AN: Hello everyone! I'm relieved on all the positive feedback I've been getting for this story - it means a lot! I was a little nervous publishing this, simply because the content about it can be seen as sort of risqué/taboo. But, I'm glad that, so far, it's been pretty well received!

I've decided that I'll be updating new chapters every Wednesday, unless otherwise mentioned.

Just as a small heads up, this chapter will probably be as graphic as the sexual stuff gets in this story. The tone in regards to sex will definitely shift after this chapter, so if situations like this make you uncomfortable, just know it won't really continue on in this fashion as the story progresses.

Also, to answer a few questions I've been asked both on here and on ao3: this story will switch POVs from between both Finnick and Annie. She'll be getting her "Annie" nickname in the next chapter, so don't worry ;) I just figured "Anneyce" as a full name was a better fit for the environment she's in!

Hope you all have a good rest of the week and see you next Wednesday :)!

CHAPTER THREE

Yourself.

It's a haunting word that comes from her lips, and his stomach pitches at the sound of it.

How much of himself has he already given? How much time had he spent running because of all he had given? Only to arrive back here, shackled, and expected to give even more?

The girl's smile is prominent, blissful innocence, as if what she asked of him were a great honor. A magnificent deed.

What had she called it?

A "glorious wonder of rebirth."

What the fuck does that mean?

Okay, well, he knows what it means. He knows all too well what he's expected to do, even though he doesn't like it. But if the Queen promised a clear route out of here if he fucks every girl in this place, then so be it.

Her hands drop from his wrists to fall to his knees and he starts at her serious expression, a hint of surprise in her eyes that he knows all too well.

Holy fuck, is she going to suck his dick?

Right here? Right now?

Instead, she pulls away and uses his knees to help push herself up, scooping a handful of the flowers at his feet up as she goes. She places a few of the more vibrant, exotic looking ones in his lap; the rest goes in her hair. It's a pretty head of hair, deep, rich, dark brown. Like charcoal, that flows in spindly spirals down and over her shoulders in an ebony waterfall. It looks really soft, too, and Finnick almost reaches up to touch it.

Fuck.

The shit they gave him to drink is still a buzz in his system; sending weird erotic signals to his body that his brain isn't exactly agreeing on. So while he sees a pretty girl, and his body reacts to a pretty girl (more then usual thanks to the elixir they gave him), his brain is telling him that something is very, very wrong here. The flight reflex is kicking in, but being completely overpowered by other urges. It's a confusing thing to rifle through.

She walks to the other end of the tent, looking over her shoulder to smile at him shyly. He raises an eyebrow at her and she blushes, turning away.

She reaches into her hair to pull a flower out, gently plucking the petals away as she studies the tent, trying to be inconspicuous when she periodically peers at him over her shoulder. He constantly catches her doing it, and yet she quickly averts her gaze every single time. The scoop of her back swells over her backside, a tantalizing view until she turns slightly and the curves of her breasts become deft competition. Her lips pucker in a bashful smirk when she looks over at him for a fourth time, this time holding his gaze for a beat longer, before dropping her eyes to the crushed petals in her small, delicate hands.

"I should really stop stalling," she murmurs, so quietly he's positive she's talking to herself more then to him, "but I want to be greedy."

"Uh-huh…" he blows the response out slowly, watching her curiously. She peeks up at him to study his face, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

She continues, smiling sadly into her hands, "The Colony has been waiting for this for generations." She bites her lip, furrowing her brow in contemplation. She looks over at the entrance of the tent while lifting a shaky hand to quickly push her hair behind her ear, before taking the few steps back towards him. She sounds like she's trying to convince herself of something; not really looking to him for conversation, but just a steady, unbiased ear.

She stops just before his feet, wringing her hands in front of her, her eyes sad despite the tiny smile on her lips. The girl falls to sit at his feet, her left arm draping over his kneecaps. She rests her chin on her forearm, staring up at him for a moment before closing her eyes and sighing. Finnick sits there in a daze, a little confused and a little intrigued. Her hot breath on his bare skin makes him twitch, and he curls his toes into the floor.

"I suppose I should start the song now, but all I really want is more time."

"Song?"

Her eyes flutter up to meet his, and it's at this moment he notices how pretty they are. They're a tone that matches the richness of the plant life in this place, as if kissed by the trees themselves. A really rich, Earthy kind of green.

It's a sign that she belongs here; that she's native.

"The tradition was bestowed upon me by the Queen of our Colony to sing to you the first song of the rebirth ritual," she states, that odd sort of reverie in her tone that she carries when she speaks of the Colony. They all have it. The Colony this, the Colony that. "It's purpose is to worship the human and to welcome them into the Colony's arms with a successful first night," she states, smiling at him shyly, blush dusting her cheeks.

So, they sing to him to wish him a good night of fucking.

Well, that's definitely something they've got on the Capitol. All Finnick ever gets is secrets, sometimes champagne and dinner, too, if he's lucky.

