Misguided Preservation | F.o

misguided preservation | f.o

finnick odair x reader

requested by anonymous with mutual pining and “i thought you hated me” — “nah just playing around”

warnings; talks of death, no pronouns used for the reader, fluff. FINNICK DOES NOT DIE AFTER THIS FIC I REFUSE. SO THEY GET THEIR HAPPY ENDING TYVM.

word count; 1100+

a/n; first finnick fic :)

Finnick had found himself more infuriated than usual. He seemed to have anger built within him, though he did not blame himself for this. Born to a district instead of the Capitol was his only shortcoming as a child, now he made claim thousands.

But, he’d done everything he knew how to find some form of happiness, or some sense of relief. Most of his efforts were in pursuit of you. He knew you only briefly in the second games, due to the unfortunate fact that most of his attention was on Katniss. They needed her out—that was his only reason for existing in the Quarter Quell.

Now in District 13, he began to see a pleasing twinkle in your eye, a charming twitch of the lip, an enchanting beauty he’d beheld only in art. Even with their dull uniforms and strict rules, the light he found in you had not faded, and therefore his own had rekindled. He felt warmth spread over his body when he was near you, wished to tell you a secret of his own rather than someone else’s sinful secret that would tarnish your smile.

“You’re not hungry?” Finnick asked, sitting opposite you and blocking the TV behind him.

“I was distracted,” you said, looking down at your food, “But now you’re in the way so I suppose I’ll go back to eating,” you added dejectedly.

“I’m not a good enough distraction?” He asked with a sly smile.

“Not even close,” you retorted, picking up your tray and dropping it in the trash on your way out.

Visiting Katniss has become a daily routine for you, even after she left her bed and explored District 13. You found it even more important to check in with her then, for it felt as if there were many secrets in the fortress they’d built here.

Katniss fiddled with her pearl as she listened to you complain about the food, and how dull everyone in 13 was. She was not one for idle chit chat, but she appreciated your visits and enjoyed the sound of your voice even if she didn’t know what you were saying. But when she heard Finnick’s name, the pearl in her hand stopped spinning and her ears perked up.

“What was that?” She asked.

“Oh, just Finnick being his annoying self,” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be like that,” she said, “You like him,” she stated, having little time for flourished sentences or hearing around the bush—she preferred getting straight to the point.

“I don’t,” you shook your head, “I- I can’t.”

“There’s a difference. Which one is it?”

“I can’t like him, Katniss. We’re both as good as dead, sacrificed for the capitol or martyred for the revolution.”

“It’s not certain. Why do you think I’m trying so hard to get Peeta back?”

It felt impossible. It was by mere chance that the two of you had survived your own Games, and against the odds that you had both survived the vicious Quarter Quell. Not all of you had been so lucky, so fortunate to have been in the right place at the right time. Letting yourself love Finnick was too much of a risk for an already broken heart.

“The fact that we might not make it through this should be more reason to spend as much time with him as you can. Because if he does die, you’ll regret this for the rest of your life,” Katniss said with a shrug, returning to the black pearl in her hand.

Such a small token, yet it meant to much to her. Perhaps it was fortuitous that Peeta had discovered a black pearl, the rarest pearl on Earth. Perhaps it was not by chance at all. Either way, Katniss had a symbol for her everlasting love, and you had not even a memory.

A warning.

There were so many flights of stairs, you really had no idea just how deep they had dug into the ground. It was incredible, and you wished you were taking it all in under more favourable circumstances. The rain beat against your face, each sharp droplet stinging your skin with fear. Your feet began to ache as they stomped against the metal stairs, deeper and deeper underground, desperately searching for the bunker.

As your mind began swirl with frightening possibilities, you lost your footing on the slippery surface, and your grip on the way railing. But someone’s hands gripped you tightly and steadied you again. The hand remained on your back until you reached the bottom, ensuring your protection. And finally, when you could catch your breath and take a moment to appreciate that your life had not been taken as of yet, you turned face your protector.

“Finnick,” you breathed heavily.

He said nothing, only huffed as he fought for breath. But his eyes met yours tenderly, almost desperately, as his hands fell to his knees and rain dripped from his hair and nose.

You could hardly contain yourself.

“Finnick,” you whispered, marching towards his hunched figure, which alarmed him enough to try to stand full height.

You caught his face and pressed your lips eagerly to his, forcing every piece of you that doubted this out of your heart. Faced with your own mortality, you began to crumble and withdraw, but Katniss was right—you needed Finnick. And no matter the time you had left, you weren’t wasting another moment.

“I thought you hated me,” Finnick laughed, pulling away slowly.

“Nah, just playing around,” you said sarcastically.

He cocked an eyebrow. You wouldn’t have believed yourself either.

“I was just- I didn’t want to get too attached in case-”

“I faced an untimely death?” He grinned.

“In case I got my heart broken. But essentially, yes,” you shook your head with a disapproving laugh.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Realising I’d be heartbroken either way. And it might cushion the pain knowing I’d made the most of the time we had, if that were to happen,” you confessed, “But I don’t want to think about that.”

“No, I don’t either,” he said, leaning down towards your lips again with a little smirk.

They tasted sweeter than you could have imagined. He was more gentle than you had anticipated, more thoughtful. But his kiss was simply a dream, were you floated above the world of pain you knew and settled amongst the clouds.

“Let’s go find somewhere to rest,” he said, offering you his hand.

“Okay,” you replied, touching your skin with his, which was surprisingly warm, and following him into the bunker.

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