Seeing a lot of talks about finnick as a dad/doting husband during pregnancy on the fyp and I must contribute to the conversation 🌱 (warnings: it's long and so fluffy you're gonna die). Part 1.
Part 2 ☁︎
The thing about Finnick is that he has a lot of love to give to anyone who would take it. His heart is overflowing with it, shining cerulean with it. So of course fatherhood came to him as easily as breathing—
Wrong. Have you seen that walking talking ball of anxiety, love and autism?
The day you tell him you're pregnant he passes the fuck out. On the floor. And when he wakes up he cries for an hour straight, thanking you enough times with kisses pressed into every inch of your skin he could reach that the words don't even sound like English anymore. He's so grateful, so fucking grateful and terrified but above all, completely and irrevocably in love with you.
Throughout the pregnancy, he's as paranoid as it gets to the point you have to beg him to please leave you alone and no, Finnick the baby won't be hurt if i eat too fast please breathe and let me breathe but it's all from a place of love. He's lost too much, almost everything in his life. The few people he could still keep were precious to him and he was not going to let any of them forget that least of all his babies. Or baby.
Finnick talks to the baby a lot. Asking the most bizarre question to your bump as if he actually expected a tiny, baby's voice to answer him. He was constantly on about something new and his favourite topic to talk about was whatever his new hyperfixation was and you just nodded and smiled because of course the baby wants to know how to do an alpine stitch! But it was so endearing and relieving to see him finally be happy, finally find a purpose, even if it was to just talk nonstop to your belly. He deserves this, these little pockets of happiness.
And one of his greatest happiness was taking care of you. Circling back to the fact that he starts hyperventilating when his lover so much as sneezes too hard, the hellscape that was pregnancy scared him. No, fuck it, it terrified him. So he did what he always did and loved to do and banned you from anything and everything that needed physical exertion. Chores of any kind were out of order. You were on a healthy diet of four meals a day and of course they included all your cravings that he always presented to you no questions asked thank you very much and you had to take naps, multiple of them, all with his presence as a requirement (you were sure those were just an excuse to cuddle you but you would rather take up another round of hunger games than call him out on it). He attended every appointment, had an alarm set for all the prenatal meds, and always a kiss for the belly and your lips just so you knew that this was it for him. You and your baby were the very centre of his universe and this was him orbiting you both. And you couldn't help but be grateful that you had him to love and cherish just as he did you.
And your favourite way of telling him you loved him was letting him take control over the one thing you knew he loved: baby shopping. With all due respect, this is the type of guy who bought baby shoes when he was eighteen with no baby in sight because look at how tiny this is it's so cute *big sparkly green eyes.* But it's particularly endearing watching him waltz around the store, arms full of onesies and plushies and you kind of just stand there, unable to do anything because what the fuck were you supposed to do at nine months pregnant and married to a man who you *checks notes* gifted a day where he could buy anything he wanted as a birthday present?
I promise you the answer was not 'go into an early labour the second he dumped the shopping bags in the living room' but who am I to say anything?
The baby coming two whole weeks early did not sit well with his anxiety. He was a mess, a complete and utter mess but he was also the most precious angel on this planet so seeing him holding back tears of fear so he could be there for you and hold you tight, so tight, because he was scared he would lose you broke your heart too. While the pain of the labour was bad, knowing he was close, holding you tight as he pressed gentle kisses everywhere, to cater to everything you needed, was enough to realise, he was the one. And you were going to fight through hell for him.
Such a wretched thing, love, you thought to yourself as you felt him shake beside you through the pain and haze, to ask you to hope against hope that the strain on your strength and your fading string of fate would persevere despite it all.
But you did. You survived and so did your precious little baby girl, and so did the last pieces of Finnick's soul, despite it all.
The first time he holds his tiny, tiny baby in his arms, something in his brain just clicks (or maybe his frontal lobe was finally fully developed because of course his baby picked the day before his birthday to make her own entry on planet earth) but whatever it was, it was perfect. His entire world narrowed down to the squirming little angel in his arms and he couldn't help but feel his heart leave his chest for the second time in his life to become hers. She fit right into the crook of his arms, the space in his neck. She fit into his life like another piece of puzzle that he never knew he was look for.
She was his little angel, his little girl. The person he never knew he fought through whole wars for but now, holding her against his chest as he watched you both sleep, he knew this is what he was meant to do. To love, to love, to love. For the sake of it. Simply because he could. Simply because he was alive and it was good enough reason to love with his entire being.
Part 1 because I don't exactly know if you people will like it enough to want more.
⚠︎ | moments of rest and unrest between lovers who are afraid, who hestitate, and who see little sense in peace. proceed with caution.
Summary: reader disappears suddenly during the funeral of her fallen District partner, who had died at her own hands, and comes back home to her lover's grief.
Category: requested.
Timeline: set post 70th Hunger Games, one month after reader won.
