My name is addie! I write predominatly about the hunger games, specifically finnick odair. however, i'll write for many different fandoms. i'll include a list below! my pronouns are she/her and thank you for checking out my blog. <3
so i think i might be in love with caine from the amazing digital circus? i wonder what happened to me to result in this. anyways ill actually post something soon. maybe. probably about caine…
every time someone in my life uses ai, i am donating $5 CAD to Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Climate Project Catalyst Fund. so fed up with this shit oh my gods.
need some new characters to write about… nothing is really sparking my interest. my current hyperfixation is south park but i don’t plan on writing fan fiction about fourth graders
fetishizing rape, incest, and children is bad and immoral. doesn’t matter if it is fiction. getting off to those things makes you weird and pedophilic. “you’re too sensitive”. no. i just don’t support or condone the romanticizing pedophilic behaviour, whether it be fiction or not.
Summary ~At first, children were out of the question for you and finnick. but years after the revolution, you start to reconsider.
Pairing ~ Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader (post war)
word count ~ 1.5k
Warnings!!! ~ None <3
It had came up before between you and Finnick. One time.
You were sitting on the canvas of the porch swing in front of his house in Victors Village. The sun setting behind the cloudy sky, your legs draped over his lap and your face nuzzled into his neck. It came out of nowhere, really.
"Do you want kids?" He had said quietly. Softly. Like the question was meant for himself only. You looked up and saw his eyes trained on the horizon over the sea, brows furrowed as if he to consider something.
It was a year before the 75th Hunger Games at the time.
You consider his question for a while, Finnick's eyes unmoving.
"No." You decide. The unspoken reason hanging in the air. He knew. He understood. Finnick always did. But, Gods did you want a child. You knew bringing a life into this world of hate, hunger, and death. It was cruel and completely out of the question for you. Not to mention that it was nearly inevitable for the child of a victor to be reaped, let alone the child of two. One of which being the Finnick Odair.
Bile burned your throat as your breathing becomes shallow. He pulls you tighter against him. You don't have to question why.
"Maybe in another life." He tells you.
And you listen.
~
"She's not actually pregnant, sweet girl." He whispered to you during training. Cupping your face and pressing a kiss into your temple tentatively.
"Hell, they couldn't convince me they're even in love if their life depended on it."
You shook your head, glancing over to where Katniss Everdeen had now sat with the District 3 Victors.
"I see the way that boy looks at her. He said-"
He hugs you, resting his head on your shoulder where his lips were mere centimeters away from your ear.
"It's an act, honey. Even if she was pregnant— We're getting her out. We're getting both of you out."
He presses a soft kiss to your cheek before walking over to where Peeta was standing at the knot-tying station. Is it really all an act? Is she okay? The stress from all of this- Even if she gets a little hurt-
You took a deep breath and headed over to where she now sat alone.
"Katniss?"
She glanced up at you, her eyes focused and her body still.
"I-"
You pause and glance over at the fishing station.
"Are you feeling okay? My friend back home, Mags says that you usually get sick in the morning when your… You know…"
She furrowed her dark eyebrows, as if she had no idea what you we're talking about. Maybe she didn't want to talk about it. You certainly wouldn't. Even though Finnick had said it's all an act- You still felt some obligation to take care of her, beyond rebel purposes. Maybe it was your maternal instincts. God she was so young…
"District four, right?" She asked simply. You nod and watch as she stands up in front of you.
"I hear you're pretty handy with a bow." You give a sheepish smile and you see her lips tilt up, somewhat trying to return the expression.
"I can teach you to use a bow if you teach me some fishing tricks."
You nod and follow her to the weapon station.
~
Years after the War Katniss and Peeta Mellark did have a child. For real this time. He was a sweetheart. Blonde hair just like his father's and those piercing eyes that resembled his mother's. Finnick adored him. So when Katniss was pregnant with her second child, she and Peeta had came to district four where her mother worked as a doctor in a small hospital that erected years after the Capitol fell. She had went into labor a few days later and both you and Finnick had graciously agreed to babysit the boy.
"And this one?" Finnick questioned while holding up yet another little card with a sea creature drawn onto the front.
"Starfish!" The boy said before giving himself a round of applause. You cocked an eyebrow and continued to wash dishes in the kitchen, glancing at the two that were sitting in the middle of the living room.
Your husband high-fived the child and smiled warmly.
"I've taught you all that you need to know, little dude."
