Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader | One-Shot
set after 65th hunger games - their reunion.
It had been weeks. Three weeks and four days since he was taken away. Since the Reaping. Since Finnick — my Finnick, only fourteen years old — had been called to the stage, had turned back to look for me, had mouthed I love you before they dragged him away.
Three weeks of waiting. Of watching the screens. Of staying up every single night, sick with fear, terrified that the next broadcast would show him hurt, or bleeding, or… worse. Three weeks of seeing him fight, of seeing him shine, of seeing him use that charm and that smile and that strength I knew so well to survive, to win, to come back to me.
The train roared into the station, massive and silver and gleaming, slowing with a heavy, grinding rumble that shook the ground beneath my feet. Steam billowed out, thick and white, curling around the wheels and the tracks, hiding everything for a moment, and I leaned further over the barrier, my eyes burning, my throat tight, searching desperately through the fog.
Please. Please let him be okay. Please let him be whole. Please let him still be mine.
Crowds cheered, loud and wild, the sound crashing over me like a wave. Mentors stepped out first, then the escort, bright and ridiculous in Capitol fashion, waving and smiling. Then came the victors.
My knees gave out. I would have fallen if I hadn’t been holding onto the barrier so tight.
He stood at the top of the steps, tall and golden and beautiful, but different. Sharper. Leaner. There was a new hardness in his shoulders, a new intensity in the way he held himself, like he was constantly ready to fight, constantly ready to run. His hair was longer, curling over his forehead, sun-bleached even more than usual from the arena sun. He wore a fine, expensive coat, deep blue and soft, but it hung loosely on him, like he had lost weight, like the games had eaten away at him.
His eyes scanned the crowd immediately, bright and sea-green, frantic, searching, just like they had been the day he left. And the second they locked onto mine… everything stopped.
His face crumpled. Just for a second — just a flash — before he pulled that mask back on, the one he had learned to wear for the cameras, for the crowds, for the Capitol. But I saw it. I saw the way his lips parted, the way his breath hitched, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was fighting every instinct in his body not to run straight to me.
He descended the steps slowly, smiling that dazzling, famous smile that had captivated the whole country, waving to the cheering crowds, shaking hands, letting people clap him on the back, let them praise him, let them celebrate their newest victor. But his eyes never left mine. Not once. Every step he took, every movement he made, he was looking right at me, burning, desperate, hungry.
I couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t stand still. I pushed through the crowd, shoving past people, ignoring their shouts, ignoring the peacekeepers trying to keep order, ignoring everything except the fact that he was there, he was alive, he was here.
“Finnick!” I screamed, my voice cracking, raw and broken and full of everything I had held back for weeks.
He heard me. I knew he did. His head snapped toward me, and he didn’t care about the crowd anymore. He didn’t care about the cameras. He didn’t care about anything but me. He broke into a run, long, powerful strides, shoving past his team, past his mentor, past everyone, closing the distance between us in seconds.
He crashed into me so hard I stumbled back, my feet leaving the ground as he lifted me right up into his arms, wrapping around me like he was trying to merge our bodies into one, trying to make sure I could never, ever be taken away from him again. His arms were iron-tight around my waist, crushing me against his chest, his face buried deep in the curve of my neck, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps against my skin, his whole body shaking, trembling, holding onto me like I was the only solid thing left in the world.
I clung to him just as hard, my arms locked tight around his neck, my fingers tangling desperately in his soft, sun-warmed hair, pulling him closer, closer, pressing my face into his shoulder, breathing him in — salt, and sun, and him, that scent I had missed so much, that scent I had dreamed about every single night while he was gone.
“You’re here,” I sobbed, the words tearing out of me, broken and wet and happy, tears streaming down my face, soaking the expensive fabric of his coat. “You’re here, you’re alive, you’re home.”
He made a sound — half-sob, half-groan, pure relief — and squeezed me tighter, lifting me higher, his hands roaming over my back, my sides, my arms, touching me everywhere at once, like he was checking, like he was making sure I was real, like he couldn’t believe I was actually there, actually holding him, actually his.
“Baby,” he choked out, his voice rough and broken, nothing like the smooth, charming tone he used for everyone else. This was Finnick — raw, open, mine. “Oh, baby… I’m here. I’m here. I’m home. I’m yours. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I was gone… I thought… I thought I’d die without seeing you again.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands coming up to cup my face, big, warm, trembling, holding me steady, his thumbs brushing wildly over my cheeks, wiping away my tears, only to have more fall immediately. His eyes were red-rimmed, shining, full of so much pain and love and relief it almost hurt to look at them. There were dark circles under his eyes, faint scars on his jaw and his forehead, marks of what he had survived, marks of the arena, but to me… he had never been more beautiful.
“I watched you,” I whispered, my hands moving over his face too, tracing every line, every mark, every inch of him, terrified he might vanish if I stopped touching him. “Every second. Every minute. I saw everything. I was so scared, Finnick… so scared I’d lose you. I thought… I thought my heart would break in two.”
He leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes, breathing me in deep, like he was filling his lungs with life itself. “I thought about you every single second,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “Every fight. Every step. Every time I was hurt… every time I thought I was done… I thought of you. I thought of your face. I thought of your voice. I thought of how you’d look at me when I came home. That’s what kept me going, baby. Only you. Only this.”
He opened his eyes then, and they were burning, bright and fierce and full of everything. “I fought like hell to get back to you. I killed. I ran. I did whatever I had to do… just to get here. Just to hold you again. Just to hear you call my name.”
Before I could answer, before I could say anything at all, he crashed his lips onto mine.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, all-consuming — weeks of longing, weeks of fear, weeks of missing, all poured into one single kiss. He kissed me like he was starving, like he needed me to breathe, like he was trying to put every broken piece of himself back together just by touching me. His hands held my face so tight I could barely move, his lips moving over mine hard and fast and deep, tasting of salt and tears and him, claiming me, loving me, reminding me that he was mine, that I was his, that nothing in the world could change that.
I kissed him back just as hard, just as desperate, my fingers curling into the collar of his coat, pulling him closer, melting completely against him, letting him take everything I had, giving him every single piece of me right back. I cried into the kiss, tears falling faster now, mixing with his, tasting of relief and love and home.
Around us, the crowd cheered louder, screaming his name, celebrating, but we didn’t hear them. We didn’t see them. The whole world had fallen away. There was only Finnick. Only his arms. Only his mouth. Only the fact that he was alive, he was here, he was mine.
When he finally pulled back, we were both gasping for air, chests heaving, foreheads still pressed together, noses brushing, tears still streaming down our faces. He rested his hands on my waist, holding me close, his eyes searching mine, soft and deep and full of so much love it made my chest ache.
“Baby,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer, like the only word he knew. “My baby. My love. My everything. I missed you so much. It hurt. It hurt so bad not being near you. Not touching you. Not hearing you.”
He buried his face in my neck again, pressing kisses all over my skin, soft and wet and desperate, his arms wrapping tight around me again, refusing to let go, holding me like I was something precious, something fragile, something he had fought a war just to get back.
“Never again,” he mumbled against my skin, fierce and sure. “Never again will I leave you. Never again will I be away from you. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what they want. I’m staying right here. Right with you. Forever.”
I clung to him, burying my hands in his hair, holding him as tight as I possibly could, pressing my cheek against the top of his head, rocking us gently back and forth, just standing there in the middle of the station, completely wrapped up in each other, completely ignoring the world.
“You’re so strong,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, pride swelling in my chest so big it hurt. “You were amazing, Finnick. So brave. So smart. So you. I knew you’d win. I knew you’d come home. I just… I just missed you so much it felt like I was dying.”
He pulled back to look at me again, his hands moving down to hold mine, lacing our fingers tight, bringing our joined hands up to his lips to kiss my knuckles over and over.
“I wasn’t brave,” he said quietly, his eyes dark and serious, honest in a way he never was with anyone else. “I was terrified. Every second. But you… you were my courage. You were my strength. Every time I held my trident, every time I ran, every time I climbed… I was fighting for you. For us. For this.”
He looked around then, at the crowd, at the cameras, at the Capitol representatives watching from the platform, and his expression hardened just a little, that mask slipping back into place for half a second before he looked back at me and softened completely.
“Come on,” he said, low and urgent, tugging me closer, wrapping his arm tight around my shoulders, turning us away from everyone. “Get me out of here. Please, baby. I need to be alone with you. I need to hold you where no one can see. Where no one can interrupt. Where it’s just us.”
I nodded, wiping my eyes, smiling through the tears, holding onto his waist as we walked, refusing to let go even an inch. He kept me pressed tight against his side, his hand resting constantly on my arm, my shoulder, my back, touching me every second, grounding himself in me, making sure I was real, making sure I was there.
We walked away from the station, away from the noise, away from the crowds, toward the familiar streets of our district, toward the beach, toward home. People called out to him, waved, cheered, but he barely acknowledged them, his eyes only for me, his steps only toward where we needed to go.
The second we were inside my small house — the door closed, locked, the noise shut out — he broke.
He dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and pulled me straight back into his arms, crushing me against him, burying his face in my hair, his whole body sagging, like all the strength he had held up for weeks finally gave out. He was shaking, trembling hard, his breath coming in great, ragged sobs, holding me so tight I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. I held him just as tight, wrapping my arms around his neck, running my hands up and down his back, through his hair, whispering soft, soothing things, telling him he was safe, he was home, he was loved, he was mine.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at me, tears streaming freely down his face now, no masks, no charm, no pride — just Finnick, broken and raw and needing me. “I’m sorry I’m crying… I just… I couldn’t let myself cry out there. I couldn’t let them see. I had to be strong. I had to be perfect. But here… with you… I don’t have to be anything. I can just be me. I can just be yours.”
