Hold Steady - poppystardew - Hunger Games Series (2024)

Chapter 1: 337 days until the Reaping

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Finnick had won. He'd actually f*cking won. he ignored the final gasps of air from the drowning boy in front of him, Finnick's trident still firmly stuck into his back. His mind felt fuzzy. He felt sick. Reaching a heavy arm up, he held his necklace between his fingers, bringing it to his lips and pressing them against the cold metal. He was going home.

The nausea only worsened as he was gathered onto the hovercraft, nurses and attendants touching him a little too closely, slightly too personally. One of the women, Tulsi, ran her hand along his stomach, supposedly to check him for cuts and lesions, but he could've sworn he saw her bite her lip.

"Plenty of bruises, Fern. Got any cream?" Tulsi spoke over her shoulder to another nurse preparing a long syringe. The nausea was pushing his breakfast from that morning up, the soft fish suddenly like razor blades against his throat. "maybe a dislocated elbow, too."

He vomited. Violently. all over Tulsi. She grimaced and motioned for Fern to approach. "this will just hurt a tad," Fern smiled at him before jamming the needle harshly into his shoulder, and his vision turned black.

Chapter 2: 332 days until the Reaping

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Words were constantly getting thrown around about him. Heartthrob, eligible bachelor, District 4’s 10… only two more years. The last one had made him vomit yet again. He’d spent fourteen years never vomiting, never being sick, even when his mother fed him rotten shrimp. And now Finnick was doing it all the goddamn time.

“Which one would you like to wear, Mister Victor?” another giggly, too-old woman, Kayc’e, showed off two outfits. One was a tight, leathery-looking pair of trousers paired with a fabric Finnick could see Kayc’e’s hand through. The other was a long tunic; it would be loose on him, less for people to know about him. The coin was cold against his chest, grounding him in the moment.

“The… the second one, please, madam,” Finnick spoke as politely as he could muster, knowing his ma would be proud of him. he wondered how his mother would react to him telling her the things women her age had described what they’d do to him, given the chance.

He declined Kayc’e’s groping hand to dress himself, allowing the soft linen of the tunic to soothe his rubbed raw skin. So much scrubbing, rubbing, touching. Finnick never wanted to be handled by a woman again. or a man for that matter. The way that Caesar kept touching his back set him on edge.

Everything was so quick. Before he even knew it, Kayc’e was passing him onto Sienna, who giggled and squished her breasts together, complimenting his outfit but looking disappointed when she noticed the tunic reached his midthighs, firmly covering his crotch.

Sienna led him through a twisting set of corridors, then directed him to follow Diode up the stairs, the wordless District 3 victor. Oh god. he was going to be crowned. Why did no one warn him? he thought that he was going to another interview, another fake laugh coming from him every time they showed one of his brutal murders.

“Good luck, Odair,” Diode gave him a curt nod when they reached the top of the stairs, the crowd's roar suddenly snapping Finnick out of his anxiety. He was… he was really f*cking about to be crowned. About to be praised for his fantastic brutality. They were going to cement him in history as a murderer, as a child who murdered other children for glory and riches.

His stomach churned his breakfast from that morning threatening to make a reappearance. Finnick breathed in, his lungs clenching, making him struggle not to let out a rattling breath. The roar didn’t get louder as he stepped onto the balcony; he wondered if Snow had a particular barrier.

Snow’s eyes followed him closely as he walked forward, feeling sicker than he ever did during his games. At least Finnick knew his enemy then. Snow had been a distant figure all his life, the untouchable president, and now they were facing each other down, nothing between them except a woman holding a pillow. A crown. His crown.

“Mr. Odair, congratulations,” Snow spoke slowly, his voice dangerous and low. Finnick gulped. He wondered if the cameras were watching him as closely as snow. Finnick took his spot, standing on the balcony, his side to the crowd screaming his name.

Snow took the crown from the cushion and approached Finnick, taking his place opposite the child. His snake-like eyes rested on Finnick’s chest for a moment, making him think that there was a scar or a bruise that had been missed by Kayc’e. he caught the glint of his necklace in the camera over Snow’s shoulder. Old-world coinage was so rare, most of it having been melted down during the dark days when there was no need for currency. Perhaps Snow was simply interested in it as a collectable.

The crown was heavier than Finnick was expecting, but he kept his head held high. He was now officially the victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

Chapter 3: 326 days until the Reaping

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“Oh! Finnick! Thank goodness I found you!” siluia clasped her hands together, before gripping his arm tightly. He’d just been trying to watch the terrain from a window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sea. But no, now he was going to be dragged off to god knows where.

“Are you excited for your victory feast? I put in a special request just to come! I can’t wait to meet your family, oh and that lovely lady, you must have missed your friends so much!” amity was probably the lovely lady she was referring to. Finnick had watched his family and friends interview; they’d interviewed Amity at the docks. Finnick had felt an ache in his heart at the sight of her wet hair and thick swimsuit.

Finnick’s coin felt cold on his skin again. She hadn’t been wearing her pearl necklace, the one he’d so carefully beaded together after months of collecting the best ones. he wished they could’ve interviewed Amity at home. Amity would’ve worn her favourite, albeit a little faded, ribbon, her grey blouse, the one with the hole just under her armpit. Maybe the dancing shoes she’d swapped a day’s shrimp for.

He was so caught up in thinking about her soft, dusty pink lips that he hadn’t even noticed President Snow sitting on one of a set of armchairs next to the artificial fire. Siluia squealed something about leaving them to it, and Snow gestured to his opposite seat.

“Glad to be on your way home, Mr Odair?” snow asked slowly, swirling his tea in his cup. An identical china cup sat on the table between them. Finnick felt that churning in his stomach yet again. he didn’t trust Snow, not as far as he could throw him.

“Yes, sir. I’ve missed my mother and father,” Finnick replied, narrowing his eyes at the president. Was this normal? Did Snow accompany all victors home? he was so snakelike, so slimy, it made Finnick uncomfortable just to be this close to him.

“And?” Snow asked, a little bemused as if he knew the answer. Of course he did, Finnick thought. He’d been so careful to discuss Amity as little as possible. His mother had been the one to point the cameras in her direction. Amity herself had kept pretty quiet and vague, her hands clenching around her scraper when they asked her if he had a girl he was returning to.

“My friends,” Finnick spoke slowly, watching the man’s posture change as if he was a little sick of Finnick dancing around the topic.

“The girl, Amity Capone, she was the one to make you that necklace, correct?” Snow’s fingers twitched as if he was about to lean forward and snatch it from the boy’s neck. “do you know the significance of that coin?”

Finnick’s face flushed. No. He didn’t. He’d rubbed his thumb over it a thousand times and studied it under a flashlight and firelight. But he’d never really honestly considered what it was, what it represented. To him, it was just an old-world coin. A reminder of a world he’d never know. He imagined Amity just dug it out of the sediment and thought it was pretty enough to be offered to him.

“It’s a silver eagle. The lady on the front is who our ancestors called Liberty,” Snow leaned back in his chair, the silver glinting in the firelight. “On the back, an eagle, a symbol of freedom. You can understand why I may question why you wear it.”

So Snow thought he was a rebel? An agitator? The thought had never even crossed Finnick’s mind. He was far too fearful of losing everything to stand for anything. Amity probably felt the same. “I didn’t know what it represented, sir,” Finnick composed himself and stared down the president, trying to stop his fingers from trembling.

“I see that now. Be careful, Mr Odair,” Snow stood, towering over him. Finnick hesitated, unsure if he should stand or shake his hand… he didn’t have to make a decision; Snow walked away, leaving Finnick to stare into the fire alone.

Chapter 4: 316 days until the Reaping

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It was driving Finnick mad, this giant house. If he’d had brothers and sisters, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, and the house wouldn’t feel so empty. he never imagined he’d be aching for the stilted house by the marina, the chipping green paint, the hole in the roof.

He felt a shot of guilt as he watched his mother place the remainder of their meal in the fridge, wiping her hands and then retiring to the bedroom. Father needed his legs rebandaged; Finnick had noticed the stumps bleeding a little at dinner. He thought of Amity’s tin shack, the brief time they’d had no roof at all after a hurricane.

The empty larder, the laugh in his face when he’d asked if she’d eaten that day. Finnick didn’t need all this. He knew he didn’t. No one had told him he couldn't give away his excess, though. Mags had always brought fruit for the working children, and Saph had donated her bedding back to the community. None of this, Finnick supposed, was particularly encouraged. But what was sharing in leftovers between friends? It wasn't like Amity was a random stranger. She was his best friend, and the Capones had always been so nice to him. It was just being kind. That was all.

He kept repeating that to himself as he walked out of the Victors’ Village, two sacks full to bursting with non-perishable foods and the leftovers from their dinner.

The Stairs was the poorest part of District 4. The large, opulent stairs down to the harbour had once been the pride of the district, but heavy bombing and the destruction of homes during the Dark Days had led to those who worked out on the boats to move to the stairs. The Capones had come a little later, apparently, but they’d been living on the Stairs for Finnick’s whole life.

Finnick’s heart was in his throat as the Capone shack came into view. It wasn't the smallest nor the most broken-down hut on the Stairs, but Finnick couldn't help but imagine how many times their shared bedroom could fit into his dining room alone. Would they even accept the food? He knew Moses Capone to be a proud man, but was he too stubborn to allow Finnick to feed his children?

Well. He’d soon find out. Finnick raised a hand, knocking on the splintering wooden door. Pearl, the middle child, opened the door, looking up at Finnick with a wide smile. “Hello! Mister Odair!” She threw herself to his legs, wrapping her arms around his left leg tightly. Why was he ever nervous about visiting? He was always guaranteed a very warm welcome whenever he came to the Capone home.

Moses appeared at the door, his eyes tired, but his smile wide. “Finnick, it’s fantastic to see you, son. Come on in,” He took a step to the side, clicking his tongue at Pearl. She didn’t budge, but Finnick was able to stagger forward anyway, his eyes adjusting to the candlelight.

No matter the luxuries he experienced, the world that changed around him, Finnick could always feel grounded here. Maybe it was the pure, cozy feeling of home he felt whenever he crossed the threshold. The tumbled up beds stuffed into a corner before sleep, the spotless kitchen and table, drawings that littered the walls. Holes in the walls gently wafted the drawings like clothes on a line, and Finnick imagined they offered a tiny amount of protection from the sea breeze.

Nymph, the baby, was giggling at him from her ramshackle playpen. She wasn’t a baby anymore, but Finnick was still struggling to get out of the habit. He thought back to Amity plodding through the snow to bring Nymph to his home, allowing her to enjoy warm milk while they shared bashful kisses in front of the electric fire.

Coral smiled to acknowledge him, before returning to her book. She was turning eleven in a few months. Amity had been sick at the thought, but had insisted on taking further tesserae to ensure her sister never had to. The thought of Amity’s odds made Finnick sick.

Amity wasn’t there, but he felt rude about asking where she was, as if the only reason he visited their little shack was for her. “I brought you all some food,” he spoke slowly, a little embarrassed. Finnick never wanted to speak down to the Capones, they were some of the hardest workers in Four. He placed the bags on the table, causing Pearl to finally disconnect herself, scrambling onto a chair and then onto the table to begin digging through the bags.

“Is there choc?” Pearl asked, nearly throwing a tin of peaches over her shoulder, Moses intercepted it, and gave Pearl a stern look.

“What do you say, girls?” He asked the room, Coral and Pearl echoed a thank you to Finnick, who became redder. Nymph babbled loudly, shaking at the metal bars of her supposed caged nightmare. Finnick appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“Sorry about them, Finnick. They know I’m too much of a softie to punish them properly, so when Amity’s gone, they like to push it,” Moses laughed, being a little more careful about unpacking the bags than Pearl had been.

“Where is Amy, anyway?” Finnick asked, gently lifting Pearl off the table and back onto the floor. Moses smiled as he watched the cupboard fill with tins and glanced towards the door.

