ana

fake scenarios in my head 🇲🇽

[anatay004]

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐑 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[anatay004]

YOUR HEART WAS hammering against your chest as you stared back at the crowd before you. Just keep a straight face, you told yourself as the cameras honed in on you. Mags stood at your side, her fingers gently wrapped around your wrist in silent comfort, as though she wanted to remind you that you weren't standing there alone that evening.

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the panic rising in your chest. Five years ago, you had stood here for the very first time. Five years ago, you had been reaped alongside your male tribute.

Five years ago, you had killed him.

"Welcome, as we celebrate the 75th anniversary and Third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games," the escort from District Four, Gem, began enthusiastically. But at the mere sound of her voice, numbness rolled over your skin, and your throat tightened. You felt sick to the stomach.

"As always, ladies first..."

You weren't one to pray, not after everything you had seen happen to children in the arenas, but that afternoon, you found yourself imploring the gods for a miracle. Finnick was counting on Mags volunteering in your place if your name was reaped, to keep you safe, to challenge Snow, but you knew better. If you weren't in that arena, Snow would make both you and Finnick pay for it.

Terribly, tragically.

So, you prayed.

"Mags Flanagan!"

You exhaled in relief.

“I volunteer as a tribute."

"Wonderful!" Gem cheered, though you knew the enthusiasm was forced. She cared for you far too much to pretend she didn't know what was about to happen. "Come forward, honey!"

Mags tried to pull you back, but you were stronger than she was and gently slipped from her grasp, mouthing that everything would be okay.

"Now, for the male tribute.."

You watched as Gem fished a name from the bowl solemnly. For a few seconds, a strained silence fell over the stage as everyone held their breath.

"Finnick Odair!"

You turned to face Finnick then, but his whole demeanor had shifted. He was donning a mask, you knew, but he played the role so well—so heavenly, as he boyishly smiled at the cameras. He waved like a Victor, grinned like the games were beneath him.

You envied him a little.

He made it look so easy.

"Let's cheer for the lovers of District Four!"

Before Gem's words could fully sink in, Finnick's lips pressed against yours without warning. You were taken aback, but you didn't pull away. Remembering what you were here for. The lovers of District Four.

Finnick’s lips were soft, exactly as you remembered them. For a moment, you almost forgot where you were standing, on stage with hundreds of cameras all around you, too lost in the fleeting moment you hadn't even realized how much you'd missed.

But it quickly dawned on you how much of a lie it all was, as Snow's words infiltrated into your mind.

Make the districts forget about the lover of Dictrict Twelve. And you will have my protection.

The train back to the Capitol was quiet.

You were sitting alone in one of the cabins, gazing out the window in silent thought. You hugged your knees to your chest, remembering the first time you had ridden this exact train, back when you first met Mags and Finnick. You had been a kid then, full of anger and terror, on the brink of losing your mind.

You remembered tiptoeing around Finnick a lot—mistrustful, challenging everything he said. You hated everything about him. You hated how effortlessly handsome he was, how deceiving he seemed, and how badly he wanted you not to die.

You scoffed at the silly memory.

Oh, how the tables turned.

"Hey," Finnick's voice suddenly broke into your reverie. You turned to face him quietly, setting your own thoughts aside to watch him take a seat deliberately beside you. Too easily.

"Hey," you returned, a little flatly.

"I'm sorry about the kiss." He offered, sounding anything but apologetic.

"Don't sound too sorry," you quipped, turning back toward the window. For a few seconds, another silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, the kind that made it impossible to relax. Finnick cleared his throat eventually.

“You know,” Finnick started, shifting a little closer into your space as he searched for your gaze, “for this whole romance act to work, we kind of have to at least know how to hold a conversation.”

"There's nothing to talk about." You mumbled, snapping your eyes to the side to avoid his green eyes. So pretty and deceiving.

He sighed audibly. "Look, honey, I know we ended our relationship on bad terms - "

"You ended it," you corrected, suddenly feeling bold enough to throw it back at him. “And then you tried to sentence us both to death with your little plan."

"I did what I had to do," Finnick argued, though there was an edge to his voice, a silent plea for you to understand. It was the same thing he had said to you when he broke things off with you.

After discovering the truth about your relationship and learning about the fatal threats Snow held over Finnick head, you were quick to forgive him. Despite the lies and the so-called "affairs" that had happened behind your back. You were willing to live with his reality if it meant being with him.

But he refused and placed a distance between you.

"Keep telling yourself that, Finnick.”

You made to walk away, but he caught your wrist before you could take a step forward, pulling you back so you stumbled a half-step into him.

"Do you really think Snow's going to save us?" he raised his voice a few notches, leaning closer to your face as he spoke, and your senses immediately sharpened at the dangerous proximity between you. "Wake up, baby. Nobody ever wins these games."

"I know that!" You spat, trying to keep yourself composed. "After everything I've seen, after everything we’ve been through, do you really think I don't know that, Finnick?"

He only clenched his jaw.

"I don't know what's going to happen in that arena, okay?" You continued bitterly. "But I do know one thing, Snow wants Katniss Everdeen dead. He's willing to do a lot of things to make that happen. Why else would he bother to meet with me?"

You were right, and he knew it, but he was stubborn and proud. Then again, maybe so were you.

"Besides, what more do I got to lose?"

There were a lot more things you could lose. For one, there was Finnick Odair. Who, despite not wanting you back, you couldn't seem to stop loving. No matter how much you tried to.

"That's not fair," he whispered harshly, his eyebrows knitting together. It almost seemed as if he'd read your thoughts. "And you know it."

“There are a lot of things that aren’t particularly fair,” you murmured bitterly, aiming for his conscience—anything that could make him feel even half as hurt as you did. “You would know.”

“Is that the kind of life you wanted?” he confronted, taking the bait. He knew what you were implying. He knew exactly what you were circling back to.

And his fingers tightened around your wrist as you futilely tried to pull away. "A life with a man whose body gets sold? Tell me, what kind of life is that?"

"You didn't give me a choice to decide," You reminded him, swallowing the knot in your throat. “Besides, you were being forced, Finnick.”

He went quiet for a moment.

“None of it was your fault.”

"It doesn't change the outcome, does it?" He questioned sardonically, and his tone made you almost wince. "You would've had to share your husband, the father of your children, with the people in the Capitol forever. And for what exactly?For a silly marriage? For a happy life?"

You flinched as the words slipped pass his mouth.

A silly marriage.

A happy life.

Things you'd given everything for.

And yet, there he was, throwing them back at your face. As if they were nothing more than fallacies.