You chuckled and wiped down the last plate before putting it with the rest in the blue cupboard. Finnick scooped up his new friend and held him so that he was sitting on his forearm at his side.
"What are you laughing at, sweet girl?" He asked, making his way to the kitchen.
"I just like seeing you with kids. It's sweet." You admit. seeing Finnick playing with children, his gentle hands and voice… Kids loved him. And it was obvious that he adored them just as much.
His expression softens and he opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a knock at the door. Finnick places the child on the ground and he immediately runs to the door, opening it and laughing.
"Daddy!"
You peek over Finnick's shoulder to where he was speaking with Peeta. You give his kid a hug and helped him get his things together. While the men talk.
"Auntie?"
You hum and zip up his coat.
"Yes, honey?"
"Can I come back someday?"
Your heart melts and you nod enthusiastically.
"Of course. You're always welcome here with me and Finnick." You said truthfully.
"Tomorrow?" He asks hopefully.
"I'm not sure about that one. You've got a baby sister to look after now."
He nods before asking, "Why don't you have a baby?"
You laugh it off at first. But as the day goes on you find yourself considering the question. Why don't you have a baby? I guess you and Finnick just haven't thought about it. I mean- it's always been a dream for you…
~
"Hey, pretty girl." Your husband whispers softly before slipping into the bed beside you. He gathers you in his arms and nuzzles into you hair, inhaling your shampoo and breathing it back out. You move closer and smile. He had been out at the District Office helping write a report for President Paylor on the progression in rebuilding parts of District 4. And now he was back. Yours again.
"Finnick?" You ask hesitantly, eyes closed and face hidden in the crook of his neck, his intoxicating cologne making your head spin. He hums in acknowledgement and you continue.
"Why don't we have a baby?"
He pauses for a moment, going stiff and still. The silence stretches for a few more seconds before he exhales softly.
"Because you don't, baby." Yes. Yes, you did say that, didn't you?
"But that was before… all of this. The War is over. There's no more Hunger Games-"
Finnick nods, listening to every word. He tilts your head so that you're looking at him.
"Do you want to have a baby with me?" He asks simply, his eyes sparkling, the sea-green depths pulling you closer.
"I think I do." You answer truthfully. Of course there was still a lot to consider. Despite the years that have passed, the anxiety and PTSD still devoured both of you at times. You both had to be sure. Ready.
"Okay…" He whispers. Before, "Me too."
"But," He begins.
"They need to learn how to swim as soon as possible." He says, looking at you with the utmost sincerity you've seen in a while.
"So you can steal them away every morning for your early morning swims?" You tease while smiling up at him. You picture
"Of course! But it's also a safety thing too, sweetie." He stresses while tracing shapes with his fingertips into your back.
"I hope they're just like you, Finnick." His face softens into a warm, adoring smile. Like you're the only thing he's ever known.
"No, I hope they're a spitting image of you. The more you, the better." Heat floods your face and you sigh while pressing soft kisses into his jaw.
"Plus, I'm surprised you can handle one of me. Could you imagine more?"
You laugh at the thought and lay against his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall, hearing his heart beat, knowing that it beats only for you, and eventually, your child.
And when you both are ready, you know that you will love them with every ounce of air you breathe.
hii could i request finnick with a reader who gets really shaky hands when anxious? just some hurt/comfort where he notices and helps calm down reader
love your writing, have a lovely day!
moths to a flame.
pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader
content warnings: pre-established relationship, reader is also a victor, set during the training for the quarter quell, reader volunteered for annie, johanna is a lesbian cause i say so, dark senses of humour, PDA, possible ooc finnick, suggestive jokes, anxiety induced tremors, anxiety in general, i have no idea how to make a snare and i was too tired to look it up so it won't be accurate, flirting, mainly just fluff and sweetness. also a lot of banter between finnick/reader/johanna but i'm not sorry. this is edited but probably not well and i've more than likely missed something.
author's note: hello hello my lovelies, it's been a while! this is my first time writing in a hot minute, let alone posting anything so a) i literally just word-vomited to get back in to the swing of things and b) if you could please be gentle it would be appreciated! as i said, it's been a hot minute since i wrote, so finnick may be slightly ooc but we shall ignore that for the sake of my sanity. also a hot minute since i've read the books and watched the movies so things may be slightly inaccurate but i tried okay. this is dedicated to every single one of you who has stuck with me during my absence -- followers and moots and people who stumble along my blog alike! special dedication to @laylamarie222 for the constant support and requests in my inbox and @sincerelystarry for the support and for hitting 200 followers!! enough from me, mwah!
word count: 2.9k
reblogs and comments are appreciated!