She watches him quietly, her expression bashful. She really is pretty; all soft features and innocent eyes, long hair and ivory skin. She's got a freckle on the tip of her nose, a little off to the right, and she's close enough that he could reach out and touch it, if he really wanted to. She laughs shyly at his staring, and he smirks at her in reply, wondering how she'd react if he did touch it.

"So, are you going to sing or not?" He asks and she gnaws on her bottom lip.

"I suppose I should, huh?" She sighs, her smile sad.

"Well, I guess so," he shrugs, "wouldn't that Queen of yours get mad if you didn't?"

She blinks, as if the thought never occurred to her, "The Queen, get mad? Oh, no, never! She'd never be mean to her nymph children. She loves us very much. The worst she'd do is have someone else do it."

Finnick thinks of the Queen's cold, calculating eyes and her quipped voice from earlier. He figures she must have this place hooked deep under her thumb for this girl to be under the assumption her glorious leader is such a saint.

He throws her a bone anyway, "Do you want to fail?"

She regards him with mystified eyes, "Of course not!"

He leans forward, so his nose is close to her own, "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

She opens her mouth, as if to answer him, but then lets it close abruptly after. Slowly, she pushes herself back to her feet to stand before him. Brushing herself off, she hooks his eyes with her own, the green piercing him so strong it's as if he can practically smell the pine from the trees that color. When she opens her mouth again this time sound comes, in the form of song.

Her voice is sweet and smooth, like a bell or the chirp of a bird. Finnick pitches forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he listens to her intently. Her voice entraps him. It reminds him of the drowsy pull of the ocean as it laps at his feet, or the sinking feeling of sand between his toes. She holds him up with her voice, the song of something out of folklore - something Mags would probably be able to put a name to – and wrings him out to dry as the last of her tune carries out, as if sucked away by the torchlight by her feet.

She smiles at him when she closes her mouth and he barely has time to smile back before they're flooding the tent like high tide back in District Four, the Queen the first to barge in through the tent flaps. The girl blinks in surprise, but her expression suddenly shifts from bafflement to complete elation. She'd finished and passed her task.

The Queen hustles her into a magnificent hug and compliments her on her song. Finnick's got to give it to Queenie. She's damn good at putting up a front and buttering up her "children." However, Finnick sees right through it: once a snake, always a snake. She's not wrong in this instance, though. It was a damn pretty song to come out of the girl's mouth just now.

The girl is ushered out the tent flaps, but not without a backwards glance at Finnick. He holds her proud gaze with a sturdy one of his own, even going as far as to give her a small nod before she's pushed out, though he's not sure why.

He doesn't have very much time to ponder it before the Queen's lackey's hands are fluttering over him.

"How are you feeling, human? Sore at all?" The Queen inquires curiously. Now that she asks, the fog of pain that's just been momentarily lurking in the back of his mind slowly resurfaces. He withholds the information, however, afraid she'll feed him more of that horrible liquid.

She studies his face skeptically at his silence, but he really couldn't care less if she's onto him or not. He's only here to do a job and then get out – not to make friends.

With a pass of the Queen's hand, the lackey's get to work on combing out his hair and prepping him for his forced night of debauchery. Although it's not unlike his prep team back at the Capitol, these girls are more apprehensive to touch him, as if just the sight of him were delicatessen enough to be browsed through a glass window, not manhandled and thrown about. They pull the plant shawl from off his shoulders, put flowers in his hair, and massage his feet and hands with sweet smelling oil.

They also study him. Though he's sure they're trying to do that secretly - like the girl who sang to him – but they're none too sly about it. It's apparently obvious they've never seen a dick before.

He's not sure if that information puts him more at ease or does just the opposite effect.

The Queen snaps her fingers and the lackey's cease their work and promptly empty out the tent flap, not without looking back at him one last time. He focuses his attention from their retreating bare behinds to look up at the Queen, her expression formal.

"Are you still clear of our terms tonight, human?" She asks, casually turning to pinch a drooping iris stuffed in the mesh of the tent. It reminds him strikingly of President Snow and his rose garden; on those numerous occasions he's spoken to him in that godforsaken place. The forced nonchalance, and the quipped tones as you both hold back what you really want to say. "You are to fulfill your gifts to the Colony until I say they are satisfied and, in return, you get to return home."

"Not home," Finnick stresses, "but District Thirteen. I get to continue my journey to District Thirteen."

"This thirteenth district, then." She amends, turning to watch him quizzically, "You never did mention why you were so focused on finding this place."

"My old home was not home to me," he frowns, "I was running away."

"Whatever reason why?" She asks, as if she cannot fathom such an idea, and surprisingly enough, she seems intrigued enough to beguile an answer.

His response is matter-of-fact, "Because they were prostituting me."

Unfortunately, after the girl came to sing him the song, they fed him more of that citrus drink. His veins are pumping fire now, and his head feels faintly dizzy. However, the pain in his ribs is once again just a dull hum, something he can happily manage to ignore.

Shortly after his talk with the Queen, he was ushered out of the tent and into the night, bare-naked in all his glory under night sky. Looking up, he couldn't find any stars, but instead just a full, pregnant moon. As they walked him through a small town - eerily quiet despite the supposed grand occasion of him being here - he takes care to look around.