"I'm sorry," You snapped, a watery thing that made his fingers immediately let go of your wrist. "I didn’t think the idea was so horrible to you."

For a moment, regret stole over his face and something else you couldn't piece together in time.

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's fine, Finnick,” You quickly interjected, not wanting to continue with this conversation anymore. "It's not like it matters now. We're probably both gonna die in a few days anyways."

"Baby—”

"Goodnight.”

And with that, you walked out of the cabin.

You didn't speak to Finnick for the rest of the night.

Or to anyone, really.

You arrived at the Capitol the next day and were stationed on the fourth floor of the Training Center alongside Finnick and Mags. As another pair of tributes, you were assigned Mags as your mentor. It was almost ironic, you thought, how things played out. You had mentored a few kids over the years, and now you were in their position once again.

You had been instructed by Gem to rest before tomorrow's Chariot Rides, but you were never one to follow instructions. Instead, you chose to replay and watch the Games of the other tributes.

You knew the Third Quarter Quell was going to be different from the rest. These games were a montage of Victors-people who had already won and killed before. Your chances of survival felt even smaller than the first time you had been reaped, and that scared you a little. But you were putting your faith in President Snow, in what he had said to you that night when he visited your home.

It you manage to sell your romance act, he'd said, the Capitol might even advocate for two winners again this year.

You weren't sure about trusting Snow, but then again, you weren't sure you would even make it past the first hour in the arena either.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. You thought about everything that had unfolded over the past few days. It was going to be hard for you and Finnick to set aside your differences and pretend everything was perfect for the cameras. To act as if you were happy, even in love.

But if that meant Finnick was going to survive, then you were going to do just that. Despite your arguments and evident disagreements.

"Do you think it's real?" you found yourself asking sometime later as you watched Katniss and Peeta's Games play on the enormous screen before you. Mags sat beside you on the couch, staring at the screen with the same quiet curiosity, until your question made her frown. "Their love, I mean."

Mags didn't respond right away.

You returned your gaze to the screen, watching as Peeta gently took the ends of Katniss' hair between his fingers before, without hesitation, he raised the poisoned berries to his mouth and threw them in.

"Maybe." Mags signaled with her hands.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, realizing it was going to be a lot harder to outmaneuver their "fake" romance than you had originally thought.

But you’d a few advantages, you supposed. You’d been the Capital’s favorites for years, and you knew people. The kind that mattered in these Games.

Katniss and Peeta didn’t.

After a few hours, Mags eventually returned to her room, but you stayed on the couch, continuing to watch the Games until exhaustion eventually pulled your eyelids shut and you drifted off to sleep.

A few hours elapsed before a pair of arms slid beneath your waist and knees, lifting you to carry you back to your room. You were midair when you realized what was happening, your face buried against his neck as you came back to your senses.

You quickly made to protest, but a yawn cut you off almost immediately, and Finnick’s chest shook with mirth as he watched you struggle to wake up.

"Shut up," You grumbled. "I'm still pissed at you."

“Trust me, I know,” Finnick replied as he stepped into your room and gently settled you onto the bed. It was cold and anything but comfortable, which was ironic considering it was probably the most expensive bed you had ever lain on.

"But I couldn't leave my girl out there in the cold,” Finnick added, offering you an almost apologetic smile in the dim room. It made your heart skip. “Besides, I don't think the couch is very comfortable."

"S'not," you agreed, rubbing at your eyes tiredly.

He took this as an indication for him to leave.

"Goodnight, darling."

You watched him turn to leave. You hadn't spoken to him since the argument you'd had the night before.

And despite hating him for forcing you away and ending everything, you still loved him.

And, deep down, you knew he loved you too.

"Finnick," You called softly.

He stopped on his tracks. "Yeah?"

There was a pause. "Would you stay with me?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he closed the door and walked back to the bed without a word. A comfortable silence settled over the room as the mattress dipped under his weight and he slid beneath the sheets. Instinctively, you rested your head against his chest, and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. All too familiar.

There were no more words exchanged between you for the rest of the night—it wasn't necessary. And as your hand rested against his chest, it was impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of his heart just beneath your fingertips. It lulled you to sleep.

@serrendiipty @avoxrising @queerqueenlynn @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @stayc-a-I-m @chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425 @leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18 @maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

[anatay004]

YOUR HEART WAS hammering against your chest as you stared back at the crowd before you. Just keep a straight face, you told yourself as the cameras honed in on you. Mags stood at your side, her fingers gently wrapped around your wrist in silent comfort, as though she wanted to remind you that you weren't standing there alone that evening.

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the panic rising in your chest. Five years ago, you had stood here for the very first time. Five years ago, you had been reaped alongside your male tribute.

Five years ago, you had killed him.

"Welcome, as we celebrate the 75th anniversary and Third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games," the escort from District Four, Gem, began enthusiastically. But at the mere sound of her voice, numbness rolled over your skin, and your throat tightened. You felt sick to the stomach.

"As always, ladies first..."

You weren't one to pray, not after everything you had seen happen to children in the arenas, but that afternoon, you found yourself imploring the gods for a miracle. Finnick was counting on Mags volunteering in your place if your name was reaped, to keep you safe, to challenge Snow, but you knew better. If you weren't in that arena, Snow would make both you and Finnick pay for it.

Terribly, tragically.

So, you prayed.

"Mags Flanagan!"

You exhaled in relief.

“I volunteer as a tribute."

"Wonderful!" Gem cheered, though you knew the enthusiasm was forced. She cared for you far too much to pretend she didn't know what was about to happen. "Come forward, honey!"

Mags tried to pull you back, but you were stronger than she was and gently slipped from her grasp, mouthing that everything would be okay.

"Now, for the male tribute.."

You watched as Gem fished a name from the bowl solemnly. For a few seconds, a strained silence fell over the stage as everyone held their breath.

"Finnick Odair!"

You turned to face Finnick then, but his whole demeanor had shifted. He was donning a mask, you knew, but he played the role so well—so heavenly, as he boyishly smiled at the cameras. He waved like a Victor, grinned like the games were beneath him.

You envied him a little.

He made it look so easy.

"Let's cheer for the lovers of District Four!"

Before Gem's words could fully sink in, Finnick's lips pressed against yours without warning. You were taken aback, but you didn't pull away. Remembering what you were here for. The lovers of District Four.

Finnick’s lips were soft, exactly as you remembered them. For a moment, you almost forgot where you were standing, on stage with hundreds of cameras all around you, too lost in the fleeting moment you hadn't even realized how much you'd missed.

