*note: the photos do not belong to me, but the banner is mine. photos are not indicative of reader's appearance.
Finnick Odair x Reader
You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end.
Series warnings: extremely long (this is a warning), exploitation of minors, forced prostitution, unrequited love, complicated relationships, violence, death, suicidal ideation and tendencies, complex mental health issues, psychological "games," torture, grief, war, religious imagery, unhealthy coping mechanisms, made-up names
orpheus!finnick x eurydice!reader “how will you remember?” “that I love you?” “yes” “that’s easy i can’t help it.”
i’d tell them put me back in it
finnick odair x victor reader
tw for memory loss, violence (the hunger games), angst, smut, hurt no comfort for a while!
he loved you. the pain in his head was blinding, and the hands of peacekeepers were all he could feel, all over his body. he loved you. he trembled, truly terrified for the first time in his life as they blindfolded him, leading him to a room deep inside the capitol. he loved you. they had him hooked up to wires, pumping him full of chemically generated memories and falsehoods. he loved you. they twisted you into a monster, the antagonist at the center of his anguish. he woke up. he forgot you.
district 13 was a flurry of movement, dozens of people dressed just alike, footsteps echoing through metal hallways, not a lick of laughter amongst the groups. you were in a small room off to the side, kept away from the real work, left to heal, to rest. rest, as if you could relax when finnick had been taken, as if any of this was alright, as if your body didn’t ache with the knowledge that he was somewhere away from you, probably alone. finnick hated being alone, as long as you’d known him, and the thought of him somewhere in the capitol, lonely and afraid, worsened your condition by the second.
after the quarter quell, when plutarch and coin’s plan played out, they’d prioritized katniss, of course. you just happened to get lucky, really, the closest one to her when they took her away, freed you both from the arena. peeta came later, on their last trip down, by sheer luck. when they returned to district 13, finnick and johanna were missing. they’d told you to calm down, told you they’d find him, that he was safe, but nothing worked. katniss held you while you sobbed, comforted you while you screamed, but it wasn’t enough. you laid in that hospital bed, useless and scared, relentlessly tying a knot in a small piece of rope you’d managed to carry out of the arena; the last thing finnick had touched, besides your skin.
they told you this was the revolution, the path to a united panem, a new start for everyone involved. it just felt like betrayal, cold and metallic, plaguing every waking moment. they wanted to safe everyone, but they refused to send anyone to the capitol, refused to bring finnick to you. finnick, your finnick, hurt and terrified, probably being tortured for information, or simply for their amusement. as if half of his life hadn’t been spent under their thumb already. the nightmares kept you up at night, your screams echoing through the empty halls, your mind full of images you couldn’t erase. finnick broken and bleeding, crying for help, just out of reach.
the first time you see him again, he’s a ghost of the man you knew. they won’t let you in at first— they say he needs time, needs quiet, but quiet is all you’ve had since they took him. quiet and waiting and waking nightmares. so you wait just outside the door, listening. you think maybe hearing his voice again will be enough, but when they finally let you in, it isn't enough at all. he’s sitting up in bed, shoulders hunched, arms pulled in tight like he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller, less visible. his eyes snap to you the second you enter the room. those sea-glass eyes that once looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in the world now flash with fear, pure, unfiltered panic. you stop dead in your tracks. “finnick,” you breathe, and your voice cracks on his name. his whole body tenses, like you saying it hurts him. “stay back,” his voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming, “don’t—don’t come any closer,"
you freeze, hands half-raised, not in defense but in surrender. “it’s me,” you say gently, like he might remember if you just sound right, if you say it the way you used to when it was just the two of you in the quiet corners of the arena, “it’s okay, you’re safe now," but he just flinches like the words are knives. “i know who you are,” he spits it out like it tastes foul on his tongue, “you’re one of them," his words suck the air from the room, out of your lungs, “one of who?”
“the ones from the capitol. the ones who—who hurt me. you were there," his hands shake, his voice rising in pitch, “you laughed. i remember—you laughed while they—” “no,” you whisper, your heart cracking in two, “no, finnick, they made you see that. they put those things in your head, they made you believe—” "don’t lie to me!” he roars, the sound ripping out of him, painful and raw, “they told me the truth, they showed me. i trusted you, and you—” you flinch, not from the volume, but from the pain, the pure betrayal in his voice.
“i would never hurt you,” your voice is shaking. you want, desperately, to reach for him, but you don't, not yet, “finnick, they changed your memories. they wanted you to hate me, because they knew—” “because i loved you,” he says flatly, “that’s what they said, that’s what they took from me," he looks at you, eyes wild and wounded, “so why does it feel like hate when I look at you now?” you don’t have an answer.
you stay frozen as the orderlies come in, gently, slowly, like they’re approaching a wounded animal. he doesn’t fight them, just sits there trembling, sweat shining on his forehead, breathing like he’s still drowning in it. they usher you out without a word, and you don’t resist. the door closes behind you with a final click, and you slide down the wall outside, shaking, trying not to cry too loudly. you press that stupid piece of rope into your palm, tighter and tighter, until it leaves deep grooves in your skin.
days pass. you’re not allowed to see him again, not until they clear him. psych evals, memory checks. behavioral risks. you hear the words like needles, cold and clinical. you wonder how long they'll treat him like something broken. a threat. as if he hasn’t spent enough of his life being owned. you ask plutarch once—“is he okay?” he just sighs through his nose and says, “define okay," that’s all you get.
you wait outside the medical wing every day anyway, silently. they bring you food, which you don’t eat. sometimes, johanna passes by and sits next to you without saying a word. her presence is blunt and solid like stone, a different kind of comfort. she doesn't ask how you are; you think she already knows. then, one evening, a nurse pulls you aside. she doesn’t say much, just nods toward a small surveillance room behind the infirmary. “he’s not ready for visitors,” she says softly, “but you should see this,” the screen is grainy, black and white, but he’s there. finnick sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, back against the far wall. his face is pale, drawn—like the color’s been drained out of him. he’s quiet, focused. in his hands is a thin length of twine, pilfered from a blanket seam or a laundry bag maybe. you don’t know how he got it, you don’t care.
he’s tying knots. slowly, carefully, repeating them over and over. his fingers falter, but he keeps going, like his life depends on it, like the motions are a language he doesn’t quite remember, but his body does. one knot, then another. you press your hand to the screen, tears silently slipping down your cheeks. he doesn’t know you’re there, doesn’t know what the knots mean. but something inside him remembers the rhythm, the purpose, the feeling. a mere whisper of you, still alive in him.
you don’t push to see him again, not yet. you leave things outside his door instead. a little paper packet with another piece of rope.
a note with his name in your handwriting. just that, finnick. a reminder of who he is, before and far beyond this. the seashell he once strung onto a necklace for you after a swim in district four. you never know if he looks at them, but the nurse tells you he stopped having the screaming fits at night. that when he wakes up gasping, he holds the rope. that his hands remember before his mind does. you wait. you hope. you tie knots in your own room, every night. you wonder if one day, he’ll remember the shape of your hands.
it comes like a crack in the dam, a single thought breaking free from the crushing weight of lies. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the rope still clutched in his hands, the knots finally becoming smoother, more fluid. it’s a quiet moment, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the room. he’s not crying anymore, not screaming, but the emptiness in his eyes is still there, like something vital’s been erased. something important.
