#dilf!finnick

[loveliestlovelygirl]

cashmere, cologne, & white sunshine | 𝟙

money is the anthem, god, you're so handsome

dilf!finnick x nanny!reader

synopsis: you arrive at the odair estate for your final interview with finnick's mother mrs. odair. when she offers you the job on the spot, you're so surprised. quickly, you learn that the children might be a challenge for you, but finnick's support and kindness is enough to cheer you on. it seems he even wants to get close to you...

w.c: 2.7k

highlights: {minors dni} extreme wealth, nepotism, children & childcare, flirting, a hint of suggestive content near the end, slow burn romance, power imbalance

table of contents | 𝟚 {coming soon}

You had never considered yourself to be the kind of person who falls for their employer. Not even coworkers. Out of the myriad jobs you picked up here and there to finance college and now grad school, never once did you develop romantic feelings in a professional setting.

But the Odair Estate... is an experience, one dreamed up by a romance novelist with its white rose greenhouse, angel water fountains, and vintage cars. And inside, gold and marble, crystal chandeliers, and winding staircases. And yet the majesty of the home could never blot out the brilliance that surrounds the man who resides here. In your gaze, a halo of light outlines his silhouette. You can’t be the only one who sees it. 

He draws you into this fantasy world. A world of sweet pleasure and romance.

Finnick Odair draws you to his arms, to his lips, to his love—all so effortlessly.

“Smith! Come here! You’re going to get jelly all over the furniture!” A handsome man half-dressed, only in a pair of khaki slacks, sprints down the stairs to chase after a small blonde boy with a smear of grape jelly across his cheeks and hands.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance, even during your interview, when you heard the low, melody of his voice. You see the urgency upon his sharpened features as he dashes after the boy, Smith, you assume, who looks to be four years old. Smith leads the chase into the parlor where you are being interviewed.

The greying woman, Mrs. Odair, across from you almost lunges from her loveseat to capture the tiny boy between her two delicate arms. She picks up the child in her arms and seats him on her lap. On the side table is a box of tissues, and she recruits several to wipe the sticky jelly off his face.

“Smith,” she scolds lovingly, “Nana is talking. You are being quite rude. Did you even say hello?”

Smith crosses his arms and pouts his lips, blowing air through them. He looks at you with these big, bright-green eyes surrounded by thick, doll-like lashes, finally acknowledging your presence.

“Hi,” Smith sighs.

“Hello,” you say back.

His nana grounds him, though holding onto his shirt as he tries to scamper away. “Be good!”

A manly laugh to your left startles you. “Smith isn’t interested, Mom.”

 You gaze over your shoulder to watch the man crouch down to his son’s level. “Come now, Smith. You have to get ready for school. I’m already late for work!”

Nana snorts. “Finnie, Daddy understands!”

He gives her, who you assume is his mother, a firm glare. Then he looks to you and smiles. You like his crooked teeth. He offers his hand, and you shake. “I’m Finnick. Thank you for coming to interview with us.” His hand is a little calloused but very warm and very strong.

“Thank you for having me,” you say back, on autopilot because ever since he stepped in, the rest of the world, including your own thoughts, have faded into the background.

He smiles again. “Of course. I typically would be a part of the process, but I’ve got to take Smith and Ruby to school now.” He waves. “Nice to meet you.”

He turns to his mother and mouths something to her with the same smile on his face. You wonder if it’s about you. And you wonder if it’s something nice. You haven’t exactly done anything to offend them... yet.

“Nice to meet you too,” you say a little too late because he’s already walking away with his back turned. You doubt he hears you.

Once Finnick and Smith are upstairs, Mrs. Odair looks back down at her clipboard and continues the interview. Your background is flawless of course. The agency cleared you. You’ve yet to have a single encounter with the law, though you speed often when you’re late to work. To Mrs. Odair, you explain why you are interested in the job, how you need to save up for graduate school for next year’s applications. She seems impressed with your academic successes and your determination to pursue higher education.

While the interview went well, you didn’t expect a job offer on the spot. As you got up to leave, you step over to shake her hand, and she says, “You are taking the job, right?”

The next day you drive back to the estate to begin. Mrs. Odair promised to show you the ropes of taking care of her two precious grandchildren Smith and Ruby the first week of your employment. And you were glad she did that first day. Smith, who you learn is five years old, is more than a handful. Ruby is eight and loves only her daddy.

You park your dated Prius—the paint has finally begun to flake off—on the stone road between the three-tiered fountain and the concrete pathway to the manor. At the door, you rang the bell once, and the butler answered.

He says, “Good day, Miss,” and he shows you to Mrs. Odair’s room.

She’s sipping tea and reading the paper. When she notices your arrival, she stands to greet you. The butler disappears without a sound. It’s impressive.

“So glad you are here. And so punctual!”

“Of course,” you say. Never would you show up late on the first day. “I studied the children’s schedules you sent over last night.”

She claps her hands twice. “Marvelous, dear! When do the children need to leave the house for school?”

Put on the spot, you shift a little. Geez, she’s testing me already.

“Seven-forty-five at the latest. But preferably seven-thirty.”

She smiles. “Good job! We should probably wake the children now. I’ll go up with you today. Wouldn’t want to scare them.”

“You did tell them that I would be here today, right?”

Caught up in her own musings, Mrs. Odair must miss your question because she starts to ramble on about the greenhouse as you leave her guest room. She tells you she’s only staying here for a while because the old nanny quit. There’s bitterness in her tone as she mentions the former employee, and you wonder what exactly happened.

On your way to the stairs, you catch a glimpse of Finnick alone at the dining table for breakfast. He’s also reading the paper like his mother did. His brow is furrowed as he reads. It’s a mystery what he finds so interesting on that paper. He’s so oddly invested.

The stairs creak on your first step, and he looks up from the paper. His smile is immediate and dazzling. “Mother!” he calls. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”

Mrs. Odair rushes into the dining room. “Darling, I didn’t want to interrupt your morning routine.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Ah yes.” He waits for a moment and says, “I haven’t had a routine since the moment Ruby was born, Mother.”

She shrugs. “Maybe with this beauty’s help, you’ll have one.” Mrs. Odair pats your shoulder. “Come along. The children are slow to rise.”

As she drags you along, you can’t help but look at Finnick. He’s ungodly pretty. It almost hurts to look at him. And you find it strange that he’s looking back at you with a vivid curiosity. You chide yourself for ogling him like that. One, he’s sky-high out of your league. Two, he’s employed you. Three, he might not be single. Usually, the second reason to not crush on him would be enough. But your previous bosses have never looked like Finnick.

As you ascend the stairs, the walls are covered in family photographs. They’re clearly arranged by the time they were taken. When you arrive at the second floor, the photos are black and white. Mrs. Odair moves fast for someone her age, and you’re panting as you try to keep up with her. Your vision is slightly blurry when you reach the top.

“Smith’s room is...” she pauses, staring at you, clearly expecting you to recall from the floor plan of the house she also sent you along with their schedules.

You close your eyes for a moment. “First door on the left?”

She claps for you. “Such a smart girl!”

You smile, unsure how to respond to such a compliment.

Entering Smith’s room, the thick curtains are closed, and it’s because of the seashell nightlight that you can see at all. The boy is lying on his stomach on top of all the bed sheets but his head at the wrong end.

“Smith,” his nana calls.

Easily, Smith wakes. He rubs his eyes and sits up. He stares at you for a long time.

“Who’s she?” he asks, pointing right at your face with his tiny index finger.

“This is your new nanny. Isn’t she lovely?” Mrs. Odair gushes about you. Her support is endearing. But you’d be lying if you didn’t find it disconcerting.