But it quickly dawned on you how much of a lie it all was, as Snow's words infiltrated into your mind.

Make the districts forget about the lover of Dictrict Twelve. And you will have my protection.

The train back to the Capitol was quiet.

You were sitting alone in one of the cabins, gazing out the window in silent thought. You hugged your knees to your chest, remembering the first time you had ridden this exact train, back when you first met Mags and Finnick. You had been a kid then, full of anger and terror, on the brink of losing your mind.

You remembered tiptoeing around Finnick a lot—mistrustful, challenging everything he said. You hated everything about him. You hated how effortlessly handsome he was, how deceiving he seemed, and how badly he wanted you not to die.

You scoffed at the silly memory.

Oh, how the tables turned.

"Hey," Finnick's voice suddenly broke into your reverie. You turned to face him quietly, setting your own thoughts aside to watch him take a seat deliberately beside you. Too easily.

"Hey," you returned, a little flatly.

"I'm sorry about the kiss." He offered, sounding anything but apologetic.

"Don't sound too sorry," you quipped, turning back toward the window. For a few seconds, another silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, the kind that made it impossible to relax. Finnick cleared his throat eventually.

“You know,” Finnick started, shifting a little closer into your space as he searched for your gaze, “for this whole romance act to work, we kind of have to at least know how to hold a conversation.”

"There's nothing to talk about." You mumbled, snapping your eyes to the side to avoid his green eyes. So pretty and deceiving.

He sighed audibly. "Look, honey, I know we ended our relationship on bad terms - "

"You ended it," you corrected, suddenly feeling bold enough to throw it back at him. “And then you tried to sentence us both to death with your little plan."

"I did what I had to do," Finnick argued, though there was an edge to his voice, a silent plea for you to understand. It was the same thing he had said to you when he broke things off with you.

After discovering the truth about your relationship and learning about the fatal threats Snow held over Finnick head, you were quick to forgive him. Despite the lies and the so-called "affairs" that had happened behind your back. You were willing to live with his reality if it meant being with him.

But he refused and placed a distance between you.

"Keep telling yourself that, Finnick.”

You made to walk away, but he caught your wrist before you could take a step forward, pulling you back so you stumbled a half-step into him.

"Do you really think Snow's going to save us?" he raised his voice a few notches, leaning closer to your face as he spoke, and your senses immediately sharpened at the dangerous proximity between you. "Wake up, baby. Nobody ever wins these games."

"I know that!" You spat, trying to keep yourself composed. "After everything I've seen, after everything we’ve been through, do you really think I don't know that, Finnick?"

He only clenched his jaw.

"I don't know what's going to happen in that arena, okay?" You continued bitterly. "But I do know one thing, Snow wants Katniss Everdeen dead. He's willing to do a lot of things to make that happen. Why else would he bother to meet with me?"

You were right, and he knew it, but he was stubborn and proud. Then again, maybe so were you.

"Besides, what more do I got to lose?"

There were a lot more things you could lose. For one, there was Finnick Odair. Who, despite not wanting you back, you couldn't seem to stop loving. No matter how much you tried to.

"That's not fair," he whispered harshly, his eyebrows knitting together. It almost seemed as if he'd read your thoughts. "And you know it."

“There are a lot of things that aren’t particularly fair,” you murmured bitterly, aiming for his conscience—anything that could make him feel even half as hurt as you did. “You would know.”

“Is that the kind of life you wanted?” he confronted, taking the bait. He knew what you were implying. He knew exactly what you were circling back to.

And his fingers tightened around your wrist as you futilely tried to pull away. "A life with a man whose body gets sold? Tell me, what kind of life is that?"

"You didn't give me a choice to decide," You reminded him, swallowing the knot in your throat. “Besides, you were being forced, Finnick.”

He went quiet for a moment.

“None of it was your fault.”

"It doesn't change the outcome, does it?" He questioned sardonically, and his tone made you almost wince. "You would've had to share your husband, the father of your children, with the people in the Capitol forever. And for what exactly?For a silly marriage? For a happy life?"

You flinched as the words slipped pass his mouth.

A silly marriage.

A happy life.

Things you'd given everything for.

And yet, there he was, throwing them back at your face. As if they were nothing more than fallacies.

"I'm sorry," You snapped, a watery thing that made his fingers immediately let go of your wrist. "I didn’t think the idea was so horrible to you."

For a moment, regret stole over his face and something else you couldn't piece together in time.

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's fine, Finnick,” You quickly interjected, not wanting to continue with this conversation anymore. "It's not like it matters now. We're probably both gonna die in a few days anyways."

"Baby—”

"Goodnight.”

And with that, you walked out of the cabin.

You didn't speak to Finnick for the rest of the night.

Or to anyone, really.

You arrived at the Capitol the next day and were stationed on the fourth floor of the Training Center alongside Finnick and Mags. As another pair of tributes, you were assigned Mags as your mentor. It was almost ironic, you thought, how things played out. You had mentored a few kids over the years, and now you were in their position once again.

You had been instructed by Gem to rest before tomorrow's Chariot Rides, but you were never one to follow instructions. Instead, you chose to replay and watch the Games of the other tributes.

You knew the Third Quarter Quell was going to be different from the rest. These games were a montage of Victors-people who had already won and killed before. Your chances of survival felt even smaller than the first time you had been reaped, and that scared you a little. But you were putting your faith in President Snow, in what he had said to you that night when he visited your home.

It you manage to sell your romance act, he'd said, the Capitol might even advocate for two winners again this year.

You weren't sure about trusting Snow, but then again, you weren't sure you would even make it past the first hour in the arena either.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. You thought about everything that had unfolded over the past few days. It was going to be hard for you and Finnick to set aside your differences and pretend everything was perfect for the cameras. To act as if you were happy, even in love.

But if that meant Finnick was going to survive, then you were going to do just that. Despite your arguments and evident disagreements.

"Do you think it's real?" you found yourself asking sometime later as you watched Katniss and Peeta's Games play on the enormous screen before you. Mags sat beside you on the couch, staring at the screen with the same quiet curiosity, until your question made her frown. "Their love, I mean."

Mags didn't respond right away.

You returned your gaze to the screen, watching as Peeta gently took the ends of Katniss' hair between his fingers before, without hesitation, he raised the poisoned berries to his mouth and threw them in.

"Maybe." Mags signaled with her hands.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, realizing it was going to be a lot harder to outmaneuver their "fake" romance than you had originally thought.