“Not sure, if I’m honest. I assumed she’d gone up to see you,” Moses shrugged, pulling out a handful of tin plates, dishing out the sole meunière that the Odairs hadn’t finished. They hadn’t had flatfish in… none of them could remember how long. It had mainly been tesserae and shrimp, especially as the sea warmed. Amity had been coming home with less and less, the checks at the harbour getting more robust.

Finnick felt a lurch in his chest, suddenly anxious as to Amity’s whereabouts. She was exactly the type just to go running off whenever she wanted. More than once, Finnick had watched her run across the sands by moonlight, her feet barely touching the ground. Perhaps that was what she was doing now, a moment of freedom before going back to the crushing reality of her world.

He certainly wasn’t expecting her to kick open her own front door, her arms full of cloth. “Madoffs were throwin’ out all of Indigo’s clothes, I grabbed as much as I could!” Amity declared, causing bile to rise in Finnick’s throat. Indigo had been his district partner, the volunteer who’d been slashed down in an hour. One man’s trash, he supposed.

“Oh, Finn!” Amity grinned at him, dumping the clothes onto the chair next to Coral, who scrunched up her nose. “What you doin’ here?”

“Doing,” Moses warned, he would get that damn Stairs accent out of her if it killed him. Amity rolled her eyes, before leaning on the table, smiling at Finnick. His heart was in his throat. She looked… like his world. He missed her achingly when he was in the Games, just being able to talk to her, ask her for advice. Finnick held himself back from just stepping forward and gathering her into his arms.

“Thought I’d bring some food. Our pantry is ridiculous, it gets filled every day. They just throw out whatever we don’t eat,” Finnick shrugged, his heart a little warmer when he saw the full cupboards. He’d always had more food security than Amity but had never really… had enough to share. Of course, he’d shared when he could, sitting on the school wall with her, sharing his prawn toast while they waited to be called in. A simpler time.

“We appreciate it, Finnick. Please, do let us know if we can repay you in anyway,” Moses smiled again, his eyes crinkling. He was thirty-five, but he looked ridiculously older, more the age of Finnick’s father. Years of starvation, hard work, losing his wife, his son. He’d had a harder life than Finnick could even dream of.

Finnick shook his head, looking over at Amity, who was grinning widely. “No, honestly. I just want to make sure you guys are cared for. I’m not sure how often I can do this, but, y’know. If you’re ever struggling, just let me know.” Moses nodded, and Amity pushed herself off from the table, smiling at her father.

“I’ll walk Fin home, yeah?” She tilted her head at Finnick, who had to hesitate for a moment so he didn’t just nod vigorously. He jerked his head in what he presumed to be a regular nod, and Amity’s grin became a little brighter.

“See you, Finny!” Pearl called out, her mouth now full of chocolate cake, Moses tutted, and approached her with a damp cloth to rub her face. Amity shut the door behind her, tentatively reaching out for Finnick’s hand. How long had it been since they walked hand-in-hand? He’d been too anxious to allow her to take it after he got home, Snow’s assessment of Amity unsettled him. Finnick felt like his every move was being assessed, judged.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days, thought you’d forgotten about me,” She turned to look at him, her smile still wide, but with a hint of sadness. It had been a few days. Finnick was exempt from going to school these days, so it wasn’t even like he could see her there. He’d occasionally head down to the docks, catching a glimpse of Amity whenever she surfaced from the water. But he was just so… scared. Finnick was anxious about doing the wrong thing, worried that an action in the moment could affect her beyond their… were they lovers? Or was it just a mutual crush? A childhood fling?

They were too young to be thinking about all of this, deciding on their future when they’d barely started having these feelings. Finnick felt like he’d learnt more about desire and romance in the past two weeks than he ever had in his whole life. All he knew was that every feeling the Capitol women had expressed for him, he wanted to express to Amity.

“Is the village as nice as it looks?” Amity asked as the golden arches came into view, Finnick’s heart wrenching. He didn’t want to leave her just yet, he wanted to spend all of the time he possibly could with her. Amity came to a stop, nervous about crossing the line. The line that separated them now. Victor, citizen. Rich, poor. Finnick, Amity.

“It would be nicer with you,” Finnick whispered, taking her other hand. He’d never realised how much taller than her he was. He’d grown to be tall and broad. She’d stayed small, but… Finnick felt like he’d reopened his eyes since returning from the Capitol. She came up to just below his shoulder, her shoulders were broad, her body lean and strong. Amity hadn’t filled out like the other girls, but then the other girls didn’t make Finnick’s head spin like she did.

Amity looked up at him, a ghost remaining of her smile. He moved a hand up, resting his palm on her cheek. They’d kissed before, enough times that Finnick could dream in vivid detail of the softness, the grooves and the press of her lips on his. But something had changed, something was different this time.

He breathed out, lifting her head up a little. “I missed you, Amity,” Finnick whispered, finally pushing their lips together. It was just as he’d dreamed. Her lips were so soft against his, her body moulded against him as he held her arms, pulling her into him. All the fears that had been wracking his brain, the anxiousness at their relationship being exposed, melted away. She was everything in his arms, the centre of his universe.

Amity was the first to pull away, her hands resting on his chest. Finnick stared down at her, their eyes meeting. “I should go,” She whispered into the cool night air, her lips settled into a smile. Finnick gulped, knowing he would have to let her go eventually, he just didn’t want it to be now.

“I’ll bring some lunch to the docks tomorrow, I promise,” Finnick ran his hand over her arm, trying to hide his disappointment.

“See you then,” Amity smiled, squeezing his other hand one last time, before walking back in the direction of the stairs, leaving Finnick aching, simply to feel her lips on his again.

Chapter 5: 305 days until the Reaping

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“I want him to have a nice birthday, Finnick,” Mrs Odair sat at the dining table, balancing a glass of wine on the very tips of her fingers. Two empty bottles sat on the kitchen counter behind them, and a third would be joining it very soon if she kept up this pace. Finnick leaned back in his chair, chewing on his bottom lip. His father had never expressed an interest in having a real birthday before. He tended to just help himself to an extra portion of whatever his mother could scrape together using their meal tokens.

“I don’t think dad really-” Finnick began, before his mother looked up at him, a snarl on her face.

“Only because we ain’t been able to! You see a man having lost everything and you think he don’t want some simple pleasures in life?” She was loud, her voice cracking as she shrieked at him. Finnick remained silent. He’d seen people lose far more.

“What if I get Amy Capone to come make him a meal, huh? You like her cooking. Dad does too. We pay her to make a meal and then we’re all happy, yeah?” Finnick stood, walking to stand beside his mother. She hiccuped in response, and Finnick reached down and gently prised her fingers from the glass.

“Ain’t paying her too much, though,” Mrs Odair spoke finally, her hand clenching around nothing. Finnick sighed, and picked up the bottle as well, leaving his mother sitting at the table as he poured the crimson liquid down into the sink. His father had never liked Amity, regarding her as weak, too much like her father. Clinging to the past. His mother… well, she liked Amity when she used to bring her expensive fabrics from the cargo checks. They’d both been so hesitant when Finnick had excitedly told them about his new best friend.

“Her grandpap is the reason they’re poor,” Mr Odair had declared one night after half a bottle of sherry. “Took the savings, convinced a poor Capitol sap that he could find a new source of lobster after the traps started to run dry.”

“What happened?” Finnick had been sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, but twisted his body to listen to his father speak. Mr Odair took another gulp, narrowing his eyes at the boy in front of him.

“No one knows. Some say he just kept sailing until he found somewhere to settle. Me? I think he didn’t make it five miles off the coast. Capones ain’t sailors, they’re shipbuilders.”

Amity had corroborated the story, adding her own theory that he’d ended up in District 7, which was north of 4. Moses had laughed at that, saying his father would’ve rather died than abandon his mother.

But now, Finnick felt powerful. His parents finally needed him more than he needed them. They needed him to stay in this house, they needed him to keep them full of food and alcohol, they needed him to fulfil his father’s need for morphling.

They would tolerate Amity because Finnick wanted them to. They just saw her as another Capone, another sad, small child with their eyes on the past. Finnick stood over the sink, a hand clutching the corner, the other reaching up to hold his necklace between his fingers. He wished he knew what it was like in the old world. Would life have been easier for him? Would he have been able to be a child for just those few precious extra years?

He sighed, staring down at the last drips of wine swirling down the drain. His mother snored from the dining room. Finnick’s life hadn’t changed, not as much as everyone presumed. His parents were still broken shells of their former selves. He was still miserable. The only thing that had changed was where the Odairs acted out their daily routine, pretending to be a happy, prosperous family.

Finnick turned, staring across at the bottles of morphling littering the counter opposite, considering what his life would’ve been like if Moses Capone had been his father instead. The kind, gentle man with hope for the future. He was such a stark change to Kienan Odair, the miserable amputee with hatred festering in his heart. Maybe Finnick would’ve been happier, more grateful for this fantastic life he had won.

No one was truly grateful, not really. The Capones were, but then they would be grateful if Finnick threw them the bones he’d torn chicken meat from. He wished he had siblings like Amity. Someone to share his life experiences with, who would really understand. Finnick sighed, giving one final glance to his mother, before heading up the stairs to bed.

Chapter 6: 300 days until the Reaping

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Finnick had never received an electronic message. Hell, he’d never had access to the means of receiving or making one before. Now, it was the most irritating thing in his life.

I hope you’re okay in District 4, if you ever want a holiday, just reply!

You looked gorgeous during that house tour, I bet it gets lonely in that big house by yourself.

Are you a virgin?

Finnick didn’t have to reply, so he didn’t. He just looked them over, was usually sick, and then wiped the log. The same names kept sending messages, over and over again. It wasn’t cheap to send a message to the districts, President Snow had sent the first deposit with Finnick’s cut of the cost, and the amount of numbers had boggled his mind.

Another ping. Another message. Another person that desired him. It made Finnick break out in a sweat every time that ping echoed through the house. He was so tense, his knuckles going white as he gripped the porcelain sink he’d just thrown up into. A shill ring echoed through the house, causing Finnick to scream from the sheer amount of tension currently tight around his neck.

It took him a second to realise that the ringing was the phone in the kitchen, the last thing Finnick wanted was his mother to pick it up again. She’d been so upset when the person on the other side had asked if Finnick masturbat*d. He skidded along the corridor, nearly fell down the stairs and finally slid into the kitchen, grasping the phone just as his mother entered the room. She tutted, but turned, and returned to wherever she had come from.

“O-Odair residence,” Finnick cleared his throat, suddenly anxious who was on the other side.

“Ah, Mr Odair himself. A request has come to my attention from Luna Dorsey,” Snow. President Snow. He seemed to worm his way through the earpiece, and Finnick had to hold the phone from his face for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Luna Dorsey. The woman who had purchased the golden trident for Finnick during his games. It hadn’t meant much to him at the time, he privately thought it was far too heavy to be properly effective, and it had only really become useful after he’d already trapped his competitors. It made their deaths quick, he supposed. She was collecting on her investment. That was all Finnick could consider as Snow spoke, talking of trains, cars sent to his home, how to dress…

“No,” Finnick interrupted the President, his fingers gripping the handset so tightly he heard the plastic crack a little. Snow went silent for a moment, before letting out a noise that roughly sounded like a laugh.

“No? Mr Odair, please. Be reasonable. She saved your life,” Snow replied, he imagined the man was smirking as he spoke, that smug look on his face that Finnick just wanted to slap off.

“I… I’m too young, President Snow. It’s illegal,” Finnick hissed, holding the receiver a little closer to his mouth. The last thing he wanted was his mother hearing what the president required of her son.

“Oh, my dear boy. You will not be having intercourse with Miss Dorcey. She wants to look at you. You are an object to her,” Snow snapped back, shame flooding Finnick’s veins at his words. No one ever spoke about sex like that, and the fact Snow was treating him like the foolish child he was… it upset him.

“I don’t want to,” Finnick pleaded, his eyes pricking with tears.

“You don’t have a choice.” The line went dead, and Finnick barely made it to the sink before emptying his stomach yet again.

Finnick wasn’t sure why he asked Amity to accompany him to the station, it had just led to more questions than answers from her.

