anatay004

[anatay004]

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part seven) (3.1 k)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part seven) (3.1 k)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫’𝐬 “𝐢𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤”

YOU FOUND IT FUNNY.

Hilarious, actually.

How something so simple—so harmless, could make Finnick's jaw tick with anger. At first, you chose to dismiss it, cataloging his behavior as something as silly as him just being an asshole. But then you began to notice it more often. The ticks in his jaw eventually turned into remarks and those eventually turned into death glares.

And, surprisingly, it all started with a compliment.

Back when the lovers of District Twelve won their games and President Snow had thrown an enormous party in their honor. As a Victor, you'd been forced to attend the event alongside Finnick Odair; whom the people of Panem loved to interlace you with. Yes, he was from your District. And yes, he was gorgeous. But, curiously enough, you both detested each other.

Perhaps, it had something to do with the fact that he lived right across from you in the Victors' Village. Or that you'd been mentoring tributes with him for years and years. Or that he loved to step on your garden on his way home just to make you knock on his door and watch you throw a fit about it.

The list could go on—infinitely.

But, on that particular night, when you were forced to interact with the lovers of District Twelve; Peeta's eyes caught your attention amidst the conversation.

"Your eyes are beautiful." You'd complimented, harmlessly, as you tilted your head to scrutinize his features under the moonlight. Peeta simply blushed and mumbled something along the lines of, "Thanks. You are very beautiful yourself."

But that was enough to send Finnick fuming.

And, simultaneously, you'd managed to piss off Katniss too; who more than often tended to get under your skin for various reasons you didn't care enough to list. So, in your personal opinion, it was a win-win situation for both of you. You pissed off Finnick. And Peeta pissed off Katniss.

At first, you did it for the fun of it, but then the aftermath of the interaction set ablaze your skin in the most pleasurable manner you'd ever experienced before. Seeing Finnick so pissed—so angry, was a mercurial high you'd never experienced before. Its bone-deep effect was enough to turn you greedy and that greediness turned into a routine.

So, when you were reaped for the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games and left with no choice, but to be stuck with Finnick again; you tried to make the best out of the situation. So, you entertained yourself by flirting with Peeta, which was the easiest and most effective way of pushing down on Finnick's bottoms. You flirted with him in the elevators, in the training room, and—sometimes, even on the rooftop.

Anywhere near Finnick sufficed, really.

It was the highlight of your day.

And it was easy to keep the act with Peeta. He was surprisingly good at toying with words and flirting back. And the best part, in your opinion, was that neither of you took the game seriously enough to build something beyond it.

So, it was fun—until one day it was not.

The day before the games, when you were waiting for Finnick to finish his interview with Caesar Flickerman backstage, was when your own little game ended up hitting you in the butt. Under the limelight, you could appreciate the green hue in his eyes as you watched him through the screen. He was gorgeous, you couldn't deny that, and it almost irked you how much he knew that as he smiled right at the camera; dimples creasing.

Naturally, the audience cheered for him.

"You're drooling, sweetheart," Peeta's voice broke into your reverie and, almost instantly, you threw him a glare over your shoulder. "Careful, I might just think you want him too.

"Who?" You asked, feigning innocence.

"The tall, blonde muscular man in front of you."

"Oh, him?" You turned back to face the screen, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know him."

Peeta scoffed, incredulous at your indifference.

"Well, for someone you don't know, you sure seemed interested enough to piss him off." He acknowledged, shifting closer to your frame.

"Guilty?" You quipped, allowing the warm skin of his arm to brush against yours. "Besides, you love pissing Katniss off. And trust me, she's way worse at hiding her dislike toward me than Finnick is."

"She's not." Peeta quickly objected, and you rolled your eyes. "Besides, she's different."

"She tried to shoot me once."

"I said different, not sane."

"Besides, she looks at me like she wants to hunt me down and eat me." You confessed, subconsciously sweeping the brunette a glance. To your luck, she wasn't paying attention to you; too preoccupied talking with Johanna.

"I could eat you." Peeta suddenly grinned, and it took everything in you to not let your mouth fall agape. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

"I knew you weren't as innocent as you pretend to be," You laughed, completely oblivious to the words Finnick had just blurted out on stage. "What?" You asked Peeta when you noticed a shift in his expression. "Did I say something?"

Peeta swallowed hard. "No, not you..." He trailed off, and you instinctively followed his gaze back to the screen. "But your boyfriend just did."

"My what?" You exclaimed.

"I can't believe it!" Caesar suddenly gasped, relishing the way the audience loudly cheered for something you'd just missed."Finnick Odair and (Y/N) (Y/LN), ladies and gentlemen, are officially our lovers from District Four!"

"What the fuck?" You cursed, trying to dismiss the heat that was traveling up your cheeks as you took in this new information. Peeta, on the other hand, found the situation quite entertaining to watch.

"How long were you planning on hiding this from us, Finnick, huh?" Caesar confronted, and the audience naturally laughed along with him. "Tell us, what more are you hiding from us? We are dying to know, aren't we?"

The audience cheered loudly.

It was so swift, the faint smirk that itched Finnick's lips as he thought about his next words carefully (as if he hadn't planned them out already). But the expression had been there—for a split second, and you'd caught it. Fuck me, you thought, when you recognized the malice behind the familiar gesture.

"We are expecting a baby."

No, you weren't.

But you should've seen their faces.

The statement alone was enough to make you falter on your spot. For a moment, you watched as the audience stood up from their seats and erupted into an inconsolable mess. Demanding answers and, surprisingly, even for the games to be stopped—for the sake of your child. His child.

"Congratulations," Peeta remarked, and you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

"I'm not pregnant!" You hissed, throwing the blonde a look. Belatedly, catching the teasing smile that curved his lips as he raised his hands up in defense. To his luck, your attention was quickly redirected to Finnick, who'd happened to step back into the room with a nonchalant expression on his face.

You made sure to waste no time in confronting him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You venomously hissed, pushing him back in evident anger.

"Are the pregnancy hormones hitting you already, sweetheart?" Finnick deadpanned, relishing the way the skin of your face flushed.

"You bastard." You spat, almost throwing daggers at him, before realization quickly flitted across your face. He'd just labeled you as his on live television; he'd just made you his ally and forced an act to fall upon you. "Oh, fuck me."

A grin stretched across his lips. "I thought I did." He said, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

But he only blinked in response.

"Wha — no we didn't!" You argued, dismissing the looks that you were starting to receive from the other Victors. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should relax," Finnick dared to suggest, and it took everything in you to not slap that grin off his face. "It's not good for the baby.

"You fucker —"

" — okay, separate." Haymitch suddenly interjected, forcing you to step back from the blonde. "Whatever this is, you need to keep it together, and — you, sweetheart, are about to step on stage in front of all those people. So, I suggest you cool it down and follow along with his little act if you want to stay alive. We are in the games, honey, remember that."

You supposed Haymitch was right; the damage had already been done. The least you could do was take advantage of the situation, but that; somehow, managed to piss you off more. Now, you were stuck in a fake relationship with Finnick—scratch that, you were stuck with Finnick and his baby.

You clenched your jaw tightly as you tried to quench the fire that retaliated in the pit of your stomach. You hated this; you hated Finnick, but more importantly—you hated not having the upper hand in the situation.

"(Y/N) (L/N), you're up next."

With a knot in your throat, you managed to collect your thoughts and follow the directions you were beckoned to. But not before pushing past Finnick on your way upstage, "I hate you."

He grinned. "Break a leg, baby,"

A few hours later, you found yourself inside an elevator. You were on your way back to your floor, where you were hoping to get a much-needed rest. Today, as you could tell, was not your day. Most of the tributes were already back in their rooms by the time you'd stepped inside the elevator and you were thankful for that. So, you threw your head back, shut your eyes, and leaned against the wall to enjoy the fleeting bouts of silence.

Until the doors parted.

"Oh, fuck me!" You audibly groaned, when you opened your eyes and caught sight of Finnick.

A smirk stretched his lips. "What's wrong, baby?" He deadpanned, pressing the number to your floor.

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck off."

"Mhm," He clicked his tongue, stopping just in front of you. Establishing a dangerous short distance between you two. "That's not the way to talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He gave you a one-shoulder shrug. "Given, you know, the fact that I'm going to be the father of your child."

Irritation alongside anger shoots down your spine; forcing your body to visibly vibrate. Or, perhaps, it was the electric tension in the elevator that made you shake—the small gap between you and Finnick. Whatever it was, you tried to dismiss it. "I'm not pregnant!"

Finnick watched you for a moment; without a word, simply examining your features. After a minute, when you were almost certain he was going to leave you alone, he added. "But you could be."

You almost threw daggers at him. "You think you're funny, don’t you?"

"Think about it," Finnick suggested, taking a deliberate step closer. Instinctively, you fell back a step. "We could get you pregnant. Take all the sponsors. Make the Capital love us," Your back hit the wall. "And that could save our asses in the arena again. Easy win."

Inwardly, you found yourself considering his suggestion —for a split second, before reality (and embarrassment) washed over you. "That would never work." You said, matter-of-factly, before straightening your posture.

"Want to test it?"

The elevator stopped.

"You're sick." You hissed, taking advantage of the opening of the doors to exit the situation, but before you could even take a step out—you were pulled right back in. Within a blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the wall and your arms were pinned over your head as Finnick Odair looked down at you with evident amusement on his face.