But you’d a few advantages, you supposed. You’d been the Capital’s favorites for years, and you knew people. The kind that mattered in these Games.

Katniss and Peeta didn’t.

After a few hours, Mags eventually returned to her room, but you stayed on the couch, continuing to watch the Games until exhaustion eventually pulled your eyelids shut and you drifted off to sleep.

A few hours elapsed before a pair of arms slid beneath your waist and knees, lifting you to carry you back to your room. You were midair when you realized what was happening, your face buried against his neck as you came back to your senses.

You quickly made to protest, but a yawn cut you off almost immediately, and Finnick’s chest shook with mirth as he watched you struggle to wake up.

"Shut up," You grumbled. "I'm still pissed at you."

“Trust me, I know,” Finnick replied as he stepped into your room and gently settled you onto the bed. It was cold and anything but comfortable, which was ironic considering it was probably the most expensive bed you had ever lain on.

"But I couldn't leave my girl out there in the cold,” Finnick added, offering you an almost apologetic smile in the dim room. It made your heart skip. “Besides, I don't think the couch is very comfortable."

"S'not," you agreed, rubbing at your eyes tiredly.

He took this as an indication for him to leave.

"Goodnight, darling."

You watched him turn to leave. You hadn't spoken to him since the argument you'd had the night before.

And despite hating him for forcing you away and ending everything, you still loved him.

And, deep down, you knew he loved you too.

"Finnick," You called softly.

He stopped on his tracks. "Yeah?"

There was a pause. "Would you stay with me?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he closed the door and walked back to the bed without a word. A comfortable silence settled over the room as the mattress dipped under his weight and he slid beneath the sheets. Instinctively, you rested your head against his chest, and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. All too familiar.

There were no more words exchanged between you for the rest of the night—it wasn't necessary. And as your hand rested against his chest, it was impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of his heart just beneath your fingertips. It lulled you to sleep.

@serrendiipty @avoxrising @queerqueenlynn @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @stayc-a-I-m @chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425 @leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18 @maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

[anatay004]

New chapter! 🫶🏼

[anatay004]

I JUST DISCOVERED MASTERMIND AND ITS SOOOO GOOD I LOVE HOW U CHARACTERIZE FINNICK AND UR WRITING IS JUST AMAZINGGGGGG OMG

This is so sweet! Thank you 🫶🏼

[anatay004]

YOUR HEART WAS hammering against your chest as you stared back at the crowd before you. Just keep a straight face, you told yourself as the cameras honed in on you. Mags stood at your side, her fingers gently wrapped around your wrist in silent comfort, as though she wanted to remind you that you weren't standing there alone that evening.

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the panic rising in your chest. Five years ago, you had stood here for the very first time. Five years ago, you had been reaped alongside your male tribute.

Five years ago, you had killed him.

"Welcome, as we celebrate the 75th anniversary and Third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games," the escort from District Four, Gem, began enthusiastically. But at the mere sound of her voice, numbness rolled over your skin, and your throat tightened. You felt sick to the stomach.

"As always, ladies first..."

You weren't one to pray, not after everything you had seen happen to children in the arenas, but that afternoon, you found yourself imploring the gods for a miracle. Finnick was counting on Mags volunteering in your place if your name was reaped, to keep you safe, to challenge Snow, but you knew better. If you weren't in that arena, Snow would make both you and Finnick pay for it.

Terribly, tragically.

So, you prayed.

"Mags Flanagan!"

You exhaled in relief.

“I volunteer as a tribute."

"Wonderful!" Gem cheered, though you knew the enthusiasm was forced. She cared for you far too much to pretend she didn't know what was about to happen. "Come forward, honey!"

Mags tried to pull you back, but you were stronger than she was and gently slipped from her grasp, mouthing that everything would be okay.

"Now, for the male tribute.."

You watched as Gem fished a name from the bowl solemnly. For a few seconds, a strained silence fell over the stage as everyone held their breath.

"Finnick Odair!"

You turned to face Finnick then, but his whole demeanor had shifted. He was donning a mask, you knew, but he played the role so well—so heavenly, as he boyishly smiled at the cameras. He waved like a Victor, grinned like the games were beneath him.

You envied him a little.

He made it look so easy.

"Let's cheer for the lovers of District Four!"

Before Gem's words could fully sink in, Finnick's lips pressed against yours without warning. You were taken aback, but you didn't pull away. Remembering what you were here for. The lovers of District Four.

Finnick’s lips were soft, exactly as you remembered them. For a moment, you almost forgot where you were standing, on stage with hundreds of cameras all around you, too lost in the fleeting moment you hadn't even realized how much you'd missed.

But it quickly dawned on you how much of a lie it all was, as Snow's words infiltrated into your mind.

Make the districts forget about the lover of Dictrict Twelve. And you will have my protection.

The train back to the Capitol was quiet.

You were sitting alone in one of the cabins, gazing out the window in silent thought. You hugged your knees to your chest, remembering the first time you had ridden this exact train, back when you first met Mags and Finnick. You had been a kid then, full of anger and terror, on the brink of losing your mind.

You remembered tiptoeing around Finnick a lot—mistrustful, challenging everything he said. You hated everything about him. You hated how effortlessly handsome he was, how deceiving he seemed, and how badly he wanted you not to die.

You scoffed at the silly memory.

Oh, how the tables turned.

"Hey," Finnick's voice suddenly broke into your reverie. You turned to face him quietly, setting your own thoughts aside to watch him take a seat deliberately beside you. Too easily.

"Hey," you returned, a little flatly.

"I'm sorry about the kiss." He offered, sounding anything but apologetic.

"Don't sound too sorry," you quipped, turning back toward the window. For a few seconds, another silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, the kind that made it impossible to relax. Finnick cleared his throat eventually.

“You know,” Finnick started, shifting a little closer into your space as he searched for your gaze, “for this whole romance act to work, we kind of have to at least know how to hold a conversation.”

"There's nothing to talk about." You mumbled, snapping your eyes to the side to avoid his green eyes. So pretty and deceiving.

He sighed audibly. "Look, honey, I know we ended our relationship on bad terms - "

"You ended it," you corrected, suddenly feeling bold enough to throw it back at him. “And then you tried to sentence us both to death with your little plan."

"I did what I had to do," Finnick argued, though there was an edge to his voice, a silent plea for you to understand. It was the same thing he had said to you when he broke things off with you.

After discovering the truth about your relationship and learning about the fatal threats Snow held over Finnick head, you were quick to forgive him. Despite the lies and the so-called "affairs" that had happened behind your back. You were willing to live with his reality if it meant being with him.

