NAVIGATION

NAVIGATION…

ABOUT ME…

my name is rae! i’m eighteen, and i’m a taurus. i’m 5’2 (short-ass, i know 😔) and i have the humor of a twelve year old. i can’t get enough of the ocean and rainy forests. i’ve been writing on tumblr for a couple months! i love the hunger games, and the outsiders. they have my heart. i’m also a huge swiftie, so you’ll see some references to her songs in my fics (sorry, not sorry)

WHAT I WRITE…

currently writing for finnick odair, peeta mellark, katniss everdeen, and johanna mason

feel free to send in requests for any of these characters!

i did write for mike schmidt and clapton davis, and you can find those fics here!

thinking of opening up to more movies and/or series! (outsiders, maybe??? 🫣)

i’ll write fluff, angst, and smut!

most of my reader inserts will be gender neutral, but if they’re not they will be female or feminine reader!

WHAT I WON’T WRITE…

absolutely NO pedophilia, incest, or non-consensual nsfw

i won’t write any kinks like scat kinks, piss kinks, stuff like that.

i don’t write character x character fics.

i won’t write anything relating to ed’s or sh.

CONCLUSION…

i also post random thoughts and shit on here, so be prepared! also, i can’t believe i have to say this but if you’re racist, transphobic, homophobic, sexist, misogynistic, ableist, DNI!!!!!

wishing i was a rockstar’s girlfriend right now

I SWEAR I SWEAR I’M GOING TO PUT SOMETHING OUT SOON im like this close to writing again

i just rewatched all the hunger games movies today and finnicks death makes me feel so sad, this made me feel so much better ya’ll gotta read this 🤍

’i know, sugar, i know.’

summary: finnick comforts reader after a nightmare

warnings: mentions of violence, death, pain, fear and forced prostitution (let me know if there’s more)

hot tears are running down your cheeks over already dry ones, like the adrenaline through your body. your hands are trembling as you hurry along the path that goes through victors village. it’s covered in sand. almost everything in your district is. sand from the beach, little stones and pieces of seashells, crushed under the peacekeepers’ boots. you’re running away. why? isn’t that obvious? you’re a victor, haunted by nightmares like every other one. where to? you don’t even know yourself. just away from your house, not your home. the house you got gifted in return for your cruel actions. actions that still haunt you and always will. you never wanted this. yes, before you did all of this you had to work hard to survive and still only barely made it. but was it really worth it? you know the answer. no.

definitely not.

when you win the hunger games, you can be free, live a happy life and the games are over for you. that’s what they say. well, guess what. that’s not true. the games never end, even if you won them. you can never really win. you aren’t free and president snow makes sure for you to know that.

your life had never been perfect but before you were thrown into an arena with 23 children that wanted to kill you, you were happier. the ones you killed yourself still haunt you, you see them in the scared, little kids at the reaping, your new mentees. the capitol is cruel. the four words repeat in your head. over and over again, the sand is hurting your feet but you don’t pay attention to that. you’re running through the village without stopping. you are just a kid. just a kid. 17 years old. you should be living your life instead of being sold to people at the capitol. but you can’t do anything about it. your family has no protection except you. you suddenly stop running. where’d muscle memory bring you? you’re standing at the end of the path in front of a house identical to yours. 

finnick. your mind clears up and you find your original intention. the one you had when you left your house. you just want to see him, know if he’s okay, want him to tell you that it’s not real, that he understands you, that he goes through the same things. you want him to hold you close, whisper sweet words to you and wait until you fall asleep. without thinking any longer, you knock on the door. one, two, three, four seconds go by before the door opens. surprisingly fast.

finnick is standing before you, his hair disheveled but perfect, as always, wearing a white shirt and sweatpants. he looks alarmed but sighs loudly when he sees you. his sea green eyes are tired but as piercing as always. he seems to stare directly into your soul but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. 

‘y/n? what’re you doing here?’ 

‘i’m sorry i woke you,’ you murmur with a soft sniffle.

‘no,no, don’t be. are you okay?’ he asks with a worried frown. you weakly manage to shake your head before the adrenaline from earlier is completely gone. two muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest where you let out a choked sob. finnick’s heart breaks for you, seeing you like this. to him, it’s a miracle you’re not able to hear it shatter in your position.

without thinking much about it you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his torso before he picks you up and carries you inside, closing the door behind the both of you. the next thing you know, you’re standing in the kitchen, feet now on the ground but still close to the young man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing as your crying slowly stops and your breath calms. 