Tags : angst, destructive love; mild comfort towards the end,
She didn't look at him, too focused on dragging the bag in her hands next to him. It looked heavy, he noted mildly, and he wondered what on earth was in it, why his girl—his victor—was carrying it around.
She looked up from the floor, strands of her wet hair sticking to the sides of her face, and his heart sank at the blank, unfocused gaze that met his.
“Out.”
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper in check, to calm his racing heart, that was still twisted into a knot of fear in his chest that refused to loosen as he slammed the receiver back in it's place.
"Out where?" He asked, his face twisting in bewilderment as she walked past him, carrying the strange bag, into the kitchen. He watched her as placed it on the counter and took plastic containers out, blinking when he saw them full of steaming, spicy crab stew. “Doll—”
“I went to the market,” she mumbled distractedly as she looked for bowls and a ladle. “Ate dinner with a friend. Brought back some stew for you. I'll make you some ric—”
“You left a funeral, Piers' funeral, went missing for nine hours and now you want me to believe you just went to eat dinner with a friend?” He asked, staring at the girl in front of him as if she was speaking in a completely different language.
“Mhmm.”
And he immediately knew something was wrong.
Finnick knew her better than anyone, anyone, and he knew that she would never do this. Piers Morgan had died by her hands in the arena. She wouldn't abandon his funeral for nothing. She wouldn't miss a chance to apologise to his parents for his sacrifice, despite the fact that it would get her into trouble.
She wouldn't. But she had.
And now, he couldn't even think beyond the sheer amount of anger suffocating him. He couldn't think beyond the worry etched in the lines of Mags' aging features or the hysteria that suffocated Annie. He couldn't think beyond the way he could feel his heart nearly give out from fear, of the way he nearly ripped his hair out in the last nine hours calling everyone under the sun to help him find her—
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” He asked quietly, his eyes trained on her, on the soaked fabric of her black dress, clinging to her skin, on the way her fingertips had turned blue from the rain she had been walking around in. “Do you think it's funny? Scaring the shit out of everyone like this? Do you know what you have put me through for the past nine hours—”
“I needed some time alone—”
“And you couldn't wait to have that alone time for an hour?” He asked, letting out an incredulous laugh. “You couldn't tell me before you went off to God knows where—”
“That's the fucking point isn't it?” She asked, letting out a short, sardonic laugh, making the room go still, freezing him in his place. Part of him was glad, relieved at the sight of an emotion, even if it was anger, in her eyes. He couldn't stand the lifeless grief that stained her skin like indigo on ivory.
“I needed a few hours of feeling like a normal human being. One that doesn't have blood on her hands. One that doesn't have cash deposited into a bank account from the Capitol because she killed people. I needed a few hours of feeling like myself again and I can't do that with one of you constantly breathing down my fucking neck!"
“Well, guess what? You're not normal!” Finnick shouted back, trying not to breathe too hard because God his heart, his heart hurt. He could feel the way shards of his ribs and glass of her words and his own stuck in the soft tissues and making it bleed. “You're a fucking Victor and I'm your fucking mentor and that means you don't go disappearing on me for nine hours!”
But even that did little stop the venom flowing from his lips.
“You think I enjoy babysitting you?” He asked stepping up to her, staring down at the way his own, twisted features reflected in her empty eyes. “You think I enjoy having to watch your every move and keep my eyes on you all the time? You think I like waking up every morning with a knot in my stomach wondering if you'll still be breathing by the end of the day?”
Poison. He was poison.
“I never asked you to care!” She screamed back, making him flinch back a little his chest heaving. “I didn't ask you to care! I didn't ask you to do anything for me! It's not my fault that you can't be a normal mentor who can't give up after his job is done! Your job was done when my time in the arena ended and it's not my fault that you don't recognise that!”
“Well, that's fucking unfortunate because sadly, for both of us, I do care. Beyond what my job description entails.” He snapped at her, breathless at the sight of her rage, stunned by the fact that despite her state, despite the unbound tempers, she still was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on.
He leaned against the kitchen island, rubbing his shaking hands across his face as he tried to breathe, tried to see beyond the red and blue of their combined rage.
“You can't keep doing this, baby,” he whispered, looking at her through the thin film of moisture in his eyes, pleading, begging her to stop hurting him. “Y-You can't keep doing this. You can't disappear for hours like this and-and come back looking like you jumped into the fucking ocean—”
“Go home, Finnick.”
“I thought I lost you. I thought you tried again—”
“Please stop it and go home.”
“And-And then you walked in through the door, looking like t-that and not saying a word and I knew, I knew you did. I knew you tried to leave again—”
“Then go home! Then go home if I scare you so much! Go home if I'm so fucking terrifying!” She screamed, slapping her hands down on his chest and he gasped, his very breath lost at the way her wet hair curled like tendrils of smoke.
“I am home!” He shouted back, grabbing her wrists before she could do it again. He tugged her as close as he could, leaning his forehead against hers, trying to ignore the way she flinched at his touch, at the way his fingertips pressed into the lines on her wrists.
