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vainvenus · 4 months

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⌲;꒰ A single Daffodil. ꒱

Pairing - Peeta Mellark x Fem!Reader

Synopsis - Peeta was prepared for a lot of things going into the games but falling in love with your opponent was not one of them.

Includings - Careers!reader, the careers are silly little teens, sorry Marvel stans, flower symbolism foreshadowing, mutual pinning but it's doomed, reader's smart and poetic, no Everllark romance, lots of fluff, kisses, cannon typical violence and blood, angst, major character death, no happy ending.

An - I lowkey don't like this

"That's really impressive."

You jumped a bit upon hearing a voice next to you and you glanced over to see the blonde from District 12.

"Huh?"

You don't know anything about him except for the fact that he's from district twelve and was a baker back at home. You only remember interacting with him once before this and that was when he complimented your tribute parade outfit.

It was a short yet sweet interaction. You could tell his compliment was genuine from how he was staring at you like a starstruck child then how his smile grew and his cheeks seemed to grow pink in shade.

Peeta smiled warmly, pointing to the fish hook you were making.

"That. You're really talented."

Now the second time he's spoke to you has also been a compliment, this time towards your skills and you can't help but feel sorry that someone this sweet has been forced into these kind of games.

Your eyes moved back to the fish hook as you try to not let his small compliment get to you. Your fingers moving through it like it was second nature.

You shrugged. "I'm not...just something we learn at an early age in district four, a seven year old could do it easy."

Peeta hums, getting a bit a closer to you. "It's still really cool though, do you think you could teach me?"

You want to say yes but your current alliance with the rest of the careers stands in the way of you fully agreeing to.

They've all set the rule of not being or getting friendly with the other tributes, hence them showing off all their brute skills to scare them away.

And Cato especially didn't like Katniss and Peeta because they stole the spotlight from him during the tribute parade and the interviews.

He didn't see them as a threat but he wanted them both dead even calling dibs on Katniss but he cared less about Peeta, saying that he was weak and would just be another easy kill.

You bite on the inside of your cheek, guilt building up inside you. Peeta hadn't done anything to you and if you weren't in a current alliance that would keep you safe most of the games you would have agreed without a second thought.

"I can't."

His brows furrowed, a small frown on his lips. "You can't?"

You shake you head, finishing your fish hook shortly. "I'm sorry but I can't."

"Why no-"

"[Y/n]! Come here!" You both flinched at the sound of Cato barking your name, he's standing near a couple of the dummies that are now headless with a sword in his hand and you look back at Peeta.

"Prove you can do something. Something impressive." You quickly tell him and his brows furrow even more in confusion.

"What? Why?"

"The Careers, they think-"

"[Y/n]! I don't like repeating myself!" Cato shouted and you sighed heavily, giving Peeta a small frown as you mouthed 'Sorry.' before walking away from him and towards Cato.

Peeta watched as leaned down to whisper something in your ear and Peeta could only assume it was about him from the glare that was shot his way from the boy.

He walked away from the station you were currently at to go and do something else since, your words dancing around in his mind.

Peeta goes towards something that he assumes it to help tributes with climbing, it reminds him of a much larger fishing net.

He only makes it a little bit up before his foot gets caught and it twists the net around, he looks like a fly flailing around in a spider's web before he loses his grip and falls to the mat.

He can hear a couple, if not all of the careers giggling and Katniss quickly makes her way over to him.

"Throw that metal thing over there."

"What?" He asked breathlessly before he looked over at what Katniss was referring to then his gaze shifts back over to those who were watching them.

"No, Haymitch said we're not supposed to show our skil-"

"I don't care what Haymitch said. Those guys are looking at you like you're a meal." She states, glancing over to the career pack before back to him.

"Throw it."

Peeta looked over at the group and sure enough they're staring at him like he's fresh meat. He's sure that you're the only one who's looking at him with an ounce of sympathy, your brows drawn up and nail caught between your teeth.

Prove you can do something. Something impressive.

Peeta rethinks of your words from earlier as he starts to get up and walks over to the case holding the metal balls which he assumes are weights of some sort.

He grabs the heaviest one that's located at the bottom with his right hand and he walked over to the case of spears that are adjacent from where you're all standing.