then, just when it feels like everything is hollow, it happens. he’s halfway through tying a knot when the memory hits him, sharp and sudden, like an electric shock. his hand jerks, the rope slips from his fingers. his breath catches, and his chest constricts. he blinks hard, as though trying to clear the fog in his mind, but it’s too late. It’s already there. a memory of you, of the two of you. he’s standing on the beach, water crashing against the sand, salt and wind tangling in their hair. you're laughing, head tipped back in the sun, and he’s beside you, his hand pressed to your back as you walk toward the ocean. his voice, full of teasing warmth, echoes in his head, “careful, love, the water’s colder than you think,"
you roll your eyes at him, but there’s that smile on your face—the smile, the one that always softened the hardest parts of him. he can hear your voice in his ears now, soft and teasing, “you think I can’t handle it?” he remembers how you had splashed him, grinning like you were ready to leave him in the wake of the waves. then, it’s gone. just as quickly as it came, it fades, leaving only a soft ache in his chest. his hands are shaking. he doesn’t know what that memory was, who that was, but the feeling of it sticks—like it’s something he should’ve held on to. something he’s lost. his hands move to the rope again, but they tremble so violently now, he can’t tie anything. he sets it down, frustrated, and rubs his face with his palms, as though he could just erase the confusion.
hours later, you’re walking down the hall, passing the room where finnick's been kept, and you hear it—the faint sound of his voice, quiet, hoarse, like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there. you freeze. “...i remember... the ocean, the waves,” he says, as if testing the words out loud, seeing if they fit, “there was someone... the girl. she... she was laughing," his breath hitches, “she—” a shaky exhale, “she loved me,"
the door is barely cracked open. you’re tempted to go in, to step forward. but something in his voice—something raw, broken, like he's afraid of even the memory itself—stops you. you press your hand against the doorframe, leaning in just enough to hear. “she... god... she was everything," the words hang in the air like a curse. then, finally, his voice breaks completely, "i can’t remember why i hate her,"
you spend days like this—waiting, watching, listening. but each time you step closer, each time you try to fill the silence with something that might remind him, you feel it—the distance. the thickening wall between the man you love and the stranger the capitol has made of him. the frustration swells inside you, churning like a storm in your chest. it’s a helpless kind of rage, the worst kind, because it’s not his fault. he didn’t choose this. but god, it hurts. every second. you tell yourself over and over that he'll remember, that he has to. but he doesn’t,not yet. and the longer you wait, the harder it gets to keep pretending like you have all the time in the world.
it’s late one evening when you can’t hold it back anymore. you’re standing at the window of your quarters, staring out at the dull, metallic skyline of district 13. the shadows stretch across the floor like they’re swallowing you whole. it’s quiet here, too quiet. the kind of silence that’s full of too much unspoken pain. your fingers twitch, almost instinctively, reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. but you don’t have anything anymore. The rope is gone. the notes are gone. and even though you know you’re still here, even though you’re still alive, all you feel is the crushing weight of absence.
you turn. the walls feel closer now, like they’re closing in on you. your heart pounds in your chest, louder than the steady hum of the ventilation systems. you want him, need him. you want him to look at you and remember, to see you again. but instead, you see him in your mind—eyes clouded, voice trembling, distant. when he remembers, he’ll remember the pain, not the love. and that’s the part you can’t undo. that’s the part that breaks you.
and then it’s too much, all at once. the tears hit first, too suddenly for you to catch them, and the sobs come right after. you double over, pressing your face into your hands, as though you could somehow block out the ache that’s splitting you wide open. it feels like you’re shattering into a thousand pieces, and you can’t stop it. you want him. you want to fix him.
but all you’ve got are the echoes, the empty spaces where his love used to live. you slide to the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest, curling in on yourself like a child. your body shakes with the force of it—of everything you’ve lost, of everything you might lose if he never remembers you. you hate this feeling. you hate that you can’t fix it, can’t just walk into that room and make everything right. you’ve been through so much, survived so much, and yet here you are—powerless. and somewhere, deep inside, you realize that’s what hurts the most. not the loss of him. not the memory of the capitol’s horrors, but the helplessness.
you don’t know how long you sit there, the tears eventually tapering off into quiet exhaustion, but the emptiness stays. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you whisper into the dark, barely a sound at all. “i can’t keep doing this. not like this," your throat aches. it’s raw, the admission—like you’ve just torn a part of yourself free, but it’s the only way to breathe. you don’t have the strength to chase him anymore. you can’t make him remember, no matter how much you want to. so you let go. you let it all go. all the waiting, all the fear, all the hope, and you let it burn down into the simplest truth you have left. he will come back to you when he’s ready. when he remembers. when the world inside his mind stops spinning in circles. until then, you’ll wait.
it’s early morning when the knock comes at your door. you’re not expecting it—no one’s ever come for you this early—but the sharp sound rattles you out of sleep. for a moment, you just lie there, the weight of the blanket like a heavy thing over your chest, your mind slow to catch up with your body. then, another knock, a little softer this time, almost hesitant. you blink a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, and pull yourself up. the silence in your room is thick—suffocating, almost. you reach for the door and pause, your fingers hovering over the handle for just a second. then, you open it, and there he is. finnick.
standing in the hallway, looking as lost as you’ve ever seen him. he’s thinner than he was. his hair is unkempt, like he hasn’t bothered to comb it in days. there’s a tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and something else—a flicker of confusion, maybe even a little fear. his body is rigid, like he’s bracing for something. you take a step back without thinking, your heart pounding in your throat, and his eyes follow your movement like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything. but the words catch in your mouth, and all you can do is look at him, waiting for the moment to break. he clears his throat, his voice hoarse, "i don’t know why i’m here,”
it hits you—this is it. this is the moment where it either breaks you or pulls you together. his words don’t make sense. he doesn’t know why he’s here, but you do. you know exactly why. it’s the moment you’ve waited for. the moment where he takes one step closer. your throat closes up, and you manage to choke out a single word, barely audible, “finnick,” he flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough to remind you that even though his body is here, the man you love is still somewhere buried under the rubble. the capitol’s poison still clings to his mind. “i remember,” he shakes his head like he’s fighting something off, running a hand through his hair, “i remember the ocean. the knots,” his voice falters, and his gaze drops to the floor, his fingers curling into a fist, “but i don’t remember you,”
your heart shatters. you want to reach out, but you can’t. you’re too afraid to move, afraid he might break further, and you might not be able to piece him back together again. he stares at the ground, his shoulders trembling, “i remember you, i think... but i don’t,” his voice cracks, raw with something close to despair, “how do i remember you if i don’t remember me?” for a long moment, neither of you move. the distance between you feels like miles. then, without thinking, you take a step forward, and then another. he looks up at you in surprise, his brow furrowed, “what are you—?”
you stop right in front of him, not touching him, not yet. just standing close, close enough that your breaths are the same, and you can feel the heat of his body—the warmth that’s always been him. you’re shaking too, just a little, but you can’t stop yourself from reaching for him. “finnick,” you say again, quieter this time, like you’re testing the name out, like maybe if you say it enough, he’ll remember, “you know me. you know me in here," you press your hand over your chest, where your heart is thundering, “you feel me, don’t you?” he doesn’t answer right away, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for something he’s afraid to find. you take another step closer, just a fraction, but enough for him to feel it, for him to sense the truth in your presence.