“I am home,” he repeated firmly, ignoring the blood staining his fingertips, his lips trembling against the cold of her skin. “I am home. And so are you. And you need to stop this. You need to stop hurting yourself, baby— please just listen to me!”
Her blank eyes snapped up to meet his, and he pressed his lips to hers desparately, begging her to come back to him, to please come back from the world he had lost her to.
“You can't keep hurting yourself,” he whispered, gently pushing back strands of her hair, wiping away the tear teetering on her lower lashline with his thumb, leaving behind a streak of red in his wake. “You can't disappear like that again, ever. And you absolutely cannot go anywhere alone, not with the way you are acting these days. You can't—”
“I don't want to do this anymore,” she whispered, her lips trembling, breaking whatever was left of his heart. “I c-can't do this. I'm not meant to be a-a Victor. I'm not. I can't live like this anymore—”
“Yes, you can,” he whispered, shaking his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, cheek, nose before finally on her lips, desparate for her to feel him, to know that he was here, right here and that he would never leave. “You survived the Games, you'll survive this too. You'll be fine. We'll be fine.”
“I'm so sorry,” she choked out in a breathless sob, crumbling in his arms like fine snow. “I'm s-so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
I'm so sorry that I can't stop hurting you.
“It's okay,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, tight and misplaced as if he was trying to hold too many pieces of her together at once. “You're okay, baby. I'm okay. We're okay. We're going to be okay.”
The lie burned his tongue like acid and his lungs like the cigarettes he smoked. But even if it did little to ease the fear and pain and grief and rage clawing at her skin like vultures asking for their share of her flesh, he'd do it again. He pressed a kiss into her hair and prayed to whoever would listen, to accept his lie this once to give him a truth in exchange. This once.
A/N: Written in the middle of a study break, on Tumblr before being unleashed into the world and so please be kind. English is not my first language so if it has some weird lines then that's why. Inspired by the song above but not a song fic. I have been burnt out and unable to write for a while but this has been on my mind for the last few days. Hope you enjoy.
Part 2 of Finnick being the most amazing dad/doting husband because I'm sure this is just therapy for my darlings with daddy issues and, well, issues🌱
Warnings: a little long, a little angstier today, implied mention of what happened to finnick. But still as fluffy as yesterday.
Part 1 ☁︎
If Finnick was caring and terrified during the pregnancy, multiply that by ten thousand and that's him postpartum. This man was convinced the very air his family breathed was out to get them. He refused to sleep because he was scared something would happen if he dared to get some rest but after you very gently (you yelled) explained to him that he cannot stay up for three nights straight because no Finnick the baby doesn't need to be held twenty five-eight please for the love of god get some damn sleep, he finally got some rest.
Recovering from pregnancy is a whole other nightmare but he made it bearable. Finnick's favourite thing in the entire world, as previously stated, was taking care of you. So you know he was at your beck and call round the clock. He helped you shower, helped you move around, stayed up with you during night time feedings so you wouldn't feel alone. He cooked every meal and made sure you had everything needed within an arm's reach. Sometimes you were so overcome with love for him that you would tug him close and pepper his face with kisses because where on earth would you find someone as gentle and caring and loving in this miserable world as this angel right here? Nowhere thank you.
But it was seeing him with her that had you convinced you saved a country in your last life (well, in this life and while it was group effort—) to be able to witness something so pure and gentle.
Finnick held his little girl like he she was made of the finest glass and would disappear if he so much as breathed too loud near her. His wide eyes traced every movement, every twitch of a muscle, every breath your baby took. If her little hand curling around his made his pretty eyes gloss over, you absolutely saw it and you made sure to tease him about, for which you were met with embarassed smiles but no denials. He wasn't ashamed of loving his family and least of all his baby girl.
But every spring came stained grey from winter's shadow, still lingering around the corner as if seeking spring's warmth too. And Finnick's past, to him, felt a bit like that.
What happened to Finnick was not a secret he carried in his pocket folded up with a list of names who still bragged of their contribution to his survival or hidden behind forced smiles anymore. What happened to Finnick was public and while he is as not at all at fault for it, humiliation and self-hatred didn't have a mind of its own and regardless of the circumstances and the people that were at fault for everything, he still blamed himself, he still dreaded the day his baby, his entire world, found out what happened. And he told you about it of course.
"What if...what if she hates me?"
You looked up from the book you had been reading, glancing at him where he lay on his back. Your daughter, now nine months old, fast asleep on his chest and your voice a little incredulous as you whisper back. "I'm not sure if you noticed but she worships the ground you walk on."
The smile he gives you is forlorn and pressed into the top of your daughter's head. He blinked, looking away from you and in the blink of an eye you had dropped your book, uncaring where it landed and gently craddled his face in your hands, wiping away tears that stained his emrald green eyes.
"Angel—"
"I don't want her to find out," he sniffed, tightening his arms around your daughter, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. "I do-don't want her to find out. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm so weak. I was so weak."