Smith crosses his arms. “No!”

“Isn’t she pretty!” Mrs. Odair exclaims to Smith.

“I miss Herbie. Bring him back!” Smith shrieks. “I don’t like her.”

Wrinkled hands on her hips, Mrs. Odair hangs her head in momentary defeat. “Smith, I am so disappointed. You are being very rude.”

The child crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out.

She grasps your forearm. “I’m sorry about Smith. I promise he will come around.” She moves around to his bureau. “I can show you where his uniforms are and the proper way to dress him.”

You watch the elderly woman chase Smith around the room for a minute or two without breaking a sweat. She finally snatches him up in her arms and holds him down on the bed. He restlessly wiggles, trying to get away, but she is strong. Somehow, she manages to dress Smith and she scolds him for behaving dramatically.

“Smith, Daddy will be very, very upset when he hears of your actions.” He remains unfazed, as if discipline is a foreign concept to him. “Now, go down for breakfast.”

When his nana opens the bedroom door, he sprints out like a racehorse. You blink and he is gone.

Mrs. Odair turns to you again and sighs. “He’s a handful. Just like his father.”

“It’s quite alright. He won’t be my first difficult case. I just hope he warms up to me. My last family never did.”

“That’s wonderful for us. We desperately needed a nanny!”

Promptly, she leaves with sudden, passionate intent. And you follow her anxiously.

“What happened to the last one?” you ask.

“Ruby is much easier than Smith,” she halts at a room near the end of the second-floor hallway. 

Just when you think that she didn’t hear your question, she says, “We do not speak of him.”

Stomach dropping, you step back and swallow. “Oh. Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

She scoffs. “He’s not worthy of a mention.” Mrs. Odair quickly breaks into her granddaughter’s room, as if to escape the topic.

Ruby’s room is a true girl’s room. You hardly step past the entrance before you are frozen over in wonder.

Cherry red must be Ruby’s favorite color. Everything is cherry red. The armchair by the column window is topped with cherry red velvet. There are red roses on each nightstand. Her headboard matches the armchair. The curtains match too. Her frilly duvet stands out in ivory lace embroidered with clusters of little cherries.

Ruby’s long red hair fans out over her pillows. She’s a sleeping angel. And you hate to see Mrs. Odair wake her.

Her brown eyes flutter open when her nana taps her on the shoulder. She looks up and her freckled lips smile widely.

“Good morning,” she whispers and stretches. Quickly, she notices you and sits up to talk. “What’s your name?” She has the slightest hint of an English accent.

You reply, hesitantly inching closer to the bed.

Mrs. Odair gets in the way of your conversation, picking up her granddaughter to dress her. She’s eight years old. By this time, you were responsible for dressing yourself for school.

In a few minutes, she dresses Ruby in her private school uniform. Together, you all go downstairs to fetch Smith, and then Mrs. Odair takes them outside to the car where the driver will escort them to school. Once the children leave, Mrs. Odiar pulls you aside to discuss your other duties while the children are away.

Rummaging through the cabinets is not how you planned to spend your afternoon, but you were told to treat the estate just like you would your home. It’s completely new territory to you, much like a castle with so many secrets you’ve yet to uncover. Today, you’re only trying to find the tea. A cup would do you well. Your thoughts have been a little more unorganized than usual. There’s much you must learn about Mrs. Odair’s standards for childcare. She seems to be more involved than the father, which bothers you.

“Left door. Top shelf.”

You glance over your shoulder.

There he is. Smith and Ruby’s father. You scold yourself for already having an opinion about him. You haven’t even known him for a day.

“Excuse me?”

He smiles. “The tea.”

You can’t think to respond in an intelligible way. How’d he know you were looking for the tea?

“Make me a cup while you’re at it.” He looks at you steadily. “If you don’t mind.”

Pulling the correct cabinet open, you see the boxes of tea neatly stacked on top of each other. You select a black tea and pour boiling water over the bags in porcelain mugs. They steep for four minutes.

You pick at your cuticles and glance out the window. Finnick sits at the table on his laptop, typing frantically.

Once the timer goes off, you walk over to the table to hand him his cup of tea. He doesn’t immediately register your action, but when he does, he offers you the biggest smile.

“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” He closes the lid to his laptop and pushes back the chair next to him away from the table with his foot. “Sit. I would like to get to know you.”

Shaking ever so slightly, you situate yourself beside him. He smells of luxury cologne, too expensive for your tastes. In your previous jobs with the agency, the families never were too interested in developing a personal relationship with you.

Finnick rests his chin on an open palm. “You’re really a lifesaver. Work has been a nightmare, and with Herbie gone... I’ve had to also look after Smith and Ruby more.”

For a moment, you narrow your eyes in judgement.

“Before you form opinions about me, let me say, they are my greatest joys. However, working a job that requires eighty plus hours in a week and two kids isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

You set your cup down before you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

Finnick massages his brows. “That’s an understatement. Dad won’t be around forever. I’m to take over the family business. I’m planning to make a lot of changes when that happens. For Smith and Ruby’s sake. They might not want this.” Finnick quickly covers his mouth. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

You shrug. “I think I might understand. You want them to have a choice.”

Finnick nods. “Don’t tell my mother. You’d get me in trouble.”

You laugh together.

“Snitches get stitches.”

Finnick laughs again. “And disciplined.” He hides his expression as he takes a sip of tea.

Though you don’t quite know what he means by that, you laugh at him anyway. “I don’t think Smith likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like many people. He’s like me in that regard.” Finnick looks at you. “But I know that if you stick around his feelings will change.”

“I hope that’s true.”

He leans close to you. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with his fragrance and his golden warmth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

You giggle. “What?”

“Smith likes anyone who will play hide-and-seek with him. That and chocolate chip cookies are the way to his heart.” Finnick pats you on the shoulder. His hands are massive. “Besides, I’m on your side. I’ll put in a good word.” He winks at you, and your heart drops in your chest.

This is... bad. You really shouldn’t be having these feelings for your employer. But his charming nature is hard to resist. He must have lots of girlfriends.

“Thanks,” you whisper, too caught up in your own worries to recognize that he’s flirting with you.

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#best viewed in dark mode :) #divider by xiaoswrld #loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #dilf!finnick #finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick smut #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #the hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #cashmere cologne & white sunshine

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #finnick imagine #thg finnick #sam claflin #catching fire #the hunger games #mockingjay #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick x oc #thg fanfiction

[finnicks-elbow]

#the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #thg #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark #finnick odair #finnick #president snow #coriolanus snow #caesar flickerman #effie trinket #ao3 tags #ao3 #these are really addicting to make #snow is a dilf accept it #mic #iz

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It's Not My Fault My Elegy for a Hockey Team Turned Into an Everlark Porno

Sometimes your hockey team loses and it puts you in such a Mood that you start writing and then suddenly you've got the strangest little slice of Everlark smut that has ever been crafted by your own two brain cells.