"What?" He breathed out, ignoring your loud complaints and attempts to escape him. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"

Incredulous, you blinked. "What?"

"I know you do it on purpose." Finnick elaborated, and your eyebrows knitted together; unsure of what he was referring to.

He must be losing it, you thought.

"What the hell are talking about?"

"I know about the games you play with Peeta."

Oh.

Your face dropped.

Those games.

Then you frowned as you belatedly realized he was getting back at you. Well, two can play that game.

"Is that a fantasy of yours or something?" You tried to change the subject elsewhere, dismissing the way Finnick rolled his eyes as you played dumb. To your luck, you couldn't quite fool him or escape him.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"What is it to you, anyway?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Suddenly remembering you could easily take the upper hand in the situation. "What I do or don't do with Peeta?"

Finnick's jaw ticked.

"Oh, I see," You teased, puffing your chest out. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

A chuckle escaped his lips; low and humorless, as his eyes traveled down to follow the movement of your chest. "You think I'm threatened by lover boy?"

Your lips twitched. "Admit it."

Finnick's lips suddenly stretched, dimples creasing as he looked down to stare at yours. "You're crazy."

"I can tell when somebody wants me, you know?" You toyed with him, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible when his eyes suddenly darkened with a shade of green you couldn't put into words. Jesus, you thought to yourself, he's stupidly gorgeous.

Finnick's eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning deliberately closer to your face until his breath was pressing against your skin. Warm and dangerously soothing.

And it was then; in that moment, when it suddenly dawned on you that you had to make a choice. The choices were simple — no-brainer: curse him out, flip him off, or take him back to your room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Finnick chuckled when he noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor. "Are you nervous?"

Pick your poison, babe.

"You wish." You retaliated, a little faintly, trying to keep yourself from giving in. "Asshole."

"God, you're incorrigible," Finnick whispered, but before you could open your mouth to answer back, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was rough and messy; it clouded your head momentarily. You don't think anyone had ever kissed you like this before. But it didn't matter because you reciprocated with equal fervor—to no one's surprise, and quickly followed his lead.

Heat retaliated in the pit of your stomach when his knee parted your legs, sliding his thigh in between yours as he deepened the kiss. Your arms eventually fell to your sides when he let go of them; putting his hands to better use as he ran them down your body. Down your neck, your chest, your hips, your ass.

But you didn't attempt to escape him this time.

"We're in an elevator." You reminded him, breathing heavily as he slid his hands underneath your dress.

"Mhm," Finnick hummed, dismissing your comment as his mouth trailed down your neck. As if he almost didn't mind the inconvenience; the morality wrong misconduct. "I'm in the middle of something."

Take him back to your room.

A small chuckle escaped your lips. "Come on, we're not animals." You beckoned him, ignoring his audible groan as you dragged him out of the elevator. But before you could step out — you abruptly stopped in your tracks, making him stumble right into your back.

"Jesus, you want it here or there?"

"Shut up!" You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, trying to hide the faint hues of pink that tinged your cheeks. "I still hate you, by the way."

Finnick's laugh ricocheted off the walls; warm and almost contagious. He knew it wasn't true.

"As long as you have my baby, sweetheart."

[anatay004]

THERE WAS A TANG of venom in your mouth. You could taste it, the bitter crimson that seeped through your teeth as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks. You tried to keep your head from aching, perhaps, if you shut your eyelids for a moment—just for a second, you thought you might escape him. Which was almost silly.

"Ms. (Y/N), how wonderful it is to see you again," Snow spoke from across the desk, his voice was quiet but vehement—it almost made you shiver. "Please, take a seat."

Nauseously, you sat across from him.

The study ensued with a straining silence that made the skin of your arms prick with uneasiness. It wasn’t like Snow to invite himself to your home, he’d bothered to travel across the districts to meet you. Which could only mean one of two things: either you were in serious trouble or he wanted something from you.

"I won't take much of your time, Ms. (Y/LN), as long as we agree to not lie to each other, this will be a short conversation, I can assure you."

I'm definitely in trouble, you thought.

"Of course." You managed to answer.

Up close, you could see the lines of evident age that marred his face. How long, you wondered, until time peels the skin off his bones clean?

"Katniss Everdeen," Snow venomously spat, and you couldn't help, but give him your full attention. The name fresh in your brain. "Do you recall the name?"

The new Victor from District 12.

The threat of rebellion.

"I do." You limited yourself to answer.

"Good," Snow breathed out. "You see, she is causing me quite a few problems. None of which are tethered to you, of course, but they eventually will. Unlike you, Ms. (Y/LN), she dismisses the cause of the Hunger Games, the mercy that we offer by keeping one of the 24 tributes alive. She's challenging it, I’m afraid."

Unlike you.

You wanted to dart him a glare; his words were a backhanded compliment. When you killed your partner in the games — your friend, you involuntarily enlightened a sense of honor in the Capitol. Your disoriented conscious (due to the venom of one of the jellyfish in the arena) eulogized Snow's message: there are no real allies and no true loyalty between the districts.

This was far from the truth, of course.

You never meant to win the games by killing your ally from the same district. When the dam's collapsed and the waves of water drowned almost everyone in the arena, you'd managed to swim back to the surface. But the lack of oxygen and the poison that’d seeped into your veins from the jellyfishes had already interfered with your sanity. And when he'd rushed to help you back to your feet, you'd confused him for a Career. It was only a matter of minutes before the cannon boomed.

Your eyes glossed at the memory.

"With that being said, she, alongside Peeta Mellark, will try to seek refugee in their act of love to gain sponsors and win the games again.”

Your eyebrows knitted together.

Again?

"I want you to dissipate that advantage, Ms. (Y/M)." He must have read your expression. He must’ve seen the horror that flashed across your face. “I want you and Finnick Odair to annihilate their strategy by doing exactly the same thing."

You blinked.

He wanted you back in the Hunger Games. He wanted you back with Finnick Odair, with the only person he knew you cared the most about. You tried to quench the searing pain that was burning inside your chest. The air started to rush out your lungs, but you managed to compose yourself in time as Snow tilted his head to the side to examine you.

"There's nothing between – " You tried to come up with an excuse, with anything that could've eliminated Finnick from this plan, but he raised an eyebrow in silent question and the words froze immediately on the tip of your tongue.

"We agreed to not lie to each other, Ms. (Y/LN)."

You pressed your lips together. "Right."

He stifled a faint grin. "You are the Capitol's favorites, the most beloved Victors. Even more than Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

You didn't know what to answer. His plan was already arranged, there was nothing you could say that could make him change his mind. If anything, he was merely being considerate by taking the trouble of giving you a heads-up.

"Finnick and I haven't spoken in weeks." You breathed out, which wasn't a lie. After years of breaking up and getting back together, the romance eventually ended when you discovered the sexual arrangements that’d happened behind your back for years. When Finnick had decided to finally shut you out his life after he’d explained his backstory and decided you were not good together.

The slight curve of Snow's lips indicated that he knew this already—of course, he did.

"I know," Snow confessed. "but the people from the Capital don't, Ms. (Y/LN). Therefore, you have an advantage at hand, you can fool everyone, make the Capital forget about the lovers from District 12, and...you will have my protection."

You looked up then and examined his face very carefully. There wasn't a hint of deception in his expression, he was being honest and that scared you the most. He was promising you protection; he was promising you a victory.

"What about Finnick?" You found yourself asking, without even thinking.

He smiled. "You see, you almost got me fooled, Ms. (Y/LN). Imagine just how easy it would be to fool the Capitol if you could just step forward.”

You swallowed hard.

"But to answer your question, Ms. (Y/L), Mr. Odair will be protected if he succeeds in convincing me. And, who knows, if you achieve to sell your romance act, the Capitol might even advocate for two winners this year again. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

He was lying.

He had to be.

Hope retaliated in the pit of your stomach. "I thought we had agreed to not lie to each other."

His eyebrows jumped. "So did I."

After the conversation ended, President Snow stepped out of your home without another word as a fugitive car approached him. You weren’t paying much attention then; trying to elucidate everything that he’d thrown at you in a matter of minutes.

Within a few minutes, he was gone.

You tried to keep your head from reeling, but your muscles momentarily numbed. You were still standing outside, inhaling the ocean's breath as you tried to hold onto the closest thing near you. The wall wasn’t firm enough to keep you on your feet, your muscles were trembling as your brain tried to understand whether if the conversation with Snow had been real or not.

What would Finnick think when he finds out?

He’d been through enough already.

You exhaled sharply, but before you could collect yourself, Finnick's frame stumbled into your line of vision from across the Victor's Village. You faltered on your spot almost immediately, muscles wracked with tension—and he must've noticed, because trepidation soon glossed over his green irises.

As if he'd suddenly realized who’d visited you.

"(Y/N)!" He began to call.

Instinctively, you pushed yourself off the wall and began to retrace back your steps back insideyour house (in hopes to avoid him), but he was faster and twisted the polished handle before the door could even shut close behind you. You jumped in shock, a startled expression donned on your face as he invited himself in. "What happened?"

Your mouth went dry. "I..."

"— Did he hurt you?" His voice went up a few decibels, and you struggled to find the strength to open your mouth again. "(Y/L), did he hurt you?"

You managed to shake your head. "No, he..."