You sighed, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead before wiping away tears that escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Rage and grief burned in your heart with vengeance and you wished, not for the first time, the need to rip those wealthy capitolites to shreds with your bare hands, to make these vile people disappear, praying they'd take the pain they inflicted on him away with them.
But instead you used the same hands and pulled him close, letting him cry into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and your daughter, whispering quietly but firmly to him. "Finnick Odair, those years of you life were bleak. Those years of your life were harsh. And you were a lot of things during them: broken, hurt, abused. But you weren't weak. You survived, you made sure to survive because you knew you needed to survive to be free. That was your way of winning. And if we raise this baby right, she'll love you regardless, hell even more, when she finds out. I love you and I agree with you on just about everything. But this, this I refuse to because the man i married, the boy I fell for, is a survivor."
He peered at you through wet lashes, sniffling softly as he pressed a kiss to your chest and then the top of your daughter's head: his quiet way of saying 'I love you. Thank you for being my light.' You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, tightening your arms around your family.
You weren't lying when you said your daughter worshipped the ground he walked on. He was her hero. She followed him around the house since the minute she started crawling, screamed for him every morning and only calmed down when he picked her up and out of crib and in the most Finnick fashion, loved you in her gentle ways. She got that from me, he would say smugly as you had to eat another fistful of mushed baby food because of course your daughter picked that her way to show her love for you after having seen Finnick feed you fruit earlier. You would glare at him over her little sprout hair, identical to the one his hair was tied into on her highness' orders, your heart threatening to explode in your chest from the sheer amount of love it was filled with.
Your daughter was not only growing up to be the most precious child in the world, but she was also terrifyingly bright and understanding, even at such an young age. On days she noticed Finnick's need to be quiet or when he was too overwhelmed by everything, you noticed her making a conscious effort to stay quiet and keep her noises to a minimum. If Finnick needed time alone, she wouldn't bother him but spent her time with you, telling you about how daddy needs his quiet time and you had to hold onto the cushion behind you on the couch to hold back from crying, completely baffled at and extremely grateful that you both were raising an angel like her. But you weren't all that surprised when you thought about it a little more deeply. She was, after all, her daddy's little girl.
The day she starts kindergarten feels like the most emotional episode of the worst soap opera possible because you woke up to them...crying. And saying their goodbyes as he tearfully packed her lunch and did her hair, as if she was off to war. And it took quite a while to coax them both out of the house because I love you both but we cannot be late on the first day you guys please. But on the walk to kindergarten it was peaceful and full of laughter, because they could both pretend this was just their morning walk.
But of course, the tears were back when the gates closed with the promise of keeping them separated for three hours.
"What if she gets hungry and can't open the lunch box?"
You frowned looking up at him, shaking your head. You both were standing outside the gates to the school along with other worried parents, some taking a break from said worrying to side eye you both, something you had learned to tune out years ago.
"Finnick, she showed us she can open the lunch box just fine before we left home."
"But what if she can't here?" He insisted, looking down at you like you were the insane one for not considering that scenario. You sighed, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the gates, trying to ease his worries.
"I promise you if she needs help with that, she will ask her teacher," you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently to stop him when he opens his mouth to voice another bizarre worry. "She'll be fine. She's our kid, she'll be perfectly fine."
He cracked a small smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you both start walking back, giving in with a small chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we should get a puppy to keep us busy now since she wants to do all grown up things go to scho..."
You look up at him as he suddenly trails off, confused as you catch him staring at something thoughtfully in the distance and follow his gaze to freeze against him slightly. In the distance, still as grey and imposing as ever, was the abandoned building which once held District 4's career academy. Strange feelings that always came with seeing it, both good and bad and nostalgic, make you tighten your grip on his hand and his around your shoulders.
Less than a decade ago, only a few metres and a small canal away from the kindergarten that your daughter now attended, children like her were being trained to kill, you and Finnick being a part of them. The thought of that still makes your blood run cold but the relief that rushed in right after, knowing your baby would never have to do that, is enough to let go of another hour of the countless you had spent in there, training to survive a system bigger than the arena could ever be.
You took a deep breath, forcing to maintain your light tone as you forced both of you to continue moving. "Heard they're building another school there, to keep the spirits of learning still alive and all that."
He smiled, kissing the top of your head fondly. "And I assume you want to help out in that?" The cheeky smile you had given him was answer enough but for him, it was like a sigh of relief, of brighter days no longer stained with gloom of his past.
People and places had changed to accomodate this new change, this everlasting spring, and maybe he was looking forward to letting his soul do the same too.
A/N: i agree this might've gone slightly offtopic in certain places but bare with me. I can't decide if want this to be the end or write more. But I hope you enjoyed this regardless of these things. All my love 🌱
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn.
Summary: Reader has insomnia, Finnick has nightmares. Both have a little comfort to share in District 13's grey little compartments as the winters approach and an impending doom settles itself in their chests.
Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader (requested)
Warnings: nightmares, mentions of non graphic torture, mentioned past drug use, implied forced prostitution, insomnia.