He throws it over his head, a lot more grand than if he were to do it underhand. It hits the case, knocking something spears to the ground and the case rolls out of place a bit.

He pants softly before glancing back at the group who have now stopped their giggling and stares of bloodlust. They now look at him in a difference sense before returning to what they were doing.

Cato's gaze is the one that stays on him the longest, his eyes narrowing with a smug smile. He watched as Cato taps your arm and point towards him, he sees his lips moving but he can't make out a thing he's saying.

Peeta just prays that it's a good thing because you don't look back at him as you go join one of the tributes in knife throwing.

★

It turns out that that look was a good thing as he finds himself being apart of the career pack once the actual games started.

And Peeta's not stupid, he knows that as soon as he helped them find Katniss he's next on their list. He just hopes that everybody is stupid enough to believe he's stupid for him to keep Katniss safe.

"You sure she went that way?" Cato asks, pointing straight ahead and Peeta nods quietly.

As they all kept walking you stayed beside Peeta a bit behind the group. You glance up at the trees, eyes narrowing at the silhouette of someone you cant quite make out because of how dark its got.

You think you see the outline of a familiar braid but you decide to ignore the shadowy figure if it is her and look back over at Peeta.

"If Cato finds out you're double crossing him he'll kill you." You whisper and you can see him swallow the lump in his throat.

He knew out of all of them you would be the first to see right through him. While you were the least violent of the group, you were the most observant and arguably the brains of the pack.

He bit on the inside of his cheek and nodded. "I know."

"I hope it doesn't come to that, Peeta. I'm rooting for you."

It's endearing to hear because he's sure that you're one, if not one of the only people who is rooting for him. He knows that his own family isn't and he's well aware that out of the two of them Haymitch has a better bet on Katniss than him.

But as he thinks about it his brows draw up in slight concern as he looks back over to you. "What about you?"

"What about me?" You counter with an expression that matched his confusion.

"Aren't you rooting for yourself?"

You're quiet for a while, the only thing that Peeta hears is the sound of crunching leaves or sticks below your feet along with the buzzing of nighttime insects. After some time you finally shake your head.

He frowns, staring at you with an expression that could only be wrapped up and seen as pity. You're apart of the careers, you had the fourth highest training score, you were incredibly smart and strategic.

If anyone had a shot at winning this 'game' he thought it would be you.

"Why not?" Peeta finally asks after moments of silence and you shrugged your shoulders.

"It's kind of sad, I worked and dedicated most of my childhood towards this. Got put in that stupid academy, training, dieting, working on different skills, anything that would give me a head start." You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't deserve to win."

Peeta felt sorry for you. He couldn't even think about what being in the wealthier districts where winning this was forced upon you at an early age, he at least got to live out most of his childhood and enjoy what he could.

"If there can only be one winner I want it to be you, Peeta. You seem like a good person and I wish we could've met under different circumstances."

He smiles softly, interlocking your hand with his own and giving it a small squeeze.

"Me too."

The two of you stare at each other for a short while under the moonlight but the sweet moment is cut short as a high pitched bloodcurdling scream cuts through the night followed by the sound of a cannon.

The two of you jumped, Peeta pulling you a bit closer as he heard rustling from the bushes.

He was at ease once he saw that it was just Marvel, the boy having a smug smile as he looked between the two of you.

"C'mon lovebirds! We're setting up camp for the night!" He chuckled, shaking his head as he went back to where you assumed the rest of the careers were and by setting up camp you were both sure he meant stole one.

"You know if he wasn't kind of a psycho and things weren't the way they were, I think I would be friends with him." Peeta comments, still holding onto your hand as the two of you follow Marvel and you snicker.

"He's not that bad. He just kind of has a big ego, I guess it makes sense with his name." You comment and Peeta's brows furrow slightly and he tilts his head.

"What does his name mean?"

"Something wonderful or extraordinary. So much so that you can't help but watch depending on the thing." You explain to him and he nods, chuckling a bit.

"That's funny but also a little sad given the situation." He comments as the two of you see the small fire that's been made, the rest of the careers already circling around it.

"All of their names have a meaning with sad irony if the games aren't in their favor."