“How long will you be gone?” Amity asked, tilting her head at him. He was carrying a case, having followed Snow’s instructions to the letter regarding what to bring. He’d explicitly told Finnick to leave his coin necklace at home, Finnick had ignored that message.

“I dunno. Snow said it could be up to a week,” Finnick looked over at her, she’d been hungry, so he’d brought a loaf worth of prawn toast for her. She was happy munching down on it, but still studied him with sad, knowing eyes.

“You’ll miss the regatta. Coral’s entering the junk boat race this year,” Amity pouted, her voice quiet. Finnick felt his heart wrench. He wished he could just grasp her by the shoulders and tell her everything, reveal what he was being forced to do. Finnick desired nothing more than to watch the regatta with her, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands, cheering on her sister. But no. He had to go and be f*cking molested by some stupid old Capitol witch.

“I’ll try and get back in time,” Finnick whispered back, reaching out and giving her arm a squeeze. Amity smiled back at him, her mouth full of the toast. He knew there was no goddamn chance that he would be back in time. But it would break his heart to think otherwise.

Chapter 7: 287 days until the Reaping

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Finnick had spent hours scrubbing himself, his skin scratched and red from how hard he pressed at his skin. He hated showering in the Capitol, he always stank of one perfume or another once he returned. Amity had scrunched her nose up a few times, the sickly sweet smell of his skin made her feel a little nauseous.

He’d barely had any downtime since returning from the Capitol, Snow had kept insisting on Finnick meeting with officials, stylists, news people. It was all about him, he felt exposed, like he couldn’t just have a moment of his own life to himself. He breathed in slowly, counting backwards from ten over and over again, memorising the pattern of the tiles he was currently staring at.

His clothes for the day were still hanging up on the door. Finnick had been in the bathroom for an hour before he was able to get undressed, another hour tearing off the outer layer of his damn skin and now… how long had he been sat, hunched over? He felt so… used. Like he was nothing more than something to be admired, something to be possessed. Finnick had assumed that after his games, perhaps he’d get some respect.

Finnick had always been written off by… well, everyone. His dad’s fishing buddies had declared him the “pretty boy”, useless at catching anything that wasn’t in a fishbowl, his ma had laughed when Finnick had gone a delicate shade of green while gutting and he’d been thrown into the training center just for being half decent at wielding a trident. Even during his games everyone had just seen him as another kid that was going to die early.

He raised his head, catching his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to die. To escape the twisted hell he’d woken up in.

“Finnick? There’s a phone call for you,” His mother was at the door, knocking gently. Years ago, Finnick disregarded her advice at every opportunity. She encouraged him to pick fights with the other kids at school, pushed him to attend extra conditioning sessions, strongly warned him against becoming friends with Amity. Now, now she was being gentle. He’d served his purpose. The purpose she’d desired for Finnick since the day he was born. Winning the games after she couldn’t.

“I’ll be out in a minute, ma,” Finnick responded. He wondered how much he still sounded like himself. Amity had noted he sounded more despondent, more sarcastic, more… hollow. His parents hadn’t noticed, of course. They never noticed anything changing about Finnick. He took a deep breath, clenching his hands, the phone call, of course. President Snow would be waiting for him. He was not a patient man.

Finnick always found himself back in the shower. His skin had become tender and raw, drawing blood at points. Yannik had gotten too close. Too personal. Touched him in places that made him sick to think about. He tilted his head back, letting the scalding water wash over his face, burn at his already raw shoulders.

He breathed in. It felt so difficult to just keep breathing. To keep going through the motions of his day. Finnick wished more than anything in the world that Yannik hadn’t accompanied him on the train home, licking his lips every single time Finnick entered the dinner cab, like he was a f*cking meal.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood under the pounding water, his back had little blisters forming from how hot the water was. Finnick finally reached out a trembling hand, twisting the rattling knob to turn off the shower. Water as far as the eye could see, and yet Finnick was one of the few in the district with water pumped directly into his home.

The sky was inky beyond the window, a smattering of stars being drowned out by the glow of the streetlamps. Finnick missed the stars in the arena, he’d been able to tell their falseness the moment he looked up on the first night, no discernible patterns.

He picked up the necklace with a single finger, sighing softly. Snow f*cking hated it when Finnick wore it during his trips, but he would rather f*cking die than go anywhere without it. It was the only thing that had kept him sane all this time, stopped him from just throwing himself off the balcony of whatever person had paid for the pleasure of his company.

Was his company even pleasurable anymore? Snow was pushing him to do it. To allow people to… it was barely worth thinking about.

She was so small. Finnick was well grown, well developed, tall, broad. But Amity? Starvation had stunted her growth, work had narrowed her hips, broadened her shoulders. She’d never really grown.

Somehow, in the moonlight, she was still the most gorgeous woman he’d ever had the opportunity to lay eyes upon.

She was sat on the edge of the jetty, having shed her clothes down to just the regulation swim shorts, undoing fishing lines. Finnick had tried to join her too many times to count, but his thick fingers had always struggled with the tiny, minute knots in the long wires.

“It’s improper, a girl sitting out like that, no top on,” Kienan Odair spat, looking out of the window at the jetty. “Her father ‘aught to tell her to stop sitting out there.”

“I don’t think she’s doing it to be stared at, da,” Finnick mumbled, scraping his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, scrunching up his nose. He didn’t like what his father said about Amity, but knew better than to make a real stink about it. Finnick’s legs still ached from the last lashing.

“She knows there’s nothin’ to stare at!” His mother’s laugh was high and taunting, and Finnick clenched his hand around his spoon.

“Ain’t nothin’ for you to do, Fin. Go back to the village,” Amity sounded tired, hunching further over the spool before her. She’d had a bad day.

“I wanted to see you,” Finnick sat down on the jetty beside her, ignoring the splintered wood. His mother wasn’t right, there was definition to Amity’s body. Deep muscular lines criss-crossed scars, bruises. Some fresher than others. Her skin was stretched so tightly over her bones, though, it made Finnick wince watching her breathe. She turned her head away, focusing on the wire instead of him.

“Why?” Amity asked, spooling what she’d done so far back onto the roll, before starting on a new section. Methodical. Quick.

“I…” What did Finnick want from her? What did he need? He needed her, first and foremost. Finnick needed Amity to just be with him, always. His whole body ached with the pure desire to just protect her. “I want you, Amy. I just want… us.” Amity paused in her work, jerking her head towards him.

“You got us, Fin,” She finally turned to him, half her head in shadow, the moon lighting up her skin. “Always have, Fin and Amy, isn’t it?” Amity reached her spare hand out, resting it on Finnick’s leg. He’d never felt this before. This desire to be closer. He grasped her hand, pulling her a little.

“I need you, Amity,” Finnick leaned forward, his hand moving up to run his fingers through her hair, running them along her head. She leaned into his touch, a lazy smile spreading across her face. “More than I ever have.”

She seemed to pause, realising what he was suggesting, what he really desired. Finnick took a deep breath, a little scared that he’d pushed it too far. Desired her too deeply. He was dragging her into his world, growing up too fast, feelings and thoughts meant for those far older than them.

“You don’ want me, Fin. Not like that. I’m… I’m too… I’m not,” Amity stuttered, looking away from him suddenly. Finnick shook his head, pulling her head gently to look at him.

“You’re everything to me, Amy,” Finnick mumbled, pulling her as closely as he could. Amity ran her fingers down his chest, finally coming to a rest on top of his thigh, her eyes suddenly fearful.

“What if I’m no good?” She mumbled, leaning in almost by instinct. Finnick could feel her breath on his lips, the air thick between them.

“You’ll be the best. I know it,” Finnick finally pushed his lips against hers, nearly tackling her down to the jetty in his eagerness.

“You my girl, Amity Capone,” Finnick mumbled, holding her firmly against his chest, his lips pressed firmly to the top of her head. Amity smiled lazily, her body pliant against his. It hadn’t been a disaster, not like Finnick had been terrified of. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his stomach, knowing that he wasn’t going to have some nameless Capitol woman be the first woman to touch him like that.

“I’m ya girl, Finnick Odair,” Amity mumbled back, her voice thick with sleep.

Chapter 8: 270 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Finnick felt like his house was just a little brighter with Amity in it. The way she glided around his kitchen, her hair tightly pulled back, flour dashed across her cheek, it warmed his heart. The Sunday evening meal had become a staple at the Odair household for the past month, Mr Odair was starting to gain some muscle again, able to drag himself to the toilet at night now. He wasn’t too kind to Amity still, but Finnick was starting to see… some improvement.

“Are we getting a starter tonight, girl?” Mr Capone was gruff, causing Finnick to glance over at his father, watching him turn in his chair to look over his shoulder at the kitchen. Amity smiled and gave a gentle nod, looking up at the clock.

“Not long, Mr Odair,” Amity was gentle, even if he could be a little harsh. Finnick ached just to reach out, and rub his hands over her shoulders, feel her soft skin in his hands. He didn’t want to get too touchy-feely with Amity, worried his mother would snap at him, but he was able to move his hand to rest on the side of her hip, smiling in comfort at the touch.

A knock on the door stilled his parents’ conversation, both looking over to it, confused as to who would want to see them at this time of night, especially on Sunday. Finnick raised an eyebrow, looking at Amity. “One of yours?” Finnick whispered, moving his hand away. Amity shook her head, so Finnick ventured to the front door, not recognising the silhouette beyond the glass.

His blood turned cold as he opened the door to President Snow standing there, a beady smile on his face. “I hear there’s quite the souiree to be had here, Mr Odair. Won’t you invite me in?” The summer flies kept well away from the President, the guards standing behind him recoiling whenever one landed on their helmets. Finnick stepped to the side wordlessly, his stomach twisting. He knew why Snow was here. Yannik had complained, surely.

Bile rose in his throat, Amity was still in the kitchen. The one person Snow had warned Finnick from constantly clinging to. He skidded back into the dining room, feeling guilty as he saw his father struggle to hold himself up as the President spoke to him, gently shaking his hand. Snow took the seat next to his father, opposite his mother, Finnick’s usual seat.

Amity was watching quietly from the kitchen, not seeming as awestruck as Finnick was expecting. He imagined a man with infinite wealth and power would be so beyond her own experiences that she wasn't impressed by him. She wasn't one to entertain people who she didn't trust.

“I’m glad to see that you've been able to spend your earnings well, Master Odair,” Snow spoke slowly, his eyes travelling over the patches of grey littering his father’s skin. Finnick was stunned into silence, unsure of how to speak to the president in front of his parents. His mother went a delicate shade of pink, staring down at her lap.

“The help? Your new servant,” Snow nodded in the direction where Amity was plating something that smelled deliciously like her egg and prawn toast. She stopped at his words, her jaw stiffening. Finnick just… stood there, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Amity could keep her cool when his father made jokes, she could even turn the other cheek when his mother gave her beauty tips. President be dammed, Amity looked like she was about to pop.

Finnick suddenly walked into the kitchen, turning his back to the dining table. Snow was chuckling, pouring himself a glass of the wine Finnick’s father had selected. It made his stomach churn, terrified of the President currently sat at his family table. He barely noticed Amity, until she tugged on his sleeve, pulling his ear close to her lips.

“I only made four plates. Is he expectin’ to be fed?” Amity hissed, looking over Finnick’s shoulder at the table. Snow was discussing something with Mrs Odair, her head bowed and shoulders hunched.

“I… I think so. ‘m sorry Amy, he’s just… the president, he’s kinda weird,” Finnick mumbled back, his hand ghosting over her back before he picked up two of the plates, trying to muster a casual smile on top of his disappointed scowl.

He hestitated, standing next to his father. Would Snow expect to be served first? Amity was hovering, waiting for his move. No. No matter the guest, Finnick would serve his father first.

He knew he’d picked wrong when the plate touched the placemat, and Snow raised an eyebrow a disappointed expression spreading across his wizened face.

