#finniss

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Finnick Odair Characters: Katniss Everdeen, Finnick Odair Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Self-Harm, PTSD, peeta dies, Annie dies Summary:

“Do you…” His hands move steadily as she gathers her words, giving her time, always giving her extra time. “Do you think it will get easier?” He shifts, pressing his lips into the side of her head, his voice muffled as he speaks kisses into her hair. “Some days, probably. Some days probably not.”

Hi guys! Unfortunately this isn’t a 5sos fic, but it’s something that I’m quite proud of and something that’s an ongoing project for me. I’ve posted this on a few Fanfic websites and the response has been pretty good, so I thought I’d give it a shot here. I love Hunger Games and I love Katniss/Peeta, but I also love Katniss/Finnick and there’s not enough fics out there that do them justice, so I thought I’d try my hand at one. I hope you guys like it and please don’t hesitate on giving me feedback, I am new to this fandom and I’d appreciate some feedback to let me know if I’m getting the character’s right (:

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Katniss Everdeen, lone Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games and Capitol sex symbol.

When Katniss wins the Hunger Games, Haymitch seeks out Finnick's help in protecting her against the Capitol's cruelty to it's Victors by posing as her lover while Katniss remains unaware as she tries to get through the Victory Tour and the daunting task of becoming a mentor during the Quarter Quell.

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Waves crashing against the shore brought peace to Finnick’s racing thoughts and eased the tension in his aching shoulders. The sand between his toes was soothing and familiar and the sharp scent of salt in the air made him feel safe.

He was home.

His thoughts drifted as he wandered down the shoreline, the cool ocean water lapping at his feet, beckoning him to come closer and for a moment, he thought about giving into the waves demands and letting them carry him out into the swirling depths of the ocean.

It’d been a rough two months of living in the Captiol, making appearances at events, socializing with superficial Captiol citizens and romancing them at night in strings of hotels rooms that after a while, blurred together into one endless hell that he had no chance of escaping from.

Unless…

He thought back to the night before he left the Capitol. It’d been the one night he didn't have an…appointment and he spent it holed up in his apartment, packing his things and eagerly awaiting the train that would take him back to Four. Away from the prying eyes of President Snow and his merry band of idiots, where he would be safe and be able to live until he had to go back. He always had to go back.

He didn't make it a well known fact where he lived, so when he heard a rather loud pounding on his door at one in the morning, it was a bit of a surprise. Although, upon opening the door, he really shouldn't have been shocked once he saw who was behind it.

Haymitch Abernathy wasn't someone Finnick made a habit of socializing with—outside of rebellion meetings and events when they were forced to speak with each other, such as the wrappings of the Hunger Games, which took place earlier in the evening. It wasn't that he found Haymitch’s company…unappealing, per say, but he didn't really have much in common with the older drunkard and therefore, never really went out of his way to speak with him.

However, Finnick was aware of Haymitch’s way of being…resourceful when need be, which was why he was such a key part in the rebellion, so it wasn't a surprise that he managed to find out where Finnick lived. He was was surprised, however, at the words that came out of his mouth once he stumbled his way into his apartment.

“I need your help, Fishboy.” he slurred, making himself comfortable on Finnick’s back leather couch.

“Why, Haymitch, I have to say I’m a bit surprised, I never would've thought you swung that way,” Finnick said lightly, his tone teasing, “while I’m flattered that you chose me to be your nighttime companion, I’m afraid to tell you I don't take walk ins, you’ll have to make an appointment with Snow—“

“Cut the crap, Fishboy, I’m not here for the red light special.” Haymitch said,  glaring up at Finnick with blood shot, grey eyes, that—despite the amount of liquor Finnick could smell from his spot across the room—remained about as sober as Finnick could ever remember seeing on Haymitch.

Finnick chuckled, “Then to what do I owe this pleasure, dear Haymitch? It isn't every day that I’m graced with your lovely presence.”

Ignoring Finnick’s sarcasm, Haymitch’s eyes looked around his apartment, his eyes taking in every detail—a gesture Finnick recognized as one every Victor of the Games did before getting completely comfortable in a room. Asses possible threats, look for possible weapons, plan an exit strategy.

“You got any liquor around here?” Haymitch asked, once he decided there were no imminent dangers lurking in the shadows of Finnick’s sparse apartment.