"Oh? Tell me.." He trails off as he stops for a second causing you to come to a halt as well. You watch as he tilts his head at a bush and you wonder if he's already gone crazy or he saw something.

He let's go of your hand to reach for something in the bushes and after a bit of rustling he chuckles breathlessly as he turned back to face.

He's holding a yellow flower and upon closer look you realize that its a daffodil. It's strangely out of place in the current setting and you can't help but let out a small laugh at the flower "How odd. It's beautiful."

You don't notice that Peeta's gaze is lazer focused on you as he smiles and nods. "It is."

Peeta hands the flower to you and you smile softly, twirling it between your fingers before sniffing it. It smelt real which almost made it more strange for it to be the only one there.

"Beautiful but what they can symbolize is sad." You sigh, placing the flower carefully in one of the many pockets of your pants and Peeta tilts his head.

"What can they symbolize?" He asks and you notice that the two of you are getting closer to the small camp the careers have set up and you pat him on the back.

"I'll tell you later, I promise." You hold your pinky out to his and he locks it with his as before you take a seat next to Glimmer who raises her brow at the two of you and the flower that seemed to have came out of nowhere.

"And what took you two so long?"

"Nothing, just-"

"They were busy being allll over each other." Marvel says, obnoxiously making kissy faces towards Peeta as he hooks his arm around the blondes shoulder to pull him closer.

"We were not!" Peeta defends, trying to push the brunette off of him as the group bursts into a fit of giggles and laughs.

"Oh you totally were! Look at how red you're getting, you're practically a tomato!" Glimmer points out, the laughter between the group continuing to grow and Peeta looks at you for help but your only contributing to the laughter.

"What're you laughing for?" Cato scoffed at you with a small smile.

"Yeah, you're not off the hook. Let's not bring up how you were making goo-goo eyes at him the whole time during training room." Clove teases a smug smirk on her face as you shake your head.

"What? That is not true!" You respond and practically everybody rolls their eyes at that.

"Yeah and Glimmer's a real blonde." Marvel scoffs and the blonde's jaw slacks in offense.

"Excuse you?! I am a real blonde!" She exclaims.

"Here we go again."

Once most of the playful bickering and an almost hour long debate on whether or not Glimmer was a natural blonde came to an end it was quiet, only the sounds of nighttime creatures buzzing through the air as everybody slowly started to fall asleep, Marvel offering to take the first watch.

What keeps Peeta at peace while he's trying to fall asleep is thinking of this whole thing as some sort of camping trip with a bunch of friends. He's not miles away from home in the woods with a bunch of teens who could kill him at any second.

He's laying on his back with you using his body as a pillow and that brings him some sort of comfort. He glances down at you and smiled softly at how peaceful you looked, the day obviously tiring you out from how you were the first to fall asleep.

"You two would be cute together." Marvel whispers and Peeta glances over at him, not wanting to move so he doesn't disrupt your sleeping.

"Really?" He asks, a small smile making its way on to his face

Marvel nods. "Too bad one of you is gonna have to die if you both make it to the end."

Peeta narrows his eyes at the brunette and Marvel only tilts his head at the two of you and narrows his eyes, there's a glint of something in those light blue eyes as the flame of the fire reflects against them, but Peeta can't quite pin down what the emotion is.

"If it comes down to it, would you die for her?"

Peeta replied without hesitation. "In a heartbeat."

Marvel hummed in acknowledgement.

★

You and Peeta were now on your own after the careers found out that he had been with them just to keep Katniss safe and as you had predicted Cato was furious and luckily the two of you had escaped his rage without harm.

Almost.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Peeta asked and you nodded your head. Cato had stabbed your side in an attempts to stab at Peeta but you got in-between it.

You made sure to keep your palm against it, applying pressure with a bunched up piece of fabric Peeta tore from the bottom of his shirt. Even if it did really hurt you didn't want to worry the blonde and it wasn't too deep of a wound that you felt the need to.

"It just hurts but for a stab wound I think that's normal." You tried to joke to lighten up the mood a little but Peeta continued to stare at you like you were some frail puppy.

"I'm sorry." Peeta apologizes once the two of you were far enough into the forest where he thought you would be safe from troubles, at least for now.