But he refused and placed a distance between you.

"Keep telling yourself that, Finnick.”

You made to walk away, but he caught your wrist before you could take a step forward, pulling you back so you stumbled a half-step into him.

"Do you really think Snow's going to save us?" he raised his voice a few notches, leaning closer to your face as he spoke, and your senses immediately sharpened at the dangerous proximity between you. "Wake up, baby. Nobody ever wins these games."

"I know that!" You spat, trying to keep yourself composed. "After everything I've seen, after everything we’ve been through, do you really think I don't know that, Finnick?"

He only clenched his jaw.

"I don't know what's going to happen in that arena, okay?" You continued bitterly. "But I do know one thing, Snow wants Katniss Everdeen dead. He's willing to do a lot of things to make that happen. Why else would he bother to meet with me?"

You were right, and he knew it, but he was stubborn and proud. Then again, maybe so were you.

"Besides, what more do I got to lose?"

There were a lot more things you could lose. For one, there was Finnick Odair. Who, despite not wanting you back, you couldn't seem to stop loving. No matter how much you tried to.

"That's not fair," he whispered harshly, his eyebrows knitting together. It almost seemed as if he'd read your thoughts. "And you know it."

“There are a lot of things that aren’t particularly fair,” you murmured bitterly, aiming for his conscience—anything that could make him feel even half as hurt as you did. “You would know.”

“Is that the kind of life you wanted?” he confronted, taking the bait. He knew what you were implying. He knew exactly what you were circling back to.

And his fingers tightened around your wrist as you futilely tried to pull away. "A life with a man whose body gets sold? Tell me, what kind of life is that?"

"You didn't give me a choice to decide," You reminded him, swallowing the knot in your throat. “Besides, you were being forced, Finnick.”

He went quiet for a moment.

“None of it was your fault.”

"It doesn't change the outcome, does it?" He questioned sardonically, and his tone made you almost wince. "You would've had to share your husband, the father of your children, with the people in the Capitol forever. And for what exactly?For a silly marriage? For a happy life?"

You flinched as the words slipped pass his mouth.

A silly marriage.

A happy life.

Things you'd given everything for.

And yet, there he was, throwing them back at your face. As if they were nothing more than fallacies.

"I'm sorry," You snapped, a watery thing that made his fingers immediately let go of your wrist. "I didn’t think the idea was so horrible to you."

For a moment, regret stole over his face and something else you couldn't piece together in time.

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's fine, Finnick,” You quickly interjected, not wanting to continue with this conversation anymore. "It's not like it matters now. We're probably both gonna die in a few days anyways."

"Baby—”

"Goodnight.”

And with that, you walked out of the cabin.

You didn't speak to Finnick for the rest of the night.

Or to anyone, really.

You arrived at the Capitol the next day and were stationed on the fourth floor of the Training Center alongside Finnick and Mags. As another pair of tributes, you were assigned Mags as your mentor. It was almost ironic, you thought, how things played out. You had mentored a few kids over the years, and now you were in their position once again.

You had been instructed by Gem to rest before tomorrow's Chariot Rides, but you were never one to follow instructions. Instead, you chose to replay and watch the Games of the other tributes.

You knew the Third Quarter Quell was going to be different from the rest. These games were a montage of Victors-people who had already won and killed before. Your chances of survival felt even smaller than the first time you had been reaped, and that scared you a little. But you were putting your faith in President Snow, in what he had said to you that night when he visited your home.

It you manage to sell your romance act, he'd said, the Capitol might even advocate for two winners again this year.

You weren't sure about trusting Snow, but then again, you weren't sure you would even make it past the first hour in the arena either.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. You thought about everything that had unfolded over the past few days. It was going to be hard for you and Finnick to set aside your differences and pretend everything was perfect for the cameras. To act as if you were happy, even in love.

But if that meant Finnick was going to survive, then you were going to do just that. Despite your arguments and evident disagreements.

"Do you think it's real?" you found yourself asking sometime later as you watched Katniss and Peeta's Games play on the enormous screen before you. Mags sat beside you on the couch, staring at the screen with the same quiet curiosity, until your question made her frown. "Their love, I mean."

Mags didn't respond right away.

You returned your gaze to the screen, watching as Peeta gently took the ends of Katniss' hair between his fingers before, without hesitation, he raised the poisoned berries to his mouth and threw them in.

"Maybe." Mags signaled with her hands.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, realizing it was going to be a lot harder to outmaneuver their "fake" romance than you had originally thought.

But you’d a few advantages, you supposed. You’d been the Capital’s favorites for years, and you knew people. The kind that mattered in these Games.

Katniss and Peeta didn’t.

After a few hours, Mags eventually returned to her room, but you stayed on the couch, continuing to watch the Games until exhaustion eventually pulled your eyelids shut and you drifted off to sleep.

A few hours elapsed before a pair of arms slid beneath your waist and knees, lifting you to carry you back to your room. You were midair when you realized what was happening, your face buried against his neck as you came back to your senses.

You quickly made to protest, but a yawn cut you off almost immediately, and Finnick’s chest shook with mirth as he watched you struggle to wake up.

"Shut up," You grumbled. "I'm still pissed at you."

“Trust me, I know,” Finnick replied as he stepped into your room and gently settled you onto the bed. It was cold and anything but comfortable, which was ironic considering it was probably the most expensive bed you had ever lain on.

"But I couldn't leave my girl out there in the cold,” Finnick added, offering you an almost apologetic smile in the dim room. It made your heart skip. “Besides, I don't think the couch is very comfortable."

"S'not," you agreed, rubbing at your eyes tiredly.

He took this as an indication for him to leave.

"Goodnight, darling."

You watched him turn to leave. You hadn't spoken to him since the argument you'd had the night before.

And despite hating him for forcing you away and ending everything, you still loved him.

And, deep down, you knew he loved you too.

"Finnick," You called softly.

He stopped on his tracks. "Yeah?"

There was a pause. "Would you stay with me?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he closed the door and walked back to the bed without a word. A comfortable silence settled over the room as the mattress dipped under his weight and he slid beneath the sheets. Instinctively, you rested your head against his chest, and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. All too familiar.

There were no more words exchanged between you for the rest of the night—it wasn't necessary. And as your hand rested against his chest, it was impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of his heart just beneath your fingertips. It lulled you to sleep.

