in charge of it the entire time but the wheels were wonky and stubborn so you were struggling with it a bit. it wasn't unmanageable though until you got to the corral and had to try and get it in there at a specific angle...
"stupid thing." you uttered to yourself as you wrenched the cart to one side and then made the rash decision to just kind of ram it in there...
"ow! you fucker." you snipped, grabbing your fingers in your other hand and holding them where they'd been caught between the metal backs of the carts colliding. you were still holding them when you went back in to help Frank with the bags and he knew something was off immediately because your brow was still creased and you were pouting,
"what happened? you okay?"
he's cuter when he's concerned
"yeah i'm fine but the stupid cart bit me." you grumbled, flailing your hand around. before you could even attempt grabbing some of the bags, he took hold of your wrist and held your fingers up to the light for inspection,
"oh, it sure did. we're gonna have to amputate." he jested, doing nothing to stifle his laughter,
"i'm getting a second opinion." you groaned, trying to wrench your hand away from him but he comically overdid a sad face and huffed as he held your arm against him,
"woah, hold on now... there is a treatment we can try." he raised his eyebrows and you just blinked at him impatiently before he moved your hand to his face and gently peppered kisses all over it until you relented and starting laughing again.
"you two are so precious, my goodness."
your heads both turned in unison to look at the sweet old woman who'd commented as she continued,
"never stop having fun!" she was full of spritely energy as she smiled and waved her finger at you both as she walked out.
you hadn't even noticed that Frank's attention was back on you until he spoke softly,
gamechangershow
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