This is kind of niche, and full disclaimer it has been done with zero research and almost zero thinking and is in more than one way just my own therapy because god fucking dammit Toronto can you please just win one playoff series FOR ONCE PLEASE

but also I love my boys and wish them all the cheering up in the world

So yes, proceed with all this in mind. And uh, enjoy?

~~~ 

Just like that, another season was over. 

Peeta sat in the dressing room, helmet on his knee, eyes fixed on the edge of the blue carpet beneath his skates. He’d been here before—too many times—and knew that facing the summer on the heels of playoff elimination was always tough. But something about tonight’s pain felt different, somehow fresh, raw, and sharp. It didn’t make sense—the Miners had lost in every way imaginable in the past: they’d deflated before teams half as good as they were, they’d lost key players to injury, they’d collapsed under the pressure and made too many bad plays, they’d let bad reffing get to them… they’d done it all. 

But tonight hadn’t been like that. They’d played really well, made a number of excellent plays, and finally managed to keep their penalties to a minimum. In the seventh game of a close series, they’d held the Peacekeeper’s lead to one goal, keeping the threat of a comeback ever-present, looming over their opponents’ heads, dangling before their own eyes. They’d lost for every reason imaginable, but tonight they’d lost for what seemed like no reason, and it was the worst feeling yet. 

Last year, after losing in the first round, Peeta had made the mistake of checking Twitter, where he was greeted by half a dozen would-be sports journalists asserting that in life there were three certainties: death, taxes, and the Miners losing in the first round of the playoffs. He didn’t need to check tonight to see that’s what people were saying again. He couldn’t blame them. It was how he felt now too—devoid of answers, with nowhere helpful to lay the blame except at the feet of some curse that made their failure a cosmic inevitability. They’d only made it to the finals twice since Haymitch Abernathy had been the fresh-faced rookie who unexpectedly led the team to the cup, and that was over thirty years ago. 

Now Abernathy was their bitter and barely-sober head coach, somewhere north of fifty, a former player who’d fallen victim to injury and vice and had never reached his full potential. He was a brilliant coach in spite of all that, or perhaps because of it, and as he stormed into the dressing room, yanking off his tie and rubbing a hand over his jaw, scanning the room with his sharp grey gaze, Peeta was glad that he was also a coach on intimate terms with disappointment. Abernathy met each of their eyes with that unflinching stare, harsh, but clearly also stung by this latest defeat. He felt it too. He’d wanted this as badly as any of them.  

Abernathy just stood there in the corner of the room for a long moment. He had used up all of his pretty mediocre oratory skills during the intermissions, trying to encourage and even threaten them into being the team he knew they could be, the team they had been just a few weeks ago in the regular season, the team who won. 

He had nothing more to say now, but he was the coach, and he had to say something. Peeta knew it wouldn’t be the usual taunts he threw at them during humiliating losses in the regular season; there would be no “well boys, looks like it’s all over now but the crying,” and no barbs about booking tee times for next Saturday, since they were clearly no longer serious about hockey. Grumpy old codger that he was, even he wouldn’t make those jokes tonight.

After all, it was over, and they were crying. 

He started with something about a good effort, and while Peeta did his best to look like he was paying attention, he didn’t catch more than a word or two. He kept his eyes down, focusing on unlacing his skates without ripping them to shreds in frustration and heartbreak.

So close. He yanked on the waxy strings. His eyes felt hot. So fucking close. 

He’d been over the moon ten years ago when it had been the Miners who drafted him. One of many hockey players born and raised in District Twelve, the Miners were the team he’d been cheering for since birth, the team he’d begged to watch even when it was well past his bedtime, the team whose blue-and-white logo was stamped on the flannel pyjamas he couldn’t sleep without. He’d been a Miner at heart long before the draft, donning the vintage Gray Baird jersey his grandparents gifted him for Christmas and imagining he was one of the greats every time he and his brothers stepped onto the ice. Their family often joked about just setting their address to the ODR in the winter, since Peeta and his brothers practically lived there anyway. They used to wake up before school to get ice time in, layering up until they were stuffed like pillows on ice in the sub-zero weather, hollering about which legendary player they were that day. Getting to be a Miner for real seemed like everything Peeta had wanted since he first became capable of wanting anything. 

His desires had grown up as he had, and by the time he joined the lineup he felt that he’d become more reasonable in his hockey ambitions. Still, like most young players joining a struggling team he’d dreamt of being one of the instruments who turned their game around, who started the momentum that wouldn’t let up until the Miners won and he was holding the Stanley Cup in his own hands. He dreamed of being so good the team would have no choice but to get better too. 

And get better it had; the room he sat in now housed the best roster in the last thirty years of Miners hockey, and certainly a far better team than the one Peeta had joined as a rookie. Several trades and new acquisitions had transformed them from a team better known for its passionately loyal fanbase into one of the best in the league. 

It hadn’t been enough. The bad luck that had hounded the team for decades had not gone anywhere, not with trades, not with new coaches and GMs, not even when they’d drafted what might be the best player in franchise history four years ago in Gale Hawthorne. 

Peeta looked up. Rosie, as the boys called him, was sitting in his usual spot several seats to Peeta’s left, silently undressing as Abernathy wrapped up his speech. Like Peeta, he knew that the media room was waiting to hear from him especially, wanting their star to explain exactly why the team had lost yet another elimination game. Rosie had played well all series, though he hadn’t quite managed to put up his usual numbers. He and his line led the Miners in points, with Rosie and Thom having just beaten a franchise record for points between a pair of teammates, and Rosie himself finishing the season with more goals than any other player in the league. They were the stuff playoff dreams were made of, but Peeta knew that the pair hadn’t been as dominant this series as the fans would have hoped. 

Looking at the pair of them, red-eyed and dejectedly picking at their equipment, they knew it too. 

Neither of them had scored tonight, though they’d both gotten assists on Peeta’s goal—the only one of the night. Peeta was going to have to face the music in the media room too, though he knew he would have an easier time of it than Rosie and Thom; it had been a good goal, and as a defenseman no one was even counting on him to score it, not like they were with the forwards.

He realised he was still staring at Rosie when the centreman raised his head and met his gaze. Peeta couldn’t find it in himself to smile, as he would have done after a win, or even a less crushing loss, but gave a small nod, which Rosie returned. They knew what was waiting for them, and they would face it together. Win or lose, they were a team. 

He was glad to have teammates like Rosie and Thom. He was glad for all of them, honestly; they were a great group of lads and there was no one better to be miserable with than them. 

But as if to add insult to injury, as his eyes traversed the rest of the dressing room, Peeta found himself bitterly wondering which of his boys wouldn’t be back next year. This was the end of the line for some of them, it was just a matter of who, and when. 

Morph was a likely candidate, if Peeta was honest. Morph was a fellow defenseman who’d had a pretty shit season, and whose interference penalty had resulted in a no-goal call on a goal which would have tied the score back in the first. Peeta liked the guy, but mistakes like that were hard to shake, and while he and the other players knew that there was a fine line between stating a fact and placing blame, management tended to see things a bit differently. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a new face sitting in Morpho’s spot next season. 

Then there was Foxy, who was practically good as gone, though for very different reasons than Morph. Foxy had had such a good season he’d effectively played himself right off the team, thanks to a salary cap that meant the Miners could no longer afford him. Young and hungry, he’d be a valuable addition to any team looking to plan for the future and lock in some fresh talent. But players like Foxy brought character to the team, and gave it some much-needed depth. Peeta would be sad to see him go. 

Foxy looked maybe a little less sad than the rest of them now, already mostly undressed, green eyes skittering about the room as he stripped for the shower. Maybe he was already thinking about another chance with a new team, maybe he was trying to detach early to avoid feeling the same pain as the rest of them. One thing was certain: he’d do well wherever he found himself come autumn. 