@serrendiipty @avoxrising @queerqueenlynn @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @stayc-a-I-m @chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425 @leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18 @maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

[anatay004]

New chapter! 🫶🏼

[anatay004]

WHEN YOU WERE six years old, you remembered falling into the ocean. You were so young and untrained that it was almost impossible to kick your body up toward the surface. You remembered, for a moment, how the water slipped into your lungs as easily as air—how you couldn't breathe.

That's exactly how you felt when you came home and found President Snow in your house.

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

Nauseated, you listened, taking a seat across from him. A strained silence filled the room, settling under your skin like an itch. It wasn't like President Snow to invite himself into your home—to travel across the districts just to visit you. Your lungs burned as possibilities raced through your mind. 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, I can assure you this will be a short conversation, " Snow continued, after a moment, as if sensing your easiness.

You exhaled a sharp breath. "Of course."

You don't think you'd ever seen Snow this close before. You could see the lines of age that marred his face, the snow-white hair that adorned his beard, and the coldness in his blue eyes. How long, you wondered, until time peels the skin off his bones clean? Until he’s dead?

"Katniss Everdeen."

You gave Snow your full attention then, the name fresh in your brain. The new Victor from District 12. The threat of rebellion. "Do you recall the name?" he asked carefully, scrutinizing your face.

"I do." You limited yourself to answer.

"Good," Snow said softly. "You see, she has become a considerable source of difficulty for me. At the moment, this doesn't involve you, but in time, it inevitably will," he continued, as you shifted uneasily in your seat. "Unlike you, Ms. (Y/LN), she appears to disregard the purpose of the Hunger Games—the mercy we extend in allowing one of the twenty-four tributes to live. She is, I'm afraid, beginning to challenge that principle."

Unlike you.

You darted him a glare. His words were a backhanded compliment. When you killed your partner in the Games—your friend—you had unwillingly instilled a sense of honor in the Capitol. Your conscience, muddled by the venom of one of the arena's jellyfish, had 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. A boy from your same district. When the dams collapsed and waves of water drowned nearly everyone in the arena, leaving only the two of you. You managed to swim back to the surface, but the lack of oxygen and the poison that had seeped into your veins from the jellyfish had already interfered with your sanity. And when he'd rushed to help you back to your feet, you'd mistaken 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 attempt to seek refuge in the guise of their love to secure sponsors and win the Games once again.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. Again?

“I want you to eliminate that advantage, Ms. (Y/M),” he explained simply. “I want you and Finnick Odair to break their strategy by doing the same thing.”

Your heart stopped—you were sure of it. Snow wanted you back in the Hunger Games. He wanted you back with Finnick Odair, with the one person he knew you cared about most. You tried to quell the searing pain burning in your chest, but it was nearly impossible.

“There’s nothing between—” You tried to come up with an excuse, anything that might eliminate Finnick from this plan, but Snow raised an eyebrow in silent question, and the words froze on the tip of your tongue. There was no point in lying.

“We agreed not to lie to each other.” he reminded you.

You pressed your lips together. “Right.”

He stifled a grin. “You are the Capitol’s favorites—the most beloved Victors. Even more than Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, I assure you.”

You didn’t know what to say. His plan was already arranged; there was nothing you could have said in that moment that would have made him change his mind. If anything, he was merely being considerate in taking the trouble to give you a heads-up.

“Finnick and I haven’t spoken in weeks,” you confessed. After years of breaking up and getting back together, the relationship had finally ended when you discovered the sexual arrangements he had been forced to participate in under President Snow. When Finnick had chosen to shut you out of his life completely for your safety.

"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, studying his face 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 a victory.

"What about Finnick?" You asked without thinking.

Snow smiled. You must’ve sounded so heartbroken. "Ah, you do know how to fool me.” You snapped your gaze to the side, unable to look at him.

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

Your heart hammered against your chest.

He was lying.

He had to be.

"I thought we had agreed to not lie to each other."

Snow smiled. "So did I."

President Snow left after the conversation ended.

You didn’t bother to walk him out, too nauseous to push yourself back to your feet. Bile threatened to rise in your throat as you replayed the conversation over and over again. Snow was going to pull you and Finnick back into the arena.

At the thought of that, a sob slipped from your mouth, unable to contain the emotions rising in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to go back into the arena. You didn’t want to kill anyone.

You didn’t want to lose Finnick.

There was a knock on the door, but it wasn’t enough to pull you out of your reverie. It wasn’t until Finnick was kneeling in front of you, shaking your shoulders, that you finally snapped back to reality. Realizing it had been him this whole time.

“Did he hurt you?” Finnick sounded desperate as he inspected you from head to toe. He whispered your name when you didn’t answer. “Did he?”

Finnick must have seen President Snow leave your house. After all, Victor’s Village was small, and he lived just across from you. You could only imagine what he was thinking; what he was imagining. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks.

“No…” you whispered at last, voice hoarse from crying. “But he’s going to reap us back into the games. He wants us to kill Katniss Everdeen."

Finnick faltered. "What?"

"He wants them dead,” You explained, looking down at him from under splayed and wet eyelashes. “He wants us to take away their sponsors. He said he would protect us. He promised he us a victory—”

Another strangled your throat, preventing you from finishing your sentence. Finnick cursed under his breath, rubbing his hands down your legs to comfort you. When that didn’t work, he slid an arm around your waist and lifted you. He took your seat and guided you gently onto his lap instead, rocking you with the patience of a lover.

"It's okay,” he whispered into your hair, pressing his lips to your warm skin. "I promise."

It was an empty promise.

One he knew he could not keep, but it still calmed you. Instinctively, you buried your face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. He smelled like the ocean, layered with something warm and woodsy that you liked. God, you’d missed him.

“What else did he tell you, baby?”

“He wants us to act in love.”

You could have sworn his heart skipped beneath your fingertips, but you didn’t bother to lift your face and look at him. You were scared to find disappointment there, or even annoyance. After all, he had been the one to break up with you—after you had understood what he had been through, after you had promised to love him no matter what.

He didn’t speak, and neither did you.

You didn’t think it was necessary. So, you closed your eyes and continued to listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm slowly lulling you to sleep. You hoped for it all to be just a nightmare by the morning.

Like Snow had warned you, the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell came only a few days after. Naturally, you decided to knock on Mags’s door, not wanting to disturb Finnick anymore. You hadn’t spoken much to him since he had comforted you after Snow’s visit. You supposed the news of your emminent dead had been just as hard for him, too.

So, you walked down the Victor Village’s to Mags.

Five years ago, when you had been reaped for the Games, she—along with Finnick—helped you train. And after your victory, the two of you only grew closer. So, now that you were inevitably going back into the Games, you wanted to give her a proper goodbye and thank her for everything.