“you loved me,” you whisper, each word weighted with years of lost time, “i loved you, and I’m not going anywhere, finnick. i’m not,” he stares at you, his face hard with frustration, but you see the struggle there—the war in his mind between what the capitol made him believe and what his body knows to be true. and in that quiet space, with everything hanging between you, you realize something. he’s not lost. he’s just been broken. and breaking isn’t the same as disappearing.
he takes a breath, the sound ragged. his eyes flick to your hand, which is still hovering, a fraction of an inch from him. and slowly—so slowly, like he’s afraid of the consequences—his hand moves toward yours. the air around you crackles. his fingers brush yours, hesitant, unsure. but then, he closes his hand around yours completely, as if your touch is the anchor he’s been searching for. you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. his eyes are still wide, but the fear in them is softer now. he’s not fully back—not yet. but there’s something in the way he holds your hand, the way he lets himself feel you, that tells you everything you need to know. he's still there.
the first time he speaks your name again, it’s in the middle of the night. you’re lying in the bed they gave you, the one that still feels too cold even when you wrap yourself in the thick blanket. the room is dark, save for the dim light from the corridor creeping in beneath the door. it’s quiet, except for the soft, steady hum of the ventilation systems. and then you hear it. a whisper. his voice, hoarse, uncertain. your heart stops, and you sit up so fast you almost knock the pillow off the bed. his voice—so soft, so tentative—has a crack in it, like he's testing the waters. as if he’s unsure whether the sound of your name still means something. whether it still belongs to the same world.
you push the blanket off and stand. without thinking, you cross the room and open the door. there he is, standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his face drawn and pale, eyes searching for something that makes sense. you don’t hesitate this time. you reach for him, your hand instinctively going out, and he looks at it like it’s a lifeline. “i’m here,” you say softly, almost breathless. “i’m here, finny, i’m right here,"
he flinches just slightly when your hand touches his arm, like he’s still not used to the warmth of a touch that isn’t laced with pain. but then, slowly, his hand comes up to meet yours, and he holds it—not tightly, but enough for you to feel that small connection. you lead him back into your room, wordlessly, and sit together on the edge of the bed. there’s a silence between you now—soft and awkward, but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that feels like an unspoken promise. his voice comes again, quieter this time, “i don’t know how to fix this,” he admits, his eyes downcast, his hands trembling in his lap, “i don’t even know if i can.”
you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, “you don’t have to fix it,” you say gently, “we just need time to remember, time to heal,” he looks at you then, those sea-glass eyes searching your face like he’s looking for something hidden, “but what if i don’t remember everything? what if—what if you’re still just a stranger to me?” you squeeze his hand, your heart aching, “you’ll remember. i know you will," and for the first time since he came back to district 13, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. not the fear, not the confusion, but a spark—like he’s beginning to recognize the familiar warmth in your touch.
the next few days pass slowly, like the breaking of dawn, inch by inch. each time you see him, it feels like you’re meeting him again for the first time. there’s no rush—just patience. you bring him small things that used to matter—pieces of the life you once shared. you show him the knotting techniques again, with slow, careful fingers, and he watches, silently, as if trying to remember the rhythm of it, the feel of the rope in his hands. “you used to do this all the time,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, “i’d just sit there, watching you, and you’d make knots for hours,”
he tries, his hands fumbling, but he doesn’t stop. the rope slips through his fingers, but he doesn’t give up. “i used to like doing this with you,” he says, voice thick with something that feels like regret, “i’m sorry i can’t remember more,” but you just shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips despite the tears in your eyes. “you’re here, okay? that’s enough. you’re already remembering, little by little,” and little by little, he does. it starts with the small things—the laughter, the teasing, the quiet moments when you both sit together, when he leans his shoulder against yours without thinking, and you let the silence speak for you. there’s a tenderness now, a slow rebuilding, like rebuilding a house brick by brick.
then one day, after a long morning of training, he comes to you with a simple question. “do you remember the first time we kissed?” his voice is hesitant, like he’s afraid of what you might say. you look at him, feeling the weight of the question, but also a familiar warmth spreading through your chest. the answer is obvious, even though it’s been buried under everything that’s happened. “of course i do,” you nod, your voice soft, but filled with love, “you were so nervous, finnick. you kept saying you didn’t know how to kiss someone in a way that would make them stay. and i—” you pause, letting the memory flood back, “i told you it didn’t matter. i would stay anyway,"
his face softens, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “i don’t remember it exactly, but i think i believe you,” you reach out, cupping his cheek gently, and for a moment, the world feels still, safe. he leans into your touch like he’s searching for something. and in that moment, you know—it’s not just the memory that matters. it’s the feeling underneath it, the connection, the love that’s always been there, even when it felt lost. “i’ll help you remember,” you whisper, “we’ll do this together,” he nods slowly, his eyes dark and soft, “i want to. i want to remember you, remember us,"
he comes to you later that night, after everyone else has fallen asleep, his movements quiet and his face hidden under the vale of night. he knocks on your door, familiar by now, bright blue eyes meeting yours the second you open it. “are you alright?” you ask, brows knit in concern. he nods, quick and eager, “i had to see you,” he pushes into your room, closing the door behind him, unlike himself, “i remembered- we were home, in four, and we were in bed, you were reading to me. mags was there, she came in and brought us tea-“ he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “you had a ring, a silver ring on your finger,” he grabs at your hand, pulling it to him, “where’s your ring?” your heart aches, threatening to crack open, to spill out everything you’d been holding back, “i lost it during the quarter quell,” you tell him softly, “my hands were slick, it slid off. i’m so sorry,” “we were engaged,” he says the word like it pains him, “you were going to be my wife,” “yes,” you nod, eyes brimming with tears, “you remembered that all on your own?”
he doesn’t answer, taking a rushed step closer and pushing you back to your bed, catching your lips in a kiss. you gasp, hands on his shoulders, heart racing as he kisses you like he’d never forgotten how. “i love you,” he sounds like the words are tearing at his throats, “show me how, please, show me how i used to love you,” you don’t have it in you to protest, to tell him that this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, finding yourself at a loss for words as he kisses you frantically, tears mixing with your lips. you’re unsure who the tears belong to anymore, if it’s one or both of you, fully overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands all over you, clutching and grabbing like you might slip away again.
“finnick,” you whisper like a prayer, running your hand through his hair, “maybe we shouldn’t rush it,” “not rushing,” he mumbles into your skin, “been waiting to remember, this is a good thing, right? show me, show me how i used to touch you,” you let yourself give in, leading his hands over you, his touch gentle and hesitant, testing the feelings resurfacing for each of you. you take it slow, getting used to each other again as you both peel off each others layers, soft kisses pressed to each others shoulders and shaky hands discarding each others clothes. “you’re so beautiful,” he sounds truly awed, his eyes shining as he looks you over, “never dreamed you’d be this beautiful,” “you’ve seen it before,” you flush, pulling him down to kiss you again. “not like this,” he mumbles into your lips, his hands sliding between your back and the mattress, arching your spine into his touch.
he’s patient, but when he finally pushes inside you, the sound is guttural, his voice raw and breathless, your name falling from his lips like he’s delighting in the memory alone. “i remember this,” he pants, dragging his lips across your chest, hips rocking just slow enough to have your eyes rolling back, “i remember how you feel, how beautiful you are,” he holds you tight and delicate, treating you like some sort of holy figure, like you’ll break if he’s a touch too rough. “i love you,” you bury your face in his neck, your legs locking around his waist, holding him close, “knew you’d remember,” “i love you,” he chokes out, hands gripping your thighs, “could never forget this,”
he takes his time with you, learning all the motions, absorbing the way you look as you come undone like it’s the first time. when it’s over, he stays wrapped up around you, holding you to his chest, kissing your head and running his fingers through your hair, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears. you wake in the morning to him still beside you, watching you as your eyes open, a soft smile on your lips. “hi,” you murmur, kissing his shoulder, “how’re you feeling?” “like i woke up,” he can’t wipe the smile from his lips, kissing your cheek, “thank you,” “mm, don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, but you know he means it- you brought him back, whether you thought you could or not.
years later, when the war has been won, when katniss and peeta have little children running all over their fields, when johanna is in love with a woman she no longer has to be afraid to lose, people will ask. they’ll ask how he returned from that place, how he remembered when they’d tortured him so extensively. he’ll look at you across the room, a shadow of a smile on his lips, “i couldn’t help it,”
Summary: With the capital's prying eyes on your every move. You feel unsure about it, yet a certain man handles it rather easily. Finally you make your choice, yet it is of a short period. [series]
Waking up to the rising sun, you knew another day had passed. Another day closer to the 75th hunger games. The spectacles your father has been looking forward to. Making sure every detail was perfect. For this game needed to be perfect. Certainly after last year with two victors.