Word Count: 1.7k
A/N: I'm so terrible sorry about how rambly this is and how long it took me to finish this. Exam season is kicking my ass but at least it's out now. Hope you all like this. I did my best <3
𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟
You spent far too much time awake for your liking.
Far too much time left alone in thoughts that plagued your peace, left your chest aching from panic that made you struggle to breathe and far too much time aware of everything.
Worst of all though, it gave far too much time to let insomnia induced migraines develop and make the next day worse than the one before. District 13 was not known for giving painkillers or treatments for things they didn't classify as life threatening with a generous heart.
Days underneath layers of earth, surrounded by metal and blanketed by the condescension of those that boasted surviving as frugally as humanly possible, made you wish you still had access to those little lilac pills that were passed around on marble trays at Capitol parties, the little butterfly embed in it's centre your last thought and the taste of cherry lip gloss still on your tongue as you passed out cold for long enough for the sun to rise twice.
But the wistful longing for Capitol drugs and the relief they brought were interrupted by a long arm wrapping itself around your chest and a puff of warmth washing over your skin as Finnick pushed his face into your neck in his sleep, his golden hair in your mouth and soft snores in your ear. You sighed, wrapping your own arm around his shoulder as you closed your eyes. Not for the first and more than likely not your last either, you envied your husband's ability to sleep through just about anything.
Husband.
The thought of associating that word with the man in your arms with his pouting lips pressed against the underside of your jaw made your cheeks burn a little red and a giddy smile cross your lips as you watched your breath fog in front you.
Years spent yearning for little more than slaps on the back given as a token of boyhood to months spent waiting on a victim who was haunted by the graves that lined to salute his victory. Years spent waiting for green eyes to meet yours with the devotion that you knew he could feel to hours spent with hands begging for relief on skin stained red from need before the march to your own funeral. Years spent in hidden peace as the world corrupted you too and then months spent apart where his screams for help, the smell of your own blood and beady eyes that imitated them became your only company.
Years. Yet again you spent far too many years yearning for something. Yearning for relief. And it came in the form of a wedding underneath layers of earth and metal, surrounded by people a little less stoic and a boy who's smile resembled the very sun that your skin craved, far too spoiled with kisses from its rays and his pillow lips.
You both were clad in identical, standard grey '13 haute couture boxer briefs, your skin cold to touch from sweat that had dried in the chill of approaching winter and Finnick's as warm as the sand on District 4's beaches in summer. Sunshine, you breathed into golden hair, a small smile pressed into the top of your husband's head.
Your heart still sang as you felt the little bruises he had kissed into your skin ache slightly and you sighed, blinking up at the dark ceiling in exhaustion. This was the most exhausted and comfortable and loved and sleep deprived you had been in a while.
Sleep. You needed sleep. This was getting ridiculous.
You huffed, gently manoeuvring out of Finnick's octopus grip as you tried to wiggle out of bed until you were standing next to the bed, your heart breaking a little as Finnick immediately starts searching for you in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and you put your pillow into his grasp to let your scent pull him into the safety of sleep long enough for you to take a short shower.
The compartment you both had been assigned didn't hold much besides a bed just big enough to fit two adult men and a small bathroom cubicle that didn't have a warm water supply, that was only in the communal bathrooms. Still, you didn't complain, knowing the only way you would less tired was if you shocked your body out of its sleepy state, even if it meant staying awake for the rest of the night.
You washed yourself down slowly, taking time to run the scentless soap into your skin and washing away your earlier activities. Finnick had never been one to constantly crave sex, far too scarred from what he was made to do and what he had to watch you do, but ever since you both had been married, he was insatiable, his hands wandering the length of your body every night and your need for the intimacy making you crave his too.
Finnick's sitting up in bed, wrapped in the duvet and sniffling softly. His hair sticks in every which direction and the bright light of the bathroom makes his green eyes look wider and, with a painful tug at your heart, you realise they're stained with tears and red rimmed.
You pushed the thoughts of your earlier activities away, your cheeks burning as you shiver under the cold water shower. You stand there long enough to have your teeth chattering before stepping out of the shower and drying yourself quickly. You pull on the first thing your fingers touch — a thin, grey sweater that's too big for your lithe frame — and a pair of sweatpants before stepping out of the bathroom and jumping a foot in the air.
You close the bathroom door behind you before quickly making your back to the bed, gently cradling his face in your palms, a part of you melting when he leans into your touch immediately, keeping your voice low as to not startle him.
"Love, what's wro—"
"You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking with your heart at how desperate he sounded. "You were gone a-and the room was dark and I thought...I thought I heard you screaming—"
"Shhh," you whispered gently, tugging him close until he rested his head against your chest, muffling a sob in the sweater as you gently kissed the top of his head, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. Finnick had far, far too many nightmares about the time you were taken by the Capitol, the months he spent alone, waiting for District 13 to rescue you. While your mind actively blocked those days spent away from him, his was hell bent on tormenting him through his dreams. You sighed, gently whispering to him.