But to your surprise, when you knocked on her door with white knuckles, trembling lips, and bloodshot eyes, Finnick was the one who answered.

Your breath caught in your throat when you came face to face with him, and surprise flickered across your features when you registered his tousled hair, chapped lips, and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He looked like he hadn't slept for days either.

"Are you okay?" Finnick asked worriedly, hair falling untidily over his green eyes.

“Are you?” you asked instead, instinctively pushing the mess of his hair away from his face.

He leaned into your touch instinctively, but your hand stilled as you belatedly realized what you were doing, and reluctantly withdrew it. Disappointment flashed across his face when you did so.

“What’s going on?” you asked when you registered familiar voices in the background and gently moved past Finnick to enter Mags’ home.

“It’s the Quarter Quell announcement,” Finnick explained as some of the Victors from District Four came into your line of vision. “They’re worried about the reaping tomorrow.”

You went quiet for a few seconds. “Do they know?”

Finnick shook his head, a faint grin curving his lips. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the show, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, gentle arms wrapped around you from the side. Almost immediately, you returned the gesture when you realized it was only Mags. “Hi.”

Mags squeezed you tighter in response.

“The deal was simple,” one of the Victors argued in the kitchen, and you peeled your arms away from Mags to step closer and listen. “If we won, we were supposed to be left alone for the rest of our lives,”

It doesn’t always end up like that, you wanted to say, knowing about other Victors’ fates.

“It’s the girl from District Twelve. She’s unintentionally sparking rebellions in the other districts. Snow probably wants to eliminate her,” another Victor said, mulling over the whole situation. “That’s likely why he’s reaping Victors.”

He was not wrong.

"What about the female Victors?"

"What about them?" Finnick questioned flatly; you could hear the warning behind his words.

"Mags won't survive in the arena, Finnick."

There was silence.

You wanted to tell them that Mags wasn’t going back—that Snow only wanted you and Finnick, but then a thought surfaced, a daunting realization. An alternative. If the odds were not in your favor, Mags could volunteer if your name was called first.

It made your stomach drop.

You turned to Finnick, but his expression didn’t mirror your panic. Instead, it was strangely serene.

“(Y/N) has a better chance of winning the Games. Perhaps she could volunteer for Mags—”

“If Mags is reaped, I will keep her alive,” Finnick interjected, and there was a hint of finality in his voice. “There’s no need for volunteers.”

And that was when it clicked—what his actual plan was. He never intended for you to enter the Games with him, despite Snow’s instructions. Finnick was counting on Mags volunteering for you. He was willing to challenge Snow’s rules to keep you alive.

"If Mags gets reaped, I'll volunteer." You promised. You weren’t going to put his life or Mags’ on the line. If Snow were to find out about his plan, you could only imagine what the consequences could be.

Finnick clenched his jaw, not liking your response. “If she gets reaped first." he reminded you dryly.

"The odds are there, Finnick."

"We'll see about that tomorrow."

[anatay004]

BACK TO WRITING! It’s been a while since I’ve touched this story. I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t like the way this story was written. So, I will be editing it these next few weeks. Thank you to everyone who still reads and likes this 🫶🏼

[anatay004]

WHEN YOU WERE six years old, you remembered falling into the ocean. You were so young and untrained that it was almost impossible to kick your body up toward the surface. You remembered, for a moment, how the water slipped into your lungs as easily as air—how you couldn't breathe.

That's exactly how you felt when you came home and found President Snow in your house.

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

Nauseated, you listened, taking a seat across from him. A strained silence filled the room, settling under your skin like an itch. It wasn't like President Snow to invite himself into your home—to travel across the districts just to visit you. Your lungs burned as possibilities raced through your mind. 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, I can assure you this will be a short conversation, " Snow continued, after a moment, as if sensing your easiness.

You exhaled a sharp breath. "Of course."

You don't think you'd ever seen Snow this close before. You could see the lines of age that marred his face, the snow-white hair that adorned his beard, and the coldness in his blue eyes. How long, you wondered, until time peels the skin off his bones clean? Until he’s dead?

"Katniss Everdeen."

You gave Snow your full attention then, the name fresh in your brain. The new Victor from District 12. The threat of rebellion. "Do you recall the name?" he asked carefully, scrutinizing your face.

"I do." You limited yourself to answer.

"Good," Snow said softly. "You see, she has become a considerable source of difficulty for me. At the moment, this doesn't involve you, but in time, it inevitably will," he continued, as you shifted uneasily in your seat. "Unlike you, Ms. (Y/LN), she appears to disregard the purpose of the Hunger Games—the mercy we extend in allowing one of the twenty-four tributes to live. She is, I'm afraid, beginning to challenge that principle."

Unlike you.

You darted him a glare. His words were a backhanded compliment. When you killed your partner in the Games—your friend—you had unwillingly instilled a sense of honor in the Capitol. Your conscience, muddled by the venom of one of the arena's jellyfish, had 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. A boy from your same district. When the dams collapsed and waves of water drowned nearly everyone in the arena, leaving only the two of you. You managed to swim back to the surface, but the lack of oxygen and the poison that had seeped into your veins from the jellyfish had already interfered with your sanity. And when he'd rushed to help you back to your feet, you'd mistaken 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 attempt to seek refuge in the guise of their love to secure sponsors and win the Games once again.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. Again?

“I want you to eliminate that advantage, Ms. (Y/M),” he explained simply. “I want you and Finnick Odair to break their strategy by doing the same thing.”

Your heart stopped—you were sure of it. Snow wanted you back in the Hunger Games. He wanted you back with Finnick Odair, with the one person he knew you cared about most. You tried to quell the searing pain burning in your chest, but it was nearly impossible.

“There’s nothing between—” You tried to come up with an excuse, anything that might eliminate Finnick from this plan, but Snow raised an eyebrow in silent question, and the words froze on the tip of your tongue. There was no point in lying.

“We agreed not to lie to each other.” he reminded you.

You pressed your lips together. “Right.”

He stifled a grin. “You are the Capitol’s favorites—the most beloved Victors. Even more than Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, I assure you.”

You didn’t know what to say. His plan was already arranged; there was nothing you could have said in that moment that would have made him change his mind. If anything, he was merely being considerate in taking the trouble to give you a heads-up.

“Finnick and I haven’t spoken in weeks,” you confessed. After years of breaking up and getting back together, the relationship had finally ended when you discovered the sexual arrangements he had been forced to participate in under President Snow. When Finnick had chosen to shut you out of his life completely for your safety.