Finnick reached for your arm. His muscles were tense, but his touch was gentle and you couldn’t help but welcome it. "He's going to reaped us back into the games, Finnick, he wants us to follow the love act that Katniss and Peeta pulled."

His eyebrows knitted together in thought. "What?" He breathed out, trying to decipher the mixture of emotions that flitted across your face in a matter of seconds. Every sentiment that threatened to register on your face before Snow was finally shattering before Finnick.

"He wants to kill them off," You found yourself repeating, a hint of desperation notched down the timbre of your voice. "He wants us to take their sponsors, but he said he would protect us, Finnick. He promised he would and I – "

A sob strangled your throat, for a split second, you couldn't manage another word. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to the side of your head. You immediately indulged in his warmth and your senses immediately heighten at the whiff of his scent. Belatedly, you realized it had been a while since he’d last embraced you. And it wasn't until he was rubbing your back and whispering that everything was going to be okay when you finally noticed that you hadn’t stop trembling. Not for one second.

"It's going to be okay, love." He whispered into your hair, empty promises that you knew he could not keep. Even if he wanted you. “I promise.”

Love.

And then it finally clicked.

What he’d done to you.

You wrenched away from him as though his skin had suddenly torched you. You took several steps back as you tried to muffle the sob that was ripping through your lips. Finnick faltered for a second as he tried to find the right words to remedy the hurt that you felt, but when he noticed the familiar betrayal in your gaze—he pressed his lips into a thin line.

He didn't know what to say anymore.

"I need to get some sleep."

"Sweetheart, wait — "

"Goodnight, Finnick."

And with that, you turned your back to him.

[anatay004]

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

Your finnick odair masterlists 💔

They’re still coming pookie ❤️

[anatay004]

Soooooo, I’ve been feeling Steve Harrington lately. Perhaps, some of that Peter Parker too.

I’m thinking of writing an AU.

Steve is Spider-man. You’re a sucker for him. Some angst here and there. A little bit of spice.

Thoughts and prayers?

[anatay004]

I don't know if anyone has told you yet, but your links to you masterlists don't work 🥲

Let me know which ones!!

[anatay004]

GIRL YOURE BAAAACK IM SO EXCITED

MISSED YOU POOKIES

[anatay004]

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part seven) (3.1 k)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part seven) (3.1 k)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

"DON'T MOVE."

Katniss's voice was dangerously low as it slid into your thoughts. Instinctively, you looked up to meet her gaze, but your muscles froze when you caught sight of the mass of warm bodies poised above the four of you. For a few seconds, there was silence as Finnick retrieved his trident and Katniss armed her bow.

Dumbfounded, you stared up at the monkeys, watching as they weighed down the limbs of the jungle trees. You were still leaning against Finnick's chest when you snapped your eyes to the side, trying to locate the trident that had slipped from your fingers a few moments ago. When you failed to spot the weapon, you made to move forward, but Finnick's hand on your waist stopped you from even attempting it.

One wrong move could trigger the animals.

"Peeta," Katniss called, as calmly as possible. Peeta was a few feet away, leaning against a tree—trying to catch his breath. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, but the tone in Katniss's voice alerted him to some irregularity, and his muscles visibly tensed. "Move towards us quietly."

Peeta did as he was told. He moved through the jungle carefully, and your eyes followed his movements—almost anxiously. That's when you caught sight of the trident lying on the ground across from him. For a moment, you stared at it, debating whether you should make a run for it or not. But before you could decide, your eyes momentarily locked with Peeta's—and it seemed as if he suddenly understood.

That you were defenseless.

"Peeta..." Katniss warned, but it was too late; he'd already reached for the weapon, and the monkeys exploded into a shrieking mass of fur—as if he'd suddenly triggered a bomb. You didn't have time to react as Finnick pushed you behind him and began to spear the monkeys that launched at you.

You'd never seen animals move so fast before, sliding down the vines as if they were weightless. Animals in nature don't act like this, you thought to yourself, before realization dawned on you.

"Mutts!" you spat, as Peeta threw the trident back at you.

Instinctively, you caught it, but as soon as your fingers wrapped around the weapon, the weight of one of the monkeys pulled you into the water. You felt claws on your arms as you pushed the trident across the monkey's chest, forcing it away from your face. For a few seconds, you remained underwater, holding your breath as the beast rendered you immobile. Until someone pulled you back to the surface.

"You okay?" Finnick asked worriedly as the air rushed back into your lungs. You nodded, holding onto his arm, trying to catch your breath as he angled himself in front of you again. The monkey was dead. "Don't leave my side, okay?" His voice was commanding.

"Okay," you breathed out, wrapping your fingers tightly around your trident again.

Within a few seconds, the four of you positioned yourselves in a circle, a few yards apart, your backs to one another. Katniss targeted eyes and hearts, Finnick and you speared beasts like fish, and Peeta slashed away with his knife. But Katniss's arrows eventually came down to one, and it wasn't long before she was yelling at Peeta for her other sheath.

"Peeta!" she yelled. "The arrows!"

Peeta turned, saw her predicament, and quickly slid the sheath off—but one of the beasts suddenly lunged from a tree toward his chest. You tried to aim at it, but your weapon was already occupied with another mark, forcing you back to your position. Adrenaline kissed down your spine as you watched Katniss run toward him—weaponless. And, for the first time, you didn't know what to do.

This is it, you thought to yourself. This is where I complete my part of the deal. With Peeta gone, Katniss's chances of surviving the Games were close to nothing. But why did it feel so wrong? This was what you were here for, was it not? To kill the Mockingjay, to win the Games—to save Finnick.

So why were your feet aching to move?

"Peeta!" you found yourself yelling. And before you knew it, you were running too. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Finnick's voice calling out to you, but you didn't stop. You knew you wouldn't make it in time, wouldn't be able to knock Peeta to the ground and protect him—and neither would Katniss.

But you ran anyway—until one of the victors from District 6 forced you to an abrupt stop. From your perspective, it almost seemed as if she had materialized from thin air, waiting for this exact moment to happen. Because when it did, she readily launched herself at the monkey, welcoming its fangs into her chest. Sacrificing herself for him.

"Oh, God..." The words slipped past your lips. There was blood everywhere, staining everything in sight. For a moment, you froze, watching the scene unfold before you. The victor was trapped between the mutt's teeth, agonizing under the pressure of being punctured. Eventually, Peeta stabbed the monkey's back, forcing it it to release its jaw and let her go.

But at that point, it was too late.

"Let's go!" Finnick's voice broke into your reverie. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away. It took you a moment, amidst the chaos, to realize the monkeys had suddenly vanished. They'd retreated and disappeared back into the jungle—as if someone had called them.

You swallowed hard at that.

Remember why you're here, Snow's words rushed back into your mind.

"Get her! We'll cover for you." You heard Katniss's voice behind you, motioning for Peeta to lift the morphling and carry her through the last few yards to the beach. Finnick and Katniss kept their weapons at the ready—you were trying to keep yourself together. Belatedly, you realized you had failed every test that had been thrown at you so far. You were failing to dissipate their advantages.

You were failing to let them die.

Because you didn't want them to.

You felt sick to your stomach as you watched Katniss cut away the material over the victor's chest, revealing the deep and bloody wounds beneath. You were almost certain a lung had been punctured—perhaps even the heart. This could've easily been you, you suddenly thought. This could've easily been Finnick.

"We'll watch the trees..." Finnick's voice was soft, much like his hands on your skin. He beckoned you away from the scene, but you found it hard to look away. The victor was dying. She didn't have much time left—but she was staring up at Peeta, hanging onto his words as if they were gospel. He was whispering about paintings and colors, things that didn't make much sense to you, but she seemed mesmerized by them.

And with the sun on his face, Peeta almost looked like summers and grace. Like a paradise to those who had never heard of heaven before.

But he wasn't.

And the cannon eventually fired.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

Finnick's voice was soft that night. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze—green irises staring back at you, though they seemed a shade darker than usual under the moonlight. Up close, you could see the spots where the fog droplets had touched his skin earlier, now visibly scabbing over. You sighed, brushing the pad of your thumb over his maimed skin.

"Don't scratch that."

Finnick almost grinned. Your tendency to turn the conversation elsewhere didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I won't lose my beauty, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes at his vanity. "I'm more worried about you getting an infection," you corrected, matter-of-factly, before reaching down for the ointment (that Haymitch had been kind enough to provide) next to you. At least you were getting sponsors.

Peeta and Katniss were somewhere off on the beach, playing their role as a couple and whatnot. The beach was quiet—the only sounds that filled the air were the crashing waves in the distance. It was pacifying, a distant reminder of home and the nostalgia behind it. The calm before the storm, you thought.

Your thoughts were almost readable across your face as you rubbed the medicine over Finnick's skin without a word. He could read you so easily—the frown between your brows, the slight pout on your lips.

"Baby—"

"—We need to separate." The words were quiet but vehement in their delivery. You met his gaze again, determined to get through to him. "This... plan isn't working for us," you limited yourself to say, but he knew exactly what you meant. This plan isn't working because we're not doing our part of the deal.

And how could you? When Peeta was willing to sacrifice himself to reach for your trident? When Katniss was watching our for Finnick?

Your husband's muscles visibly tensed, and he almost looked ridiculous with the rise of his chest and green ointment smeared across his face.

"We can't leave right now. You need to trust me," he said—the same argument he'd given the first time you brought this up. It irked you.