"I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I just needed to clean up a little because I couldn't sleep. You just had a bad nightmare. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay." He sniffled softly as you wiped his tears away and peppered his face with kisses. You sit there with him in your arms, humming softly to him as you wait for your racing hearts to slow down. It was an old, old sea shanty, sung on boats by sailors with voices too rough.
He eventually calmed down and you sighed, tugging him until he lay down with you on the bed, his face burrowed into your chest. The silence of the room is less suffocating now that you both managed to shred last dregs of fear from your limbs, leaving behind exhaustion and something you weren't very familiar with — sleepiness.
You almost doze off, Finnick's warm breath against your throat too comforting when you hear his small, sleep laden voice whisper softly into the silence.
"I want to move out of The Victor's Village when we get back."
You blink into the darkness, tightening your arms around him. You weren't exactly surprised by his statement but the randomness of it still catches you off-guard. "Oh? And go where, baby?"
Finnick shifts against you to look up at you, his wide, green eyes and pink dusted cheeks making him look so adorable that you can't resist kissing the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it as he continues. "A small cottage on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We'll decorate it with seashells and get a dog."
You chuckle softly at his enthusiastic future planning, running your fingers through his hair as you nod. "And a cat. And hydrangeas to decorate the front porch. And you could knit us all cute little sweaters to wear around the house."
Finnick beams up at you, his dimples making your heart ache with affection. This is what you fought through hell for, making sure he could lay in your arms like this and smile softly up at you as you both daydreamed of a future that looked so distant but felt just as real as the present.
He snuggles impossibly closer to you as he whispers, his voice serene. "I will. I'll knit you a pink one. And we'll make sure the yard looks like a little meadow where our kids can play."
You press gently kisses to the top of his head, rubbing his back gently as you smile. "Of course. We'll get a swing set too."
You feel him press a kiss to the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you fall silent again. You could feel his breathing slow down, his lashes fluttering against your skin and just as you think he's falling asleep again, you hear him whisper softly, all the wistful longing for a peaceful happy ending with you bleeding out to leave behind a familiar anxiety, anxiety that he only let you see.
"We'll be okay, right?"
He sounds so afraid that it breaks your heart, leaving you to close your eyes as you try to breathe past the pain of seeing him struggle to hold onto happiness. You tilt his head up and gently kiss his lips, his sigh of relief giving you the strength to summon all the confidence you could as you whispered back.
"Of course, baby. We'll be perfectly fine."
Finnick breathed out softly in relief before kissing you again, pushing you onto your back before straddling you. Your hands immediately reach for his hips as you sit up, pulling him impossibly close, desperate to feel him, to know he was right here and yours to love.
You didn't like lying to him, didn't like not feeling confident in your own words, didn't like the uncertainty that came with a promise like this. But if it gave his mind the temporary relief to shed the worries and leftover tears and breathe a sigh of relief, then so be it.
random hc; reader and Finnick basically fighting their way through life because hey what's love without some gutwrenching arguments in a do or die situation lmao I like making Finnick suffer sorry.
on darker days, Finnick's eyes didn't stray far from the clock.
something about the constant ticking, the constant background noise lingered in the back of his mind. his eyes would stray to them as he tried to focus on his book, when his body was shadowed by a man older and bigger than his entire existence, when you demanded to know, to just please know, why he constantly betrayed you, mind and body and soul and heart.
his eyes strayed to them as he wished time would speed up just a little more so they could once again be at that stage where his lover, his heart, the very reason he even bothered to continue breathing would just accept that he had needs outside of you. that there was nothing you could to to keep him from satisfy his lust. Better this than dead, he always reasoned to himself on the worst of the nights. Better a cheater than a murderer, he would tell himself, his face buried in one of your sweaters as you stormed out into the rain, disgusted with the lack of answers, disgusted with the callousness with which he handled your heart.
So oblivious to how he picked apart his own with poison darts to keep yours untainted.
SUMMARY: They met along the shores and then met again at the foot of those that worshipped them. One rose, one fell from grace and the other caught them both in her gentle embrace.
Or alternatively,
Finnick, Reader and Annie's victory, loss and everything else in between. Brought to you by the music of Hozier, Agust D, Halsey and my wandering friend crafted with grief: A story of trials, love, resentment and rage.
WARNINGS: gore, nightmares, ptsd, self destructive tendencies, self harm, child abuse, near death experiences, forced prostitution, non explicit talks of prostitution, drug addiction, alcoholism, domestic violence, non explicit smut, miscommunication.
PAIRINGS: Finnick Odair x Reader x Annie Cresta
My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane?
— Francesca, Hozier.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Chapter One: Amygdala.
Summary: It's been six weeks, seventeen hours, forty one minutes and twenty three seconds since he came out of the arena drenched in someone else's blood and he eats dried mangoes with a stranger to cope with it.
Warnings: mild gore, unreliable narrator, PTSD.