Mags often teases Finnick that his soul is very old friends with yours. That somehow and someway, they must have crossed paths before and managed to seek each other out in this lifetime. That they were drawn to each other in the same way that moths flock to a flame.
Now, to clarify, Finnick isn’t sure how much of that he believes. He tends to take what Mags says with a pinch of salt ever since she tried to convince him not to eat watermelons because he would “grow one in his stomach if he swallowed one of the seeds” and that was a risk that she was apparently not willing to take.
He isn’t one to believe in soulmates or spirituality or astrology or whatever other fancy word they have for it nowadays. Hell, he doesn’t even believe in a God. But he knows deep in his gut that there is a semblance of truth to Mags’ words. He knows it in the way your heart beats in time with his and how your body melds into his side like it was made to fit. He knows it in the way his stomach churned when your best friend, Annie, was reaped for the Quarter Quell and you volunteered to take her place, and he knows it in the way he soothed away your tears that very same night.
One way or another, he has always known it to be true. It’s one of the only things in this godforsaken world that he can be sure of.
It’s part of the reason why he feels guilty for accepting the deal to keep the Mockingjay safe. He thought he could do it. He will do it, especially when the outcome is a Panem that is free from the horrors of the Hunger Games.
But if it comes down to you or Katniss in that arena?
He won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to bring you home.
With or without him.
The training centre is bustling with life and so loud that you can barely hear yourself think when the two of you step into it for the third time this week. It’s been like this from day one and shows no signs of slowing down. To be fair, twenty-four victors who already had first-hand experience of how brutal the games were? Yeah, it was safe to say that nobody was going to be stopping for small talk in between training sessions.
Well, all except Finnick.
As you venture further into the training centre, his hand slips into yours easily, your fingers intertwining together like planting roots in soil. Your instinct is to pull away from his touch in case someone sees, but he brings your joined hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Relax,” he mutters, using his free hand to tip your chin up towards him. His eyes lock onto yours and he smiles easily. His instinct. “It doesn’t matter if someone sees. I don’t care.”
You can hear the underlying meaning in his words. The things he doesn’t dare say aloud in case it makes it real. He doesn’t care, but you know he should.
Even if every aspect of the plan that Plutarch and Haymitch recounted to you does work out, there’s a chance that Katniss is the only one who gets out of there alive. And if the plan doesn’t work? It won’t matter if the whole of Panem knows that you and Finnick have been dating for the better part of eight years because you’ll be back to square one all over again.
And President Snow is many things, but he will not make the same mistake he did last year. There will be one winner or none at all.
“It’s okay,” Finnick coaxes, letting your joined hands fall back to your sides. “Alright?” He watches you nod and then, because he’s always been a glutton for punishment, leans in and brushes his lips against your cheek. It’s a feather-light touch, barely a peck, let alone a proper kiss, but it’s a reminder that he’s there with you. His mouth quirks back up into that signature smile that you’ve came to know so well as he slips further into the centre, hand in yours. “I was thinking we could talk to Peeta first. He seems less hostile.”
“I was thinking the same. Haymitch said he’ll be more open to allies than Katniss will.” You murmur under your breath, careful not to let anyone overhear your conversation. Finnick hums his agreement and you follow his line of sight to where Peeta is crushing berries at the nature station and mixing the juices into a paint for his skin. Johanna Mason storms past him like a woman on a mission and heads directly for you and Finnick. “Speaking of hostile,” You knock your shoulder into Finnick’s with a wry smile and tilt your head in the direction of the girl from seven. “Looks like that plan with Peeta is out of the picture for now.” You say. “I’m surprised you remember where this place is.” You call out to Johanna quietly as she gets closer. “You spent so much time tossing orange peels into Haymitch’s drinks last year, I thought you’d forgotten why we had been in the Capitol in the first place.”
Johanna narrows her eyes at you, but there’s no heat behind it. She likes to pretend she’s a lot scarier than she actually is. Blunt and brazen, sure, but not all that scary once you’ve wormed your way under her armour. “Very funny,” she deadpans, eyes drifting down to your hand in Finnick’s as she stops in front of you both. “But not as funny as that. Took you long enough to grow a pair. I was wondering when you both would stop with the eye-fucking in public and just admit that you were dating.”