There was something behind his words. Something that wasn't sitting right with you. You paused for a second, carefully examining his features.

He was hiding something from you.

Your eyebrows rose in silent realization.

He shifted slightly under your knowing gaze. Oh, he was definitely keeping something. But what could it possibly be? And why did it stop him from leaving the lovers of District 12 behind? You opened your mouth, the question threatening to slip past your lips—when you heard the sudden screaming.

Across from you, a wedge of the jungle vibrated suddenly and an enormous wave crested high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It forced the surf to bubble up around your knees.

Then the cannon fired.

Almost instinctively, Finnick reached for you. His muscles tensed as his other hand reached for the trident. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Katniss drawing one of her arrows back. Three figures were approaching in the distance, all emerging from the jungle—drenched in what looked like blood.

You squinted, the figures vaguely familiar. Finnick was the first to recognize them.

"Johanna!" he called, and before you knew it, you were both running toward them.

"We thought it was fucking rain!" Johanna began, after stepping back from your embrace. "There was lightning, and we were all so thirsty, you know? But it turned out to be fucking blood! Thick, hot blood. We couldn't see shit. That's when Bling hit the force field..."

Bling—her counterpart from District 7.

"I'm sorry," you offered, sincerity behind your words. Finnick echoed your expression.

"Yeah, he wasn't much... but he was from home." Johanna sighed, then turned toward her companions—Beetee and Wiress. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudged Beetee, who was barely conscious, with her foot. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

You all looked over at Wiress, who was circling around, drenched in crimson, murmuring, "Tick, tock."

Johanna rolled her eyes.

You tilted your head to the side.

"Yeah, we know. Tick-fucking-tock. She's in shock." Johanna's words drew Wiress's attention, and almost instinctively, she careened into her. But Johanna shoved her harshly down to the sand without blinking twice. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Johanna—" you started, disapprovingly, but Katniss was quick to cut you off.

"Lay off her," she snapped.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at Katniss, the tension suddenly palpable and suffocating. "Lay off her?" she repeated, the words dangerous on her tongue.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't see what came next coming—the slap across Katniss's face. "Who the fuck do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You ungrateful bitch—"

You blinked.

Damn, you thought.

Finnick tossed Johanna over his shoulder before she could go any further, dunking her in the water as she continued to throw insults at Katniss.

"What did she mean? She got them for me?" Katniss turned to look at you for answers, one cheek flushed, but she didn't seem to mind. She, however, was surprised when your expression mirrored her confusion.You opened your mouth to respond—Peeta's shoulder suddenly brushing yours.

"I don't—" you started, turning to look at the blond beside you. He was looking down at you with curious, soft brown eyes. It was the first time you'd met his gaze in hours. You hated how he looked at you.

As if you could do no wrong in his eyes.

As if you were worth going for a trident.

"I don't know," you answered, tearing your eyes away from Peeta and focusing back on Katniss. You weren't lying—you didn't know what the fuck Johanna was talking about. But as you looked over your shoulder, back at your husband...you suddenly realized who did.

And it made your blood boil.

"Tell me, Finnick." Your words were heated. Finnick knew he was fucked the moment you cornered him beneath the palm trees—away from the others.

"Sweetheart, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about..." he tried again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks were burning, your skin tinged with red hues that streaked across your face in visible anger.

He was gaslighting you.

With his pretty mouth and deceptive green eyes.

"Bullshit!" you spat, not buying his feigned confusion. You knew there was something going on—something Johanna clearly knew about, and you didn't. "Stop lying to me, Finnick."

Finnick groaned, as if this were suddenly an inconvenience to him. Your mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. It was unbelievable, how much of a deal he was making it out to be. What could he possibly be hiding that he couldn't bring himself to share with you?

Did he not trust you?

"Finnick—" you tried again, a little softer.

"—Come on, they're waiting for us," Finnick cut you off, redirecting the conversation as he made his way back to the group, not waiting for your reply. The dismissal settled under your skin like an itch.

If anyone noticed you were pissed when you rejoined the group, they didn't say it out loud. Instead, they exchanged discreet glances between you and Finnick, then moved on to the current plan. According to Wiress, the arena was a clock, with a new threat every hour, and Katniss wanted to test the theory—by going back to the Cornucopia.

You didn't object. Instead, you walked along the nearest strip of sand, approaching the Cornucopia with care, in case the Careers were lurking nearby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Finnick was ahead of you, walking alongside Johanna, throwing watchful glances over his shoulder at you every few minutes—but never saying a word.

You made sure to look away each time.

"You okay?" Peeta's voice broke your thoughts. You looked up to meet his eyes—honey-brown, sandy, a shade lighter under the casting sunlight. You couldn't help but stare at them for a few seconds.

"I'm fine," you answered simply, allowing his arm to brush against yours as you continued to walk. You noticed it was a strange habit of his.

Then, there was a comfortable silence in the air. One that settled under your skin like an itch. He shouldn't feel this comfortable around you—you weren't to be trusted. Not with Snow watching you.

And he should know that.

"You didn't have to reach for the trident," you said, unsure how to broach the subject. Behind your closed eyelids, the scene replayed over and over: the monkeys poised above you, you standing defenseless, and Peeta risking his life to get you the trident. "Don't do that again, Peeta."

Peeta frowned at your words, almost as if you'd said something silly. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he mulled over his response.

"I'll stop reaching for your trident," he finally said—but the tone in his voice betrayed the finality of his words. "Once you stop running to me."

Now it was your turn to frown. And suddenly, it dawned on you that he was right. Every time he'd been in danger, you'd always run to his aid. You opened your mouth to respond, but there was nothing you could say to defend yourself.

And he knew that.

So, he smiled in triumph and kept walking.

Once you'd reached the Cornucopia, you began sorting through the weapons on display while the rest of the group scattered nearby. Peeta was at your side, drawing a map of the arena. You noticed that the Cornucopia was at the center, with twelve strips branching from it. He began marking the threats by the hour: monkeys, fog, blood...

And then you heard it.

Boom!

Your body twisted in time to watch Wiress collapse to the ground, her throat slit open. Gloss stood behind her—dripping wet and aiming the bloody knife at you. The tip of Katniss's arrow disappeared into his temple before he could advance, and you reached for your trident to bury it in Cashmere's chest.

Boom! Boom!

"(Y/N)!" Finnick called out, knocking away a spear Brutus had thrown at you.

You made to reach for him, but the ground jerked beneath your feet and you were flung onto your side in the sand. The circle of land holding the Cornucopia began spinning—fast, violently—forcing your vision to blur within seconds.

"It fucking moves?" Johanna shouted over the waves, to no one in particular.

You felt the force dragging you toward the water. You dug your hands and feet into the sand, trying to gain traction on the unstable ground. There was nothing you could do but hold on—until you began to slip. Instinctively, Katniss reached for your hand—she was closest—but the force was too strong, and her fingers twitched out of reach.

And you fell into the water.

You weren't exactly sure when the ground slammed to a stop—there was no warning. You were still underwater then, trying not to swallow the waves crashing over you. Thankfully, you knew how to swim. You would've drowned if you hadn't kicked your legs and gasped out for air. Your lungs were burning when you broke the surface—barely conscious. You heard someone calling for you in the distance.

Was it Peeta?

Or was it Finnick?

Whoever it was, it didn't matter.

You passed out before you could figure it out.

[anatay004]

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part six)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T BE SCARED," Dean's voice slid into your thoughts; breaking into your reverie as you visibly flinched. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze, allowing his hand to squeeze your arm comfortably. "The fabric is light, not thermal," Your stylist revealed, referring to the wetsuit you were wearing, trying to dissipate the tension in the air. "So, I'm guessing tropic."

You swallowed hard, trying to take in his words. You were in the Launch Room in the arena, waiting for the countdown to begin as Dean finished braiding your hair down your back.

"And tropic means water," Dean acknowledged, offering you an encouraging smile as you slowly nodded. "You're good in water."

He was right — you were good in water, that's how you'd managed to win your first games. You remember it all too well; an earthquake breaking the dam, the flood in the arena, and you swimming for your life. You swallowed hard at the memory, trying to ignore the pain that tormented your chest. After all, you supposed Dean was right; having an arena close to home could be a great advantage to you and Finnick.

You exhaled sharply.

"Sixty seconds to launch."

You swept Dean a glance. He was looking back at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes — one you'd seen before, and you couldn't help, but reach for him. "Are you still beating on me?" You whispered in his embrace, and his arms immediately tightened around your frame.

"Always." He answered, a little strained.

And with that, he stepped back — wiped the tears in his eyes, and watched as the glass cylinder slid down around you. You watched him blow a kiss at you before you felt the plate underneath you moving upwards. The plan was simple in your head as you leaned against the glass: get to Finnick, get some weapons, and run the hell away from the blood bath.

Simple, simple, simple.

You eventually forced yourself to straighten up when the glass started to retreat, but you found yourself frozen in place when the arena stumbled into your line of vision. For a moment, you faltered as you took in the sight of water in every direction you turned. Only one clear thought formed in your brain as you took in the landscape: Snow was beating on you too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, suddenly broke into your reverie. And, instinctively, you searched for Finnick around, but panic quickly flitted across your features when you couldn't find him.

"He's on the other side of the Cornucopia," Peeta's voice slid into your thoughts, and your shoulders slumped in evident relief when you heard his words. "Don't lose focus."