Wordlessly, Finnick walked over a cabinet off to the side of the living room, digging around inside of it for a few minutes before he returned, placing two heavy glass tumblers on the coffee table and filling them about halfway with amber liquid.

Haymitch didn't bother with pleasantries. He just grabbed the glass and brought it up to his chapped lips and downed the whole thing in one go. Finnick simply twirled his in his glass, watching the alcohol inside rotate from one side of the glass to the other.

“You gonna drink that or play with it?” Haymitch asked.

With a roll of his eyes, Finnick set the glass on the table, sliding it over to Haymitch’s waiting hand. He gave a sarcastic grin, silently toasting Finnick before he downed the glass, slamming it back down on the glass table top when he was finished.

Finnick didn't even bother reprimanding him—he honestly could care less what happened with his furniture. It wasn't really his, anyway, just another reminder of Capitol’s never ending generosity.

“Now that you’ve consumed most of my liquor stash,” Finnick said dryly, “you mentioned something about needing my help?”

Haymitch gave a small nod, eyeing Finnick warily before he began, “Katniss, as I’m sure you’ve heard, has caused quite the…disturbance in the Captiol and has brought a lot of attention to herself and by extension, her family. She has become quite the…desired asset and now that she’s attempted to stick one to Snow with those berries—“

“You think he’s going to try to sell her?” Finnick asked.

Haymitch gave a stiff nod, “But I don’t think it’ll be to rake in Captiol revenue.”

“You think he wants to break her?”

Another stiff nod.

Now, Finnick was slightly confused, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that. I mean, I could probably convince Snow to let me…train her and start her off with some of my nicer clients but—“

“I need you to convince Snow that you want to settle down,” Haymitch said, cutting him off, giving him a meaningful look.

Finnick couldn't prevent the derisive snort if he tried, “With Katniss Everdeen? Haymitch, I think you’ve had too much to drink because there’s no way Snow will go for—“

“Don’t tell me you’re doubting your acting skills now, Odair?” Haymitch goaded.

Finnick glared, “Do you not recall what happened the last time I told Snow that I wanted to settle down? Annie ended up dead, along with her entire family and now you’re sitting here, trying to convince me that the same thing won’t happen to Katniss and her family?”

Haymitch sighed, “Sweetheart’s in no danger of being killed, Snow’s not that much of an idiot, he knows it’d look just a tad too suspicious if everyone’s favorite victor wound up dead just a few weeks after the Games,” Finnick didn't want to admit it, but he had a point, “Snow just wants to make sure he has her…obedience. He wants to snuff out the fire’s that she’s started when she volunteered for her sister and in order to do that, he’s gonna give her the same deal he offered you.”

Finnick fought against the bile that rose in his throat at the reminder of his deal with Snow.

“Keep the citizen’s of the Capitol happy or risk the death of everyone and everything you hold dear, Mr. Odair.”

Finnick gripped the bridge of his nose, rubbing his closed eyes harshly, “So what is your plan exactly? Woo her for a little while, make it look like we’re in love? Then what? Get married, have kids and watch them grow up right underneath Snow’s nose and watch them die in an arena?”

“You know it won’t come to that.” Haymitch said, pouring himself another drink.

“Has all that liquor made you blind?! Snow will never pass up the opportunity to have the child of two victors thrown into the arena—“

“It won’t come to that, because we have a plan.” Haymitch cut off his rantings.

Finnick raised a sardonic eyebrow, “Oh yeah? Care to inform me of that then?”

Haymitch smirked, “Classified information, Fishboy, and you’re on a need to know basis.”

Finnick glared, unimpressed.

Haymitch sighed, “Look, the way I see it, you have one of two choices. You can pretend to fall in love with Katniss, date her, marry her and all of your…engagements magically disappear. You save our best shot at the rebellion from being sold over and over again and we all live happily ever after without the Hunger Games and without the tyranny of Snow. Or, we watch our best shot at the rebellion become another fancy piece in the Captiol’s games and you continue to live the rest of your life with the playboy image that the Capitol has forced you into, mentoring kid’s for slaughter and the awful of the world continues on in an endless cycle until the next generation grows sick of it and attempts to stop it.”

Finnick looked out the window, down at the busy streets with the Capitol citizens milling about, partying and celebrating the newest victor of the Hunger Games.