Chapter 9: 251 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“You okay, Fin?” Amity suddenly turned to him, the silence broken. They'd been sat watching the waves, sharing a bowl of rejected prawns. Finnick was taken aback a little, furrowing his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Finnick knew why she was asking. He’d avoided speaking to her after the incident with President Snow at his house, only realising how long it had been when she showed up at his house again the following Sunday, moody and sullen. He knew he should’ve done something. All his life, people had questioned his friendship with Amity, their differences having been commented on a thousand and one times before they even reached ten.

“You just been kinda, jumpy? I guess. You not adjusting well to the victors life or somethin’?” Amity probably didn’t mean to sound degrading, but his heart wrenched when she mentioned his victor status. Would he ever feel victorious? He had won the games, sure, but he’d not won his freedom. He was stuck in this never-ending cycle of fear.

“I ain’t doing great, no. Just…” Could he tell her? Amity wasn’t exactly prudish, but admitting what he got up to in the Capitol made him anxious. “Just, all these trips? Never been on a train once before, now they’re expecting me to, y’know, go every week.” Amity hummed in response, tearing the shell off the next prawn in one fell swoop.

“Is it scary? Gettin’ a train, I mean,” Amity asked, sucking thoughtfully at the head of the prawn. The journeys admittedly were the worst part about going. The ride always seemed to get shorter and shorter, the anticipation more intense. Going to the Capitol terrified Finnick.

“It’s different. It’s like… y’know when the pond freezes, and we slide about in our socks? It kinda feels like that,” Finnick smiled a little at the memory. “They’re saying they’ll close the tuna packing factory.”

Amity looked up at the news, puzzlement spread across her features. “Where you hear that from? We ain’t heard anything like that,” She leaned over a little, checking over her shoulder to ensure no eavesdroppers. “You hear that in the Capitol?”

Finnick’s mouth went dry. He assumed the workers would’ve been told by now, he’d given it a week to make sure that he wasn’t giving her any bad news. Amity was staring him down, so he nodded, slowly and solemnly.

She exhaled through her teeth, looking up at the stars. That was it for Moses Capone, then. Amity’s wage would be the only one coming in until the girls were old enough, or they needed more hands at the second packing factory. “Thanks for tellin’ me, Fin. I can break it to pa a bit more easily.”

Despite her thanks, Finnick still felt guilty. He didn’t want her to find out from him, she’d always remember him as the man who sounded the last bell for Moses’ career. “How’s the girls?” Finnick gripped his thighs, trying to steady his nerves.

“Coral’s got herself a crush, only thing she bothers talkin’ about these days,” Amity rolled her eyes, picking through the bowl but finding only shells. “I think Nymph is gonna have to start sleepin in the bed with us girls, she’s getting too big for her cot.”

Nymph had to be at least four now, Amity’s mother had died when she was a week old. Finnick tried to cast his mind back to Amity’s mother, her constantly shifting eyes, a dislike of the sea, slow and labouring. That last quality had probably been from her constant state of pregnancy, Finnick couldn’t remember ever seeing Amalie not full of baby.

“You need another mattress?” Finnick asked, but Amity shook her head, giving him a smile.

“Thank you, though. I appreciate it,” Amity reached a hand over, and placed it on his. “You don’t gotta take care of me just because you’re a victor now, I’ll earn my way, I always do.”

Chapter 10: 243 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“Why… why can’t I just, be with Amity? If I just, if you let me explain what you want me to do, then I’ll explain it to her, and then I won’t feel so bad, I think,” Finnick was pleading, his hands on President Snow’s desk. The office was dimly lit, Finnick had come straight from his client, and had refused to leave Snow’s residence until granted a meeting.

The air was tense, and Snow reached to his side, pushing a button, then gestured for Finnick to watch the feed. With trepidation, Finnick approached the holographic projector. Snow's expression remained cold and composed as he watched Finnick closely, as he watched the projection. Suddenly, an image materialized in front of them—an execution footage. The figure of a woman, dignified yet defiant, stood tall in a featureless room.

Finnick's breath caught in his throat as recognition washed over him. It was Amity's mother. His heart pounded, dread seeping into his bones. As the holographic scene unfolded, murmurs became audible, there were five peacekeepers, all watching Amalie closely. The woman's voice, resonant with courage, echoed in the room. She spoke of unity, of resistance against the Capitol's oppression—a speech etched in defiance, a plea for change.

Then came the chilling silence that preceded the irreversible. The holographic projection captured the moment of the execution—a swift and merciless end to a voice of dissent. Her body flung back against the wall as the bullets ricocheted back into her body, her face unidentifiable from the sheer amount of wounds in it.

Finnick's gaze remained fixed on the harrowing scene, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. Snow's voice sliced through the silence like a razor. "You ask why you can't be with Amity. She's rebel's kin. The Capitol does not forgive dissent. This is the price of rebellion."

Chapter 11: 230 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“Capone! Office!” Madam Wodorost barked from the front of the class, her nose scrunched at the note currently in her hand. The entire class turned, murmuring as Amity stood, and made her way through the rows.

“I ain’t done nothin’ this time, miss, I swear!” Amity pouted at the woman, who shook her head, and just pointed at the door. As Amity made her way to the office, she considered her actions over the last few days. She couldn’t remember doing anything bad… maybe she was going to be chewed out for hanging around the Victors’ Village so much.

She certainly wasn’t expecting the President of Panem to be sat behind her headmistress’s desk, staring down at Amity’s most recent school report. She wondered if it listed the pencil incident.

“Miss Capone, I take it?” Snow didn’t look up from the report, Amity felt uncomfortably anxious about why she’d been called in to see him. Maybe it was regarding her being at Finnick’s house, he’d realised she wasn’t hired help… maybe she really wasn’t supposed to be eating their food.

“Yes, sir, Mister President,” Amity stammered a little, wishing she had the confidence just to treat him like a normal person. Finnick had even chatted over the top of the President when he came to dinner. She’d been so irritated by the lack of food that she forgot to be star-struck.

“Please, sit down,” Snow waved his hand over the seat in front of him, which Amity took, used to sitting in front of a far less terrifying opponent. She wasn’t one to be particularly intimidated, but Amity was nervous. She could simply cease to exist if he so desired. “You and Finnick Odair… have you been friends for long?”

Stars! Even the President couldn’t help but talk about Finnick. Amity could barely buy a clam without the vendor asking after Finnick f*ckin’ Odair. She imagined her disappointment flashed across her face, as Snow raised an eyebrow, but Amity quickly began speaking as to avoid the questions he was bound to ask.

“Since we were four, we’ve always sat together at school,” She recalled the first day of school, how they’d shared a single apple slice. Not a rod had been bitten for weeks, only for a fish frenzy the day after their first day. Finnick had declared it fate, Amity privately thought it was due to the water temperature rising.

“And you’re just friends?” Snow pressed, narrowing his eyes at Amity. If she’d been like half of Finnick’s simpering followers, she’d be bright red by now. But she wasn’t. They’d been inseparable since they were tiny, and applied their relationship as romantic before even truly understanding what that meant. Amity shrugged in response, not sure why he was pressing on that question.

Snow’s eyes locked onto her neck, her old-world coin pendant resting square in the middle of her collarbone. “What a beautiful necklace,” He mumbled, leaning back in his chair. Amity looked down at the necklace, no one had ever really commented on it before, it was just a… well a pendant. “A dime, how fitting.”

Amity felt uncomfortably examined, and began to chew on her lip. What the hell did he want from her? Information about Finnick? To ask about her mother…? Snow narrowed his eyes one final time, before allowing a smile to settle on his face.

“That will be all, Miss Capone.”

Chapter 12: 218 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“I’m not going.”

Finnick wondered if Snow could tell how terrified he was. His bottom lip was trembling, his palms sweaty and shaking, his jaw tense and eyes wide. But he was being brave. Denying Snow’s request, in person. Snow wasn’t looking at him, didn’t even glance away from whatever he was watching when Finnick entered the room.

“The train will take you home then, Mr Odair,” Snow replied, sounding a little distracted. It was a repeat of an old game, an old old game, so old Finnick didn’t recognise it. He wondered what the victor was doing now, if it had been everything they’d ever dreamed. Perhaps Snow’s predecessor had begun the sordid sale of tributes, and Snow had just continued it on. A girl bounded over some seats, batting away a much larger man.

Finnick turned away. He couldn’t stomach the games anymore. He hesitated before turning to leave, wondering if Snow really understood what Finnick was saying. He’d expected the President to put up more of a fight. But, not counting his lucky blessings, Finnick finally left the room, heading towards the train station with a lighter heart, and a strange sense of foreboding.

Amity was curled into his side, her head on his chest. It was difficult to be intimate. Finnick still felt grimy, like he had the touches of many an older person burned into his skin, and preferred just to feel Amity on him, her fingers resting on his heart.

“D’you ever think about them?” Amity broke the silence, her cheek rubbing a little against his skin. “The other kids, I mean.” Finnick sucked in a breath through his teeth, suddenly biting down on his bottom lip, considering the lives he’d taken, the children he’d barely gotten to know before slicing them nearly in half. No. He didn’t think about the shuddering final gasps for air from Tucker, the boy he’d tackled into the river and drowned. He barely considered Lucille, the girl he’d speared straight through with his trident, her scream as he plunged it ever deeper.

Nothing could be further from his mind than Indi’s fearful eyes as she stared up at Finnick bringing down the golden trident on her head over and over again. The poor, half-starved girl from District 12. The way she ate reminded Finnick uncomfortably of Amity.

“Not usually, they keep playing highlights and stuff on the news, so I have to think about it sometimes,” Finnick cleared his throat, moving his hand up to rest on her hair, the softness comforting him a little. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for Saph, or Mags… so many kids, so many years.” Amity shifted on his chest, her eyes drooping slightly.

“I guess the nice stuff helps,” She mused, pressing herself into his side, and fully closing her eyes. Finnick lay there a while longer, staring up at the ceiling. Did it help? Would the free-flowing electricity and perpetually hot water soothe the pain Finnick felt in his soul? Perhaps the limitless food would allow him to move on from the decapitation of an eleven-year-old.

Chapter 13: 202 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

The nurse was different this year. Usually a plump, kind faced nurse from District 8 would come and give them all a look over, weigh them, measure them and then pass them along to the pediatrician. This year, a thin faced woman stood at the front of the hall, her eyes narrowed and shifty.

Finnick wasn’t entirely sure why he was sat there. He’d had a doctor cup his penis just a few weeks before, not for any particular medical reason, though. Amity was sat next to him, already looking bored. She’d be one of the first to go up, then Finnick would have a long long wait until he was called.

“Where do you think Nurse Zopf went?” He whispered to the girl sat next to him, who furrowed her eyebrows and sat up a little taller, looking at the new nurse.

“No idea. New one is Capitol, judgin’ by the tats. Someone you know?” Amity meant it as a joke, her grin lazy and wide, but it made Finnick’s stomach turn. A jealous wife, perhaps? Someone wanting an excuse to grope him? The fears rattled around his head, filling his ears.

“Is Dr Angelos there?” Finnick mumbled back, side-eyeing the peacekeeper watching the pair. They weren’t supposed to chat, not really, but no one would tell Finnick off these days. Amity nodded, before slouching back in her chair.

“Don’t like the look of the new one, looks like she’s doin’ jabbin’s,” Amity pursed her lips, they’d had their last jabs at 11, it had mainly been anti scurvy supplements from then on. Finnick still felt a prickle of embarrassment from being shocked by an orange when he got on the train to the Capitol.

But then the euphoria that swelled in his stomach when Amity ate her first apple was beyond him, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the wide smile that spread across her face with each chew… he sometimes relived the memory when he closed his eyes.

“Have they said when you can come back to school?” She suddenly asked, looking down at the floor. “Miss Wodorost ain’t gonna let me save your seat forever.” Finnick didn’t know. He felt like he didn’t know anything these days, constantly getting things wrong or everyone second guessing him.

“I’ll ask the escort next time I go,” Finnick began, resting his hands on his thighs. He was about to inquire as to what they were even learning in school these days - he’d missed so much - when Amity’s name was called, along with Min Casper and Paddy Corrigan.