He felt like he was being ridiculed. Laughed in the face. Mocked. Tricked. Beat at his own game. He couldn’t take another slip to keep the people under his control. As punishment he created more fear amongst the previous victors.
Making clear to them that making alliances inside the games was a dangerous thing to play. The utter stand of rebellion with Katniss left a deep mark with him. Wanting to do anything to snuff it out before a rebellion could break out. For he detested it.
The only sound hearable at the table was the clattering of cutleries on plates. Scraping and cutting into the food. For once your sister was not present. Sharing a private meal with your father. One who was too occupied with his own intentions, he couldn’t see his daughter’s.
Snow picked up his glass, slurping the liquid down. Setting it back down, he dapped a handkerchief over his mouth. Draping it back over his lap. – “Have you taken an interest in someone?” – he casually asked, breaking his bread it two. You swallowed nervously, staring down at your plate.
“I’m not sure.” – you responded. Unsure if you should be completely honest with him or not. Perhaps you could stall more time by being unsure. Your father’s gaze flashed briefly back at you. – “You don’t need to be picky.”– he responded, folding his hands together.
It made you furrow your brows. Wondering what he meant by that. – “You are smart are you not?” – he pressed on, resting his gaze on you. Unsure what to respond, you remained quiet. He patted your hand with a smile. – “I have some business to attend later, but you’ll do what I’ll tell you, right?” – his fingers pressing hard down on your knuckles.
“Yes father.” – you responded out of obedience. Listening to your protector. To the one who made it all possible, you were save. You could always have it worse and be begging for scraps. Thanks to him, you were blessed with wealth. Blessed with status and respect you never needed to earn.
He hummed deep, removing his hand from you. Your gaze fell on your knuckles, seeing they had become a bit red from the pressure. Scraping his chair back, he got up. Dropping his handkerchief on the table. Leaving without another word.
Sighing soft, you let yourself fall back in your chair. Wondering how much longer you were being kept in the dark. Nothing felt certain with him. Surely when he used you as his pawn. A pawn he knew would never betray him. You straightened your posture when the door opened once more.
A man entering, going round the table to you. Lowering himself to your height, hand by your ear to whisper a message. You simply nodded, shoving your chair back. Following him out of the room. Back to where the victors were. They were training and preparing themselves. Catching glimpses of each strengths and weaknesses. They all briefly stopped and turned to look at you.
Then the most agitated thing happened. A camera went your way, coming up close. A woman by the man’s side. Whispering directions to him. Your expression was frightened at the sudden camera up on you. The woman moved her head a bit to the side. – “Pretend the camera isn’t here. Be as natural as possible.” – she explained.
You wondered what it was for, but already take a guess. The capital. To score more viewers, knowing Caeser might be commenting on the displays to the audience. Knowing it would be show cast on every screen through-out the capital. You let your gaze go from the camera to the victors. Seeing how some were clearly not pleased with the camera around.
Taking a deep breath, you ignored the camera, walking past it. It followed you like a stray cat. Following you back to the other victors. Taking a bow before them with folded hands. – “I apologize for any inconvenience.” – you told them, hinting at the annoying camera behind you. You then moved to the side. Separating yourself from those who clearly felt uncomfortable with the entire capital watching.
You remained separated, standing far away from them. Simply watching with folded hands. The camera kept focused on you. Waiting for you to do something. The cameraman briefly went over to the victors, trying to see if anyone would come over. They all continued to train or chat with each other. The camera going back to you. Waiting in silence. Keeping your gaze low. The woman cleared her throat after a while.
“Miss Snow… why don’t we show the capital something.” – she suggested. Not answering, you didn’t move a muscle. The cameraman and woman shared a dumbfound exchange. After another few minutes, they gave up. The woman patted the cameraman on the shoulder. She pointed in a direction, going towards some victors to catch their action on film. Once they left, you curled up half a smile.
“Smooth.” – you suddenly heard from the side. Making you startle. Finnick suddenly at your side and chuckling. – “You think so?” – you asked with a cheeky smile. Finnick snorted soft. – “Yeah.” - responding. – “You bored them away.” – he added. You turned towards him, curtsying a tat overdramatically.
“I have my talents.” – responding on his comment. He chuckled even more. – “You sure do.” – he said with a smirk. – “I promise you I didn’t invite them.” – you cleared out, hinting at the camera. Finnick came leaning in, close to your cheek with his. – “I know.” – he whispered out, keeping his gaze forwards.
You turned your head, nearing close to him with this range. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the camera rushing up to you. Having caught you and Finnick. Wanting the footage for all to see. You immediately took a few steps back, not wanting to force this on him. A grip kept you in place. Looking down at his hand around your wrist.
Pulling you back close to him. With your back pressed against his chest, he had his arm pressed on your collarbone. – “Let’s give them a show.” – his whispery breath ticklish against your ear. He spun you around as you were still processing the closed proximity with him. Trying to understand what it was doing to you.
“Have you ever yielded a dagger yet?” – he questioned. Blinking awaking, you snapped yourself awake. – “No…” – you responded. Finnick smiled, pulling out a dagger. – “Well now is your first day.” – he spoke, walking up to a table. You followed him as the camera’s followed as well.
Having picked up one, he showed it to you. He started explaining to you how to hold it properly. Showing you how tight your grip on it should be. While you needed look at his hand, your gaze remained on his face. Mesmerized by how unbothered he was with the whole capital watching. He busted out a chuckle. – “Don’t look at me, look at my hand.” – he addressed with a nudge of his elbow on your arm.
You quickly lowered your gaze, looking at his hand. – “Now your turn.” – he said, giving you the dagger. You just held it, unsure what to do next. Finnick sighed soft, coming to stand behind you. Clasping his hand around yours to tighten your grip on the dagger. Pressing himself closer to your back, he moved his head near your ear.
“Look at the target.” – he whispered. The camera zooming in as they were devouring it like sweets. You kept your gaze forwards at the target. Finnick moved your hand back with his. Guiding your hand to follow his instructions. Keeping your hand by your head, he threw your hand forwards, making you let go of the dagger at some point.
It flung forwards, cutting air. Getting caught in the target just by the chest area. – “Not bad.” – he said, removing himself from against you. – “That was all you.” – you responded, having done barely nothing. – “True.” – he said with a mischievous smirk. Making you nudge him playfully. He winked at you, knowing the capital would literally be foaming to the mouth for this. For everything was a show with them.
You were relieved once the camera’s were gone. Giving you a breather. After a short separation, you were roaming the halls on your way to the lounge room. Going round the corner, you paused and hurried back seeing Finnick speak to someone. Going in hiding behind the corner, you didn’t want him to see.
Trying to listen in for their conversation sounded serious. The other person not quite visible for you. It was hard to understand a word, for their voices were low and hushed. The only word you caught was Snowdrop. Wondering what it meant, what code it harboured. Then the voices died away. Making you dare to peak around the corner once more. Surprised that they had gone. An empty corridor for their conversation was over.
