ana

Summary: Tony Starks daughter, Wanda’s powers (but purple), dating the new intern in secret. What could possibly go wrong when Clint falls through the vents right after you sneak in your secret boyfriend?

Peter Parker one shot inspired by the song, Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects!

Warnings: None

WC: 1.9K

Masterlist!

“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret”

You dating the new intern was your biggest secret.

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 06/21/2026

⭒ TV Shows Directory ⭒ Books Directory

⭒ House of the Dragon

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.

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.

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.

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."

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."