Finnick’s eyes light up with mischief. “We do a lot more than eye—” He cuts himself off with a wince and a muffled laugh when you stamp down on his foot. “Alright, alright, dually noted,” he chuckles, pressing an apologetic peck to your forehead that’s more a grin than any kind of apology.
Johanna sticks a finger down her throat and gags. “I take back everything I just said. Go back to how you were before. I came over here for help with my snares, not to watch you two talk dirty with nothing but your expressions.”
“Sorry, did you want my help?” You grumble, cheeks flaming red at how crass she’s being. Not necessarily wrong in the grand scheme of things, but crass nonetheless.
Johanna snorts. “Who said I was asking you? I could have very well been talking about your little boyfriend.”
Now it’s Finnick’s turn to snort. “Oh, please. We both know she’s able to run circles around me with those snares.”
His words make your chest warm with affection as you squeeze his hand. “You really mean that?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it, now would I, honey?”
“Aw. Well, your trident skills are unmatched.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I mean—”
“Oh my God!” Johanna interrupts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You two make me sick. Seriously, keep your flirting behind closed doors. I don’t want to see it,” she hisses, stomping away to the station where the supplies for snares are prepared.
You roll your eyes and follow her to the station, tugging a laughing Finnick along behind you like a ragdoll. You finally let go of his hand so that you can pick up a piece of thin wire. “You shouldn’t be bitter just ‘cause you don’t have a girlfriend to flirt with,” you chide, looping the wire around a branch. Finnick hovers beside you, hip to hip as he absentmindedly toys with what’s at the station.
Johanna scoffs, watching your movements as she tries to replicate them. “Don’t give me that. I could bag a girl if I really wanted to. And at least I know how to flirt.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Finnick chimes in, biting back a chuckle. “We all know your version of flirting is verbally assaulting and bullying the poor girl. Sorry, Jo, but last I checked, that doesn’t count as flirting.”
“I don’t bully people!” She argues, shooting him a glare before her gaze drifts back to your easy movements. “And bullying would be ten times better than whatever the hell it is that you two do, anyway. Honestly, you’re like lovesick teenagers.”
You shake your head fondly, but you can’t be bothered teasing back and forth with her any longer. The training centre is relatively busy with all of the tributes practicing at the different stations, and the noise alone is enough to have you on edge without having to keep up with Johanna and her banter.
You had always been a naturally anxious person, and while you had learnt over the years how to keep it at bay, it was hard to stay calm when you had everything threatening to tip over. If the Quarter Quell in itself wasn’t a trigger, the plan to keep Katniss alive was. You had never dealt with the unknown very well, and the fact that you were laying your life on the line for a plan that relied on a lot of luck and not much else? It didn’t give you much confidence.
There were so many things that could go wrong. What if President Snow found out about the plan? What happened if you got separated in the arena? What if Katniss wouldn’t ally with the three of you (because she was stubborn after all), or worse, what if the Careers caught the group of you off guard and that was the end of everything? What if—
“You okay, honey?” Finnick mutters, bumping his hip ever so gently into yours to catch your attention. He knows that you can get in your head from time to time, and he’s become good at picking up on when it’s happening.
“Hm?” You peer up quickly, his touch yanking you out of your spiral.
He tilts his head to catch your eye. “You zoned out for a second there, that’s all.” His voice is low so that no one can overhear the two of you. He doesn’t need to bother, really; nobody is close enough and Johanna is too busy cursing out her snare. “And your hands are shaky.” He carefully presses a hand against your lower back in an effort to ground you. “You sure you’re alright?”
You crane your neck to look at him, painting on a tight-lipped smile and offering him a jerky nod of your head. “Course. I was just thinking, that’s all.”
Finnick knows you’re lying. Mainly because he knows you. He knows when you’re nervous and letting your mind run through all the worst possible scenarios and he knows when your smile is real and when it’s fake. Still, he’s never been one to push and he knows that drawing attention to it here, of all places, would not be wise. His fingers trace a feather-light pattern where it rests on your back as he hums out an, “If you say so.”
Despite the panic that claws at your gut and tells you that the President won’t be happy if word of your PDA gets back to him, you nestle into your boyfriend’s touch. It makes it easier to think clearly for some reason.
Johanna is oblivious to your internal turmoil and Finnick’s watchful gaze, and it shows when she announces, “So, what do you think the arena will be like this year?” Her tongue sticks out in concentration as she tries to fix her snare. “I hope it’s not mountains. I had enough of them in my games.”