Turning on your heel, you returned to your quarters. But not before stopping by your father’s private room. He was very surprised and curious to why you had come to him. – “I have made my choice. I choose District 4. Finnick Odair.” – you told him.
Told him about your choice. Snow chuckled, not even surprised by your choice. – “If that is what you wish.” – was his response. Plain and simple. Slightly confused of his undertone, you curtsied and took your leave. When the evening fell you were in your quarters. Thinking back about the training room.
How only Finnick dared to approach you with the camera’s around. How easily he gave the audience a spectacle without a second thought. Perhaps he was being genuine…. You fondly found your sleep, replaying the events in your mind. How close his body was and how hot his breath was on you.
If you knew what would happen now, you would enjoy every little more moment with him. With a thundering approach you were called out of bed. It was time. So sudden.
thank you my darling @francixoxoxo for proofing <3
District Thirteen was no ocean, but you would take it over being hunted by the Capitol.
The last while was a blur, one you only remembered in flashes of pain, white coated attendants pouring water down your throat and jabbing your arms with needles. You had scars circling your limbs, memories that life forced you to relive in jarring bursts. All through it you could only think of him, cling to the silhouette of him in your mind that would want you to hang on. Don’t die, you repeated silently. Don’t die. He doesn’t want you to die.
Now there were different doctors attending to you on the hovercraft carrying you and other prisoners to the district that had supposedly been blown to bits. You weren’t lucid enough to process this new information, only that you were safe. And that your love was on the other side of this figurative tunnel.
As the woman dressed in a grey tunic checked your vitals, making a note whenever you winced or even cried out, you summoned thoughts of Finnick.
Ankle deep in the surf, kissing you and telling you he’d always protect you. Holding you on your bed, his body warm against yours as he whispered that you weren’t crazy and that nobody should say you were. Tucking shells into your pockets that you’d find later, often when he was on a trip to the Capitol.
A stab of pain gnawed at your wrist and you seized, whimpering. The woman merely wrote it down, muttering something to herself. Though this physical portion of your examination was painful, you would choose it over the mental part, which had occurred before this. They asked questions that twisted your mind into bits, forced you to remember things that stung you with tears and dragged you into a realm of cloudiness where you could do nothing but cry and rock back and forth.
You didn’t want to answer any more questions. You wanted to curl up in a ball and weep until you fell into sleep, something you hadn’t been able to get for ages.
“Mental instability,” the woman murmured, and your heart plummeted. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.
Folding your arms around yourself, you sniffled, hiding your face in your knees. They already thought you were mad so who cares.
The woman said your name once, then again. She even poked your arm with her pen but you remained still. Finally you heard the click of the door shutting and you let yourself collapse onto your mattress, tears pouring rivers down your cheeks.
There was only one person who could make you feel better and he was still far away. At least he was alive. You tried to console yourself with that.
He’d told you not to watch the games but you couldn’t help it, turning on the television for even just a glimpse of him, or to hear his voice. Seeing him hurt nearly sent you into hysterics, but it was better than knowing nothing.
You were given a cocktail of pills to ensure your sleep, and you swallowed them quickly, hoping the nightmares wouldn’t come.
They did though. It didn’t matter how dreamless they said the pills would be.
Everything felt so clean here, stark and white and too bright. Being so close to Finnick but not being able to see him was driving you up the wall, and it caused your struggle when the doctors were moving you from the hovercraft.
They walked you around a crowded area filled with people in near identical uniforms. The precision was nearly maddening. “We need to run more tests,” a male doctor said sharply, brushing you off like you were a bug on his arm.
You shook your head, tugging at the sleeves of the people practically dragging you down the hallway. “Please. Please let me. I’ve been waiting-“
Your name was shouted from a distance. Freezing in place, you turned your head frantically, trying to see him. Was it in your head? Did you miss him so badly you were hearing him without his actual presence?
Then he rocketed into your line of sight. Your tan, golden-haired knight in shining armor, pushing away men in white jackets and calling for you, reaching his arms out. It was a special place he reserved just for you.
“Finnick!” you called frantically, finally breaking free and running as fast as your feet would carry you. “Finnick!”
When you finally crashed into his chest you were already crying, but it wasn’t out of frustration or anger like it had been for the past few months. You were so relieved you could have fainted, and your knees indeed went weak when you felt his arms wrap around you.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered into your hair, nearly breathing you in. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
“Finnick,” you couldn’t stop saying, a sob hijacking your words. “Finnick.”
“I’m here. I’m here, baby,” he breathed. Someone said something and he replied, “I’ve got her. I can take her.” His hold tightened on you when a jagged response was given. “If it’s anything like what I had to do I know you’ve done enough. It can wait.”
When Finnick was upset he became authoritative, and it was in anyone’s best interest to stay out of his way. It was no surprise then that he was able to help you down the length of the hallway without struggle.
You gripped his hand like it was going to disappear. He didn’t object, opening the door with one hand and ushering you inside. The room was as minimalist and clean as the rest of what you’d seen so far, but you could see the touches of him in it. A small shell laid on the bedside and there was a length of rope knotted into a bowline tossed on the mattress.
Finnick guided you to sit down, brushing the rope aside and kicking off his shoes, kneeling beside you. He was looking over your face, checking. For what, you weren’t sure.
Finally he spoke again, his voice reminding you of what you might hear pressing a conch to your ear. “I missed you.”
You launched forward, throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Finnick clasped you tight, not seeming to mind when you began to cry again. A drop landed on your cheek and you realized why. He shook his head once, smoothing your hair as his chest stuttered. “When I found out they’d taken you I…I…” he swallowed audibly. “When the games ended I tried to make them go back for you-“
You pulled back, your fingers finding his hair and stroking it gently. His eyes were fixed on you, oceans roaring within them. “My baby…what did they do to you?”
You sniffled, trying to breathe in and out. “It h-hurt.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, cupping your cheek in his palm. Nodding, Finnick encouraged you to go on.
“It hurt,” you repeated, trying to scrounge up more and becoming frustrated when you couldn’t. Here was the one person you wanted to tell and you were speaking like a child.
It was almost like he could sense it. Finnick nodded once more, shifting so he was lying down and pressing gently on your back so you would too. You settled with your head on his chest, your ear over his heart. The steady thump of it quieted all the noise in your head so quickly that it was like flicking a light off.
One heavy hand stroked up and down your back, soothing you just as you needed. That was Finnick. He always knew what would make you feel better.
Slowly, as he comforted you, more began to pour out about your time at the Capitol. How you’d been wracked with pain for days at a time, injected with substances you didn’t know of. The things they told you.
You made it to your time on the hovercraft after they’d rescued you, muttering about your new diagnosis. Finnick froze at that, his arms tightening around you. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
You sniffled, flattening your palm on his chest. “They r-ran tests-“
“Hey.” You lifted your head at his whisper, finding his eyes aglow, melting for you. “You just need a little help, that’s all. But it’s not forever. I’m gonna be here for you and we’re gonna get through this together.”
When you nodded, he pressed his lips to your forehead, holding them there for a long beat. Your eyes grew heavy, and he stroked your hair until you closed them. You were sleepy, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t fear falling headfirst into your dreams.
Your nails were knives, practically ripping at your skin. You cried out but nobody could hear you, and the voices closed in, crowding you into a corner.
“No. Stop it,” one jutted in, a hand yanking at your palms. “Enough.” The faint whine of a medical tool grated at your skull, and your hands trembled.
“No, no, no,” you sobbed, shivering and shoving your knees to your chest. “No.”
“Shh,” a different voice softened your mind. “It’s alright. Just keep breathing for me. In and out.” You tried opening your eyes, and there he was, blurry but there. His lips curved upwards when he saw you. “There’s my angel. There you are.” A hand slid under your back, encouraging you to sit up. “Right there. Atta girl.”