Then there was Finnick, the veteran player they often called Vintage. Another lifelong Miners fan, Fin had been drafted second overall to their rivals, the District Eleven Maize, when Peeta was only seven years old. Peeta could still remember watching the TV in utter devastation as one of his local heroes was sent to “the enemy,” and had been overjoyed nearly twenty years later when Fin had signed on with the Miners. Vintage was a living legend, playing for the team he loved at a huge discount because he was close to retiring and could afford to play for fun if he wanted to. Maybe a chance at the cup had been a bonus, but with another of those chances come and gone, retiring had to be looking pretty good right now. They often joked that the old man still had it, exaggerating their surprise any time he made an especially good play, but the truth was Finnick was still better than many players ten years his junior. He’d earned his position on special teams and on key faceoffs, and with thighs like tree trunks he was frighteningly fast for a thirty-eight-year-old. But Fin also had a wife and four kids who were growing up at breakneck speed. He’d had a great career, had made his mark on the game and was destined for the Hall of Fame; maybe this latest disappointment would convince him that it was time to move on from the league and start the next chapter.

The thought of playing without Finnick only worsened Peeta’s already foul mood. He was a pillar of the team, with experience and wisdom that they all looked to, leaned on, and at times even craved. He’d forgotten more about hockey than most of them ever knew, and while he was fun to tease—whether it be for how often he switched sticks in a game or for how worked up he got when it was three minutes until they hit the ice and JoMas was still practically naked, shooting the shit with Thom and Briz—they knew how lucky they were to have him. The Miners may have had their reliable stars sticking around—Rosie, Thom, JoMas, and fearless leader Mattie Undersee to name a few—and much of the rest of the rest of their roster would be back in the fall as well, but the team would feel off-balance and adrift without Vintage, and Peeta dreaded the possibility. 

Having nearly completed his scan of the room, Peeta turned to his right, locked eyes with Carty, and deflated. It was hard to be in a bad mood any time the goalie was around, and especially when he looked as much like a kicked puppy as he did now. It had taken JoMas all of a week to dub new goalie Dale Cartwright “Mr Right,” an appropriate nickname for the nicest, most selfless, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy anyone could hope to meet. It was a nickname quickly picked up by their fans, who chanted it—no, screamed it at the top of their lungs—every time he made a save. 

Carty had played well tonight, only allowing two goals and earning every roar from the supportive home crowd, but Peeta knew he was his own worst critic. Carty would be beating himself up for the loss, even if objectively there was little he could have done differently. Worse, he’d be thinking back to previous games, to every goal allowed, to getting pulled back in game four, asking himself “what if” until he dug himself a hole it would be hard to climb back out of. 

They couldn’t lose Carty. As far as Peeta knew he wasn’t a trade risk, but they’d sure been having goalie trouble this year, and who knew what the solution to all that would look like? 

But they just couldn’t. Losing Carty would be taking the heart of the team and ripping it right out, it would mean losing the sweetest guy not just on their team but on any team. Not to mention it would start a fucking riot with the fans, who were head over heels for the guy. 

Some players—goalies especially—got nothing but chirps when they went through rough patches, with assholes trolling the comments of their instagram telling them to just quit already and stop bringing the team down. But not Carty. Carty got comments from old ladies saying they were praying he’d feel better soon, and tags from hockey bros saying they knew he’d find his stride again and just to hang in there. Peeta had even heard one announcer say that if anyone didn’t like Dale Cartwright, they were the one with the problem. He’d never seen anything like it, but he couldn’t agree more. Everyone liked Carty. And in a sport where things could get heated, where tempers often boiled over and where anger not infrequently cooled down through your fists, someone so good and level-headed was rare and precious. Especially now, the team needed Carty.  

Peeta finished undressing and stood, his legs aching, heading for the showers. He stopped by Carty’s spot on his way, finally finding the little smile he couldn’t earlier. Carty seemed to perk up a little to see it, offering one of his own in return.

“That was a tidy little goal, Peets,” he said. His voice was warm, though his eyes were glistening. “Perfect spot.”

Peeta smiled a bit more. “Thanks Carty. You’d have had it though.”

Carty ducked his head, like he always did when offered praise, no matter how well-deserved. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m glad it wasn’t me you were up against.”

Peeta almost mentioned that Carty had let in fewer goals in the series than Marvel Quaid, the Peacekeeper’s goalie who had some of the best stats in the league. He didn’t. It felt like a trite consolation, since Carty knew as well as he did that the only stat that mattered in the playoffs was the final score, and they were the ones who were going to be golfing next week. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t you too.”

 One by one the boys headed for the showers, the room quickly filling with steam and the sound of a sniffle or two over the rush of water. No clothes were hidden, no ice water was dumped on anyone’s back, no pranks of any kind were played as they dragged their feet through the post-game routine. It was clear that they were all just going through the motions, just trying to get to the next step, and then the next, and then finally they could go home. 

But first, interviews. As they shuffled out of the dressing room, towards the media hell that awaited them, Peeta took one last look at his boys, examining every face in case this would be the last post-game with them. Rosie, Thom, Mattie, Beets, JoMas, Cheese, Morpho, Cinner, Blight, Briz, Carty. He felt Finnick step up beside him, squeezing his shoulder and smiling at him in a way that forced Peeta to stare up at the ceiling to keep his eyes dry. 

“Fuckin’ thought we finally had it,” JoMas said from Peeta’s other side, shaking his head. “I could fucking taste it, Peets. Like everything was finally coming together.” 

Peeta nodded, wishing he’d worn a hat like Rosie and Thom—it might be nice to be able to cover half his face right about now. “Me too, man.” He sighed, opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it. What was he supposed to do, encourage Joey and Fin? Grin and tell them “there’s always next season” like they could just come back and try again any time they want? Remind them how close they’d come, how hard they’d tried, how high their hopes rose? Should he say that they should be proud of themselves for a good season even if it had a bullshit ending? 

All that hope, and here they were, about to dump bullshit on it before the press and then try to explain why it died. Putting on their Professional Athlete hats and carrying on like they were all fighting the good fight, playing the game as it was meant to be played, acknowledging that the game as it was meant to be played involved losing sometimes. But don’t worry, they didn’t like losing, and they would try even harder next year; they would lose less. They would remember that every loss was one step closer to the next victory, and that winning was what they did. 

Bullshit. Pretending they weren’t just grown-up boys playing a young boy’s game, feeling the heartbreak and anguish of defeat as acutely as they had at ten-years-old. Bullshit. All that hope, all that sweat, every expectation, every injury, the speckling of puck-shaped bruises on the soft insides of their legs and the bony edges of their ankles, their pulled groins and tweaked knees, the hits that knocked the breath out of their bodies and rattled their brains like jello in a goddamn bucket. Every foot of kin tape, every ice bath, every smack on the ass from Briz, every arena-rattling chant of “Mr Right,” their own voices screaming from the bench, Thom’s broken-toothed, mouthguard-dangling grin after he took a high stick to the mouth, every penalty kill, power play, every goal, every celly. Finnick’s dad laugh going on long after the joke, making them all crack up anew in the dressing room. Abernathy’s rare smiles behind the bench when the smell of victory was in the air. Morpho piping up that the smell wasn’t victory but just Blight’s nervous gas. The breakaways, the turnovers, the show-stopping saves and heartbreaking chances. Their three postseason wins, giving them more hope, painting a picture of round two, of the conference finals, of playing for the cup. Of winning it all, like they knew they could, because they were a good team and this is what they’d been working toward for years.

All of it. Bullshit. Not enough. 

Peeta sighed again. He took another step toward the door. I thought we had it. “Me too,” he repeated. What else was there to say? 