She brushed her hand against his shoulder, scooting along the row, before joining her fellow Cs at the front of the room, each one stepping onto the weighing scales in turn. Min was fifty three kilos, not surprising, considering the amount of bass skins her father stole from the gutting stations.

Paddy was even larger, at eighty kilos. Finnick reflected with shame on the nicknames he’d given the poor boy over the years, Piggy Paddy was being mumbled amongst the crowd. It wasn’t his fault, Finnick told himself, Paddy had never asked to be born into a wealthy family.

Amity stepped onto the scales, and Finnick’s heart wrenched. The red glowing numbers making him retch.

42 kilos.

Finnick put the phone back onto the wall, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. He had the inkling that he shouldn’t have done what he just did.

Amity would know it was him, no one else who gave a f*ck about her could afford food delivery. But those numbers had been eating away at him. She’d always been on the cusp of starvation, Finnick personally remembered Moses Capone fainting in the street after having given up his share of food in favour of his children.

But, Finnick had hoped that things would be different now he was a victor. The unlimited food he’d been smuggling to her should’ve had an impact. No. Finnick knew her too well. The fruit would’ve been crushed for Nymph, the meagre ration of meat split between Pearl and Coral.

Perhaps Moses expected she’d eat at the docks, or at school. He seemed to eat nothing but tessera bread. Finnick’s stomach churned again, he needed to get Amity’s name out of those globes. She needed to stop claiming tesserae, and, well, maybe he could via this outlandish idea.

The information he’d been given on the delivery had reminded him uncomfortably of the food delivered to him in the arena. “We send someone, or you can opt for a drone!” Finnick wondered what the games would be like if someone had to bring him his sponsor gifts.

It had seemed so easy to eat there, after years of watching tributes waste away. Of course he’d lost weight, but having a meal delivered three times a day… Finnick dread to think how that person would reap their investment.

No. No one would reap anything from him anymore. It had been over two weeks since he’d been to the Capitol, and Snow hadn’t reached out, as either friend or foe. Maybe he feared Finnick, what he could say that might disrupt the careful ecosystem of victor commodification.

Finnick shook the idea out of his head. Snow feared no one.

Chapter 14: 194 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Finnick had never felt more disconnected in his life. He wondered, leaning against the railing, if they’d made it so the Victor’s houses were forced to face the wet docks, lauding over those whom they were once brushing shoulders with. Reeder, the boy they’d drafted in to replace Finnick, was just visible leaping over the baskets by the third dock, the detailers would be along soon.

They were always a welcome sight after a while on the waves. Not that boat 84 ever ventured beyond the reef, but Finnick still managed to give them an exhausted smile as he dragged along nets full of halibut, their bright orange and green swimsuits making his head spin after nine hours out in the water. A group ventured along the dock now, laughing and chatting, all stout, yet trim women, unbothered by the biting cold air as they walked.

Finnick had memorised most of the shifts. He had nothing better to do, despite his begging to be allowed to go back to school. His days were empty. Meaningless. If Snow was trying to bore him into submission, it might start to work.

A shorter detailer brought up the rear, her shoulders hard with the weight of the bucket of scrapers in her arms. She wasn’t talking as much, choosing instead to look around her, primarily in Finnick’s direction. He leaned a little further over the balcony, narrowing his eyes. It couldn’t be anyone he knew… right? Everyone was in school, or reefers.

The detailer looked up at the victor’s village, her features minute. It was Amity, her hair pulled up tightly and her arms shaking a little from the weight of the bucket. Why wasn’t she in school? She adored school, primarily because they fed her, but also a love of being educated, unlike her forefathers before her.

But instead, she was stumbling along behind far older women, looking thoroughly miserable.

-

Finnick nervously looked around him, careful to make sure no one saw him enter the Capone home… if anyone came to the door at all. He could see candlelight shining through the gaps in the sheet metal, and extremely quiet murmuring from inside the hut - but no one had appeared at the door. No one had grasped him into a hug and hurried him inside.

He knocked a little harder, wondering if maybe they just didn’t hear him the first time. The murmuring stopped, and all Finnick could hear was the crashing of waves against the lower part of the steps, and the humming of the lamps surrounding him. “Amity?” He threw caution to the wind, calling out for her through the door, pressing himself as close as he could to the shack.
No one had come out to demand why he was there, and there was no response from the Capone house. Perhaps they’d been threatened by Snow to keep away from him? Maybe the President had found out about Finnick’s plan to feed the family.

The night fishermen began leaving their huts, and Finnick kept his head downward, pulling the hood of his coat over his hair, staying in the dark shadow of Amity’s home. He just wanted to know why she was out of school, why she was down at the docks - what she needed.

What it seemed like she needed currently, though, was for him to not hang around her house.

Chapter 15: 186 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Finnick stared down at the girl, her eyes daring and narrowed. Blood was leaking from her wounds, his trident lodged deep into her stomach. What was her name?

She choked, and grinned at him, her fingers becoming weak around the prongs, the slipping of her hand causing thin cuts to appear on her palm. Blood trickled from her mouth, staining her teeth, her chin, her neck. What was her name?

Finnick gritted his teeth, twisting the trident ever deeper, praying for her death to come quicker. Every second she remained alive was too long to wait; it was her then the District One boy, whom Finnick had been stalking for the past… god knows how long. She coughed, splattering the handle of his trident with a spray of blood. She was going to lose too much blood soon, her wounds already untreatable. But what was her name?

“I can taste her blood, pretty boy,” The girl underneath him choked again, her face paling as she began slipping away from exsanguination. “You’ll have Lucille’s blood on your hands til… you…” She choked again, her clothes saturated with her own blood. Lucille, the little girl from 8, the one he’d mistaken for the girl currently impaled on his trident. What was her name?

Finnick took his foot off her stomach, dragging his trident out of her body as he went. “Tucker’s next, idiot. Your district will remember you as weak,” he spat back, trodding out of the swampy marsh, stepping over Lucille’s cooling body - not looking back as a cannon fired.

“Spoke to Moses today,” Mr Odair spoke from the armchair, his prosthetics leant against the fireplace, drying after his evening swim. “He says Amity’s been prohibited from school.”

Finnick wasn’t sure what surprised him more, that his father could speak to a Capone without insulting them or that Amity had been removed from education.

For Stairs kids, education was the only hope they’d have to escape the docks. Finnick was lucky; if he hadn’t taken to being a reefer, then his family had enough money for him to take a lesser-paying job in the centre of the District, probably gutting. Amity had dreams of becoming a basket weaver, of becoming a teacher - sh*t, Finnick had watched her gaze at a leaflet to become a chef.

“Did he say why?” Finnick asked quietly; he sat at the desk facing the window, his back to his parents. He was supposed to be studying about the Victory Tour and drafting speeches for the families of those he’d murdered. He’d barely written hello.

“No longer considered in need of it; I guess someone from the Cap’tol saw their life expectancy and drafted in all the detailers,” Mr Odair guffawed, but Finnick could only stare back down at the wooden desk, sick churning in his stomach. Was Snow behind this? Punishing Finnick for not performing?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his head in his hands, his breathing erratic. That was why Amity was ignoring him. She probably thought he’d done it. Or had she? His mind was a f*cking whirl.

But something focused him, grounded him as he lifted his head out of his hands, looking down at his palms. Finnick blinked; his own hands were covered in blood, drip, drip, dripping onto the wood. His fingers were covered in tiny scars; moss was haphazardly bound to the stump where his thumb had been - Amity had taught him that - and his hands were just… covered in blood.

Finnick gasped for air; the chair he was sitting on wasn’t a chair at all; it was the back of the limestone cave he’d crawled into after his battle with Tucker, his thumb probably trampled into the swamp by the cornucopia. He turned in the cave, looking for his father, for the fireplace that had been merrily crackling just… minutes, mere minutes before. He scrambled to stand; Finnick was groping for the trident he had left leaning against the wall, his eyesight not adjusting to the dank darkness.

“f*ck!” He yelled, his hand suddenly hot, the smell of singed hair startling his sentences.

Finnick had reached into the fire, knocking over his father’s prosthetics. A step closer, and he would’ve caught alight. He wasn't in the cave. Finnick was in his sitting room in the District 4 Victors Village. His breath slowed, and his mind settled.

Mina. That had been the District One girl's name.

Chapter 16: 184 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

The wind was bitter on New Year’s Day, everyone was still home, work not beginning until noon. A break.

Finnick yawned, regretting having ventured down to the docks early, forgetting the day. Most days just slowly rolled into one, making Finnick steadily lose track of time - and his mind. He had nothing to do but think about what had happened, his lost innocence, his slipping away childhood.

Amity was always first down, furtively shovelling day-old clams down her throat before the count began. But today, it was just him sat on the old fisherman’s wall, the crash of waves the only timer he had to how long he’d been sat there.

“What are you doing here?”

Finnick turned quickly, Amity was standing there, dark circles under her eyes, her figure significantly trimmer than he’d seen it in a long, long time. She was holding her equipment for the day, her green eyes contrasting against the grey sky.

“I was waiting for you,” Finnick only spoke loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves, Amity didn’t reply but just stared at him, her mouth set into a frown. He knew he’d ruined her life. All she loved was to learn, to find out how to improve her life, and his idiocy had messed up everything.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Amity replied, her hands falling to her sides, her fingers tightening around the handle of her equipment bag. “Do you have to f*ck up everything that means anything to me?” She took a step towards him, her chin high, but her bottom lip was trembling.

“I didn’t mean to get you taken out of school, Ams. I… I’m sorry,” the corners of Finnick’s eyes pricked with tears, reminded of just how young they were. That this would be their lives for as long as they would live.

“It ain't just me, Finn,” Amity snapped, beginning to walk away from him, down the steps, Finnick scrambled up, following her closely.

“Whatchu mean? What else has happened? Please, Amy, I can fix it, I can fit everything!” Finnick pleaded, grasping his hands out to try and grab her, to try and stop her from marching away from him. “Please, Amity!”

She threw her bag down with a thump, turning on her heel rapidly and shoving Finnick firmly in the chest. “I've been kicked out of school!” Amity shoved him again, forcing him backwards. “Coral's being assigned to f*cking canning training!” She shoved him harder, forcing Finnick into a wall. “They've cancelled f*cking Nymph’s vaccinations!”

Finnick felt the back of his head go warm. It was beyond Amity. Everything was beyond Amity. “Wha- when did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” Finnick looked up at her, fearful that she would just reach into her bag and use all manner of unpleasant instruments on him.

“I’m angry with you Finn! I don’ know what you said, who I upset or…” Amity looked down, wringing her hands in frustration. “Anythin’.” Finnick pulled himself up, trying to hold out his hand, but she turned, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I didn’t know, Amy. If you, if you tell me when this sh*t happens to you, I can help!” Finnick grabbed at her arm, tugging her to look at him. “I can make it okay for you, Amy, if you just let me help.”

Amity looked away again, and closed her eyes. “We ain’t relyin’ on no one, Fin. Never have, right?” She turned her head back towards him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I’m sorry,” Finnick stood up, feeling ever so slightly woozy, the back of his head pounding from the collision with the wall. “Really, I am.” He dared to move his hand up, resting his palm on her cheek, pulling her face to look at him.

Amity looked pained, almost a little green. “I don’t know what you can do to make it better,” She whispered, barely audible over the waves. “I don’t know why we’re bein’ punished, but it’s a lot bigger than me and you.”

Chapter 17: 171 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“I wanted to ask before telling Amy, but… well, with the food parcels, I was wondering if you'd be okay with her not claiming tesserae anymore,” Finnick watched Moses bristle, his fingers pausing on the fresh, plump chicken just delivered.

“So… reduce her slips to four?” Moses continued to clean the chicken, but more absently. They claimed 50 times the previous year, the salmon catch having been particularly low - but Finnick had ensured the Capones would not go hungry, let alone starve.

“If you would be fine with that,” Finnick remained gentle, knowing Amity would refuse until her father insisted. Amity was the last wage coming into the home, most of the money going on candles and clothes - was it an ask to go without the rough bread when Finnick could supply soft loafs?