Belatedly, you realized Peeta was standing on the plate next to yours. And he was watching you with concerned eyes, trying to quench down the panic that threatened to break you in front of the cameras, but you didn't notice. You were far too preoccupied with staying alive.

Eventually, you dived into the water.

Hence to your ability to swim, you were quick to reach the spoke of land that balanced your plate and Peeta's. But, to your surprise, you didn't run towards the Cornucopia right away like the others; instead, you found yourself looking back for Peeta. He was struggling to reach the land, so, you impulsively offered him a hand and pulled him out of the water. 

"Allies?" Peeta asked, trying to catch his breath as he climbed onto the land.

You didn't answer, but your silence was quite telling, and it took everything in you to ignore the smile that curved Peeta's lips, before sprinting towards the Cornucopia. Within a few minutes, you eventually reached it and immediately grabbed the closest weapon at hand — a trident. A satisfied smile twitched your lips as you balanced the weapon in your hand, but the moment was fleeting, before you knew it; Peeta was already back in the water fighting a tribute.

"Peeta!" You shouted and made to run in his direction when a steady hand dropped on your shoulder. Instinctively, you made to throw the trident, but another hand on your wrist stopped your movements altogether. "Oh." You breathed out, in sudden relief, when you realized it was just Finnick. "Are you okay?"

"Stay with Katniss, I'll get Peeta," Finnick commanded, dismissing your question, his voice powerful enough to make you obey him. In that moment, as Finnick dived effortlessly back into the water to help Peeta; you realized he'd made his alliances too. Katniss was close by, watching the scene with a horrified expression on her face. At the sight of her distress, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all an act like everyone else said. Or, if Mags was actually right, and there was something real about it?

You couldn't quite piece together an answer yet.

When the canon finally fired, your heart skipped for a moment, but relief quickly washed over you when you caught sight of Peeta's moving figure and Finnick pulling him back onto land.

The other tribute had died.

"You okay?" You eventually turned to ask Katniss, when Peeta was finally out of danger and you were both waiting for him and Finnick to come back. Katniss threw you a skeptical look, one that underlined you were not friends. "The baby, I mean."

Realization quickly dawned on her face, as if she'd suddenly remembered she was supposed to be pregnant. "Yeah, we're fine."

You nodded.

"Are you alright?" Peeta was quick to ask you, when he rushed back to the group, with Finnick strolling right behind him. The concerned tone in his voice caught you off guard, but you decided not to show it as Katniss watched you.

Carefully.

"Are you?" You asked instead, scrutinizing him for a moment; just to make sure he wasn't terribly hurt. To your surprise, he wasn't. "I barely even left you." You mumbled as you recalled he was running right behind you before he was even thrown back into the water.

"Don't." Peeta scoffed, a little faintly.

And you blinked in surprise.

"Hey," Peeta suddenly turned to Katniss, as if he'd suddenly remembered the cameras. "Are you okay?" He asked, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. You watched their interaction with curious eyes, unable to hide the perplexed expression on your face as you studied the scene.

"Yeah," Katniss replied, offering him a faint smile before turning to look at you. The weight of her gaze made your muscles tense; for a moment, you could've sworn she was throwing daggers at you. "We're okay."

The atmosphere suddenly grew thicker.

"We need to head to the jungle." Finnick suddenly spoke, breaking the tension, before sliding his free arm unexpectedly behind your waist. "We need water and a place to rest before night falls."

You nodded and made to move forward, but Finnick kept you in place; making sure Peeta walked past you first. "What?" Finnick asked innocently when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. "He can take the lead."

You opened your mouth to reply something along the lines of, " We should probably separate" but he muffled your words with his mouth— silencing you with a kiss.

"Come on," Finnick whispered against your lips, beckoning you to follow behind the group. You hesitated and lingered there for a moment before he lifted your chin to look at him. "Trust me."

You pressed your lips together and — for a split second, you thought back to the conversation with Haymitch you'd overheard from the previous night. Perhaps, this is what it was about, you thought, about this alliance with them. So, with that in mind, your grip tightened around the trident in your hand and you turned to follow Peeta and Katniss.

With Finnick right behind you.

Peeta took the lead, cutting through the patches of vegetation with his long knife as you walked through the jungle. Now and then, Katniss turned back to look at you and Finnick; as if she was almost expecting for you to attack them at any moment. You supposed you couldn't blame her for that.

You, yourself, didn't trust her either.

"God, it's hot," Peeta hissed, stopping suddenly on his track to catch his breath after a few miles. The jungle was hot and humid; you could feel your hair damp and plastered over your forehead from the sweat. Simultaneously, your lips were chapped and dry from the lack of hydration. "We need to find fresh water."

"You don't say." Finnick deadpanned, to which Peeta threw him a glare in response.

"What if we move to the other side?" You suggested, cleaning some of the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. "Maybe there's a spring or something."

"There isn't." Katniss limited herself to answer.

"How do you know — " You started, but the words quickly froze on the tip of your tongue when the cannon started to go off again; indicating more deaths.

"I guess we're not holding hands anymore," Finnick quipped, stifling a chuckle as he counted the number of times the cannon fired.

You counted three.

"You think that's funny?" Katniss hissed, throwing your husband a heated glare.

"Every time that cannon goes off, it's music to my ears," Finnick replied, matter-of-factly, before he added. "I don't care about any of them."

"Good to hear," Katniss scoffed, reaching her arm back to pull an arrow from her quiver. Instinctively, you aimed the end of your trident at her, but Finnick was quick to lower your weapon.

"You want to face the Career Pack alone?" Finnick questioned her, rather indifferent to her threat. His reaction took you aback; for some reason, he seemed certain she was not going to shoot him. "What would Haymitch say?"

You, on the other hand, were not.

"Haymitch isn't here."

You tilted the trident towards her direction again, but Peeta was the one to break the interaction this time. "Come on, let's keep moving." He said, beckoning Katniss to move along. And, from the corner of your eyes, you could've almost sworn he threw you an apologetic smile.

You watched them walk ahead of you for a few seconds without a word. She's going to kill us, you thought to yourself, as you watched the girl on fire with cautious eyes. And if she doesn't, she's certainly going to try to — at one point or another.

You nibbled your bottom lip pensively. Would this be a good time to separate? You wondered again, trying to think of a coherent plan. To turn the other way and let them face the Career Pack on their own? It's what Snow would want. But what about Peeta?

You paused, the question caught you off guard; as if you'd suddenly realized what you'd asked yourself subconsciously.

What about him?

"Put the trident down, baby," Finnick's words slid into your thoughts, and you blinked; belatedly realizing that you were still holding the trident up defensively. "They're harmless."

"You sound a little too sure about that," You questioned him, tilting your head suspiciously. "As if she didn't just threaten to shoot you."

"Just — " Finnick paused as if he were choosing his next words carefully. " — just trust me, love."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I'm trying to."

Finnick's lips twitched, clearly dismissing the seriousness of the conversation. "You're gorgeous when you're mad."

"I'm not mad," You clarified, but the annoyance in your voice betrayed your words. "But if it has to come down to choosing, I'm choosing you."

Finnick looked at you for a moment, eyes softly lit with vulnerability. "I know."

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the sound of Katniss screaming quickly cut you off. In a split second, you watched as Peeta flung back from a force field he'd just hit, bringing you and Finnick down along with him.

"Peeta!" You screamed, rushing over to his motionless body, where Katniss was trying to shake him awake — with no luck.

"He's not breathing!" She yelled, almost frightened. "His heart's not beating!"

At the sight of this, you suddenly remembered something Mags had taught you a few years ago — when your dad had almost drowned once, and you didn't know how to bring him back. Instinctively, you pushed Katniss aside, ignoring the way she immediately reached for an arrow.

Finnick yelled something at you, something along the lines that he would do it, but there wasn't time. So, you pinched Peeta's nose and pressed your mouth over his to blow air into his lungs. You did this for a few minutes until a cough eventually slipped out his mouth and you leaned back to look at him in relief.

"Shit." You breathed out, subconsciously resting a hand over his chest as you watched his eyelids part. For a few seconds, he lay there on the ground, simply looking up at you as he slowly regained back his consciousness.

"Careful," He eventually mumbled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist harmlessly. "There's a force field up ahead."

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Thanks, I almost didn't notice."

Peeta smiled, despite the evident pain he was in, and you were just about to help him get back to his feet when Katniss slightly shoved you aside. You didn't mind, you supposed she was in the right too. But you could've sworn Peeta's grip tightened around you — for a split second as if he almost didn't want to let go.

You decided to dismiss it, thinking nothing of it as you made your way back to Finnick and Katniss pulled Peeta into an embrace.

One that made you look away — for some reason.

"I thought you wanted to separate." Finnick confronted you sometime later when you were both leaning against a tree, trying to catch some sleep before sunrise. Your head rested on his shoulder sluggishly as you watched Katniss take the first watch from a comfortable distance.

"What?" You returned, unable to hide the confusion in your voice as you looked up.

"You saved Peeta." Finnick suddenly pointed out, but his tone was hard to label. Was he angry? Unhappy? Nonchalant? You couldn't tell.

"You said they were harmless." You answered, throwing his words back at him. But he didn't answer, instead, he looked down to scrutinize your features carefully — as if he almost wanted to decipher something, but couldn't. "What?"

