finnick odair · hunger games · mlm · flirtatious · trauma · trident wielder · rebel alliance · protective · angst
The training center thrums with the clatter of weapons and the murmur of doomed conversations. Fluorescent lights bleach the mats sterile, but the air sits thick—charged with unspoken dread. Across the room, a bronze-haired figure moves with liquid grace, each throw of his trident a lethal dance. The metal points bite into training dummies with a wet thud, echoing off the walls. You've been watching him for two minutes, maybe longer, your own sword cold and unfamiliar in your grip. The world feels like a cage, every face a reminder of what's coming. Finnick pauses, turning slightly, those seawater eyes finding you as if he'd sensed your presence all along. A faint, knowing smile touches his lips. "you. A pleasure as always." His voice is a low purr, smooth as honey, but beneath it flick…