“You would have a hard time convincing Amity. She would be concerned for the future,” Moses spoke cryptically, keeping his back to Finnick.

“Future? What, if she was reaped?” Finnick took a step closer, watching Moses pause yet again, his mind heavy with thoughts.

“Four in one hundred and eleven thousand. Those odds may sound nice, but they are never in our favour,” He mumbled, looking up at the hanging basket of vegetables - some of which he'd never even seen until Finnick came through the door.

“She wouldn't be reaped, Moses. Even if she was, you wouldn't have to worry, I would help even if Amity-” Finnick felt nauseous even considering a moment of harm coming to her, but Moses cut him off with a low, dark chuckle.

“I don't know what we'd do without her, Finnick. But I do know I will never, ever, let my family starve to death,” Moses finally turned, his stare hard, his mouth set into a firm line.

Oh.

The room went dizzy around Finnick, the smell of putrid fish suddenly overwhelming. Moses turned away, and Finnick mumbled a farewell, stumbling out of the hut.

Moses would do anything for his girls, Finnick knew that - and would go insane if they suffered. If he couldn't save Amity from the games… he'd save the others. Nymph’s chubby, wide eyed face filled Finnick's mind, making him retch in the middle of the street.

Would Moses annihilate his family if Amity was reaped? Would he prevent another Capone losing their life in the games?

Finnick stumbled through the Victor's gate, leaning against the marble column, resting his head on the cool rock. It grounded him, no matter how terrified he now was. His plan of ensuring Amity’s safety now had higher stakes than Finnick could even comprehend.

The house was empty, thankfully, as Finnick threw his head over the sink, splattering the remains of the soup Moses had so kindly prepared in exchange for the box.

A fish bone lay amongst the remains, white against the silvery of the steel sink. It was stained with a little blood, having scraped Finnick's throat as he hacked up the meal.

He would need to begin to listen to the Capitol, to Snow, to Silulia. They would demand more than a smattering of blood, they'd call for a pound of flesh.

Chapter 18: 167 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

A rushed kiss and a tightly wrapped package was all Amity was able to give Finnick as a goodbye present.

He'd be away at least thirteen days, more if the mayors decided to hold feasts and other morbid things praising Finnick. None of it felt particularly right, or fair. The notebook he'd been gifted to write his thoughts down in remained empty, words failing Finnick.

“Well, what have you got for twelve? I know they're not particularly interesting but- oh,” Sulia pursed her lips, snatching the notebook from Finnick and flipping through each perfectly blank page.

“Hm, she was training to become a teacher, mention that. Look at the children,” She sighed, wafting her hand lazily. Irritated with him, Finnick could tell.

He was left on his own again, something that always made Finnick feel sick to his core. He didn’t like being anywhere new, each corner could have someone behind it, and each silent room could contain someone who Finnick didn’t want to see.

He was exhausted from constantly being scared of the boogyman in his head.

He couldn’t eat. Finnick just felt like he was about to vomit every single time something passed his lips, despite Sulia’s nudging and prodding. “You must eat! You won’t keep that body not eating, boy,” She sighed at him, clearly annoyed he wasn’t still the same suave, confident boy that had left District 4 six months ago.

He’d changed too much to recognise himself in the mirror anymore. He didn’t know how people found him attractive, he barely ate or slept. Maybe the starved insane look was in at the capitol.

Chapter 19: 150 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“You’re taller than I was expecting.”

The tall, red-faced woman leered down at Finnick, causing him to shrink back a little. She had rashes across her face and neck, parts of her skin were flaking off, and she had that stomach-churning scent of alcohol. He remembered Chantilly, the 8 girl, having the same marks on her forehead. It had a name, but Finnick was more concerned with keeping the bile in his stomach than diagnosing bad rashes.

“Well, I’m in good shape, ma’am. That’s why I won,” Finnick replied, his voice empty. People were bustling behind the pair of them, removing luggage, bickering over visitor passes. “Tilly fought well, she was a good ally.”

“Mmm. Until you cut off her arms,” The Mayor replied, before walking away from him and towards the town hall, causing Sulia to totter over.

“Is everything alright? You didn’t upset her, did you?” Her voice was really starting to grate on Finnick, he wasn’t sure if he could stand another week of her piercing shrill tones penetrating his very mind.

“No, I think she’s just busy,” Finnick replied, taking his personal bag from the steadily growing pile of luggage. “Are we staying in the Victor’s Village?” That was the only upside of his tour that Finnick had found so far, meeting the other victors. They knew exactly what he’d been through, how heartbreaking it was to be reminded of the lives you took. They were good to lend an ear, but better to provide advice and warnings for the upcoming years.

“We are, you’re staying in the Victory Suite, in the town hall. The Mayor has invited you to stay with her family- well, not really with her family. They live in the basem*nt, you’ll be in the attic,” Sulia pulled out a compact and began powdering her face eagerly. Finnick took a deep breath, thanked Sulia, and began walking towards the town hall.

The Victory Suite was nice, he supposed. There were various homely additions, like crochet pillow covers, a soft rug from the bathroom to the bed, even a little radio playing some classical music. He wondered about the stories the room could tell, the fresh victors finally having a space to themselves to breathe and reflect on their journey before returning to “normal” life. Whatever the hell that meant.

He was just about to pick a book from the extensive library when the door opened. The Mayor, now dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, gazed at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Snow is allowing me to have you,” She whispered into the dusty air.

Finnick’s heart stopped. The bile rose from his stomach. She had a family, a husband who clearly adored her, three children that could be reaped in a heartbeat. And yet she wanted Finnick? With his bony chest and fearful eyes.

“What do you want from me?” His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes trained on her. She advanced, more predatory than any foe Finnick had faced in the arena. “I… I don’t want to.”

“Well,” The Mayor crossed her arms, her nose scrunching up in a sneer. “It seems we are at an impasse.” Finnick’s breath caught in his throat. She wasn’t going to let him leave unless he did what she wanted. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Not again. Not ever ever again.

“I’m sorry but, I can’t. I really can’t,” Finnick felt the bile in his throat, the burning from the inside making his breathing hurt. “Please… please don’t.”

The Mayor looked at him, weighing up how far Finnick would go, before taking a step forward.

“I’ll scream!” Finnick suddenly burst out, his eyes wide as he took another step back, The Mayor laughed.

“This isn’t Four, boy. We don’t have the budget for peacekeepers,” She sneered, causing Finnick to look around him desperately. He had to avoid physically attacking her as much as he could, who knows how many would suffer if he defended himself.

“I’ll tell your kids!” Finnick blurted even louder, and… she stopped. The predatory smile on her face dropping immediately. He gulped, worried that he’d gone too far. He wouldn’t live to see 7.

“You… you,” The Mayor began, her nose twitching. Finnick braced himself, holding his breath, but… she didn’t advance. Instead, she turned and walked out of the room.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins left immediately, the air from his lungs crushed until he wheezed. Finnick collapsed backwards onto the bed, then turned and began to sob into the pillow.

Chapter 20: 136 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Amity was beautiful in the dying sun. She was sat on the wall seperating the checkpoint from the train station, not bothered by the wary peacekeeper keeping a close eye on her.

The sun was setting behind her, the last rays illuminating her hair and body. New fish hook scars littered her skin, and her knee looked freshly brusied, but starting to heal.

Finnick felt like he'd been apart from her for a thousand years. The joyful smile that spread across her face when she saw him was infectious, and he found himself grinning back, despite his heavy head.

“Thought you'd forgotten about me,” Amity laughed, jumping from the wall to stand next to him, reaching for his hand. Finnick's stomach churned, and he shoved his hand into his shorts, shaking his head.

“Don’ want anyone to see,” He mumbled, trying to ignore Amity's crestfallen face.

Amity's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "It's okay," she said lightly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. "We’ve got to be careful, right?"

Finnick nodded, his gaze shifting to the ground. "Yeah, careful." He forced himself to meet her eyes again, finding solace in the familiarity of her face. "Just a bit longer."

They began walking in silence, a little thicker than usual, Finnick's heart still racing. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, Amity was keeping her head up, watching the Victor’s Village come into view. “Did anything happen while I was away?” Finnick was quiet, not wanting his words to be caught by anyone listening, despite the empty streets.

“Nymph caught a bug that’s been goin’ round, and your pa apparently went and tried to punch a fella for sayin’ you didn’t deserve the win,” Amity came to a stop just before the gold inlaid line of the Victor Village, as Finnick stepped over it without a second thought.

He turned to look back at her, holding out his hand. “Come on, we can talk inside.”

Amity shook her head, looking down at her feet on the smooth stones. “I’ve been told ‘m not allowed to go in anymore,” She mumbled, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Sayin’ got to earn my place in there.”

Finnick couldn’t help the gasp that left him. This was Snow’s punishment for 8. Putting that divide back between the two. Amity was standing tall and proud under Finnick’s gaze, looking exactly like she was worth losing everything for.

Chapter 21: 100 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

“One last chance, Mr Odair,” Finnick stared down at the reciever for a moment, his heart violently pounding. Snow was asking again. For him to…

“What do you want from me?” Finnick mumbled into the microphone. He was miserable enough as it was, cut away from Amity, from school - he wasn’t even allowed to swim unless it was for a client - and now they were going to make him a real whor*.

Snow sighed, a long-suffering noise. It made the hairs on the back of Finnick’s neck stand up. "iI think you know what I want you to do, Mr Odair. Fufill the side of your bargain. Or will you insist on continuing to keep yourself and your little... girlfriend, miserable?"

"She's only miserable because of you," Finnick muttered. What was a little more misery? But Amity wasn't even allowed to see him now. They'd kept him isolated.

"I'm giving you one last chance, Mr Odair. One final chance," Snow spoke softly over the phone, causing Finnick to grimace. "Then I will be forced to take drastic action.

"Who?" Finnick snapped, his throat tight, "who wants me?"

Snow chuckled, a soft sound that made Finnick feel sick. "A wealthy man. A man of power. You would not be mistreated, Mr Odair."

"And what the hell would he want me to do? I take it he doesn't want just to enjoy my conversation?"

"That depends, Mr Odair, on what you are willing to let him do."

"So he's paying me for sex."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"f*ck you."

Snow laughed, a dangerous laugh. "I will leave the girl alone, forever, if you do this. You will be indebted, but she will be free," Snow's voice was silky, his threat unmistakable.

Finnick bit his lip. He looked at the window, the glass covered in raindrops. The rain had been pouring since yesterday, a torrential downpour. Amity wouldn't have been out on the boats, she wouldn't have been making any money, no food.

"He is a wealthy man," Snow spoke, his voice persuasive, "he would treat you well."

"You're a f*cking pig, you know that," Finnick snarled. "Fine."

It didn't feel fine, standing in front of the barrier to the train platform. The sleek train was having something changed over, meaning Finnick had to wait before boarding.

Standing there, he couldn't help but reconsider. Maybe if he went and did it, it would be fine. Maybe he could make such a mess that he wouldn't have to do it ever again, at the risk of ruining his golden boy reputation.

But his heart was thumping and his palms were sweating. It was hard to breathe, as though the air was thin. The platform was too warm, too stifling. It was too bright. He closed his eyes, and behind his lids all he could see was Amity.

Amity's wide eyes, Amity's toned legs, Amity's sweet smile. His breath came short, his chest was tight. He felt a sudden longing for her, to hear her voice, feel her warm hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the grey sky, the clouds so heavy with rain they looked like a blanket, blocking out the sun.

No. Finnick couldn't go.

With a boldness he never expected, he turned, and ran, abandoning the small knapsack of spare clothes by the barriers. Finnick didn't bother to listen for a peacekeeper to call after him.

Instead he ran, the rain beginning to fall on him, spotting his thin shirt and shorts.

His bare feet pounded the muddy track down to the Stairs. His hair plastered itself against his head, his muscles began to ache. He ignored it. Instead he focused on Amity.

Her wide eyes, her smile, her legs, her arms. The way she said his name. Her sweet voice. Her lips. He couldn't let anyone else touch him.