You swayed, leaning against him. He sheltered you close, seeming to hide you away. “You’re here with me. You’re safe.”
Nodding, you began to let go of yourself, the marks from your nails leaving blood trickling in their wake. Your lower lip began to tremble upon seeing it but he soothed that away too. “We can fix it. It’s okay.”
You slowly began to relax, breathing in and out trying to calm. Finnick kissed your forehead, then your nose. “There we go. You’re doing so good.” Something touched your lips and you sipped the liquid that rushed forth, your throat relaxing.
Silence became your comfort, and you reveled in it. No questions, no reprimanding for all you should have done. Just you and Finnick in this world.
He had been the only thing holding you up in this rigorous place of demand for answers you didn’t have. You wanted to run away from it all back to your ocean with him. He knew it as well as you did. The sea was healing for you as much as it was him. Here you had to make do with the white walls and endless hallways.
“Wanna go home,” you breathed, sniffling into his chest.
“I know,” he whispered back. “I know. I do too.”
You fisted his shirt, taking in a deep breath. “Will we ever get to?” There was no right answer. No real certainty. It made your heart heavy.
Still, he muttered, “Yes.” And you loved him for it.
Propping you up to sit across his lap, Finnick laid a kiss in your hair. “Someday we’re gonna go back to District Four and we’re gonna get married and live right by the ocean. And we’ll be together forever, just you and me.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, and he kissed your forehead. “We’re gonna be okay.”
“That’s right.” There was a hint of pride in his voice that nearly brought you to tears.
“Finnick?” you breathed, looking up at him shyly. “I’m s-sorry. That you have to do this. I know they need you for more important things and I feel like you do everything for me and I don’t do anything for you.”
He looked at you thoughtfully, allowing the tiniest head shake. “Nothing is more important than you.” Finnick grasped a strand of your hair, flipping it playfully behind your shoulder. “You do more for me than you realize, baby. Haven’t had a single nightmare since you started sleeping next to me again.”
You reached up, wiping one eye with your wrist. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, cupping your cheeks. Finnick kissed between your eyebrows. “I was a mess without you. Ask anybody.”
When you were quiet, he exhaled through his nose, cupping your cheek so you’d stay looking at him. “I had half of everyone in charge avoiding me in the hallway because they knew I was gonna ask when they were going to bring you back. At mealtimes and training and whatever I was no fun to be around cause I was pining so much for you and it made me angry that we knew where you were and nobody was doing anything about it.” Finnick stroked your cheekbone. “You’re all I’ve got. I don’t care about anybody else.”
The earnestness in his eyes sent you reaching for him again, and he wrapped you up in his arms, breathing easy. You whispered into his chest. “When they were hurting me, all I could think of was you. How you would want me to hang on.”
“I’m proud of you,” Finnick said, leaning back so you could lay down. He gathered your hair to rest behind your back. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart. Stronger than any of us.”
You hid your face in his chest. He let you lay there, keeping your mind quiet the way it only seemed to when you were with him.
Maybe the roaring oceans of District Four were a thing of the past, but you had your own version in him. Finnick flowed and crashed and soothed the same way as the sea, enveloping you in his embrace and smoothing everything over.
You would dive under for the rest of time, so you could breathe.
summary: Finnick wakes up to find you slipping away from him. As he tries to get help, he loses track of you, only to find you in the hands of the careers. The situation seems to get worse before he finally thinks he's at peace, but you're there to remind him to keep going.
tags / content warnings: angst, a whole lot of it, fluff at the end though I'm not a monster, mentions of blood, hypothermia, violence
word count: 3.4k
a/n: I've been obsessing over our boy Finnick so here's a fic full of angst, because apparently that's the only thing my brain can think of.
This wasn’t exactly where they had thought they’d be at the moment. It all started during the second day in the arena, they had the allies, they had the supplies, and they thought they had the advantage, but worry took over as they started losing sight of each other in a chase, and they tried to find the others, only to end up in a new part of the arena. It was dark, cold, and they had lost their supplies, and there was no food or water source nearby.
Neither of them was really to blame. It had been a long day, and the surroundings didn't inspire much hope. So, both of them had fallen asleep on some of the leaves that covered the ground. The cold air was still blowing around them.
But at least he wasn't alone, two sets of minds were better than one, at least he still had you.
The rising sun urged him to open his eyes, and he stretched out his arms, which had become stiff from the cold. It was only when he sat up and ran his hand through the hair that had fallen in your face that he noticed how cold you were. He quickly got up from behind you, pulling you into his lap, tilting your head up a little. Your skin was almost as white as snow, and your lips were starting to turn blue. The colour that once held so many fond memories of the ocean and the sky, now being replaced by fear and panic. He shook you lightly, trying to wake up as if you were just sleeping deeply. When you didn't react, he called out for you, his voice laced with concern.
“Y/n? Come on love, wake up.” But the only movement that came from you was your arm falling from where it was, the harsh thud to the ground reinforcing his fears.
“No, no come on. This isn't happening, wake up” Finnick had thought about this happening, how could he not when it was the basis for most of his nightmares? But he always woke up from those to find you resting in his arms, your soft breathing comforting him back to sleep. This time he didn't wake up, and he didn't hear your breathing to soothe him. He checked your pulse for a heartbeat, but all he could feel was his own heart racing in his chest. He looked around him as if there would be someone there to help, but you were alone.
He started CPR to try and quicken up your pulse, to get you to breathe again, and while he knew you probably couldn't hear him, he had to try.
“Do you remember when you came back from your first games, I really thought that had been the scariest moment of my life. When I survived my own, at least I knew you were alright at home. When you came back, I thought it was over, I wanted to see the positive side, but you seemed so weak, and having watched you, I knew how bad of a state you were in. It tore me apart to have to see it and not be able to do anything." His voice cracks a little, his head starting to swim with more thoughts.
"I won’t do this without you. You can't leave me now, not like this." He pushes a little harder on your chest while doing compression. He's sure if he does so anymore, he will crack one of your ribs.
"I imagined us getting married. I imagined proposing to you by the lake, that little spot you showed me, I know how happy you were in the middle of the field of dandelions. Every worry seemed to slip away from you, like a little hideaway from the horrors of the world. That's how you make me feel every time I'm with you. It's like there is no one in the whole world except us. And I know how cliche that sounds, I know you never liked cliches, but it's true, you are my world, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you.”
Right as he was about to pour out more of his heart to you, he heard a noise coming from the distance. The steps were too heavy to be coming from a small animal, but his instincts also told him that whoever it was, they weren't there to help.
He knew he had two options. try and fight off whatever was coming while carrying the love of his life with him. Or keep you hidden, try and fight while distracting them away from you and coming back when the coast was clear. He tried his best to hide you underneath a blanket of leaves, making you disappear into the surroundings, he gave you a light kiss on the forehead, scared to get too close and feel how cold your skin still was. He heard the footsteps come closer.
“Just hold on a little longer darling, I’ll be back before you know it.”
And so he turned around, grabbing his trident a little harder than normal, and came face to face with one of the careers. Finnick's muscles were still sore from the night, but he was ready to run. He had to get away from here before the tribute started to wonder if he had been alone.
He ran towards a clearing, making the tribute follow behind him. He ran to a split in the path, which gave him two options, left or right. He heard rustling coming not far behind him, and his instincts told him to go right, so he did. He ran for a while until he reached a dead end, the line of trees becoming so dense he couldn't get through anymore. The tribute was still on his heels, and Finnick had to think fast again. He saw a body of water nearby and decided that diving in, despite the creatures that might be in it, and the chilling temperature it must be, would be better than certain death. He knew he would be able to outswim the career, it luckily being one of his strengths. He started to run towards it, and when he got to the edge, he jumped like his life depended on it, but it still wasn't his life he was worried about, it was yours.