~~~

The post-game interviews could have been worse, all things considered. Peeta didn’t usually hate them, and even when they were a bit of a hassle he always tried to give reporters his best because he knew he was a sought-after subject. Plus… well, that’s just who he was. He didn’t like to brush reporters off, didn’t like coming off as the stereotypical inarticulate hockey goon whose brain was just a plate of scrambled eggs and fibreglass splinters, who spoke in sentences that spiralled into meaninglessness and regurgitation because that’s all he was capable of. 

But tonight that’s all he was capable of, and he didn’t even have the energy to be disappointed in himself. He gave his perfunctory answers, avoided snapping or making excuses, and tried not to look at his watch more than once a minute. It was like getting teeth pulled, but at least now he could go home. 

He may have driven a bit quickly on the way back, but he was exhausted. He was sore in every part of his body, and he was sore in someplace inside him, somewhere deep and soft and fragile. He needed to sleep for fourteen hours straight. He needed a cold beer, or a plate of salty french fries, or a hot bath. Or all of the above, at the same time. 

For far from the first time he was glad to live in a little spot off the heart of District Twelve, on a street where the neighbours were quiet and in a house where there was no lobby full of people lingering to watch him crawl back home with his tail tucked between his legs. Maybe they’d want to cheer him up, maybe they’d want to commiserate, maybe they wanted to tell him he should have scored two goals instead of one. Peeta wanted none of it.

He was surprised when he pulled up to see Katniss’s car parked on the street—he’d thought she was out of town until tomorrow morning. The heaviness in his chest lifted a little at the thought of her, probably already in bed, asleep or maybe reading, her hair pulled back in one long braid as it always was when she was home. Her outfit for tomorrow morning’s workout would be in a neat pile on the counter in the bathroom, where she’d get dressed quietly to avoid waking him before heading out for her morning run. The ingredients for Sunday brunch would be in the fridge, on the bottom shelf: eggs and turkey bacon and maybe even waffle batter. The barest trace of a smile had formed on his lips as he unlocked the front door, stepping quietly inside. He really did enjoy their quiet little routines, and the particular shade of domesticity that came from life as a pair of professional athletes. 

Peeta’s surprise doubled at the signs of life that met him in the entryway. She was very much awake, it seemed, loudly listening to that band from her university town that she liked so much, and… baking, by the smell of it. “Katniss?” he called, toeing off his shoes. Was that cake? 

“In the kitchen!” she called back. 

He guessed as much, and followed his nose, picking out vanilla, a hint of orange, and maybe some lemon in the mix? He’d been in the mood for something greasy and salty, but he wasn’t picky, and he could just as easily eat cake in the bath—

He almost slipped on the kitchen floor as he crossed the threshold, and only partly because she’d managed to get flour on the tile all the way across the room. His girlfriend—his beautiful, talented, beyond sexy girlfriend—was in the process of icing a plate of cupcakes, wearing a coy smile, an apron, and nothing else. 

The piping bag hit the counter, and she was across the floor before he’d picked his jaw up off of it. Then she was in his arms, her mouth pressed to his, hungry, sweet—definitely lemon—warm, gentle… the best balm for a bad night. Forget the french fries and the bath and the beer; she was exactly what he needed right now. 

His hands ran over the smooth skin of her back, travelling down to cup her ass, prompting her to hop up and wrap her legs around his waist. Decades of figure skating made it as easy for her to hang off of his body as it would be for most people to stand on their own two feet, and fuck he tried his best to appreciate that particular talent of hers as often as he could but he would never be used to it.

She pulled away, one hand massaging the damp curls on the back of his head, the other brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. She watched him for a long moment, grey eyes silently probing his blue ones. Looking back at her, it dawned on him that she understood. Maybe she could feel it all through his body, maybe the years they had been together had forged between them a connection that transcended the physical, or maybe it was just that she too knew what it was to lose when you knew you had it in you to win. There was a silver medal from 2014 hanging up in a glass case downstairs that proved it: she knew. She understood. 

And like him, Katniss knew when there was something to say, and when there wasn’t. She brought her mouth to his once more, her free hand moving from his shoulders to her apron strings, deftly untying them all while kissing him silly in this disaster zone of a kitchen. 

He walked over to the counter, clearing a space an appropriate distance from the food to set her down, watching as she pulled the apron over her head, tossing it onto a bar stool. He just wanted to get a look at her, wanted to thoughtfully decide where to begin, but then she was landing soft-footed on the tile and looking up at him through her eyelashes and grabbing him by the belt and suddenly he was incapable of making any decisions whatsoever. 

“Peeta,” she said, her voice a low purr. “You know I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted to do to you when you got home.”

She’d never been able to fake sexy, even on the ice—she had to really feel it in order to play that part convincingly. Knowing this just made it so much hotter to see her like this now, knowing this seductive confidence was one hundred percent genuine. 

“What did you think about?” he asked, fighting to keep his hands still at his sides, his whole body alight with the thrill of letting her have her way with him. “What did you decide?”

Katniss smiled, crouching down to unbuckle his belt. “All of it.” The button followed, then the zipper. “And I’m not stopping until we get a noise complaint.” Her hands stilled for a moment, and when she looked up at him, she looked just like her everyday self again, the mesmerising temptress vanished. Temporarily, he hoped. “Except I know you’re tired, and my alarm is still set for six-thirty, so that noise complaint may have to come soon.”

Peeta laughed, wanting to kiss that shy smile off her face as she bent back to her task, tugging at his waistband. “I think we can manage th—ahh!”

She was fucking quick, that minx. All business once more, her eyes narrowed to something feline as she traced her tongue experimentally along the underside of his dick. 

Fuck, he was tired, but it was a tiredness growing so distant it seemed irrelevant. What was tiredness up against Katniss Everdeen, gloriously naked in their kitchen with his cock in her mouth? 

She had him hard in seconds flat, one hand grabbing his ass, the other working his shaft in a way that had his head rolling back on his shoulders and his own hands reaching out blindly for support, fumbling for the counter, turning awkwardly so he could lean against it and let her work. “Fuck,” he gasped. His entire existence seemed to be rapidly narrowing to a single point, to the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the bite of her short fingernails against the back of his thigh. 

“Katniss,” he moaned, feeling like he was at risk of breaking the granite countertop he was gripping it so hard, struggling to stay in place as his hips twitched, trying to push him forward, seeking more. 

At this rate the noise complaint wouldn’t be the only thing coming soon. 

“Fuck, Katniss,” he released his death grip on the counter, resting one hand on the top of her head. He wouldn’t pull her hair—he didn’t want to hurt her, and at this rate his muscle reactions were not wholly voluntary. If she did that swirl thing with her tongue again he might just—

His moan was half a shout, pulled from the pit of his belly with a force that left him breathless. It was like she could read his fucking mind, and she was not taking it easy on him. “Katniss—”

There was something gooey underneath his hand. Peeta opened his eyes, not realising he’d closed them, and looked down. The remains of a cupcake, which was now a mess of icing and crumbs, covered his hand, squishing up between his fingers. He must have leaned back and put his hand on the counter again, only apparently he’d landed on the cupcake she’d been icing when he came in. 

Katniss straightened, laughing. “Honestly Peets, if you don’t like my baking, you could just say so, you don’t have to squash it.”

He was a little too dumbstruck at hearing his nickname on her lips to respond verbally, and just grinned back like an idiot. Katniss always called him Peeta—it was the boys who’d taken to calling him Peets. Something about the combination of the playful moniker and the sound of her voice was turning him on in a way he really didn’t have time to examine just then; he was rather enraptured by her as she lifted his wrist, took his fingers in her mouth, and sucked the icing right off. 

It was just his fingers—it had been his actual dick two seconds ago—but still it felt so fucking hot, so fucking good it almost sent him over the edge. He really shouldn’t be this close, but goddamn—

That mischievous look was back as Katniss pulled his fingers out with a pop. She kept her eyes locked on his as she reached for the plate of cupcakes, not breaking eye contact as she took one, crouched back down, and smeared the top across his cock, leaving a thick trail of icing in its wake. 