"You saved him twice."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I didn't — "

" — During the blood bath, when he was pulled into the water, you were willing to jump back in to save him," Finnick interjected, and you supposed he wasn't entirely wrong. You did go back for Peeta, but only because you considered him a friend. Someone who would, strangely, do the same thing for you. Or, that's the first thing that came to your mind anyway.

"Where are you going with this?" You eventually asked, trying to read the emotions that flitted across Finnick's face, but — like always, there was nothing you could place a finger on.

"It's — just an observation." He simply said.

But you didn't like the tone of his voice, it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. If you didn't know any better, you were almost certain his tone was accusing. But of what exactly? You didn't know, he didn't elaborate any further.

"Mhm," You hummed, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. "I'm starting to get the impression you just want me to yourself."

Finnick stifled a chuckle, grasping onto the fact that you wanted to change the subject. "You? My gorgeous wife? I don't think so, no."

Your heart skipped at the word "wife". The truth was, you were still not used to it. And the word alone was enough to have your heart hammering against your chest. "Dork," You quipped, snapping your eyes to the side, but Finnick didn't miss the pink hues that tinged your skin.

"You're pretty when you blush." He teased, dissipating the tension in the air, as he curved the side of your face with the palm of his hand to make you turn to look at him again.

"I'm not blushing.” You argued, but it was a futile attempt when you felt the heat rolling up your cheeks. Naturally, Finnick pulled your face closer to his; until you could feel his breath pressing against your skin and there was barely a gap between you. Instinctively, your eyes dropped to his lips and he took the opportunity to brush them against yours.

"Sure you're not," Finnick whispered into your mouth before he allowed his tongue to sweep past your lips in a passionate kiss. As if he was almost needy; as if he almost needed to prove something. Whether it was to the cameras or himself, you weren't exactly sure, but you kissed him back — with equal fervor.

Until the sound of the arrival of a silver parachute broke you apart. For a moment, neither of you reached for it; allowing the item to land before you peacefully. After a few seconds, Katniss walked over to your spot and, subconsciously, your eyes traveled past her frame in search of Peeta.

"He's sleeping," Katniss informed you, just as Peeta's body stumbled into your line of vision. He was a few feet away, curled on the ground — sleeping almost peacefully. You nodded, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just read your subconscious thoughts.

"Whose is it?" Katniss eventually asked, eyeing the parachute on the ground with curiosity.

Finnick shrugged, pushing himself back to his feet. "I have no idea."

"Open it." You encouraged her, ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes at you. "Or not."

Katniss sighed audibly, but she eventually took your advice and opened the parachute. Curiously, you peeked over to catch a glimpse of a metal object inside alongside a note. "It's a spile!" She informed you, to which you only blinked — dumbfounded. "It's to access water."

Relief washed over your features when Katniss took the metal object and hammered it into the green bark of a tree. For a few seconds, nothing happened as you stood there watching; until a stream of water eventually ran out. After Katniss, you rushed to hold your mouth under the tap, allowing the water to wet your parched tongue.

And, it wasn't until Katniss was waking up Peeta and Finnick's back were facing you when you finally decided to search for the note that was attached to the parachute. But a chill soon kissed down your spine when you took the parchment paper in your hands and read through the letters:

Remember why you're here for.

— S.

Finnick was sleeping next to you, his arm was wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. The jungle was quiet — too quiet to your liking, but you supposed you could appreciate the silence as you warred with the thoughts inside your head.

To say the note scared you was an understatement. You were terrified. Because Snow was watching each and every one of your moves; listening to every one of your words. Unsure of how everyone else would react, you fisted the note in your hand before anyone else could read it. And when anyone asked about it, you simply answered it was from Haymitch.

But, now that you were lying down and thinking about it — one thing was clear; Snow wasn’t content with your choice of alliances.

He didn’t approve of them.

How could he? If you and Finnick were both reaped for a purpose and one only: to kill the Mockingjay. To annihilate any chances of her winning, to win over her sponsors, and to make the fight seem fair. And, so far, Snow had done his part of the deal; he’d placed you and Finnick under the limelight, made you both the Capitol’s favorites and even incarcerated you inside an arena close to home.

With tridents, especially made for you.

So, now, it was time for you to do your part too.

You swept Katniss a look, then Peeta. They were both sleeping on the other side of the ground; just a few feet away from you.

One wrong move and everything could go wrong very quickly. For you — for Finnick, and the thought alone forced a sickening feeling to retaliate in the pit of your stomach. Because you didn’t want to kill Peeta or Katniss, as much as she managed to get under your skin.

But if it had to come down to that, would you do it? Was Katniss right in mistrusting you after all? Would you really kill her and Peeta?

You exhaled pensively as your eyes searched for Peeta again — almost subconsciously. The mere sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took made your heart skip. Would you be able to kill him? His soft features, the strands of blonde in his hair, and his kind heart.

No, you thought quietly, not Peeta.

And then, as the thoughts quietened inside your head, something in the distance caught your attention. For a moment, you watched as a wave of fog slid into the jungle. Instinctively, the hairs of your arms rose and you pushed up on one of your elbows to examine the scene a little closer.

Simultaneously, Katniss stirred awake and quietly turned her attention to the mysterious curtain of fog too. In a matter of seconds, you watched as she reached to touch it with the tips of her fingers — and a scream quickly erupted.

“Run!” She yelled in pain.

Finnick snapped awake instantly, pushing your body behind him; ready to encounter an enemy, but to his surprise, Katniss clarified. “It’s the fog! It’s poisonous! We have to run, Peeta!”

Katniss helped Peeta climb back to his feet as Finnick beckoned you to run. For a few minutes, everyone sprinted, but the curtain of gas was expanding in every direction you turned. And it didn’t help that Peeta was tripping over everything on the ground either — he was weak, you could tell, perhaps it was the aftereffects of hitting the force field. So, without thinking, you gripped his arms securely and pulled him forward.

“Come on!” You encouraged, but your eyebrows jumped when he pulled his arm back. You opened your mouth to berate him — tell him there wasn’t time for this, when he intertwined his fingers with yours instead. Amidst the circumstances, you didn’t have time to coherent a reaction or a reason to let go.

Droplets soon sprung free of the vapor and landed on your bodies. You hissed in pain, it burned your skin searingly — like a chemical. After a few minutes, Peeta eventually fell to the ground and, despite your and Katniss’ efforts to pull back to his feet, his legs gave up.

“I’ll have to carry him.” Finnick eventually sighed, when there was a good distance between the fog and your group, and Katniss nodded.

For about a mile, you watched as Finnick carried Peeta on his back until he eventually collapsed on the ground too. You rushed to him, but the pain that seared your skin was equally as defeating, and, along with Katniss, you hit the ground almost instantly. But Finnick mumbled something under his breath, something along the lines of “go to the water” when you belatedly realized you were just a few feet away from the water that surrounded the Cornucopia.

After a few tries, however, you eventually faltered and turned to face the curtain of fog. But the chemical didn’t suffocate you as you’d expected. Unlike, it grew thicker and condensed as it suddenly pressed against a force field.

After a few minutes, it eventually went away.

“It’s gone,” Katniss murmured, but her voice was strangled and barely audible. “The fog.”

Your body was still twitching when you heard a wail slip out of Katniss’ mouth from somewhere close. Then you heard Peeta’s and then you heard Finnick’s. You tried to part your eyes when you eventually felt someone slide his hands under your armpits, but you couldn’t even do that. Naturally, you hissed in pain, but the action was abruptly interrupted by another pair of hands on you.

“I’ll do it.”

“I already got her.”

“Peeta.” The voice, you later recognized as Finnick’s, was dangerously low — as if he was suddenly speaking through his teeth.

Giving out a warning.

The only thing you could remember after that was your skin being torched. As Finnick pulled you into the water, a heart-wrenching scream ripped out your lips; as if you had suddenly been thrown into an open flame.

“I know, baby,” Finnick cooed, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “I know…”

After a bit, the blisters in your skin slunk back into your flesh and disappeared along with the pain. “Motherfuckers,” You cursed, falling back against your husband’s chest in evident exhaustion. “I’ve never run that much before.”

Finnick laughed, incredulous at your sense of humor. “You and me both.”

You didn’t say much after that, instead, you allowed yourself to indulge in the fleeting moment of peace in Finnick’s arms. But the moment didn’t last for long when you began to wonder if maybe— just maybe, this was a warning from President Snow.

And you needed to do your part of the deal soon.

Author’s Note

I’m back after a horrible writersblock! It took me so long to write this, I’m sorry, besties, but don’t worry, I have the rest of the chapters planned already. Anyways, I would really appreciate you guys could interact with the story! Lately, I don’t have that much motivation and reading you guys thoughts and comments on my inbox helps so much!

With that being said, I left some Peeta content for those of you who are #teamPeeta. Enjoy!

@serrendiipty @avoxrising@queerqueenlynn

@darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@stayc-a-I-m

@chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425

@leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-

tamanna @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@syd649 @flavorofsalt @wisewidowweasley-

blog@meikoo@mozz-are-lla

@nomorespahgetti

@aestheticOcherryblossom

[anatay004]

YOU WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF SCREAMING. The sheer decibels were enough to break into your reverie and jolt you awake; enough for goosebumps to roll over your skin like cream. For a few seconds, you remained still, blinking away the bleariness in your eyes as you tried to make sense of the situation. Instinctively, you pushed yourself onto one of your elbows to examine the room around you, but confusion quickly flitted across your features when you realized the screams weren't coming from the inside of your home.