Once he got to the other side of the water, he looked back, and the tribute was nowhere to be seen, probably having decided that the risk of the wild waters wasn't worth it. Finnick wasn't thinking about the relief of escape, all he was thinking about was how much time you had left.
It was by some sort of miracle he found Peeta, Johanna and the others on a small beach nearby, and he practically ran straight into them at full speed without even announcing himself. Once the others had realized it was Finnick, and he was not a danger to them, they calmed down, but the state of despair he was in did alarm them soon after
Peeta looked up at him, he was completely out of breath from how fast he had run.
“Sit down Finnick, try and catch your breath” He told him, while placing an assuring hand on his shoulder.
“There’s no time to sit down, I need to go back.” He spoke with such certainty it startled the others.
“Go back where?”
“ To the clearing, I don't know where it was, but I remember how to get there.”
“Why do you need to go back?” Johanna asked him, seeming confused.
“Because y/n is still there, and she doesn't have long”
The others didn't need to hear more, and started to pack up the things they had with them to follow him.
When they had made it back, Johanna was in front with Finnick, she wouldn't care to admit it out loud, but she was worried about you as well.
“Where?” She asked him
“Over by the cut-down stumps, next to the maple and the oak tree.” Finnick had memorized the entire area in order not to lose track of you, and with Johanna being from the lumber district, he knew this clue would be the most helpful to her.
“There’s no one here” she said, looking back at him frustrated.
“There has to be, she was right there when I left.”
“She might have been, but unless hypothermia comes with the power to turn invisible, she’s gone.”
“Well, she couldn't have left by herself” His mind was reeling with all the possibilities, each one more horrible than the last.
“Well then who took her, there are no drag marks, it wasn't any kind of mutt.”
“I don't know, maybe-” his eyes fell to the mud next to the fallen leaves, the ground here was in permafrost, it couldn't have come from here. When the tribute started chasing him he had already put distance between where you were and where he was going. They must have gone back after he went into the water to try and see if he had any supplies, and have found you. But your body wasn't here, that was a good thing, that means you must be alive, why else would they have taken you?
“They’re at the swamp”
“How are you so sure?”
“The career, he was alone when he chased me, he has to have set up camp somewhere with the others, it can't be far from here otherwise he wouldn't have carried her.”
“Alright, but we don't even know where that is, the swamp must be massive, they could be anywhere, we can’t just run in without a plan.” Johanna tried to reason, looking over to Finnick, only to realise he was no longer there.
“Where did he go?” Peeta asks her.
“Probably to the swamp, probably without a plan.” She sighed, she was annoyed, but couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would do anything for you, including laying down his own life.
“How do we find him, we don't even know where the swamp is, y/n and Finnick were the only ones who crossed it.”
“You don't happen to have a map, do you?” Johanna asks, sarcasm heavy as usual.
While the others were trying to figure out where exactly Finnick had run off to, he himself ran into some trouble. He knew it was his fault for going in without a plan or any backup, but he had listened to his heart, not his head. His heart convinced him he had to find you, telling him that if he didn't find you and wake you up, he’d never be able to see your eyes looking back into his. His heart was telling him to go and save you, even though his head was telling him it was probably already too late anyway.
He wasn't paying close attention to his surroundings as he should have been, trying with all his might to find you. They had found him when he was distracted and from that moment on they kept trying to break him. He was tied with his back against a tree, most of his body covered in blood and a little dizzy from the loss of it.
“It’s very easy to figure out what makes you tick Odair” the district one tribute spoke to him. He couldn't see very far ahead of him, and he couldn't see you anywhere.
“What’s that supposed to mean” He was confused and angry. Confused about what they meant, why they hadn't killed him. Angry they kept him from finding you, from holding you.
“Don’t worry, you'll find out soon enough.”
And as if it was planned, right after the career had spoken, a loud, soul-cracking scream echoed around him. Finnick immediately recognized it, how could he ever forget? It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick, jabber-jays, something. But there wasn't a flock of birds around, and nothing would be able to replicate such a crushing sound. He tried closing his eyes, but when he did his imagination ran wild with images and scenarios, and it only made it worse. The only thing he could do to calm down was tell himself it wasn't real, even if he didn't believe it, repeating it like a mantra over and over.
“It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real.” It was nothing more than a whisper and most probably only a mumble of incoherent words.
“Oh but that's the best part Odair, it is real, and it's not gonna stop until you give us what we want. to know.”
“You’re lying” He spit out, barely able to say the next words without falling apart completely “I saw her die.” A single tear makes its way down his face as he tries to keep his composure, cracking now wouldn't do him or you any good.
“Are you willing to take that risk? She’s pretty feisty, I'll give you that, but if you don't crack soon and tell us where your friends are, she's not gonna make it.
He tried ignoring it, trying to listen to his head instead of his heart, but once again the attempt was futile. All he could hear was the screaming, even when he was sure it had actually stopped, the sound still lived in his head. It was hard to say which was worse, the deafening screams, or the silences in between.
He tried to think with his head, tried to think what you would say to him. It would probably be something along the lines of ‘don’t do anything stupid when I'm not there.’
It was far too late for that.
When the career returned, he had a smile on his face that seemed way too happy for the situation they were in.
“She’s strong, that girl of yours, that much is true. The question is for how much longer, everyone has a point of no return, and I have a feeling she’ll cross it soon, But you can make it stop, tell us where your friends are, and it’ll stop.” The tribute had bent down so he was face to face with him, and by the look in his eyes, he now knew for sure this wasn't a bluff.
Finnick didn't know where they were, they wouldn't have stayed at the beach where he found them or at the clearing where the two of you had slept for the night. And maybe it was for the best he didn't know, because right now if he was honest with himself, he would have told them anything he knew if they wanted it. He would do anything to get to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your body against his, to feel your lips pressed against his own. But the careers weren't stupid, he had no reason to believe they would actually let you go, and even if they did, he knew a part of you would never forgive him for what he would have done.
“This is a waste of time.” He screamed, silently hoping you were close enough and conscious enough to hear his voice, hoping it would be enough to tell you not to give up. He pulled at the ropes tying his hands together with all the strength he had left, knowing it would likely not achieve anything, but hoping for it nonetheless.
But it didn't make a difference, your screams didn't stop, and his heartache didn't stop. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, up until a point where Finnick couldn't tell how much time had passed. It was difficult to keep track of time when you kept blacking out, but it was peaceful in the most morbid way. He didn't sleep, he lost consciousness, so he didn't dream. When he blacked out he had a moment of peace, a moment where he didn't hear your screams echoing around in his head. But he would always wake up and have to face reality again.
He couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore, he couldn't hear his breathing or his thoughts, all he could hear was the screaming and the cries, even though he wasn't sure if they were there or if his mind kept playing tricks on him. He had always feared this, but he didn't think that his worst nightmares would actually come true.
He looked down and saw a puddle of his blood staining the ground and the leaves he was sitting on. The last thing he heard before he blacked out again was shouting coming from the distance.
When he wakes up he can't see much, his eyes heavy and his body tired. But he can feel his cheeks getting wet, it’s a heavy liquid and he guesses it's his blood until he opens his eyes far enough to see you kneeling in front of him, your hands cupping his cheeks to lift his face while you're silently crying, the tears creating a clear path down the grime on your face.
“y/n?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, but you look up into his eyes immediately.