Had he died? Had he taken a hit from one of the Peacekeepers that had knocked him clean into the afterlife? Who was this woman and what could he have possibly done to deserve her?

Katniss closed her eyes, finally breaking the spell that had struck him still as a statue, and took him once more in her mouth. Peeta shuddered, fighting to keep control as she sucked him clean, her tongue almost scraping his skin as she slowly and with painstaking thoroughness licked off every mote of icing. 

It was going to be too much, he could feel that tightness forming, that tug in his belly that he could try to resist but wouldn’t, not when any sort of thought had abandoned him and the edge of ecstasy was right there. Not when she was coaxing him toward it like a siren to a doomed sailor, relentless, almost demanding.  

“Katniss,” he warned, almost whimpering when she didn’t stop. “I’m almost… Katniss I’m there.” 

She didn’t pull back, but doubled down, one hand scratching gently at his stomach as the other dug into his backside, her mouth wrapped around him as he stuttered and came. 

His knees nearly buckled, and he might have been able to blame it on tiredness from the game but right then he couldn’t even have said what sport he played. Katniss’s grip supported him for the split second he needed to find his balance again, the counter unhelpfully slippery under his sweaty palms. 

“Holy shit, Katniss,” he said, catching his breath, wiping his hair out of his eyes. “Holy shit.”

He looked down when he felt a small hand on each side of his face, meeting the tender eyes of the love of his life and feeling like he was going to lose his balance again. She rose on tiptoe to kiss him, and his brain might not have been working and he might still not have breath in his body, but muscle memory brought him down to meet her. It didn’t matter the circumstances, he could never get enough. 

This kiss was hopelessly soft, almost chaste in spite of what had just happened, and Peeta felt himself melting into her arms. Suddenly his head was on her shoulder, his face buried in her neck, his arms encircling her small, warm body, finding comfort in her that he couldn’t put into words. Maybe he was just a little boy who’d lost a game. Maybe he was a man beaten down by failure. But she knew. And gods above, she was just what he needed. 

“Peeta,” she said quietly. “I love you so much.”

He squeezed her tight. “I love you too.” He pulled back reluctantly; his heart felt a bit raw again, but his brain had finally rebooted and it was beginning to come up with an idea. He ducked to grab her behind her knees, hoisting her up, bringing her back to that spot of clean counter they’d abandoned earlier. He set her down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he leaned close. “So. How’d I do?”

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn’t that. She frowned, confused. “How’d you do? What—in the game?”

He frowned back, trying to look equally puzzled. “Was there a game tonight?” She started. “I meant just now.” He grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Do you think I got us our noise complaint?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it. These walls are pretty thick, and you weren’t as loud as I know you can be.” She thought for a moment. “You know, I don’t think I heard you say ‘Katniss’ half as loud as I’ve heard you shout ‘Mr Right’...” 

He laughed, kissing the tip of her nose. “Well you’ve always been the loud one,” he quipped. Katniss scoffed. They both knew that wasn’t true. 

Or at least they knew it wasn’t true in most situations. But there were some, if you knew just what to do… 

He dropped to one knee, shuffling her closer to the edge of the counter. He didn’t break eye contact either as he rested his cheek on the inside of her thigh, winking up at her. “I’m sure we can get that noise complaint yet.” 

#this one's for my boys #particularly to Soupy and Spezz and Aussie and Mo #thank you Soupy for being maybe the best person ever I hope you have had lots of Red Lobster #thank you to Spezz for your thighs and for helping me help Finnick O'Dair realise his full DILF potential #thank you to Aussie for making me realise Gale Hawthorne absolutely DESERVES to have that dirty dirty mustache #and finally #thank you to Mo #(and to Tessa Virtue) #for being a VERY convenient candidate for Peeta Mellark #please understand that allowing you to be Peeta for this one hot minute is the greatest honour of which I am capable of bestowing #besides of course the honour of saying you're maybe the only man besides Scott Moir who I would allow to date Tessa Virtue #Okay I'm done now this has been a strange production but somehow a very on-brand way for me to welcome myself back to Tumblr #The Hunger Games #The Hunger Games fic #a fic... of mine??? #Everlark #Everlark fic #should I tag all the gender bending that went on here? Maybe. But no

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(Miguel O'Hara x Reader, Finnick O'Dair x reader, Joel Miller x Reader)

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Ongoing series

- Rigor Mortis - college roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

Series Masterlist

summary: Relationships end. People die. You move on, and Miguel does too.

warnings: angst, slow burn, smut, friends with benefits, mentions of depression, child death (not explicit), grief. 18+

- Just to kiss me - Finnick Odair x Reader

summary: You meet Finnick at a gala. He's not what you expect.

warnings: angst, strangers to lovers, mentions of depression and suicide, emotional hurt/comfort, canon level violence.

- Meet the Millers, part one, part two, part three - neighbourhood dilf!Joel Miller x reader

summary: Your neighbour, Joel Miller has always caught your eye. After a perfect storm of events, you end up in his house. Or more accurately, in his bed. 

warnings: pwp, fingering, grinding, squirting, dirty talk, eventual fwb, reader and Joel are oblivious asf, a bit of angst . 18+

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nothing I write is beta-read / not always proofread so please excuse grammar, typos, etc!!

#tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fic #star wars #star wars fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #dc comics #dc x reader #I'm bi as shit as well #Joel x Tess x reader #black!reader #jjk x reader #aot x reader #smut #masterlist #no rpf pls! #miguel o'hara x reader

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

#cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #neil lewis x reader #finnick odair x reader #thomas shelby x reader #lenny miller x reader #arthur shelby x reader #mike kiernan x reader #william killick x reader #alfie solomons x oc #robert fischer x reader #edward cullen x reader #tom buckley x reader #luca changretta x reader #fic rec #monthly reads #fic recommendation

[licorice-lips]

Okay, it really bothers me how many people, especially on TikTok, are willing to forget how bad Snow really is just because he's hot. I mean, I'm not one to be above Tom Blyth's "hotness", but guys, really? Have you learned nothing at all from what you just watched?! Are you that unable to understand the film's problematic?

I try not to judge because I know sometimes people just want to be silly and give themselves a break from the heaviness of it all, but ffs, stop romanticizing creepiness and abusive behavior. TBOSAS is NOT a dark romance, Snow is NOT hot, he's a fascist-minded, not-so-borderline misogynistic, completely narcissistic villain from the beginning. He may have loved Lucy Gray or not, but it doesn't really matter as much as how he did it, how he treated her - how he (maybe) killed her (y'all know that, if she died, it was a femicide, right? At the very least, it was an attempt).

And I hate when people say "It's not that deep, he's fictional, I'd never do that irl" because that may be true for you but pay attention to the content you're spreading, the message you're getting across to people more vulnerable than you, in a position of doubt about what's really acceptable or not. Children, teenagers who think they have enough judgment when they don't, women in abusive relationships trying to normalize what they're suffering, young people being brainwashed, or trained, or raised to be prejudiced, violent, and bigoted... they're all exposed to what you're posting and if collective well-being still doesn't sway you...

Noah Schnapp.

That's it. There's your real-world version of Coriolanus Snow age 17. A young man, who supports genocide, who supports a massacre of children because he thinks his people are the rightful owners of the place they are actually colonizing. Still think he's so hot?

He's not.

He's just another fascist.