Word Count: 2k
Because they're also all in the past now. So, is all countless suffering for my own good?
— Amygdala By Agust D.
6 weeks after the 65th Hunger Games.
Sometimes, when he closed his eyes and tried to focus, he could hear it. Wind chimes, his sister laughing as she struggles to keep up with him on her toddler legs, the wet sand making it hard for the three year old and the waves splashing them with salt as he slows down just enough for her to wrap her chubby arms around his legs and think she was the one who caught him.
Her giggles sound bright as wind chimes and just for that minute he can pretend everything's oka—
She drops down next to him in the grass as unceremoniously as one would when sitting down for a boring class. The wind, freezing and cold in a way that's only characteristic to District 4, ruffles his hair as he turns to look at the stranger.
She's familiar but, honestly speaking, so is everyone else in the tiny public school of District 4. But he's never spoken to her, that's something he's sure about. The girl doesn't turn to look at him, instead choosing to look at the waves crashing against the foot of the cliffs.
Neither of them should be here, not really. This small patch of grass and wildflowers was out of bounds for it was perched at the edge of the cliffs that line the back of the school. But Finnick couldn't care less and it doesn't seem like this girl does either but that doesn't explain her presence there, sitting right next to him on the semi-damp grass, too close to be just sharing the space.
His eyes take in her nonchalance for one more minute before he eventually says, "What are you doing here?"
The girl's eyes, as deep as the sea they sat in front of, snapped to look at him and he inhaled sharply, only barely stopping himself from visibly squirming at the intensity of her gaze. She shrugs then, looking back out at the sea as she speaks easily.
"Admiring the view."
He nods and sighs, mimicking her movements as he turns back to the sea too. For a moment, he says nothing, content to stare out at the vast expanse of blue. But after a bit, he turns his head to look back at her. "Who are you?"
Her cheeks redden, just enough to be noticeable that makes something in his heart thaw, before she glances at him, her voice as delicate as lotus silk.
"We, ah, we sit in English together."
He looks at her, actually looks at her, and realises she's indeed the girl who sat next to him in English. Mrs. Hedsson had made them sit together so she could help him keep up but in all honesty, he's spent the past few weeks sleeping in class and for some strange reason, the girl had had neither woken him up nor snitched on him.
He clears his throat, before saying as pleasantly as he could muster up to at the moment, "Of course. You're the smart kid right?"
She raises an eyebrow and tilts her to the side in a way that reminds him of those terrifying, colourful snakes from the arena and their bite making his entire body numb and burn like he was on fire— "I have a name, you know?" She deadpans, a barely disguised sigh in her voice.
He nods, laughing nervously. "Well, do enlighten me on your name." He smirked at her, as he would at the crowds of people in the Capitol or even at the girls here in District 4, but this girl looked at him like he had grown another head, which made his cheeks darken.
She glanced at him curiously, as if he were a very interesting type of lizard before finally speaking. "I'm Y/N."
"You look like a Y/N." *Finnick murmurs. "I'm Finnick. Finnick Odair." He pauses, as if debating how much more to say. "Why don't you ever speak in class?"
"And you certainly look like a Finnick." She looked at him with a frown, making him want to swallow his own tongue. "I do speak in class. You'd know that if you didn't sleep through them."
"I don't sleep through class." Finnick counters, defensive. His face flashes through a few different emotions as he looks at her. Anger, frustration, annoyance, then finally resignation. "I'm trying to figure out..." He sighs and looks back out at the sea. Then, he turns his head back towards her. "... why I'm talking to you."
She shrugs, putting her hand into her pocket and for a second he's sure she will pull out a knife, — like his dagger, like the one from the arena, the weapon he had depended on for the first several days and he braces himself for the pain, for the warm blood to stain his uniform — but all that comes out is a faded blue handkerchief which she unwraps to reveal few pieces of dried mangoes.
Finnick stares at them blankly, a little lost. Dried mangoes which were salted and made during the summer using mango seeds were a delicacy in District 4, far too expensive for the normal people to afford sometimes. And by the looks of her old faded school uniform, the girl wasn't anyone special with enough money to be able to buy such lavish things and the only reason he could think she was able to was probably because of his win that caused the prices of things in the market to drop. So he couldn't understand why she's sharing something as precious as this with someone who could buy her entire existence three times over with all his wealth as a victor.
He looked up at her, confused but she just smiled, placing the handkerchief with the sour treat between the two of them. "You looked tired, you skipped lunch and if you sleep through the next English class, Mrs. Hedsson will send you to the principal's office. The victor status won't protect you from the suspension, you know. So eat and keep yourself awake."
Finnick looked at the mangoes with confusion again. Then, his expression softens and a small smile plays at the edge of his lips. "You're right. I skipped lunch. I should eat something." He takes the mangoes gratefully. "But how did you know I didn't eat lunch?" He asks curiously, taking a bit of the food.