You tilted your head in confusion as you laid down and leaned up against one of the trees. "What're you apologizing for?"

"It's my fault he stabbed you. If you hadn't got in front of me you wouldn't be hurt right now." He said and you shrugged your shoulder with a small smile.

"Then it's my fault, not yours."

"What? No-"

"I chose to be your human meat shield." You cut him off, tired of hearing him blame himself for something you willingly chose to do.

He groaned, burying his face into the palms of his hands before inhaling and tilting his head up to stare at the sky. "I know but I can't help but feel bad because you took a stab wound for me."

"Peeta, I'd take a stab wound for you any day." You admitted tenderly and he looked over at you, his eyes a bit wide as he stared for a while.

Just as he did the day of the tribute parade, like you hung the stars and moon all by yourself. Now that you noticed it, he looked at you like that a lot.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

He couldn't help himself anymore, leaning closer to close the space between you two as your lips met his own in a soft kiss.

If Peeta were to die, his last thought would be your lips on his and he would pass away happily.

"Aw how cute."

The two of you quickly pulled away and stood up at the sound of the new, yet familiar voice.

Neither of you are surprised to see Marvel standing there and Peeta's eyes widened bit as he saw the same expression Marvel had made the first night by the campfire.

He now understood the emotion behind his eyes.

Nothing but pure bloodlust.

Marvel clenched the spear in his hand, giving it an over the top twirl around his head. "Time to hold up to that promise, loverboy."

He doesn't break eye contact with Marvel as his grip tightens around his weapon. "[Y/n]. Run."

"What? No I'm not leaving you here!" You protested and he wanted to curse at you for how stubborn you are like you weren't currently occupied at keeping your wound from bleeding.

"[Y/n], please just run! You're already injured!" He exclaimed and Marvel can't help but let out a small snicker at the two of the you.

"You guys already act like an old married couple. It's a little sickening." His playful tone dropped and he ran up to the two of you, swinging the spear in your direction as the two of you back away.

You grabbed Peeta's hand with your free and start to run into the forest and you don't hear the footsteps of Marvel following behind but you hear his cackle throughout the trees.

"Yeah! Keep running lovebirds! It doesn't matter to me!" You heard him scream as you and Peeta ventured further into the woods.

The both of you can't help but wonder why Marvel didn't just try to stab at you when you were close enough or why he didn't throw the spear but you assumed he liked the idea of a chase.

It makes things more fun for him and the audience.

You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath. You don't know how long you and Peeta had ran for and since everything looks the same until you hit certain spots you're not even too sure of where you are specifically.

You looked over your shoulder and stood up. You smiled and turned to look over at Peeta who was leaned up against one of the trees as he tried to catch his breath. "I think.. I think we lost h-"

Peeta's eyes grew to the size of saucers as he sees the silver spear pierce right through the middle of you chest and he snapped his head towards the source of it but the brunette was nowhere to be found he only hears his laugh echoing through the woods.

He cursed under his breath, watching as you slowly pull the spear from your body and he feels himself growing nauseous as he watched the crimson red liquid soak your shirt.

He caught you before you fall to the ground and he slowly lowers himself to the ground as he laid you down. His hands were shaking as his eyes looked at the two wounds you've endured, both stain your hands and his own.

"You're gonna be fine. It's gonna be okay, you're okay." He muttered in a rushed tone and he can't tell if it's you he's trying to convince or himself more.

He pressed his hands against your chest, not too worried about the side on your wound since it's obvious which one is more fatal at the moment. Peeta knows that he won't be able to stop the bleeding it just gives him an ounce of hope that you'll somehow push through and be perfectly fine.

"Peeta..." You mumbled and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes?" His voice came out soft because he knew that if he spoke any louder his voice would have cracked and he would've sobbed.

"You know that yellow daffodil you found on the first night?" You asked softly and his brows furrowed. How could you possibly be worried about that at the moment?

"[Y/n]! Now is not-"

"Do you remember?"

He inhaled sharply and nodded his head. He watched as you carefully reached into your pocket and pulled out the flower, it was a bit wounded but still beautiful.

Like you.