He thought of his standing three months in the Capitol, filled with endless appointments with Capitol official’s and their wives and the never ending gala’s and parties he was forced to attend. He thought of the nights he had to spend one on one with the endless string clients in upscale hotel rooms, trading secrets for the pleasure of his company.

He thought of the nights he’d stay up, unable to sleep due to the nightmares that plagued his unconscious after a long night in the presences of Captiol citizens that did nothing but serve as a painful reminder of his time in the games. He thought of the children he’d mentored in the last ten years and how many of them had died within the first week in the arena.

Finally, he thought of Annie.

Annie, who was just as messed up by the horrors they’d witnessed in the arena, but was still able to keep this air of innocence about her. Besides Mags, she was the only source of positivity in his world, the only thing he could hold onto during nights when he had to don the playboy persona Snow had forced him to wear like a shield the day he turned sixteen and was deemed old enough to be sold as an object of pleasure to the drooling, superficial citizens of the Capitol. He remembers the nights that were really bad, when he had a particularly long night of clients, the feeling of her body wrapped around his erased the feelings of harsh touches and caresses from others, the smell of the ocean that lingered on her skin blocked out the false perfumes and colognes straight from the Capitol.

Annie, who, due to his own stupidity and selfish desires, was just another name added to the long list of innocent lives lost because of Snow and his need for control when it came to the victors.

“When do I start?”

It was agreed, after a long discussion on what they thought was best, that Snow, for the time being, wouldn't know about it. Finnick would meet Katniss during her trip to Four on her Victory Tour and they’d go from there. Katniss, they decided, wouldn't know about it either, not until they felt the time was right. Haymitch knew that it wouldn't got over well with Katniss to play into another romance, not after Peeta. For now, it was decided that it would be best that Finnick start off with a…friendship, of sorts, with her and see how she reacted.

“All of this trouble for a tribute, Haymitch? Don't tell me you’ve started to care now.” Finnick teased as he escorted a rather inebriated Haymitch out the door.

“Sweetheart’s not bad, once you get to know her,” Haymitch said thoughtfully, “she’s a tough one, a fighter and she’s the best shot at getting us the hell out of this shitty world and out from under Snow.”

Haymitch paused at the door, “Take care of her, Odair, she’s…been through a lot and she may try to act like she doesn't need someone, but she does. She spends too much time protecting other people that she doesn't watch out for herself and she needs someone who’ll protect her and have her best interests at heart.”

“Doesn’t she have you?” Finnick asked.

For the first time since Finnick has known him, Haymitch seemed to wear each sip of alcohol he’s every drank, “Someone who’s not drunk half the time.” He elaborated gruffly, before giving Finnick a two finger salute and disappearing out the door.

Finnick shook his head at the memory, bringing himself back into the present.

He wasn't really sure how he was supposed to go about this little mission Haymitch had assigned him and get it done without Katniss suspecting anything was amiss or any foul play. She was a smart girl and she didn't trust easily, that much Finnick could tell, but any guilt that he felt about not being completely honest with her, was overshadowed any time he thought about Katniss being subjected to the lifestyle that was forced upon him and many other victors that he knew.

And Snow…Finnick wasn't sure what Snow would do when he found out about them, because nothing got past Snow, he had eyes and ears everywhere and with both of them being victors—her the most recent, and him being in the Capitol spotlight. He knew that he was going to have to play this as safely as possible, too much was at stake for this to fail.

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Katniss watched from her perch on a rock as the sun began to peak out from the trees, thought it did nothing to quell the chill that had enveloped District Twelve since her return from the Capitol.

Her bow was propped up beside her, her quiver of arrows resting on the ground. Her game bag was slung across her body, but it didn't have much to show for the two hours she’d been out in the woods.

She’d woken up from a nightmare—the same one she’d been having since her first night out of the games. It was a montage of everyone that died in that arena because of her. Marvel, Cato, Glimmer, Rue and…Peeta. Peeta was always the last one thing she saw before she screamed herself awake.

Him and his never ending charm and patience with her, the way he protected her and fought for her until the very end. She wasn't sure if she loved Peeta, but she knew for sure that she could have, if they lived in a different world where they’re was no such thing as the Hunger Games or President Snow. The guilt of not being able to keep him alive, to save him from the same fate as the twenty-two other kids that went into the arena with him, ate her alive and attacked her at night, when she was at her most vulnerable.