And what breaks my heart the most is that there are so many characters in THG and even TBOSAS who are so pretty, even "hot" and are still kind and, at the very least, VICTIMS of that society. Case in point, obviously, Peeta, Finnick, and even Haymitch, if you prefer a dilf. But also, Treech and Reaper, both of them victims of the Capital, and kind in the case of Reaper, I'm not sure about Treech, but he's still just a scared boy trying to go back home. And they're both so beautiful (and hot, and both actors are of age, I checked lol) and should be a lot more crushed on instead of Snow. Hell, even Sejanus is hotter than Snow just because he's not a fascist.

That's how low you have to go to find Snow actually hot. And again, I get that Tom Blyth is hot, but learn to trace a limit. It's not cool, nor funny, to throw away every message and cautionary warning this story ever gives you just because the actor playing the villain is hot, it's actually you just proving the whole story's point: we can ignore anything for the show.

#sorry I'm just really upset #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #thg #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #connor jessup #free palestine #suzanne collins #anti facist #political discourse #finnick odair #peeta melark #haymitch abernathy #lucy gray

[perseephoneee]

⭑ FIC RECS ⭑

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ 1k celebration

last updated: 04/15/2024

↳ as a writer, i'm always consuming things about my favs, and i thought it was time to share some of my favorites. every story here has likely been reread by moi a million times. also-- my psyche can be easily viewed by how many stories are under one individuals *cries*

SUPERNATURAL

every headcanon from @via-l0ve

her boys @octoberclidan. (tfw)

dances with team free will @octoberclidan

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ DEAN WINCHESTER

cruel summer (18+) @waynes-multiverse

ladies with experience (18+) @hintsofhoney

dean reads you wrong @zepskies

she's my siren (18+) @fatecantstopme

smoke eater (series) @zepskies

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ SAM WINCHESTER

a taste of summer @impala-dreamer

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ CASTIEL

dreaming (18+) @impala-dreamer

beautiful to me @impala-dreamer

angel alpha (18+) @crashdevlin

i'll watch over you @octoberclidan

if you will have me, i'm yours (18+) @gilverrwrites

neckties @supernaturalfreewill

love, by any other name @zepskies

peculiar @supernaturalfreewill

because of books @supernaturalfreewill

last night on earth (18+) @hollybell51

don't bet on it (18+) @hollybell51

his charge (18+) @impala-dreamer

sharing is caring (III) @zepskies

TEEN WOLF

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ ISAAC LAHEY

sick reader @smellslikemultifandomimagines

aftercare @smellslikemultifandomimagines

hidden with isaac @scoopsahoy

mutual losing (18+) @smellslikemultifandomimagines

facesitting (18+) @smellslikemultifandomimagines

cruel summer @hotdogwillex

come back to me @hotdogwillex

cold feet, warm bodies (18+) @scoopsahoy

i'm gonna kiss you now @sourwulf

drunken confessions @teenwolffan-with-nolife

dream @rogershoe

fratboy!isaac (18+) (all time fav) @mermaidenisaacs

teaches you to kiss (18+) @mermaidenisaacs

prove me wrong (18+) @twjournals

VAMPIRE DIARIES

dating the mikaelsons @wholoveseggs

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

hold (18+) @wholoveseggs

extra-extraordinary (18+) @wholoveseggs

blood bath (18+) @wholoveseggs

warmth (18+) @wholoveseggs

the result of naps @fitzs-trained-monkey

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ KLAUS MIKAELSON

she knew better (18+) @klausysworld

distracted @theeoriginals

you bring me home @theeoriginals

sharp (18+) @theeoriginals

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ KOL MIKAELSON

christmas khaos @wholoveseggs

goodnight kisses @kmikaelsonimagines

frustrations (18+) @madhatterbri

thigh socks (18+) @geminioriginalsimagines

proposal @kmikaelsonimagines

Christmas in dixie @fitzs-trained-monkey

bruised and battered @fitzs-trained-monkey

shots @so-long-soldier-writes

little favors @fitzs-trained-monkey

of ice skates and sugar cookies @fitzs-trained-monkey

ten minute blood stain removal @fitzs-trained-monkey

like a box of chocolates @fitzs-trained-monkey

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ KAI PARKER

for my valentine (18+) @babeydollx

lace (18+) @geminioriginalsimagines

game on (18+) @socio-kai-path1972

kisses @socio-kai-path1972

why? @socio-kai-path1972

affinity romance (18+) @socio-kai-path1972

is it hot in here? (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

party crasher (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

sex tea (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

say it again (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

the red means (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

the price of hatred (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

spoiled (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

birthday girl (18+) @oneirataxiahiraeth

STAR TREK

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ JIM KIRK/BONES

a well documented debacle @mybullshitsensesaretingling

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ PAVEL CHEKOV

sweatpants @youre-on-a-starship

MARVEL

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ LOKI

reformed villain squad @give-me-a-moose

overtime (18+) @cleo-fox

loki's happy ending @gingerwritess

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ BUCKY BARNES

graveyard @wkemeup

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ STEVEN GRANT/MARC SPECTOR

red flags (18+) @astroboots

HUNGER GAMES

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ FINNICK O'DAIR

oral headcanon (18+) @lucilleslore

darling and the virgin (18+) @wife-of-all-dilfs

TED LASSO

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ JAMIE TARTT

chilly cheeks @veryberryjelly

about you @buckychristwrites

saved you a seat @benedictscanvas

operation: tartt's heart @theowritesstuff

DOCTOR WHO

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ TENTH DOCTOR

family christmas @writerlyhabits

gestures and evasion @doctenwho

before you go @doctorslove

falling in love again @doctorslove

CRIMINAL MINDS

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ SPENCER REID

virgin!spence (18+) @fortheloveofwonderland

i'd bottle the feelings you gave me @spencersfunkysocks

all the women he's loved before @fortheloveofwonderland

a helping hand (18+) @sinfulspencer

second date @samuel-de-champagne-problems

preciously pure (18+) @foxy-eva

STRANGER THINGS

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ BILLY HARGROVE

two ships passing in the night @hairringtonsteve

#fic recs #supernatural #spn #marvel #criminal minds #stranger things #tvdu #vampire diaries #teen wolf #star trek #spencer reid #billy hargrove #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #the originals #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #kai parker #elijah mikaelson #isaac lahey #loki #bucky barnes

[mrsnancywheeler]

kinda random but do you have any Finnick fic recommendations? I feel like there’s none so I’ve just read everything and need more lmao😭🫶

I feel like the finnick fandom is in a bit of a dry spell post tbosas fascination wearing off so here are just some of my favorite writers that I go back to read their fics

@wife-of-all-dilfs literally all their writing is so good and their most recent fic had be bawling my eyes out and my panties were on the floor so: love(rs) and war

@libertyybellls there's hasn't been a new fic in a while, but the selection there is so good, the angst is literally perfection so here's a favorite: knew the game & played it

@wonderlandwalker recently posted the final part of a very angsty hour part series that I'm obsessed with: remember

@raeofsunrise has this is me trying which I love love love, hurts so good

there are so many amazing fic writes but here's just a few of my favorites 💋💋💋

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #fic recs #anon

[jess-emurphy]

Stop calling Snow hot!!! Think about Finnick!!! Think about what he took from us!!! He took a very promising DILF from this world and we're never getting him back!!!