"Do you still wanna know what it symbolizes?." You asked with a small smiled as you held out the flower to him. Peeta's bottom lip quivered as he took the flower from you.

Peeta placed it behind your ear before he moved his body slightly as he leaned you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. His arms softly wrapping around you but not against your wounds. If he couldn't save you he would at least try to make your last moments the most comfortable.

And he couldn't bare to look you in the eyes as the life faded from them.

"What does it symbolize?"

"It symbolizes unrequited love and misfortune." You chuckled slightly shaking your head and Peeta's frown only deepened as he used his hand to wipe away his tears trying not to cry even more as your blood smeared across his cheek.

"Doomed but beautiful." You laughed softly as you tilted your head up to look at him. You rubbed your thumb across his hand as he gave it a small squeeze. "I'm still rooting for you, Peeta. I love you."

Peeta swallowed the lump growing in his throat, another shaky breath leaving his lips as he placed a kiss on top of your head and pulled you closer to him.

"I'll love you even after death, [Y/n]."

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clatoera · 1 year

Note

Do you think Cato and Clove also have hint of / tendency toward romantic relationship? Or just platonic / district partner thing?

What do you think about their thoughts when the rule change that 2 victors from the same district being announced?

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

OH BESTIE I AM THE WRONG PERSON TO ASK THIS QUESTION L M A O

See that URL. Clato era baby. Not platonic clato and clove. CLATO FOR THE WIN BESTIE. I am EXCEEDINGLY Biased. I am NOT an unbiased source here. Naturally I read into this and im like oh yes. My ship. the actual star crossed lovers in my heart.

If Clato has 1000 fans I am one of them. If Clato has 10 fans I am one of them. If Clato has ONE fan it is me. IF Clato has no fans I am no longer on this earth. If the world is against Clato the world is against ME FR.

All that to say, for me it was in the book when she calls for him at the cornucopia and he ACTUALLY comes running and calls back for her. And when he does so, Katniss hears pain in his voice. When she turns around sees him kneel beside her, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him in a moment he will realize its futile??? Yeah. 14 year old me said oh thats love. Why else would he care so much. I choose to believe that why he holds her as she dies, begs her not to leave, and proceeds to put himself in harms way by sitting with her. And in the books CATO is the one who goes after Thresh. CATO kills him, and Katniss even knew it. She knew Cato was going to follow Thresh, not her.

There was one single night in all of the games where they thought they had a chance to go home together. Imagine the fucking JOY and the fucking PRIDE. The camera was on Katniss and Peeta, and the story is in her perspective, but i'd give just about anything to know how they reacted and that night from their perspective. Like years of training and mental prep to kill each other (which they knew going in, because they BOTH VOLUNTEERED. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Cato and Clove BOTH volunteered for the games with the intention to win. They probably had an agreement that they were the only one allowed to kill the other, and it would have to be a good show), all of a sudden they can just go home together. They can finish the games and go home.

And then fucking Thresh has to fuck shit up. Nah. Also let me have that scene, let me see Cato fucking DESTROY him, because I know it was bloody and brutal and glorious.

Fr. Team Clato Forever. I could talk about them for years. I have 20k words written on them just in 3 chapters. I am a Clato stan before I am a human being. I am proverbially shaking screaming throwing up violently about Clato at any given moment.

The wrong person to ask, the wrong tree to bark up if y'all wanted me to say platonic/district partners LOL.

XOXO

ClatoEra (Clato life)

Thank you @curiousnonny ❤️❤️❤️

#cato and clove #clato #clatoera fr guys #the hunger games #thg asks #clove kentwell #cato hadley #Noone touch me its my Clato time #i am a clato stan before a human being

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shesasurvivor · 2 years

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May 8, 2022 (fic)

It's here! And on time this year! Another update for our baby girl Katniss's birthday. And since it was another year that fell on a Mother's Day, of course I had to weave that into this year's chapter. Happy birthday, Katniss!

Summary: Post-Mockingjay. Katniss's first birthday as a mother.

Read on AO3.

---

The minute I open my eyes, I know something is off.

There's more light flooding into the bedroom than there should be. I've slept in. Which once would have been a good thing, welcomed even, but those days are over now that it's no longer just myself and Peeta that I have to look after.