The rain was beating down by the time he made it to her home, the tinkling of rain on the metal roof loud and almost comforting.

He pounded on the driftwood door, the strength he used caused part of it to splinter, but Finnick barely noticed. "Amity!" he cried. He waited, breathless, hoping she would come, she would answer.

He pounded the door again, "Amity! It's me, Finnick!" he yelled.

After a moment the door opened, revealing Amity, her eyes wide and her hair mussed. She'd been asleep, her schedule messed up by the lack of fishing.

"Fin? The hell you doin' here?" Amity shook her head, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes.

Finnick wasn't sure what he was doing, but he grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her into the rain, and pressing their lips together.

The kiss was wet and messy, Amity just molded against him, her taste intoxicating. He pulled away, gasping, his eyes wide. Amity was staring at him, her own eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.

"What's gotten into you?" Amity breathed, and Finnick shook his head, his hair damp.

"I love you," he said.

Amity's eyebrows shot up. She blinked. "Love? We... what is goin' on?" Finnick shook his head, grasping her wrist and pulling her away from her house, stepping on the still-dry stones.

"Come with me," he said, "let's go."

Amity was silent as he led her, her wrist small and cold in his grasp. Finnick didn't know where he was taking her, he just knew he wanted to be alone with her.

He turned into the coastal woods, walking along the path. He glanced behind him, at Amity.

She was frowning, her brow furrowed. The rain had drenched her hair and clothes, her face was flushed, her eyes bright. But she looked beautiful, like everything Finnick wanted in life.

They came to the abandoned yacht, an overturned, oversized hull with enough space to crawl underneath. They'd hidden under there as children, away from the world, and now Finnick was going to hide away with her again.

"I love you, Amity," Finnick repeated, pulling her to the broken porthole, turning around to smile at her expectantly. She was overwhelmed, he could tell by her wide eyes and gaping mouth.

"I mean," Amity mumbled, staring at the porthole. "I love you too, Finnick."

"Come, for me?" He whispered, bringing her hand close to his chest, trying to catch her eye. She blinked, their eyes meeting and full of unspoken words. Amity nodded, and Finnick stood aside, allowing her to wiggle through the hole, falling onto their makeshift den.

He crawled in after her, pulling the leaves they had collected over the opening and closing off the small space. The floor was mostly sand, but a few blankets and pillows had been left there.

"Can I touch you?" Finnick mumbled, reaching for Amity's hand, the light blue veins visible in the dim light. She was sitting, leaning against a pile of pillows, her hair drying.

Amity nodded. "Yeah," she replied, and Finnick closed his eyes, reaching a hand downwards to rest on her stomach, his entire body reacting to the soft of her skin.

Finnick's eyes flickered open and he leant forwards, cupping her face and pressing his lips to hers.

They lay there, the rain beating down on the roof above, and Finnick's hands were shaking, his nerves alive with energy.

Amity pulled away and rested her forehead against his. "Hey, you okay? You're shakin' like a leaf," she murmured. Finnick shook his head.

"Not really. I don't... I don't know what to do."

"Okay," Amity said, kissing his nose, his cheek. "Just talk to me, okay? If you want me to stop, or start, or slow down, just tell me. We can take our time," her eyes were kind, her lips swollen from the kiss.

Finnick nodded, and his hands slipped underneath her shirt, resting on her stomach. The skin there was warm and soft, and the sensation of touching her had Finnick's breath coming short.

Amity leant her head forwards, burying her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Her lips were gentle against his collarbone, her teeth nibbling at the sensitive flesh.

Finnick's hand trailed upwards, until he was cupping her breasts. Her breath caught and she pressed her lips to his ear, whispering his name, the hot breath making his body tingle.

Finnick was overwhelmed with desire, he was so full of longing that he didn't know how to express it. He was nervous and shaky, he couldn't think straight.

"Take your shirt off, Fin," Amity breathed, pulling away, her eyes dark with lust.

Finnick nodded. He slipped his fingers under the hem, peeling it from his wet skin. It stuck to him, his chest bare. He couldn't look at her, his heart was racing.

Amity reached out, her fingers trailing across his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You're beautiful, Fin," Amity mumbled, her hand moving to caress his cheek. "Really. So beautiful."

Finnick nodded, feeling the flush of her words. He leant forward, capturing her lips. She sighed into the kiss, her fingers slipping into his hair, her nails gently scraping his scalp.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Finnick said, pulling away to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dark, her mouth was slightly parted, and her cheeks were flushed.

"You're too sweet," she smiled, leaning forwards to nip at his ear, causing him to groan. He wanted her so badly, he needed her.

His hand slid up her leg, his fingers brushing against the waistband of her underwear. Amity let out a sigh, her hand cupping his chin and tilting his head back so she could kiss him.

"Amity," Finnick mumbled against her lips, his fingers curling into the cotton material.

"Mmm?" Amity kissed the corner of his mouth, her teeth nibbling his lower lip.

"Can I...?" Finnick's hand moved lower, until his fingers brushed against her entrance, causing her to gasp.

"Please," she whispered, her fingers clenching. "Finnick, please."

Finnick kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth. Amity let out a moan, her fingers grasping his arm, her hips jerking forwards.

"Okay, okay," Finnick mumbled, slipping his fingers under the material and sliding them through her wetness.

"Oh," Amity moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. "Please, Finnick."

"Anything," Finnick replied, his fingers probing her. "Everything."

"Inside, Fin," Amity whimpered, her nails digging into his forearm. "I want you inside."

"Are you sure?" Finnick asked, his breath hot on her ear.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes meeting his. "I want to be yours."

Finnick nodded, his mouth dry. His fingers slipped out, his thumb gently rubbing her cl*t, causing her to jerk her hips towards him, her grip tightening on his arm.

"Are you ready?" He whispered.

"Yes," she hissed, her eyes screwed shut.

Finnick took a deep breath, his fingers gently parting her folds. He slowly pushed two fingers inside of her, watching her reaction carefully.

She was beautiful.

Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes were dark against her flushed cheeks. Her skin was damp with sweat, and her hair curled at the edges.

"Oh," she whimpered, her hips arching upwards, her head thrown back, her throat exposed.

"f*ck, you're so gorgeous," Finnick said, unable to stop the words escaping his mouth. She moaned, her legs spreading wider.

"Please," she gasped, her nails scratching his arm. "More, Finnick."

Finnick nodded, slowly pushing another finger inside. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering.

"Amity," Finnick said, his voice hoarse.

"What?" she gasped, her eyes fluttering open.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Finnick asked, his fingers still inside her. "Is this... is this okay?"

Amity's eyes met his, her pupils dilated. "Yes," she breathed, her nails raking down his arm.

"Are you sure?" Finnick said, his voice cracking.

"Yes," she whined, her legs parting further, her hips pushing down on his hand.

Finnick groaned, his eyes closing. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. With Amity. Who he loved.

He pulled his fingers out, and Amity let out a groan, her hips jerking. Her eyes met his and she leant forwards, kissing him. "Now, Fin, please," she whispered.

"I-" Finnick mumbled, "I'm not going to be good at this. I'm going to hurt you."

"No, you won't," Amity shook her head. "We can do this together."

Finnick nodded. He leant backwards, tugging at the ties of his shorts. "Here." He pulled the material from his hips, allowing his co*ck to spring free.

"Oh," Amity said, her eyes widening. Her hand reached out, wrapping around him.

Finnick let out a low moan, his hips jerking.

"Sorry," Amity whispered, "I didn't know you were... that hard."

"It's not your fault," Finnick said, trying to regain control. "But we can go as slow as you need to. And, I'm sorry, I'm so nervous and-"

Amity grinned and leant forward, her lips pressing to his. "It's okay, Fin. It's all going to be okay. I love you," she said, her lips brushing against his.

"I love you too," Finnick replied. He reached out, wrapping his arms around her, his hands grasping her shirt. "I just wanted to tell you that."

He leaned over her, a shaking hand reaching down to his co*ck to guide it. Amity moaned, her head tipping back, her legs spreading even further.

He slid in, his heart thumping so hard he thought it might burst. Her walls were hot and tight and perfect, and Finnick groaned, burying his face into her shoulder, his arms tightening around her.

"Finnick," she gasped, her own arms wrapping around his neck. "I love you."

"I love you too," he repeated, kissing her. He began to move, his body rocking slowly. Amity let out a moan, her back arching. "Is that okay?"

"Yes," she replied, her nails digging into his shoulders. "So good, oh."

Finnick's breath was coming in short gasps. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the heat of her around him.

"Amity," he groaned, "you feel so good."

"Finnick," she whimpered, "faster. I want you, oh."

Finnick obeyed, picking up the pace. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the underneath. The light from the outside had faded, the room pitch black, but Finnick could see her perfectly.

The sound of rain hitting above them drowned out their moans and heavy breathing, but they were so close together, their chests pressed together, Finnick could hear her perfectly.

"Amity," he moaned, kissing her. His lips trailed down her jawline, until his teeth found her neck, his tongue trailing across the skin.

"Oh," she whimpered, her nails digging into his back. "Don't leave a mark. The others will know."

Finnick shook his head, sucking harder. "I want them to know," he mumbled against her skin. "I want them to know you're mine."

Amity's chest was heaving, her hips pushing down. "I'm yours," she whispered, her fingers grasping his hair. "I'm yours, I'm all yours, all yours, all yours."

Finnick groaned, his head falling on her shoulder. "f*ck," he whimpered.

"I want you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I want you, with me, please, oh."

Finnick moaned, his fingers digging into her skin. He was going to cum, he could feel it, the heat coiling in his stomach. A jolt of fear struck through him for a second, finishing inside... the risks, but, Finnick moaned, the rewards. Filling her with him.

He leant backwards, grasping her legs, lifting them and resting them on his shoulders. Amity let out a startled gasp, her fingers scrabbling at his back.

"Oh," she said, her eyes wide. "That's... oh."

Finnick's head fell forwards, his forehead resting against hers. "Amity," he moaned, her name sounding beautiful in his mouth. "I'm going to cum."

Amity moaned, her eyes meeting his, and she gave him a nod.

Finnick let out a moan, his hips jerking forwards, burying himself deep inside her.

His cum hit her walls, warm and thick, and he could feel her pulsing around him. She was moaning, her legs clenching around his shoulders, and Finnick couldn't stop himself.

He came again, and again, his co*ck twitching as though it wanted to stay inside her. He fell on top of her, his co*ck slipping out, and he tried to catch his breath.

He was exhausted, he felt as though he'd run a marathon, but the thrill was still buzzing in his veins.

"Amy," Finnick whispered, pulling her close to him, her skin cool and damp. He kissed her neck, her face, her forehead.

"Finnick," Amity whispered, her fingers trailing down his back. "That was..." she was silent for a moment, before continuing. "That was amazing."

"Yeah," Finnick whispered. "Amity, you're..." he couldn't find the words, his mind full of her. "I love you."

"I love you too," Amity said, her voice full of wonder.

Finnick nodded, and his mind wandered back to the Capitol, and the man that wanted to make him do things he didn't want to do.

He couldn't go. Not yet.

Chapter 22: 90 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

The morning of Finnick’s birthday dawned bright and clear, the sunlight streaming through the window of his small room. Normally, birthdays weren’t something to celebrate in District 4, not with the ever-looming threat of the Reaping, but this year felt different. Finnick felt a strange sense of foreboding, a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

He got out of bed and stretched, trying to shrug off the feeling. Amity had promised to meet him at the pier for a special breakfast, and he didn’t want to worry her with his irrational fears.

When he reached the pier, he saw Amity sitting there, her legs dangling over the edge as she watched the waves roll in. She turned and smiled as she saw him approaching, her eyes lighting up in a way that always made his heart skip a beat.

“Happy birthday, Fin,” she said, standing up and wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug. “I brought you something.”

Finnick smiled, the tightness in his chest easing a bit at her touch. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Tee. Just seeing you is enough.”

Amity rolled her eyes playfully and handed him a small package wrapped in a piece of old, faded cloth. “Open it.”