#the hunger games #thg #president snow #coriolanus snow #finnick odair #annie cresta #ill admit i was giggling a little when i saw the trailer but i havent forgotten about Finnick ill never forget

[loveliestlovelygirl]

cashmere, cologne, & white sunshine

it was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight

dilf!finnick x nanny!reader

series synopsis: after the death of his beloved wife, finnick has embraced the role of single dad with two kids. he works full time at odair corp., a shipbuilding company that has been owned by his family for seven generations and made them millionaires. having lived in extravagance his whole life, he has few worries. however, finding a nanny to take care of his children while he's at work or sailing has been one of them. but he remains hopeful that you might be what he's been looking for... in ways that even he is unprepared for.

series warnings: {minors dni} classism, extravagant lifestyles, private jets, extreme wealth, nepotism, slow burn romance, power imbalance, sexual content

table of contents:

𝟙 | 𝟚 | 𝟛 | 𝟜 | 𝟝

add yourself to my taglist!! @jaanefitoor @minniluvs @parkersvogue @marvelxhrry @motherphoebe @marcyss @hasalazzo @shaysevxx @miserablebl00d @junoxstevens @heroinhchicblog222 @hoslunix @ellenonesblog @theycantseeus @arxtixmonkeysxxx @lingerologist @mistyyrooms @scoliobean @maxinehufflepuffprincess

#divider by xiaoswrld #loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #dilf!finnick #finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick smut #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #the hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x y/n

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[cherrsnut]

it’s bedtime for me, which means I’ll be reading some of @wife-of-all-dilfs Finnick fics

Night Night everyone 😘

[kining-the-evil]

Building My Kinktober Masterlist And These Are The Days I have Filled Out

If you have an idea for a character for any of the days, send in an ask! Check my masterlist for characters/fandoms I write for

Cockwarming-Sam Carpenter(Scream

Edging-James Wilson(House MD)

Knife Play-Tara Carpenter(Scream)

Phone Sex-Billy Loomis(Scream)

Mutual Masturbation-James Wilson(House MD)

Gagged-Finnick Odair(The Hunger Games)

Marking/Hickeys-Daisy Johnson(Agents of Shield)

Uniform- Bucky Barnes(The Avengers)

Dumbification- Jason Dean(Heathers)

CNC- Stu Macher(Scream)

Thigh Ridding- Kate Bishop(The Avengers)

Overstimulation- Greg House(House MD)

Dirty Talk- Valkyrie(The Avengers)

Bondage-Natasha Romanoff(The Avengers)

Ruined Orgasm-Johanna Mason(The Hunger Games)

Dacryphilia- Haymitch Aberdeen

Breeding-James Wilson(House MD)

Humiliation/Degration-Katniss Everdeen(The Hunger Games)

Gun Play-Jason Dean(Heathers Movie)

Praise- Peggy Carter(Agent Carter)

Spit- Billy Loomis(Scream)

Sex Pollin-Leo Fitz(Agents of Shield)

Somnophilia- Loki(The Avengers)

Car Sex-Daisy Johnson(Agents Of Shield)

Mirror Sex- Randy Meeks(Scream)

Lactation- DILF!Dewey Riley(Scream)

Cum Play- Scott Lang(The Avengers)

Purity- Chad Meeks Martin(Scream)

Pet Play-Stu Macher(Scream)

Double Penetration- Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers(The Avengers)

Dry Humping- Randy Meeks(Scream)

#scream #scream 1996 #house md #heathers movie #knives out #agent carter #agents of shield #the avengers #the hunger games #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[mihrsuri]

In universe Hunger Games Fandom Fandom is like:

There’s so much Finnick X Capital OC Content. I mean also people shipping him with various victors/capital people because there’s absolutely going to be a fandom for that and people definitely have favoured celebrities. 

Listen this is because of @lorata but like Brutus X Everyone. Capital DILF. (Which yes Good Dad Shaped but also :/). 

The number one ship on PanmenFic.Net definitely involves Finnick. 

Peeta X Finnick versus Peeta X Katniss versus Katniss X Finnick shipping discourse. 

I think about Rue and Capital Fandom and I start crying. 

A lot of ‘D2 Victor Needs To Step On Me’ probably. A lot of these are involving Lime. 

Sexy Finnick Odair edits. 

#book: hunger games

[becca-is-not-well]

HI

I'm Becca (as you probably figured out) and my friend said I should make a fanfic Tumblr cuz I wrote some for them.

I'll probably be writing mostly xreader fics, whether platonic or romantic. I will write smut, but preferably nothing too vanilla. I am REALLY exposing myself here. NOTHING NON CON.

This is the only time I'll be fully serious: If I write about heavy subjects (depression, anxiety, SH, etc.), it is simply to let people know they aren't alone and to help them through it. I am not in any way romanticizing it. As someone who has been through all three examples and much more, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I've written things for myself about my comfort characters helping me through shit and it genuinely helped me so much, I would love to do that for someone else.

If you know me in real life... no you don't.

All are platonic OR romantic unless specified otherwise

Who I plan on writing for:

Harry potter:

Golden age

Marauders (especially Sirius my beloved)

Fair warning I HATE Snape his "redemption arc" was BULLSHIT

Good omens:

(Said friend got me hooked)

Aziraphale (platonic)

Crowley (platonic)

Aziraphale & Crowley (ineffable husband's with platonic reader)

Riverdale:

(This is lowkey embarrassing oml)

Sweet Pea

Veronica lodge (love her)

Betty Cooper (PLS RAIL ME)

Jughead Jones (I'm weird. I'm a weirdo.)

Sandman:

My friend got me even more obsessed with this holy heck

Morpheus (my skrunkly baby I love him sm)

Death

Desire (is it getting hot in here??)

Matthew(ONLY PLATONIC WHY WOULD WANT ANYTHING ELSE WITH A LITERAL BIRD THE FUCK)

Lucienne (I need a hug from her)

Hob Gadling

Lab Rats:

(Why is this also embarrassing kskeidhxb)

Chase Davenport (been in love with him for forever)

Adam Davenport

Bree Davenport

The Rookie:

(Is this niche??)

Tim Bradford

Lucy Chen

John Nolan

Supernatural:

Sam Winchester (my baby)

Dean Winchester

Castiel (not my cup of tea but I see it)

Twilight:

Jacob Black

Carlisle Cullen (i love DILFs)

Charlie Swan (again. DILF.)

Jasper Cullen (yes. As in the 👁👄👁 mf)

Emmet Cullen

Rosalie Cullen

Big Time Rush:

(Half of these things feel like a confession)

Logan (LOML)

James

Kendall

Carlos (underrated)

Wizards of Waverly Place

(WHY AM I SO EMBARASSED ABT SO MANY OF THESE)

Justin Russo

Alex russo

Harper Finkle

Teen Wolf

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Isaac Lahey (UNDERRATED)

Derek Hale

Malia Tate

Hunger Games

Finnick Odair

Peeta Mellark

Haymitch Abernathy (I said what I said he's hot fr)

Katniss Everdeen

Gale Hawthorn (not the Canon mf tho he sucks ass)

Other random people:

Billy Russo (punisher)

Caspian (Narnia)

(I fucking love Ben Barnes)

The Darkling (Shadow and Bone)

Alina Starkov (Shadow and Bone)

Spencer Reid (criminal minds) (yes im one of those. Are u surprised?)

Legolas (bAbYy!!) (That's an inside joke)(LOTR/Hobbit)

Clark Kent (smallville)

Mac (MacGyver reboot)

I also like writing poetic type stuff so let me know if u want me to post some of that lol

#x reader #platonic!reader #romantic #twilight #riverdale #harry potter #wizards of waverly place #the rookie #lab rats #the sandman #good omens #lord of the rings #shadow and bone #smallville #why is this embarrassing #i am begging you to validate me #im a bisexual disaster #also lots of plus size reader cuz im a big gorl #please request things #it will help my mental health tremendously #i dropped out of highschool and this is how i spend my time now #my parents are so proud #please help me im a hornee little fucker #WAIT I ALMOST FORGOT MAC #macgyver #i love mac how did i forget him #this is adhd at its finest folks