My feet hit the floor instantly, and I'm grabbing at a bathrobe to wrap around me before I even have a chance to get a good look at it. It could be Peeta's, for all I know. I glance down, and yep, sure enough, it's his navy blue and plaid robe I have on. It's much too big for me, even now when I have more weight to spare than I've ever had before. But it's comforting, having his smell envelop me as if he's holding me himself. Besides, I have more urgent matters to attend to. I leave the robe on.

As I reach the door to the hallway, my eyes immediately fall to the door that sits right across from our room. It should be closed, but it's not; it's open by a crack. My senses go up immediately, knowing something is off about this, something is wrong. I've crossed the hallway and pushed my way inside, only to confirm my worst fears.

The crib is empty.

I feel a familiar sense of panic welling up inside me, one that I felt more times than I could ever count when I was a teenager, forced into the arenas and then a war that I wanted nothing to do with. I'd always hoped that it would go away one day, and I'd never feel it again, but now that I've been an adult for quite some time, I know it never will. I hate it. There's no time to think about it, though. Something has happened to her, and I need to find her now.

I light out into the hallway and dash down the stairs. "Peeta!" I shriek, not even sure if he can hear me. Come to think of it, is he here? Has something happened to him as well?! My mind floods with scenarios where he's been taken by the remaining sympathizers of the old regime, or maybe something triggered him, and he took off into the woods. "Peeta!" I repeat, this time coming out more like a scream.

I burst into the kitchen, where I stop in my tracks. Peeta stands there, one arm grasping a spatula while the other steadies a mixing bowl. Strapped to his chest, still so tiny and beautiful as she rests her head against him, is our daughter. Peeta stands gaping at me, alarm plastered across his face.

"Katniss," he says, "what's wrong?" There's an only-too-familiar tone of concern in his voice; Peeta's become as accustomed to my panic attacks as I have to his episodes over the years. But I must seem more feral than usual because he looks genuinely afraid something has happened.

"What are you doing?!" I bark, my fear coming out as anger. "I thought something happened to you!"

Peeta just stares at me, bewildered, until a look of understanding dawns on his face. He abandons his mixing bowl, bringing his arm up to place on the baby. "I got her up this morning, so you could sleep in," he explains. "Then we made you breakfast." He glances down at the mixing bowl and ingredients spread out on the counter.

Relief washes over me, only now I feel like an idiot, which makes me defensive. "You should have told me," I counter.

He just gives a slight smirk. "Don't be stubborn," he says in a voice that indicates he knows only too well what I'm doing. "I just wanted to surprise you for your birthday."

Birthday? My eyes widen; somehow, I'd completely forgotten. My eyes flit over to the calendar pinned to the wall next to the back door, and sure enough, it's May 8. I feel foolish. I'd remembered last night what today was, but I guess when I woke up and sensed my family was missing, it completely slipped my mind.

Peeta crosses over and wraps me in his arms, taking care not to crush the baby. I still feel a little defensive, but I allow him to pull me into him as I cradle our baby between us. He plants a kiss on my head.

"It's your first birthday as a mother," he tells me. "I wanted to make it special."

Warmth floods my cheeks. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but sometimes Peeta still manages to make me feel like I'm 17 again. Which is quite a feat, considering we have a child together now.

Our little girl squirms, making gurgling noises that evolve into actual tears. "Shh," I tell her gently as I stroke her hair, but it has no effect. "She's hungry," I say to Peeta.

He removes her from the harness he's using to strap her safely against him and hands her to me. I hold her securely against me, pushing my own upset away as I try to soothe her. I settle into one of the kitchen chairs and begin to nurse her. As she settles down, greedily lapping as much as possible, I glance upwards and find Peeta staring at us as though this were the most beautiful scene in the world. For him, it probably is. It's enough to wash away the distressing fear that consumed me only mere seconds ago. A peace is reflected in his face that makes me reassess my fear and see it from a different viewpoint. Instead of letting myself be eaten up by the paranoia that something is about to happen to someone, I love, instead I allow myself to appreciate just how far we've come. I have Peeta, who returned to me even after the Capitol stole him away and hasn't left me since. And now we have this little girl we created together. Creating new life after being forced to destroy it when we were only children ourselves.