He took the package and unwrapped it carefully, revealing a small, intricately carved piece of driftwood in the shape of a trident. “Amity, this is amazing,” he said, his voice filled with genuine awe. “Did you make this?”

She nodded, a shy smile on her face. “I’ve been working on it for a while. I wanted to give you something special.”

Finnick's smile widened, the tightness in his chest replaced by a warmth that spread through him. "This is truly the most special gift I've ever received, Amity," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "It means so much to me." He ran his fingers over the smooth curves of the driftwood trident, his heart swelling with emotion. "Thank you for putting so much thought and effort into it."

Amity beamed, her shyness momentarily forgotten. "I'm glad you like it, Fin. It took me ages to find the perfect piece of driftwood." She explained the challenges of finding a suitable piece, the hours spent searching the beach, the frustration of breaking unsuitable pieces before finally finding the perfect one. As she spoke, her passion for the project shone through, and Finnick listened intently, captivated by her enthusiasm.

When she finished, a comfortable silence settled between them. They stood there for a moment, side by side, watching the waves roll in and out. The rhythmic crash of the waves seemed to wash away the anxieties that had been plaguing Finnick. In Amity's presence, the ever-looming threat of the Reaping seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of peace and hope.

As they sat together on the pier, Finnick couldn’t help but marvel at the serenity Amity brought into his life, even in the face of impending dread. The driftwood trident felt like a tangible symbol of her unwavering support and the bond they shared—a bond that transcended the uncertainties of District 4 life.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Finnick murmured, breaking the tranquil silence.

Amity turned to him, her gaze soft and understanding. “I do too, Fin. But we both know…”

Her voice trailed off, the unspoken reality hanging heavily between them. The Reaping hovered over their heads like a dark cloud, threatening to shatter their fragile peace at any moment. Despite the gravity of their situation, Finnick couldn’t bear to see the worry etched on Amity’s face.

“Let’s not think about that now,” he said gently, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “Today is about us, about this moment.”

Amity nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re right, as always.”

They stayed there for a while longer, sharing stories, dreams, and quiet moments of companionship. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a golden hue over the water. Finnick lost track of time, savoring every second he had with Amity.

Chapter 23: 71 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Lying in bed, Finnick couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let his fears and guilt overshadow their moments together, especially not on Nymph’s special day. Yet, the weight of his impending fate bore down on him with suffocating intensity.

With a deep breath, Finnick rose from bed and dressed quietly. The familiar routine of preparing for the day offered a brief distraction, but it couldn’t quell the turmoil within him. He glanced at the driftwood trident resting on his bedside table, a poignant reminder of Amity’s love and their fleeting moments of peace.

The early morning air was crisp as he made his way through the familiar streets of District 4, heading towards Amity’s home.

Arriving at Amity’s home, the sounds of laughter and excitement greeted him. Nymph’s infectious giggles echoed through the air, momentarily lifting Finnick’s spirits. Amity rushed to welcome him, her smile radiant despite the worry etched in her eyes.

“Finny!” Nymph squealed, running up to him with outstretched arms. “You came!”

Finnick crouched down to her level, enveloping her in a gentle hug. “Of course, Nymph. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything.”

Amity watched them with a mixture of fondness and concern. She knew Finnick too well—his inner turmoil hidden beneath a facade of strength. “Thank you for being here, Fin,” she whispered, her voice tinged with gratitude.

The celebration unfolded with games, laughter, and a homemade cake adorned with wildflowers. Nymph’s joy was contagious, momentarily lifting the shadows that clouded Finnick’s mind. He played along, joining in their games and sharing in their laughter, but guilt gnawed at him like a relentless beast.

Every burst of Nymph's laughter felt like a shard of light piercing the suffocating darkness within him. He forced a smile, the muscles in his face straining with the effort.

As he chased Nymph up the steps, a playful glint in her eyes, a memory from a past Games flickered through his mind. The metallic tang of blood, the sand gritty beneath his bare feet – a stark contrast to the polished stones. He stumbled slightly, his breath catching in his throat. Nymph, sensing his unease, stopped and tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Finny, are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with innocence.

Finnick blinked rapidly, forcing the memory back. "Just a little out of breath, that's all," he lied, his voice rougher than he intended. He knelt before her, his hand reaching for hers. A tremor ran through him, barely perceptible, but a tremor nonetheless. He squeezed her hand tightly, the warmth a grounding force against the storm raging within.

Amity approached quietly, she knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder in a silent gesture of support. "We're here for you, Fin," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle reminder that he wasn't alone in this struggle.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed Finnick's face, a silent plea for understanding. The thought of confiding in Amity, of sharing the weight of his impending fate, was tempting. But seeing Nymph's hopeful gaze, the innocent joy radiating from her, he knew he couldn't burden her with his darkness. With a shaky breath, he forced a smile, a genuine one this time, fueled by the fierce love for the two women beside him. "Alright, little captain," he said, his voice regaining its playful tone. "Let's find that buried treasure!"

He spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the world of make-believe, the warmth of Amity's hand a silent anchor, and Nymph's laughter a melody that chased away the shadows, if only for a little while.

Chapter 24: 56 days until the Reaping

Chapter Text

The salty breeze ruffled Amity's hair as she stood on the pier, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The vibrant hues of orange and pink bled into a deep purple, mirroring the bittersweet emotions swirling within her. Today was her birthday, a day usually filled with unbridled joy and laughter. But this year, a heavy silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the rhythmic crash of waves against the weathered pier.

Finnick wasn't there. He'd left abruptly earlier that morning, his face etched with a guilt she couldn't decipher. He'd promised to be back before sundown, a promise that felt increasingly hollow with each passing moment. A single white seashell, smooth and cool in her palm, was the only reminder he'd left behind. It was the same kind they'd collected on their last beach trip, a symbol of stolen moments and fleeting happiness.

A sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of a truth she desperately tried to ignore. Finnick was hiding something, a darkness that threatened to consume him. The Games loomed large, casting an ominous shadow over their fragile peace. Amity knew the horrors he'd faced before, the scars etched not just on his body but on his soul. The thought of him returning to that bloodbath was a constant source of terror.

Yet, amidst the fear, a flicker of hope remained. Finnick's love for her was a fierce flame defying the encroaching darkness. She clutched the seashell tighter, a silent prayer for his strength and a promise to be his anchor in this storm.

Suddenly, a flash of movement on the beach caught her eye. A lone figure emerged from the gathering twilight, his familiar gait unmistakable. Relief washed over her, warm and welcome. As Finnick drew closer, his face etched with exhaustion, Amity's heart ached for the burden he carried.

"Amity," he said, his voice strained. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

She forced a smile, her voice trembling slightly. "It's alright, Fin. What matters is you're here."

Finnick's eyes softened at her words, the weight of his absence evident in his gaze. He took a step closer, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "Happy birthday," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and sincerity.

Amity's smile grew a little steadier, though the concern in her eyes didn't fade. "Thank you," she replied, her fingers still wrapped around the seashell. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

Finnick shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "You deserve so much more, Amity. I'm sorry for not being here earlier. I just... needed some time."

Amity nodded, understanding. She didn't push for an explanation, knowing that some battles were fought silently within. "Come sit with me," she said, gesturing to a spot on the pier. "The sunset's beautiful tonight."

They settled down side by side, their legs dangling over the edge, feet skimming the water's surface. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, watching the colors of the sky deepen and shift.

"I brought you something," Finnick said after a while, breaking the silence. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. "I saw it at the market and thought of you."

Amity took the box, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings. She opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, each link adorned with tiny, shimmering sea glass. Her breath caught in her throat. "Finnick, it's beautiful," she whispered, touched by the thoughtful gift.

"I know it's not much," he said, his voice low. "But I wanted you to have something special, something that would remind you of the good moments, even when things are tough."

Amity slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, feeling its cool weight against her skin. "It's perfect," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Fin. For everything."

Finnick smiled, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "I'm just glad you're happy," he replied, his hand finding hers. "You mean the world to me, Amity. I hope you know that."

"I do," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "And you mean the world to me too."

Chapter 25: 1 day until the Reaping

Chapter Text

Snow’s thin smile had sent chills down Finnick’s spine as they walked into the dimly lit room. A large machine hummed ominously in the center, churning out slips of paper. Finnick’s heart pounded in his chest as Snow gestured toward the machine.

“Go on, Finnick. Read them,” Snow commanded, his voice icy.

Finnick approached the machine, his hands trembling as he picked up the first slip. His eyes widened in horror. Amity Capone.

He dropped it and grabbed another. Amity Capone. And another. Amity Capone. Every single slip bore the same name. Finnick’s stomach churned with nausea as he read slip after slip, each one confirming the cruel reality.

“Stop it!” Finnick had shouted, his voice echoing in the hollow room. “This isn’t right! She’s only supposed to be in there four times!”

Snow's thin smile remained unchanged, a permanent fixture etched into his cruel face. The machine continued its relentless work, spitting out identical slips like a mockery of their lives. Finnick fumbled with the paper, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

"This is a joke, right? There's a mistake! It can't be all Amity!" He slammed the slip down on the table, the force barely registering in the oppressive silence of the room.

Snow's gaze remained icy, unyielding. "There's no mistake, Finnick. Amity Capone will be reaped. It's already decided."

Finnick's muscles tensed, a primal snarl twisting his features. "This is sick! You can't condemn an innocent girl just to punish me!"

Snow leaned in, his voice a chilling whisper. "Fairness is a luxury we can't afford in Panem, victor. Your precious Amity is a pawn – a reminder that even victors are not beyond our control."

Rage simmered beneath Finnick's skin, threatening to boil over. But a desperate plea clawed its way to the surface. "I'll do anything. Just… spare her."

A flicker of amusem*nt danced in Snow's eyes. "Such devotion. It's touching, really. But this is beyond your control. The Reaping will happen, and Amity's fate…" He trailed off, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

Finnick's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with a desperate urgency. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded, his voice raw with emotion. "Please, she doesn't deserve this. No one does."

Snow's expression hardened, the amusem*nt fading. "You misunderstand, Odair. This isn't about deserving. This is about power, control, and ensuring that even those who think they've won realize they can never truly escape our grasp."

Finnick's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. The sense of helplessness was suffocating. "There has to be another way," he insisted, though his voice wavered with doubt.

Snow's smile returned, a cold, calculated gesture. "There is no other way. Accept it, Finnick. Amity will be reaped, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

With that, Snow turned and walked away, leaving Finnick alone in the room with the relentless hum of the machine and the mountain of slips bearing Amity's name. The reality of his powerlessness crashed over him like a wave, nearly knocking him to his knees.

The relentless hum of the machine filled the silence left by Snow's departure, each whir a cruel counterpoint to the frantic drumbeat of Finnick's heart. He stared at the mountain of slips, each one a death sentence bearing Amity's name. His mind reeled, searching for a loophole, a hidden clause in the twisted game Snow was forcing him to play. But there was nothing.

Despair threatened to consume him, a cold, suffocating wave. This wasn't just about the Games anymore; it was about a twisted display of power, a public humiliation designed to break him.

Finnick's fists clenched tighter, his nails biting into his palms until they left marks.

A metallic tang filled his mouth, the taste of blood a harsh counterpoint to the cold sweat beading on his forehead. He scanned the room, his eyes darting towards the machine and the mountain of slips. There had to be something, some way to stop it. But the sterile room offered no solace, only the relentless hum of the machine mocking his helplessness.

Desperation clawed at his throat. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't let Amity die for a twisted spectacle. His gaze fell on a discarded metal rod used to tend the machine. An idea, reckless and desperate, flickered in his mind. But then he saw it – a security camera mounted high in the corner, its red light a malevolent eye. Attacking the machine was a fool's errand, a death sentence.

Defeat threatened to engulf him, but a spark of defiance refused to be extinguished. He wouldn't give Snow the satisfaction of breaking him. He straightened his shoulders, forcing a semblance of composure. There had to be another way, a way to fight back within the twisted rules of the Games.

With a steely glint in his eyes, Finnick marched out of the room. Snow might have rigged the reaping, but he wouldn't let Amity face it alone.