“Oh, Finnick,” I whispered, reaching up to wipe every tear away, my own falling right along with his. “You don’t ever have to be anything but mine. You don’t ever have to be strong. You don’t ever have to be perfect. You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all I care about. That’s all I need.”
He leaned down and kissed me again, soft this time, slow and deep and tender, pouring every ounce of love and relief and longing into it, his hands wandering over every inch of me, memorizing every curve, every line, every scar, every mark, touching me like he was worshiping me, like I was the most precious thing in the whole world.
“I missed everything,” he murmured between kisses, trailing his lips down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, making me shiver. “Missed your voice. Missed your laugh. Missed the way you smell. Missed the way you hold me. Missed the way you look at me like I’m something good. Like I’m yours.”
He pulled back to look at me, his hands resting on my waist, his thumbs rubbing soft circles through my shirt, his eyes burning bright and intense.
“They made me out to be something else,” he said quietly, his voice rough with anger and pain. “Something pretty. Something charming. Something to show off. But you… you never saw that. You always saw me. Just Finnick. The boy who loves you. The boy who belongs to you. That’s the only thing that matters.”
I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart, the heart I had been so terrified I would lose. “I will always see you, Finnick. No matter what they say. No matter what they do. You are mine. And I am yours. Nothing will ever change that.”
He nodded, swallowing hard, pulling me back into a tight, crushing hug, resting his chin on top of my head, holding me close, swaying us gently back and forth, just breathing, just existing together.
“I thought… I thought I’d never get to do this again,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I thought I’d die in that arena, and the last thing I’d ever feel was pain, and the last thing I’d ever think was her. It kept me going, baby. Every single time. I love you so much it hurts. It hurts more than any wound I got in there. More than anything.”
He pulled back, cupping my face in his hands, holding me so gently, like I was made of glass, like he was terrified he’d break me if he held too hard.
“I love you,” he said, clear and loud and sure, like he was shouting it to the whole world, like he needed me to know it, deep in my bones. “I love you, Y/N. I love you more than the sea. More than the sun. More than life itself. You are everything to me. Everything I am. Everything I have. Everything I ever will be… it’s yours.”
I sobbed, reaching up to hold his wrists, pressing kisses to his palms, his fingers, his knuckles. “I love you too, Finnick. More than anything. More than anything in the whole world. I’m so proud of you. So proud of how you fought. So proud of how you survived. So proud that you’re mine.”
He leaned down and kissed me again, long and slow and deep, pouring every bit of himself into it, making sure I felt every ounce of love, every ounce of relief, every ounce of longing. He kissed me until we were both breathless, until we were both dizzy, until we were both completely lost in each other.
When we finally pulled apart, he kept his arms wrapped tight around me, guiding me backward until we hit the couch, sitting down, pulling me right onto his lap, wrapping me up completely, my legs draped over his, my head resting on his chest, right over his heart, listening to that steady, strong beat that I had missed so much.
He buried his face in my hair, his arms locked around me, holding me like he never intended to let go, his hands rubbing slow, soothing strokes up and down my back, his breath warm against my neck.
“Stay right here,” he murmured, soft and low and sleepy, the exhaustion finally starting to hit him, all the adrenaline fading away, leaving only relief and love and peace. “Stay right here, baby. Don’t move. Don’t leave. Just… be with me. Let me hold you. Let me love you. Let me be home.”
I snuggled closer, pressing myself as tight as I possibly could against him, breathing him in, feeling his warmth, his strength, his love surrounding me completely.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, closing my eyes, smiling through the tears, happier than I had ever been in my whole life. “I’m right here. I’m never leaving. I’m yours. Forever.”
He kissed the top of my head, slow and soft and sweet, his arms tightening just a little more, his voice rough and happy and sure.
“Forever,” he agreed, low and deep and true. “Forever is just the start, baby. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Making sure you never miss me again. Making sure you know… every single second… how much I love you. How much you mean to me. How you saved me.”
We sat there for hours, just holding each other, just crying, just laughing, just kissing, just being. He told me everything — bits and pieces, the hard parts, the bad parts, the parts he didn’t want to remember, but told me anyway because he knew I would hold them gently. I told him everything too — every second I waited, every fear, every prayer, every moment I missed him.
And every time he finished speaking, every time I finished crying, every time we pulled apart just a little… he would pull me right back in, kiss me soft and deep and sure, and whisper those words again, over and over, like a promise, like a vow, like the only thing that mattered in the whole world.
“I love you, baby. I’m home. I’m yours.”
As the sun went down, painting the sky over the ocean in brilliant shades of orange and pink and gold, we stayed right there, wrapped up in each other, safe and warm and whole. Finnick was finally home. Finnick was finally mine. And no matter what the Capitol wanted, no matter what came next, no matter how hard it got… we had this. We had us.
Because we had survived. We had found each other. We had held on. And now… nothing would ever tear us apart again.