"It's the neighbor's daughter." Your father's voice slid into your thoughts suddenly. His voice was soft, as though you might shatter if he spoke too loud as he stood by the doorframe; holding a familiar dress that made you belatedly realize why he was being too gentle. Today was reaping day.

And reaping days called for certain demeanors.

"Oh." Was everything you managed to say.

Suddenly, you understood why the neighbor's daughter must've been screaming; why she must've been scared. She'd just turned twelve last week, the starting age for participating in the mandatory reaping for the annual Hunger Games. Where you were either killed or forced to for the sake of the Capitol's entertainment. It was inessential; the cruelest of punishment, but — somehow, it was the most merciful one the Capitol could have ever come up with.

And that thought alone scared you the most.

You tried not to dwell much on the matter as your father draped the dress over a chair and walked back into the kitchen without another word, but it was almost futile. Days like these called for melancholy; and melancholy called for buried ghosts; especially when they tethered back to your past.

You exhaled audibly as tried to shift your mind elsewhere — anywhere, just not to your sister. But it was inevitable, especially when she'd been taken from you on this exact day; five years ago. When she'd been killed on live television for everyone else's entertainment, but your own. When her heart had been pierced by a trident and her body was left moribund for the whole Capitol to feed on.

And her killer had been crowded Victor.

Your father never recovered from it.

Every year, he dreaded the upcoming of this day with visible pain. In fear, you might just get called upstage too, even if this was your last year at the reaping. But you couldn't exactly blame him for it, not when you were the only thing he'd left in this putrid world. So, you understood. You cleaned away the tears that streaked his face at night, prayed along with him, and took him in your arms when the nightmarish memories of your sister plagued his head at night.

And today was no different; you accompanied his silence with your own; because there was no cure for the malady in his heart.

Because you understood.

Gathering some courage, you climbed out of bed obligingly and made your way to the bathroom. The reaping was to start at two in the afternoon, so you made sure to jump in the shower as quickly as you possibly could; washing your skin, conditioning your hair, and even scrubbing your nails clean. It was easy — manageable, until it was time to dress.

With a towel wrapped around you, you stepped out of the bathroom only to falter at the sight of the dress draped over the chair in your bedroom. You'd seen it before, it was not stranger to your eyes, but you'd never once worn it. The piece of clothing, although it was just fabric, had once belonged to your sister; a green dress with beautiful flower prints. It'd been a gift to your sister from your father when she'd turned sixteen years old. A small present bought with his hard work; a small reminder of his love for her.

But now, it was a cruel reminder of what you'd lost.

With gritted teeth, you fell back a step, suddenly deciding to retrace your steps to the bathroom. Not wanting to remember, you decided to fix your hair instead and shut the door behind you.

Deciding your ghosts could wait a little longer.

The weather was hot and humid.

You don't remember a day being as insufferable as it was that afternoon. After a few hours of dolling up and breaking down, you eventually walked along the cobbled streets of District Four holding your father's hand. Almost everyone in the district was already circling the square for the Reaping when you arrived. You knew the procedure by memory, so when you came to a standstill, you gave your father's hand a last squeeze before letting it go and making your way to the girls your age.

A video played through the enormous screen in the square after a few minutes when everyone gathered. A film of how the Hunger Games started and what purpose they served for the country, but — frankly, you weren't paying much attention. Subconsciously, you allowed your eyes to wander off to the stage; where the victors from previous games stood. But your eyes were glued to someone in particular; a familiar blonde with bronze skin and green eyes.

Finnick Odair.

He was staring at the screen, watching the film that was being played with a nonchalant expression on his face; one that made your blood boil. You remember it all too well: his games, his strategies, and his kills. You remember staring back at the screen, watching with blood-shut eyes how he threw his trident at your sister; the way in which it pierced her skin.

The way in which your father screamed.

District four's escort eventually made her way to the stage and you snapped out your thoughts at once. You didn't bother to remember her name, why should you? Her speech was fatal and, at some point, you were almost certain your eyes were momentarily dazzled by her attire. Bright pink dress and bright yellow wig.

At some point, you'd to avert your gaze to avoid a headache.

"And now, for the female tribute..." She trailed off, digging her manicured fingers into the bowl with all the pieces of paper; with all the names of the women in the district. Strangely, a shiver kissed down your spine when you watched her pull a paper out; it was the same feeling that'd crashed down over your head when Eloise'd name was called five years ago. Daunting and terrifying; a flailing hopelessness in the pit of your stomach that made you falter. It was then; in that moment, when you realized what was about to happen.

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

The air rushed out of your lungs instantly, and you heard your father screaming from somewhere in the back of the crowd. You felt his eyes on you, but you didn't deign to turn around and meet his gaze — you couldn't, the sight would be too painful. So, you inhaled sharply and made your way to the stage without a word; feeling like the world had suddenly played a cruel joke on you.

"Come on up, sweetheart!" The escort beckoned you upstage, and you followed her instructions; climbing up the stairs with evident skepticism. Until she wrapped an arm around your shaky shoulders and pulled you to her side without a warning. "Gosh, you're a doll!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from pulling away — from throwing her a heated glare and running away. You were too smart to consider either of those options, but the temptation was there. No, you thought to yourself, keep it together, just like Eloise once did.

"Now, for the male tribute..." She trailed off again, but your mind was far too preoccupied; mulling over the matter to even register her words. For a moment, everything was silent inside your head as you stared ahead into the crowd; hopelessly. Until a familiar frame stumbled your line of vision, the neighbor's daughter was looking back at you from the back of the crowd. With the kind of emotion only one shows when you don't know what to feel.

And you couldn't help but recall that morning when she'd woken you up by screaming because she thought she was going to be reaped. Now, you wanted to be the one screaming; because of how the tables had turned.

"Jacob Fischer!"

For a moment, you were relieved to learn you didn't know his name. You were relieved to know there was nothing remarkably familiar about him as he made his way upstage. When you finally looked up to meet his face; you realized he looked your age, maybe a little younger. And that made you feel even sicker.

"Come on, shake hands."

With evident hesitation, you stretched your hand out for him to shake. His hands were trembling. Yours were sweating.

This was only the start of the ending.

"You must win."

"Dad — " You started, but your father's grip desperately tightened around your hands. You were inside District Four's Justice Building, where you were expected to bid your goodbyes to your family. But things were easier said than done, and you quickly found yourself feeling like you were standing on the precipice of a clifftop, looking down — waiting to fall.

Had this been how Eloise felt?

When she'd said farewell to you?

"No, (Y/N), you can do it," He interjected, voice strained as his watery eyes searched for yours. "You must, honey. He can train you, he's good."

You shook your head.

After watching Finnick's games on live television, your father gathered the idea that the only sure way of winning the games was through him. Through his skills and way of thinking. But you detested that idea alone, how could you ever possibly follow the man who killed your sister?

"No, dad — "

"— Please, I — I don't think I'll survive if you don't, "A strangled sob slipped out his mouth and you were almost certain the world was on the brink of ending. "Not this time, (Y/N). I won't survive. I'm not strong,"

You love your father so much that you couldn't bring yourself to shake your head again; to shatter his hopes. So, you found yourself debating over your next movement. Fall off the precipice? Or not fall at all? Give Finnick the benefit of the doubt? Or not?

So, you nodded, despite knowing better. "Okay." You eventually acceded. "I promise."

And although you both knew promises were made to be broken, you sealed this one with an embrace. You hugged your father like your life depended on it. You decided not to fall. "I love you, Dad," You whispered against his skin, tightening your arms around him.

"I love you too." He breathed out. "Always."

And then he was beckoned out of the room by a peacekeeper, tears still streaking his face as he walked out the door. For a moment, silence ensued in the room and the hammering of your heart was the only thing that kept you from losing your senses.

But then, the door unexpectedly parted and you froze on your spot as a familiar frame stumbled into the room. A girl with innocent brown eyes, dressed in the prettiest shade of blue you'd ever seen before — simply looking back at you.

The neighbor's daughter, Lily Jones.

"Hi." She whispered, after a few bouts of silence.

"Ern — hi," You breathed out, unsure of what to even respond. To say you were surprised to see her standing there was an understatement and your expression was quite telling. "I wasn't expecting you..."

"I know," she answered sheepishly. "I wanted to come see you. My father is waiting outside. He said we don't have much time. I— I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. "How could I?" You chuckled slightly, appreciating the gesture. After all, this could be the last time you ever saw each other.

"I — " she started, but her words quickly froze on the tip of her tongue. Without a warning, she clung to your legs, arms tight around you — as if she was almost afraid of losing an old friend. "I don't want you to die like Eloise did. Please, win the games!"

For a moment, you felt the weight of a life burning up behind you. It took everything in you not to fall apart; not to burst into tears and allow the pain to wedge open in your chest again. "I — " You started, but the knot in your throat was hard to swallow.

"Here," Lily sniffed, before fishing for something inside her pockets. "It'll help you win the games."

It was a pendant; the most beautiful kind of jewelry you'd ever seen before. A shell was engraved on it and you brushed the pad of your fingers against it; smiling softly. It was a dainty reminder of home. "Oh, Lily," You murmured as you pressed the pendant against your chest. "Thank you for this."