“Me too,” You mutter, brows drawn together as you try to blink away the sudden onslaught of memories from your own games. Your tremors are starting to get harsher and you clench your jaw, trying not to flip the damn table.
Setting your snare up usually comes second nature to you, but with the way your hands are right now, it feels like learning for the very first time.
It doesn’t help that you can feel Finnick’s worried gaze burning a hole through you, either. He means well and usually you’d appreciate it, but you’re getting antsy and frustrated, and that’s never a good combo in itself.
“I fucking hated the mountains,” Johanna complains. She’s so busy glaring at her snare that she misses the subtle flex of your fingers around your own trap. “I remember thinking my fingers were going to snap off when it snowed because of how cold it was. Not something I want to relive anytime soon. Nah, I’d much prefer something humid. Not too hot, though. It would remind me too much of hell and I have enough of that to look forward to when we get picked off in there.”
You slam your snare down on the table far too quickly for it to be natural.
Her gaze snaps up, lips pursed as she finally glances at your trembling limbs. “You good?” She asks, an unmistakable thread of unease in her tone.
“I’m fine,” You grit out, sucking in a steadying breath as you move to pick the snare back up.
“Maybe we can leave it for a while,” She suggests. “Take a break and come back.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’m fine,” You snap.
“Alright,” Finnick catches your wrist from where he’s stood behind you and gently pries the snare out of it. “Alright,” He repeats, voice soft as he locks eyes with you. “It’s okay. Let’s go outside for a second.”
Your voice breaks when you answer him and you hate it. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are,” He says reassuringly. “And I know you can do it. But maybe we can take a breather. Johanna won’t go anywhere. She’ll still be here when we come back. Right, Jo?” He doesn’t look over his shoulder as he talks to her. He’s too busy rubbing soothing patterns into your wrist.
“Obviously. It’s not like I have a queue of people lining up to talk to me, is it?” She deadpans, already fiddling with her snare once more. She didn’t take your loss of patience personally. She never would.
“See?” Finnick soothes, already looping his arm around your waist and guiding you out the closest exit. “Just for a minute, honey. Some fresh air might do us good, huh?” He says as he leads you out another set of doors and into a private garden reserved for the tributes. “It was getting kind of stuffy in there.”
Your hands are still shaking as he helps you sit on the floor with your back to the wall. The cobbles dig into you, but it’s more to ground you than anything else. He settles beside you, giving you a minute to get a grip on your surroundings. He knows that the last thing you need is him tossing questions at you.
Your breathing finally evens out as your head lolls to the side to rest on his shoulder. “Sorry.” You sigh.
His hands come up to cup around your own as he steadies them, thumb rubbing soft circles against your knuckles. “No need to be sorry. It happens.”
“It shouldn’t,” You argue, but you let him kiss the crown of your head without pulling away. “It shouldn’t happen, Finn. It’s stupid.”
“Not stupid,” He whispers into your hair, punctuating his point with another kiss. “It’s just your bodies way of telling you that it thinks it’s unsafe. That’s not stupid. That’s how you survive, honey.”
“It’s dangerous,” You point out. “It makes me useless.”
He clicks his tongue, clearly disapproving. “Wrong.” He says simply and it almost makes you smile how much he sounds like a game-show presenter there. Almost. “You’re not useless.”
“What happens if I’m in the arena and my hands start to go? I won’t be able to fight or set snares or anything. I am useless, then, Finn. Worse, I’m dead weight.”
He resists the urge to roll his eyes at your dramatics. “For someone so smart, you sure are silly sometimes.” He mutters. “Not only are you once again wrong, you’re also missing a key point there, honey.”
“Which is?”
“You’ll have me. And, if I do recall correctly, I’m apparently unmatched in my trident skills.”
“Finn. I’m serious.” You try to sound it, but your lips are twitching.
“So am I.” He smiles, bumping his forehead against yours and coaxing you to look up at him. “You’re not useless when your hands are steady and you’re not useless when they shake. You have brains and you’re a quick thinker. You can see threats a mile off. You’re a hell of a lot of things, but useless isn’t one of them. You hear me?”
Your hands are slowly but surely steadying in his grip as you finally nod. “Alright.”
He leans down to kiss you. His lips taste like the remainder of saltwater and eucalyptus body scrub. “Quit worrying. I’ve got you, okay? And you know I’ve been dying to try out my new trident skills.”
“Not funny,” You narrow your eyes but you’re still smiling. The knot in your chest is easing.