When she came back from the Capitol and she looked out into the crowd of people she’d known since she was a kid—more so those from the Seam rather than the Merchants that lived in town—the joy at seeing her mother and Prim and Gale almost completely vanished when she caught sight of Mr. Mellark, who offered a sad smile. It took everything in her to fight back the tears that rose in her eyes. She’d murdered his son. She watched her son die and did nothing to try and save him.

Needless to say, she didn't sleep much that night. Or any night there after.

And now, in less than four hours, she’d be back on the train as she toured Panem on the Victory Tour, visiting the Districts and looking into the eyes of the parents of children she killed. While she was supposed to be attending parties held in her honor, they would still be there, grieving and trying to live without a piece of their family. A piece that she took from them, in some form or another.

A twig snapped behind her, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Body tensing, she whirled around, grabbed her bow, loaded an arrow and had it pointed at her target before she could even take her next breath.

“Easy there, Catnip, it’s just me.” Gale said, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture.

She lowered her bow, but she didn't relax, “Damn you, Gale! How many times have I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that?!” She snapped, tossing her bow to side.

Gale simply grinned at her, plopping down next to her, eyeing her empty game bag, “You’ve been out here for two hours and you haven’t managed to shoot anything?”

Katniss didn't even try to explain to him that the reason she didn't actively hunt anything was because every time she had an animal within the sights of her bow, she was suddenly back in the games and the squirrel that, before the Games, she had no problem shooting, turned into Marvel or Glimmer or Rue and she couldn't bring herself to release the arrow.

Instead, she asked, “How’d you know I’d been out here that long?”

“I stopped by to see if you were home and Prim told me she heard you get up and that you hadn't returned by the time she’d gone down stairs.” Gale answered, absentmindedly twirling an arrow between his fingers.

Katniss tried to block out the image of Clove and the way she’d twirl her knives when she was bored and instead, focused on the fact that her nightmares were effecting Prim’s sleep as well as her own.

“Well, do you wanna hunt or do you wanna go to the Hob, I heard Greasy Sae—“ Gale tried, trying to cover up the awkward silence that had settled around them, but Katniss cut him off.

“Actually, I need to be heading back, my prep team will be here in an hour to get me ready for the Victory Tour.” Katniss said, standing up and collecting her bow and quiver and began walking back in the direction of the fence.

“So that’s it then? That’s all you’ve got say to me?” Gale demanded as he jogged to catch up with her.

“What do you want me to say to you, Gale?” Katniss snapped, turning around to face him, “do you think I want to go on this stupid tour and parade around in front of the families of the kids that I murdered in that arena? You have no idea wha—“

He shook his head, “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” He said, cutting her off.

Katniss looked away from his insistent dark eyes, suddenly feeling like a deer she had in the sights of her bow, “You’re my best friend Gale and nothing more, no amount of thinking will change my mind.”

And it wouldn’t.

Katniss had decided along time ago, when her father died and she watched her mother fall into a despair that not even her or Prim could bring her out of, that she would never fall in love or get married or have kids. It wasn't something she kept secret, in fact she was sure she had ranted to Gale about it several times, she even discussed it on Reaping Day, so the last thing she expected on that Sunday she returned from the Capitol, was to have Gale kiss her and tell her that he loved her.

Gale, as far as she was concerned, was nothing more than her best friend and hunting partner. She wasn't blind; Gale was a good looking man, he could hunt and he was nice, in his own way and she knew he’d make a good husband one day. And as far as she knew, Gale felt the same thing, that she was nothing more than a friend and a hunting partner. For so long, their relationship was defined by the mutual survival of their families after their fathers died and now, there were things in her life that Gale couldn't even begin to comprehend.

The nightmares. The guilt. And now that she had won the Games, she was now expected to mentor two kids from their District and watch them die in the arena.

“The Games are never over.”

This was her life now and judging by how well Gale took to the idea of the Victory Tour, he would never want to understand or would be willing to understand the rest of it.

As far as Katniss was concerned, she was just as bad as President Snow.

“Yeah you're right, I guess it takes a cave and life threatening wound to do that.” Gale snapped.

Smack!

The sound reverberated through the empty field, bouncing off of the trees and echoing through Katniss’ ears. She focused on the stinging in her hand from the slap she delivered to Gale’s face instead of the sting of tears in her eyes at his words.