Lily opened her mouth to answer, but the words clogged in her throat when her father and a peacekeeper stepped inside the room. Before you knew it, she was being dragged out the door and you couldn't do anything, but watch with sad eyes.

"Please, (Y/N)! You must win!" She sobbed.

And then, the door was shut again.

And you were left alone.

It was then, when you decided to glance at the mirror in the room, clouded with dust and insecurity. You saw yourself for the first time, a girl whose complexion dimmed in the lack of light in the room. A girl whose self-deprecation marred her face, whose shadows adorned her eyes, and whose tears chapped her skin.

This was not the face of a Victor, you thought.

After bidding your farewells, Aurora Miller (as you later learned) eventually rushed you onto the train. To say you were overwhelmed was an understatement; you'd never been engulfed in such luxuries before — from exaggerated quantities of food to expensive furniture. And the mere sight of everything inside the train was enough to send you reeling. You supposed being transported to your imminent death had its advantages after all.

Not wanting to interact with anyone, you didn't waste time in retreating to your room. Like everything else, your room was ten times nicer than anywhere you'd ever stayed before; and it irked you a little. For a few hours, you sat on the edge of your bed, looking down at the pendant in your hand. Thinking back to home; thinking of the life you'd left behind.

Subconsciously, you thought back to how life used to be when Eloise was still alive. You remembered her warm hugs, her silly anecdotes, and her way of fixing everything. But, more specifically, you remembered how happy you used to be when she was around, which was nothing but a daydream now. A memory at the risk of diminishing in the recesses of your mind.

The thought alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes. Angrily, you wiped them with the back of your hand because there was no use in crying; there was no use in bringing up your ghosts now. So, you decided to shift your attention elsewhere; you decided to clasp the necklace around your neck instead, but the task was a lot harder than you initially thought with shaky hands. And, somewhere stuck with the task, you missed the knock on your door — the door being opened.

"Seems like you could use a hand."

Finnick's voice was enough to make you falter. He was leaning against the doorframe, naturally wearing a white button-down that was, ironically, unbuttoned. Leaving his bare chest to the imagination. But, that's not what bothered you the most — no, it was how he stared at you. Intrigued, almost captivated; as if he'd met you before.

"Let me help you, sweetheart."

You didn't have time to protest, before you knew it, he was inside your room; standing just a few inches behind you like you'd known each other forever. His touch was soft as he pushed your hair to the side and settled the cool chain around your neck, but your skin burned. As if his touch had suddenly been an open flame and you'd been terribly hurt.

"I was doing just fine." You tried to argue, standing completely still as his chuckle filled the silence in the room. For a moment, you found yourself clenching your jaw in visible annoyance.

"Sure, you almost had it, honey," He chuckled to himself before clasping the necklace around your neck. "There," He said, falling back a step to look at his finished work. "It's quite beautiful."

It was, indeed.

The shell hung beautifully around your neck, settling against your skin like a gem. Instinctively, you brushed your fingers against the pendant, thinking back to Lily. "Thank you." You whispered, finally deciding to look up. Up close, you could see the green hue in his irises, the faint freckles across his skin, and the charming smile that curved his lips.

"Staring is rude."

"So is walking into my room."

His eyebrows jumped. "In my defense, I knocked first." He defended his case and, for a moment, your lips itched in fleeting amusement. Until his head tilted to the side in evident curiosity. "I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name. What was it again?"

For a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, you stood there in silence — staring at him, as realization flitted across your face. He doesn't even know who I am, you thought to yourself, he doesn't even remember who she was.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)." You eventually replied.

"(Y/N) (Y/LN)," he repeated, tasting the syllabus in his tongue. As if he'd never once rolled that name out his mouth before. "You have a beautiful name."

You didn't bother to answer.

"Well, dinner is ready, in case you want to join us," Finnick smiled, if he'd noticed the shift in your behavior, you could not tell. "I do hope you do, they're serving caviar and whatnot."

It was at that moment, as he walked out the room, that you decided there was no benefit of the doubt. No remorse whatsoever. No nothing. At that moment, you decided — you hated Finnick Odair.

Midnight Rain’s first chapter is finally out! You have no idea how excited I am about this story in particular. I promise, it’s for the tortured poets department. Please comment down below what your thoughts are, I love reading theeeeem! t keeps me motivated and active on this platform. With love, Ana.

[anatay004]

It’s been a whileeeeee! I haven’t had the chance to write for you guys in a minute. Anywhoooooo, I was wondering if any of you were still interested in the unfinished stories I have going on in this account. If so, plssss let me knowwww! I got some time to jump back into theseee beauties.

[anatay004]

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʀ | ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

Summary: You are in a content marriage with Aemond, but after King Viserys dies, he unexpectedly takes his anger out on you.

ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ

ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴢᴇ

ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ

HE WAS looking back at the fireplace. The flames ricocheted off the wood and draped over his features so luminously. His back was facing you, his spine was straight like steel and his muscles visibly tensed as you closed the door behind you.

You sucked in a breath.

His father was dead.

And your mother was the heir to the iron throne.

"I've heard the news, I'm terribly sorry about your father." Your voice was a whisper, but the words were vehement and he shifted a little in his seat. You fumbled with your hands when he didn't deigned to answer, but you took a deliberate step closer nonetheless.

"If you wish to – "

" – Are you aware of what must happen now?" He interrupted, his voice cold and distant as he climbed back to his feet.

Fire and blood, you thought.

A war with my mother.

Under the fire, you could see he was angry. His blue irise darkened as he anchored his gaze on you maliciously – as if you were the enemy. You knitted your eyebrows together as the question pestered your head momentarily, he was trying to intimidate you; that you knew.

He had never spoken so harshly to you before. Not when you were betrothed; not when he made love to you. Ever since you were kids, he always acted tenderly around you, despite being the youngest daughter of Rhaenyra.

But that night – something shattered.

"My mother will ascend the throne." You challenged.

He clenched his jaw.

"Your mother – " He trailed off, the words wrapped around his tongue with utter venom and you almost flinched back in surprise. He was quick to close the gap between you, dragging a hand up to lift your chin and look at you squarely in the face. " – is no more than a fucking whore, my love."

You fell back a step.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because war is on the brink of breaking and I need to know if my fucking wife will stand beside me or against me."

You swallowed the knot in your throat. He looked back at your searchingly as if he was trying to decipher every emotion that flitted across your face in that second. Unsatisfied, he took another step closer until his chest was pressing against yours and your back was touching the wall.

"Answer me."

"You are despicable."

His breath pressed against your skin warmly. "Must I repeat myself?"

You held back your breath. "You think I could ever see my mother as the enemy?"

There was a tick on his jaw and a shadow marred his face for a split second as he tried to coherent an answer. "You are my wife – mine. You don't have a fucking choice."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "But I do."

Aemond held your waist sharply, fingers tight against the fabric of your dress. "You're a fool if you think I'll ever allow that."

You tried to free yourself from his grip. "Stop it."

"You're a fool if you think I'll ever let you go."

You held back your breath, eyes glossed with unshed tears as you looked at him heatedly. "A war doesn't have to occur and you know it."

"Mhm," He hummed, stifling a grin that fought to itch his lips. "Then you are a fucking fool."

"Let me go," You spat, a furious tone wrapped around your words and he almost did.

Almost.

His arm wrapped around your waist stubbornly as he leaned the other on the wall over your head. He maneuvered his face closer to yours until his lips were brushing a feather-like touch against your cheek. "I would rather die."

A sickening feeling retaliated in the pit of your stomach. "I thought you loved me."

He faltered on his spot.

And, as if your words had suddenly torched him, he fell back a step. He didn't answer, instead, a strained silence ensued in the room for a while and you eventually exhaled a wry chuckle. "Fuck, I thought you really did."

No response.

Tears collected at the bottom of your eyelids, but you refused to blink and satisfied his dull facade. Instead, you made to walk out of the room, but he was fast to latch his hand onto your wrist before you could walk away.

You looked at him then.

"I can't let you go."

"Stop – "

" – I won't survive without you." He suddenly interjected, his words were firm and unrelenting as he reached for your hand. His rough palm slid to interlace his fingers with yours as he almost pleaded with silence.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

"I wish I was lying, I really fucking do."

Then you watched as sincerity dawned in his eye and you believed him – for a moment. You instinctively leaned your forehead against his and he immediately did the same. You relished the sudden moment of peace that blessed the walls within the room as you both fell pensive.

He was troubled, you knew.

"We'll figure this out." You whispered, raking a hand through his hair in affection. He pressed his lips against the side of your head quietly.

"Don't leave me."

"I won't."

Aemond leaned back. “Swear it.”

You swallowed thickly, the words froze on the tip of your tongue for a second. You felt disoriented, like you were standing on the brink of a precipice and he was asking you to jump into the open air. He was your husband, but Rhaenyra was your mother – yours.

“Aemond – ” You began, but the doors parted and Queen Alicent announced her presence and stepped into the room.

Aemond still only looked at you.

“Aegon is missing.” Alicent announced.

It was then when your husband finally tore his gaze away from you. He mumbled something to his mother lowly before eventually turning to face you again, but with a heated look – as if you had suddenly betrayed him. You didn’t have time to explain, within seconds, he stepped out the room to search for his brother and you were left alone in your thoughts.

[anatay004]

Genuine question, do you guys prefer to read longer or shorter chapters? I’m currently battling with an internal conflict and a 5k + word chapter. Help meeeeee