Lined around what can only be described as a large dirt road cul-de-sac are various shacks of different size and decoration. Though they all appear to be made of the same materials – some kind of dark wood, thatched roofs, clay chimneys – the difference in design hops from shack to shack. Just behind each shack lies an expanse of thick, dark forest. He supposes they've either knocked down enough trees to stake claim, or happened across a large enough clearing to set up shop without disturbing the natural wildlife. In the center of the circle of shacks, sits his tent and a large spire of architecture to the right of it. Its design can only be described as a church; though he doubts that's the purpose here. It's possibly where the Queen abodes.

He doesn't ask where anyone is. That will be answered in due time, he's sure.

The first shack they stop at is no less then a few hundred yards from the tent, and he waits as the lackey's knock quietly on the door before gesturing him inside. The Queen left long ago, probably to go preen her feathers and sharpen her talons or something. He's a little surprised she doesn't insist on watching with her beady little eyes as he does the dirty to her loyal citizens.

The shack is small, just a threshold that morphs into a melting pot of kitchen and bedroom. It's rustic, with various bundles of herbs and flowers hanging from the low rafters and a large woven rug sitting under his feet. To the left, a small fireplace sits, crackling wood and providing a woodsy glow.

The lackeys leave bashfully, assuring him they'll be outside waiting to let him know when it's time to finish up and move on to the next home. He nods silently, watching them with a bored expression as they close the door behind him. A small, misplaced cough pulls his attention back to front.

The girl stands before him as bare as the rest of them, her skin aglow from the soft firelight.

He'd be embarrassed if he weren't already so used to the sight to a woman's bare body. Except, this time it's different. Capitol people are, at best, grotesque with body modifications and unnatural vibrant colored skin. Their makeup smudges on his cheeks and thighs, leaving glitter etched into his skin no matter how many days he spends trying to scrub it all off, like ink marks in his pores.

These strange woodland girls are natural. Innocent, almost untouched.

The girl who stands before him can't be any older then 22 or 23 in age. Her breasts are small and flat, giving the allusion of a boy's build, but the roundness in her hips make up for that. She's almost topsy-turvy in appearance, but her stance and the shape of her face bring up pixie-like qualities. She smiles at him that similar expression of elation that he'd received from almost everyone here, as if he were the embodiment of god standing before her.

We have waited a long, long time for you to arrive. The dark haired girl's voice echoes in his mind, and he guesses that means he really is - to them - a god.

The girl reaches forward to wrap a hand around his wrist and pull him to the bed, tucked in the far corner opposite the fireplace. His stomach sinks, but the liquid he drank earlier works through his veins to provide the opposite affect on his body then what he's feeling. His arousal sparks as she pulls him to her on the mattress. Her hands brush against his erection and she giggles at the touch of it.

"You know, where I'm from, it's considered rude to laugh at a guy's junk," he jokes easily, slightly disgusted with himself for how effortlessly he slips into routines; for playing along with the façade.

She looks at him curiously, "Junk?"

"Yeah…my junk." He gestures to his penis, where her hands are now wrapped around delicately.

Her mouth pops into a little "O" as she understands, "I am so sorry! I did not mean to be rude to your…your junk!"

"It's alright, really."

"You may be rude to my junk if you wish!" She offers, "So as to be even."

"No, no, I don't want to make fun of you," he assures. This is getting awkward fast. Of all intimacies he's experienced, he's never had something like this happen before. Usually the jokes work to put the girl (or boy) at ease, but this time it backfired, making Finnick the one who's un-eased.

The girl just shrugs and smiles wider.

"I want to thank you for your gift." She praises, leaning closer to him, her lips inches over his, "I'm sure the Queen is grateful for your sacrifice tonight."

Yeesh. Capitol clients were never this forward; and that's saying something.

She awkwardly pets his groin with gentle pats and he flinches at the weirdness of it. Finnick's pretty sure this girl has never touched a dick before, which is probably true. All the girls here have been looking at him like he was a big meal they were waiting to devour…this girl in particular. Her eyes are hooded with obvious lust and she licks her plump lips seductively. It's kind of hot, until she taps on his dick like she's playing the piano and he jumps. Carefully, he pulls her hand away from him, instead opting to take the lead here as he wraps them around his waist.

He feels that same kick he gets from the medication the Capitol gives him on particularly booked nights; when he's running from apartment to apartment with barely any time to button his shirt back up in between. And - like with the Capitol drugs - he can't tell the chemically forced arousal from his own. It makes him uneasy, and he treads carefully.

"Have you ever done this before?" He asks as he gently lays her onto the bed. She scurries underneath him eagerly, excitement on her expression like a child on Christmas morning.

She shakes her head, her honey hair shaking out onto the pillow beneath her head, "No one in the Colony has. We were waiting for you to show us."

Double yeesh.

She mewls impatiently, her hands that he tucked around her waist dragging down his sides and back towards his groin. He swallows back a sigh.

This was going to be a long night.