“Finnick, oh god, please wake up we have to get out of here.” Your voice sounds strained, and Finnick isn't sure if it's because of all the screams that must have taken a toll on you, or if the sounds have damaged his ears, he hopes for your sake it's the latter.
“No we don’t” He says with a sense of peace that doesn't match up with the predicament you're in.
“What do you mean?” You ask him, while trying to remove some of the blood stains from his skin, but failing miserably.
“We’re in heaven, aren't we, that's why you're here, I was hoping I would see you.” A sob from your throat almost interrupts his whispering, and he looks up to you again.
“Why are you covered in so much blood” He reaches out to touch your face ever so gently, as if he's scared you're only a figment of his imagination, and you could disappear anytime.
“It’s nothing, I’m alright, I’m more worried about you, you look like you could open your very own blood bank with how much you’re losing.” Your voice is shaky, and it matches the tremble of your hands.
“No need to worry about that, You're here to bring me to heaven, we’ll be together again, it’ll all be perfect.”
“Finnick listen to me! I’m not here to take you to heaven, I’m real and I'm right here in front of you and I need you to stay awake!”
Only he’s not responding to you anymore, his eyes closed again.
“Goddamnit”
You tried to lift him off the ground, but almost fell over once you got him upright. You weren't in your strongest state, and Finnick not being in any conscious state wasn't helping, his whole body weight leaning on you. You put your arm around his shoulder and put the other around his middle, trying to keep him standing so you could move. But with your hands busy trying to keep Finnick upright, you had no way to defend yourself. All the commotion must have alerted other tributes, but you didn't know how many there were to begin with, or who even started the disturbance that allowed you to break free. You thanked whoever was listening that the two of you made it out of the swamp without running into further trouble, and entered an opening of trees that finally allowed bright sunlight to touch upon your skin. You can hear footsteps close by, and prepare for the worst.
“We need to get the two of you back to the others” A familiar voice enters your ears, and you didn't know you could ever be so grateful to find Beetee.
You make your way to a lake not far away. When you get there, you refuse to leave Finnick’s side when Beetee had insisted you needed tending to as well. It was like an unspoken rule. Whenever one of you was hurt, the other didn't leave their side until you were sure they were going to be okay. But you weren't sure, and you weren't leaving him. So you lay down next to him, and the others knew it was useless to try and separate you.
After some time had passed, Finnick started to softly grunt and woke you up with him. Your face contorted in a mix of anger and pain. You leapt up into his arms. It hurt him a little with how tight you were holding him, but he didn't dare let go. Still a little afraid it wasn't real. But he could feel your breathing against his neck, hear you crying in his ear, and hear your heart beating in your chest, in sync with his, you were here, and you were okay.
I WOULD HAVE REALLY LIKED DOING JUST LAUNDRY AND TAXES WITH YOU. -finnick odair
you and finnick wonder about what could have been
based on hunger games catching fire
you and finnick were not lovers, you could never be lovers
Simply because Panem was a country not built for love. It could harvest fear, hatred, anger, perhaps even hope by the looks of it but never love
despite these words, you find yourself resting against Finnick's shoulder at what seems to be the dead of night. Even though he was keeping watch, you choose to remain awake with him, alongside him.
"you should get some rest" finnick whispers but you don't reply, he takes your silence as your response, knowing better to fight against you
"never thought I'd be back here" he looks around the jungle, letting out a low whistle "it's just how I remember it, i still hate it"
The silence engulfs you both, it's obvious how the two of you were not the only ones who hated the situation. None of you had really thought you'd be back in the arena and surely none of you had hoped to
You look over at where Peeta and Katniss were asleep "you think they're really inlove?"
You both talk in low whispers, not wanting everyone else watching to hear your conversation
Finnick pauses, he thinks, "yes, I think so"
"really?" You give him a quizzical glance
"yea" Finnick pauses again "they just don't realise it"
You bite your lower lip, nodding your head "well then paint me green with envy" you mumble softly
Finnick locks eyes with you, confused, puzzles "why you say that?" His voice is ever so soft and gentle
"the entire nation is rooting for their love and turns out, they really are inlove" your words are simple but yet Finnick feels a pang in his chest. He notices the way you emphasize the word inlove.
It's obvious that if any of the other tributes, say namely finnick and you ever fall inlove, then Panem surely won't welcome this news with the same warmth as they did to Katniss and Peeta
You find yourself leaning even closer into Finnick, finding comfort in his warmth "if.." your words hang from your tongue, as if though you were unsure of your words
"if?" Finnick questions
"if things were different, would we have never met?" You hate the way your voice has a hint of desperation, slight confirmation
"you mean if the games never existed? If Panem was simply just another country?"
You nod too quickly, you realise.
"you'r crazy if you think that we'd never meet" there's a slight smile etched in his face "I'd go against the universe if it tried to keep me away from meeting you"
You hold your breath for a second, the same feeling blossoming in the pits of your heart, the same feelings you had always kept hidden in the pits of your heart.
Despite the complication in your chest you continue, ignoring the implications of his words
"universe?" You ask before you could stop yourself "you think there's a universe out there where none of this happens?" You refer to the war, the pain, the games.
"hey, it's you who brought up the topic not me" finnick quips, again silence befalls the both of you,
"if another universe existed" you continue, since you brought up the topic after all "I think you'd be an actor, I can't imagine you anything but ordinary" there's a smile in your voice, a tone of half teasing "you'd live in the limelight, adored by your fans all across the world"
He let's out a laugh "there's nothing this handsome face can't accomplish" finnick retorts, matching your tone, grinning "and you? I can't imagine you anything else but ordinary aswell"
"oh trust me I would love to be just another ordinary person" you say "I would do anything to be a normal person living in a normal place"
Finnick sighs, dramatically "I guess then I'd have to give up my celebrity life for you" he raises his eyebrows as he looks at you " you know I'd love to have an ordinary life with you"
There's a softness to his words, no sharp edges, no tears, no bites. Just pure genuinity, you could almost call it love, you wished you could allow yourself to call it love
"an ordinary life with me would be boring" you shake your head, discouraging the idea
"life could never be boring if I had you by my side"
You didn't want to admit it, you didn't want to admit that maybe perhaps you felt a certain way towards Finnick, maybe he did too.
Your life was all too messed up, beyond repair and broken.
you didn't want to bring yourself to more pain, especially not if it was by the hands of finnick, your finnick
"you'd have to do boring regular things" you continue to argue, not wanting to believe the taller boy next to you, it was all too painfull
"I'd love to do boring regular things with you," finnick retorts back "what exactly is boring regular things?"
"like laundry and...." Your loss for words "and taxes!" Your blurt out the only thing in your mind
Finnick give you a hard long stare, his jaw tightening before he looks away from you, looking towards the blank sky
"well then, I would have really liked doing just laundry and taxes with you"
Again, the same silence engulfs the two of you, finnick still not tearing his eyes away from the sky as you in turn refuse to look away from his face.
you and finnick were not lovers,
because then the Capitol would see that as treason. you and finnick couldn't be lovers because then the entirety of Panem would see that as rejection
But yet you and finnick were many other things. Many unnamed things, a bit too close to be called friends, shared glances that lasted a little too long to be considered simply as acquaintances,
you and finnick were all the things, all things but lovers, never lovers.
But right now your leaning against him, your hands caressing his cheek and your lips colliding with his for the entirety of Panem to see,
"I would have really liked doing just laundry and taxes with you too" you whisper
There are a half dozen other failed Mockingjays before the 74th Games. Finnick is one of them. Not the first, and certainly not the last. He’s just the first one that Haymitch notices.
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