She shrugged again, taking one for herself and chewing on it carefully. "We also have maths together, and it's right before lunch. And you never go to the cafeteria." She paused, rolling the piece of mango between her fingers as she peered at him through her lashes. "Also, Mrs. Hedsson is still not happy about you killing her daughter in the arena. So if you're going to Violet's funeral next week, you should probably try to talk to her about it. Maybe take a gift, make sure it's expensive or thoughtful and write a eulogy. Also avoid her boyfriend, Ren. He and his friends are planning to drag you into an alleyway and beat you up."
Finnick stiffens, visibly agitated by everything she's said to him. "How do you know all these things?" He asks, his tone somewhere between annoyed and concerned. "How do you know I wasn't going to the cafeteria? Or th-that Mrs. Hedsson is mad at me? Or that Ren is gunning for me?"
She only raises an eyebrow at his rudeness and his cheeks flush in embarrassment but he stands his ground, his irritation winning over his guilt. She takes another bite of the mango before smiling in a way that reminds him of a child about to get into trouble.
"People don't like to talk to me. But I do listen to them."
This stumps him a little. You would think someone that looked like that would have more friends but apparently not. But that doesn't subdue his anxiety. "And...you decided today was the day you would share all of this information with me?" He asks, his tone a mixture of disbelief and panic. "Why now? Why me?"
"Because no one else is going to," She says easily, crossing her ankles as she watches a butterfly settle on a wildflower near her feet.
"Everyone here is too self absorbed and desperate to be a part of the Hunger Games fanfare. They're too envious to care about you as a person because they don't like how popular and loved by the Capitol you are. They're all going to be at Violet's funeral next week," she says, turning to look at him. "And watching you get accused by Mrs. Hedsson for her daughter's death or getting beat up by Ren will make them feel like they won over you, that you're not as invincible as everyone thinks you are. So when next year one of them gets selected for the Games and you are mentoring them, they can hold your momentary weakness over you."
She scoffs, pushing her hair back as the wind blows it into her eyes. "The only animals that have a black heart is ayami cermani, a type of chicken," and Finnick can't help but be a little impressed by her random knowledge about chickens with actual black hearts as she continued. "But no. I'm not telling you this out of generosity but because you left your vigilance back in the arena and that's not smart. All of these things have been happening in plain sight around you. Ren glares at you during maths. Mrs. Hedsson targets you in English and you get detention for no reason. Other kids knock into you or stick too close to you for it to be normal. You'd know that if you paid attention."
Finnick pauses, trying to process everything she had just said before he speaks, "And you're giving me a heads up just... out of the kindness of your black little heart?" He asks sarcastically, not able to hide his skepticism.
Finnick flushes at her observations, a little surprised — and also, maybe a little unnerved — to find that some of her criticisms of him are legitimate. "I have been...a bit absent these last few months. You're right about that." He concedes, looking at her curiously. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She whispers back, her eyes trained on the butterfly that was still on the wildflower. "You, of all people though, should be more vigilant."
He raises an eyebrow, popping another piece of dried mango into his mouth before chuckling nervously. "You're too wise for a fourteen year old."
She shrugged before picking up the rest of the snack and placing it, handkerchief and all, in his lap. He glanced up at her, a little surprised by the gesture. "I told you. I listen to people."
His breath hitches in his chest and before he could say something, the shrill ringing of the school bell cuts through the peace of the moment and she stands up, brushing the grass off her faded blue skirt. She looks out at the ocean for a split second and starts walking back towards the school before turning back around, to look at him, her clear, high voice startling him out of his trance.
"Oh and, Finnick? I'm sorry about your family."
He stiffens, watching her walk back to the school without waiting for an answer. He couldn't understand. How did she know? No one did, not outside the people who cared and his fellow victors that lived in the Victor's Village. It only happened last week. How did she know?
But his mind couldn't bring itself to draw connections as it lost itself in the familiar haze of pain. Her condolences hang in the air where she stood as his breathing becomes shallow and his vision blurs, both with tears and the living room floor covered in blood, his little sister's blank blue eye staring up at him, her slight body that didn't even come up to his waist laying across his parents, their own eyes wide open as if surprised even in death and their lifeless gaze feels as heavy as the single sheet of expensive cream paper with names, hotel room numbers and the exact composition of Mags' arthritis medication crumpled in the pocket of his school uniform trousers.
SUMMARY: They met along the shores and then met again at the foot of those that worshipped them. One rose, one fell from grace and the other caught them both in her gentle embrace.
Or alternatively,
Finnick, Reader and Annie's victory, loss and everything else in between. Brought to you by the music of Hozier, Agust D, Halsey and my wandering friend crafted with grief: A story of trials, love, resentment and rage.
WARNINGS: gore, nightmares, ptsd, self destructive tendencies, self harm, child abuse, near death experiences, forced prostitution, non explicit talks of prostitution, drug addiction, alcoholism, domestic violence, non explicit smut, miscommunication, slow burn.
PAIRINGS: Finnick Odair x Reader x Annie Cresta
My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane?