"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, studying his face 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 a victory.

"What about Finnick?" You asked without thinking.

Snow smiled. You must’ve sounded so heartbroken. "Ah, you do know how to fool me.” You snapped your gaze to the side, unable to look at him.

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

Your heart hammered against your chest.

He was lying.

He had to be.

"I thought we had agreed to not lie to each other."

Snow smiled. "So did I."

President Snow left after the conversation ended.

You didn’t bother to walk him out, too nauseous to push yourself back to your feet. Bile threatened to rise in your throat as you replayed the conversation over and over again. Snow was going to pull you and Finnick back into the arena.

At the thought of that, a sob slipped from your mouth, unable to contain the emotions rising in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to go back into the arena. You didn’t want to kill anyone.

You didn’t want to lose Finnick.

There was a knock on the door, but it wasn’t enough to pull you out of your reverie. It wasn’t until Finnick was kneeling in front of you, shaking your shoulders, that you finally snapped back to reality. Realizing it had been him this whole time.

“Did he hurt you?” Finnick sounded desperate as he inspected you from head to toe. He whispered your name when you didn’t answer. “Did he?”

Finnick must have seen President Snow leave your house. After all, Victor’s Village was small, and he lived just across from you. You could only imagine what he was thinking; what he was imagining. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks.

“No…” you whispered at last, voice hoarse from crying. “But he’s going to reap us back into the games. He wants us to kill Katniss Everdeen."

Finnick faltered. "What?"

"He wants them dead,” You explained, looking down at him from under splayed and wet eyelashes. “He wants us to take away their sponsors. He said he would protect us. He promised he us a victory—”

Another strangled your throat, preventing you from finishing your sentence. Finnick cursed under his breath, rubbing his hands down your legs to comfort you. When that didn’t work, he slid an arm around your waist and lifted you. He took your seat and guided you gently onto his lap instead, rocking you with the patience of a lover.

"It's okay,” he whispered into your hair, pressing his lips to your warm skin. "I promise."

It was an empty promise.

One he knew he could not keep, but it still calmed you. Instinctively, you buried your face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. He smelled like the ocean, layered with something warm and woodsy that you liked. God, you’d missed him.

“What else did he tell you, baby?”

“He wants us to act in love.”

You could have sworn his heart skipped beneath your fingertips, but you didn’t bother to lift your face and look at him. You were scared to find disappointment there, or even annoyance. After all, he had been the one to break up with you—after you had understood what he had been through, after you had promised to love him no matter what.

He didn’t speak, and neither did you.

You didn’t think it was necessary. So, you closed your eyes and continued to listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm slowly lulling you to sleep. You hoped for it all to be just a nightmare by the morning.

Like Snow had warned you, the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell came only a few days after. Naturally, you decided to knock on Mags’s door, not wanting to disturb Finnick anymore. You hadn’t spoken much to him since he had comforted you after Snow’s visit. You supposed the news of your emminent dead had been just as hard for him, too.

So, you walked down the Victor Village’s to Mags.

Five years ago, when you had been reaped for the Games, she—along with Finnick—helped you train. And after your victory, the two of you only grew closer. So, now that you were inevitably going back into the Games, you wanted to give her a proper goodbye and thank her for everything.

But to your surprise, when you knocked on her door with white knuckles, trembling lips, and bloodshot eyes, Finnick was the one who answered.

Your breath caught in your throat when you came face to face with him, and surprise flickered across your features when you registered his tousled hair, chapped lips, and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He looked like he hadn't slept for days either.

"Are you okay?" Finnick asked worriedly, hair falling untidily over his green eyes.

“Are you?” you asked instead, instinctively pushing the mess of his hair away from his face.

He leaned into your touch instinctively, but your hand stilled as you belatedly realized what you were doing, and reluctantly withdrew it. Disappointment flashed across his face when you did so.

“What’s going on?” you asked when you registered familiar voices in the background and gently moved past Finnick to enter Mags’ home.

“It’s the Quarter Quell announcement,” Finnick explained as some of the Victors from District Four came into your line of vision. “They’re worried about the reaping tomorrow.”

You went quiet for a few seconds. “Do they know?”

Finnick shook his head, a faint grin curving his lips. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the show, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, gentle arms wrapped around you from the side. Almost immediately, you returned the gesture when you realized it was only Mags. “Hi.”

Mags squeezed you tighter in response.

“The deal was simple,” one of the Victors argued in the kitchen, and you peeled your arms away from Mags to step closer and listen. “If we won, we were supposed to be left alone for the rest of our lives,”

It doesn’t always end up like that, you wanted to say, knowing about other Victors’ fates.

“It’s the girl from District Twelve. She’s unintentionally sparking rebellions in the other districts. Snow probably wants to eliminate her,” another Victor said, mulling over the whole situation. “That’s likely why he’s reaping Victors.”

He was not wrong.

"What about the female Victors?"

"What about them?" Finnick questioned flatly; you could hear the warning behind his words.

"Mags won't survive in the arena, Finnick."

There was silence.

You wanted to tell them that Mags wasn’t going back—that Snow only wanted you and Finnick, but then a thought surfaced, a daunting realization. An alternative. If the odds were not in your favor, Mags could volunteer if your name was called first.

It made your stomach drop.

You turned to Finnick, but his expression didn’t mirror your panic. Instead, it was strangely serene.

“(Y/N) has a better chance of winning the Games. Perhaps she could volunteer for Mags—”

“If Mags is reaped, I will keep her alive,” Finnick interjected, and there was a hint of finality in his voice. “There’s no need for volunteers.”

And that was when it clicked—what his actual plan was. He never intended for you to enter the Games with him, despite Snow’s instructions. Finnick was counting on Mags volunteering for you. He was willing to challenge Snow’s rules to keep you alive.

"If Mags gets reaped, I'll volunteer." You promised. You weren’t going to put his life or Mags’ on the line. If Snow were to find out about his plan, you could only imagine what the consequences could be.

Finnick clenched his jaw, not liking your response. “If she gets reaped first." he reminded you dryly.

"The odds are there, Finnick."

"We'll see about that tomorrow."

[anatay004]

BACK TO WRITING! It’s been a while since I’ve touched this story. I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t like the way this story was written. So, I will be editing it these next few weeks. Thank you to everyone who still reads and likes this 🫶🏼

[djotime]

STEVE HARRINGTON 5.02 — The Vanishing of Holly Wheeler

[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]

Your finnick odair masterlists 💔

They’re still coming pookie ❤️

[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]

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

[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.