‘hey, it’s okay, i’m here. i’ll protect you, alright? promise,’ he softly mutters into your hair. you can feel his lips move against your scalp as guilt washes over you. you shouldn’t burden him with this. he goes through the same things and you don’t find him knocking at your door in the middle of the night. he’s been doing it for a year longer than you now and he’s never really talked about it to you and how he’s getting by.

‘i’m so, so sorry, finn’ 

‘there’s nothing to be sorry for, sugar’ 

‘but- but you don’t show up at my front door step in the middle of the night because of some-‘ 

he interrupts your ramble. 

‘maybe sometimes i want to.’ he gives you a soft, sad smile. ‘c’mon now. tomorrow’s the reaping, we gotta get some sleep,’ he states and without waiting for a reply, he picks you up again and carries you upstairs to his bedroom. finnick crawls into the bed next to you and pulls you close to his body again where you both lie in a comfortable silence until you start talking. 

‘i saw her again,’ you whisper. ‘the girl from 10. she was only 13 years old.’ your voice breaks. ‘she was just a kid. and i shot her, i killed her. i feel horrible. i’m a monster, finn.’

it’s true. you saw her again in your dream. almost every time your brain puts you back in the arena you see the little girl, your arrow in her chest, the clattering of your bow on the ground, the cannon that signals her death. and then the booming voice that announces you as the winner of the 67th annual hunger games, the winner. 

what a lie. no one ever really wins. 

‘you were just a kid yourself. you didn’t want it, you were forced. it’s not your fault, sweetheart. you’re in district 4, safe,’ he  mutters as you let a few silent tears fall onto his chest, dampening his shirt but he doesn’t care. finnick just wants to hold you, make it stop, protect you from the capitol, snow. if he could take all of your pain and fear away, he would without hesitation. without even thinking about it. ‘but so were you,’ you whisper. ‘you were 14, finnick, 14 and then 16. and now 19. it’s not fair.’ he repositions himself to look at you. there it is again. the sad smile. it says more than a thousand words. and you return it.

‘i know, sugar, i know.’ 

you fall asleep soon after but finnick stays awake for now, unable to bring himself to sleep as well. he watches your facial expressions shift, watches a frown form on your face as you mumble quietly. all he does all night is whisper sweet things to you and hold you close in the hope to ease your mind and help with the nightmares. he silently thinks about the situation you’re both in; forced into prostitution by president snow. an object to buy. he knows that you’re only doing it because you want to protect him and he only does the same to protect you.

ironic, isn’t it? he chuckles softly at the thought before silently vowing to find a way for you out of this, away from the capitol, into a happy and free life. maybe with him. you’d want that. a life with him somewhere down by the coast. 

‘i love you, sweetheart, you don’t even know how much,’ he whispers and plants a soft kiss on your hairline before finally falling asleep with you in his arms. 

a/n: please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it <3 luv ya also I’m laughing at the gif rn because it’s literally finnick casually laughing about his own death i love him

edit: i just noticed that finnick being 19 in this and the sentence ’tomorrow’s the reaping’ means that annie is going to get reaped the next day

gorgeous ♡

Finnick Odair who, no matter how long it will take him, will find you the prettiest seashell to bring home to you from the beach.

Finnick Odair whose dream date is either a midnight swim or a sailboat ride at sunset

Finnick Odair who wakes up earlier than most, pressing kisses to the side of your face as you sleep, giving you a quietly sweet goodbye before he goes for his morning swim

Finnick Odair who kisses you softly; gently; tenderly. He shows you the delicate love he was never shown.

Finnick Odair who would kill to be a girl dad. He wants to teach her to swim. He wants to plait her hair that is the familiar golden caramel shade of his own.

Finnick Odair who tells you he loves you at least 5 times a day simply because he doesn’t want you to forget.

Finnick Odair who either creates or has specially made a ring made out of freshwater pearls and sea crystals to propose to you with.

Finnick Odair who is constantly reminding you to do the simple things that you forget to do. Like take your jewellery off before showering or going to bed, or making sure to put sun cream on when you’re sat on your beloved beach.

Finnick Odair who loves you the same way he loves the ocean, and the same way he loves sharks, and sea shells, and starfish and golden sand and the sun.

“josh hutcherson has been casted in-”