“Just because I don't return your feelings, Gale, doesn’t give you the right to treat me like dirt.” She whispered fiercely, glaring at a remorseful Gale harshly.

“Katniss I’m sor—“

“I’ll see you when I get back, goodbye, Gale.” She muttered, turing on her heel and darting for the fence line.

She kept her head down as she made her way through town, not wishing to talk to anybody or let them see her this upset over a jealous comment. The only stop she made was to Ripper to grab Haymitch a couple of bottles of liquor before she fled for the Victor’s Village where her new home resided.

Not bothering to knock, Katniss barged into Haymitch’s house, ignoring the heavy scent of booze and mold that met her senses as soon as she walked through the front door.

She navigated her way through the piles of trash and dirty dishes that littered the living room. She wasn't surprised when she sound Haymitch passed out on the kitchen table, a bottle of booze in one hand and a knife in the other.

Katniss found an empty pitcher and after filling it to the brim with ice cold water, she stood about six feet from his lifeless body and promptly dumped the water on top of his greasy blonde mop he called hair.

“Arggghh, what the hell?!” Haymitch shouted, jumping from his position in the chair, waving his knife in the air with one hand and desperately trying to shove his wet hair out of his face with the other.

Katniss felt the amusement bubble up in her chest and despite her best efforts, a small laugh escaped her lips.

Bloodshot grey eyes landed on hers, “I’m glad I can offer you amusement, Sweetheart,” Haymitch muttered, his hand immediately going for the nearest bottle of liquor and frowning when he found it empty.

Katniss rolled her eyes, jumping off of the counter she had placed herself on during his drunk shuffle and dropped her peace offering on the table.

Haymitch grunted his thanks, raising the bottle in her direction in a mock salute, before taking a giant swig and promptly belched once he swallowed.

Katniss didn't even try to keep the disgust from her face as she made her way over to the back door, “The camera’s will be here in an hour, take a bath or something.”

“It’s way too early to be dealing with this shit.” She heard him mumble and she couldn't help but agree with him.

~~~~~~~~~

Katniss stared at herself in the mirror and she didn't recognize the girl staring back at her.

She had been waxed and combed and groomed and plucked until she was smooth and imperfection free. She had been scolded about the state of her eyebrows and the dark circles underneath her eyes and Katniss had to refrain from snapping at Flavious. Cinna, who must have noticed the state of her discomfort, quickly swept her away to her room so she could change into the outfit she would be wearing to the train station.

She was thankful for the simple, yet fashionable outfit Cinna had put her in. A hunter green sweater, light brown pants tucked into knee high dark brown leather boots. If the outfit wasn't worth more than most of her belongings put together, it might be something she’d wear out into the woods for a usual day of hunting.

The frilly dresses and heels were no longer apart of her wardrobe and she couldn't be more thankful. At least in this outfit, she felt more like herself. She didn't feel like she was playing a part; the simpering girl who would do anything to save the boy she loved. This time, she was a warrior who survived the games and was mourning the loss of her District partner who died to ensure her survival.

“Beautiful.”

Katniss was drawn out of her thoughts by Cinna, who’d been putting the final touches on her outfit—adjusting the fit of the sweater so it fit a bit more snug on her frame, tucking a stray strand of hair back into place that had escaped the simple half up, half down style Octavia had place it in and touching up any stray lines of make up.

Katniss offered him a small smile, “Of course it is, you designed it.”

“An artist is only as good as his canvas,” Cinna replied, squeezing her shoulders briefly.

“Are you ready for this?” He asked her, helping her into the dark brown leather jacket—the final touch to her over all ensemble.

She gave a genuine smile when she noticed how closely it resembled her dad’s hunting jacket.

“As I’ll ever be.” She replied warily.

Cinna smiled, “I’m still betting on you, Girl on Fire.”

Katniss smiled, her first genuine smile since returning home from the Games.

I’m glad someone is.

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We don’t know of any Divergent blogs like this, unfortunately (if someone does, let us know, and we’ll add it to our list of helpful blogs).  And here are some Finniss fics that we know of:

The Generosity of the Capitol - Lbug84 (tumblr: bitcheslovesprinkles)

Part 2 of the Moonlight Sonata series - Naqia (tumblr: schofelarchiv)

Surviving - msdisdain