Peeta sets a plate of cheese buns in front of me, and I have to smile at the fact that he still keeps me in a fresh supply of my favorite pastry even after all this time. He sits down across from me, a plate of piping hot buns in front of him. I'm briefly distracted as our daughter turns her head suddenly, simply adjusting her position, so she's more comfortable as she feeds. She has my coloring, but I already see so much of Peeta in her as well.

"What would you like to do today?" Peeta asks with a smile.

My eyes flit between him and the baby. "I just want to freeze this moment and live in it forever." It comes out without a second thought, and maybe it's silly, but I see the corners of Peeta's mouth lift even higher, no doubt remembering our afternoon on the rooftop in the Capitol all those years ago. Surely he would agree that this moment is better.

We decide to spend the day at the lake. Peeta packs us a picnic, and we hike together to its serene shores. I dare to think of a not-so-distant future where our little girl will totter through the fresh green grass dotted by colorful blossoms that grow in the lush land here. Maybe she'll even have a sibling to join her one day. Perhaps we'll make a tradition of it.

The sun begins to drift lower in the sky, and we begin the trek home. Peeta's empty hand slips into mine and squeezes it; I do the same in return.

"Did you enjoy your first birthday as a mother?" he asks me after settling into bed later that night.

I have no control over the instant longing I feel that those we've lost could have shared the day with us. But I also feel like they would want me to have enjoyed today no matter what. So for them and the family I've created since, I give myself permission to do so.

"Yes," I say with a smile and lean in to kiss him. "I really did."

#Everlark #Everlark Fanfic #The Hunger Games fanfic #Katniss Everdeen #THG Fanfic

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

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8 - Victor's Home

Part 9

Victor's Daughter

"Don't kill her. You'll just create a martyr." My father warned Seneca while we stood outside the arena where the game makers controlled the games. "Well, it seems we've already got one." He barks back looking over my father's shoulder at me. I tilt my head down avoiding his gaze. Rue had been killed while I was arguing with Celestia. I hate to imagine the pain her parents are feeling right now. "I hear these rumors out of District 11. This could get away from you." Seneca cuts my dad off not in the mood to talk. "What do you want?" My father rubs his hands together explaining. "You have a lot of anger out there. I know you know how to handle a mob, you've done it before. If you can't scare them, give them something to root for." Seneca raises his eyebrows in question. "Such as?" My father tilts his head back releasing a breath. "Young love."

Once we're in the hallway he grabs my arm stopping me from walking any further. "Why did he keep looking at you, sweetheart?" Lifting my gaze up to his I clutched my hands into fists. If Seneca was on his way to show Snow those pictures. We wouldn't last until the morning. The peacekeepers would probably rip us from our beds and put us in front of a firing squad. To show the district's what happens when you lie to the Capital. "I bumped into him. He was carrying pictures of us. You, me and...mom." Dad glanced to his feet backing away and running his fingers through his hair. Running my right hand up my arm I knew he was almost in tears. He spun around on his feet tears welling in his blue eyes. "Lisen to me, babygirl. We are in their woods now. So we just have to ride these last few hours out. Until the games are over. Then we go home-" I cut him off but he takes my hands in his. "But what if-" He stares deeply into my eyes shaking his head no. "Then we go home."

There are many tributes left in the games. Seneca made an announcement that if two Victor's were from the same district then they could both home together. The only team left was Katniss and Peeta. Sitting in the living quarters dad stands out on the balcony. I watched Katniss suddenly lean down to Petty who was laying on a cave floor. She slowly kissed him and I smiling picturing in my head of what it might be like to kiss Gale. In a few hours only three tributes were left. Cato from District 2 was one of them. "Dad, it's the final!" I hollered hearing him rush back inside leaning his palms on the back of the chair. The Capital had created some kind of demon dogs that trapped the trio ontop of the Cornucopia. Cato tried to kill Katniss but Peeta grabbed him. Now Cato is choking him. Katniss draws her bow at him baring her teeth. "Go on, shoot. Then we both go down and you'd win." Cato told her, blood dripping from his open wounds on his face.

"Go on, I'm dead anyway. I always was, right. I didn't know that till now." Cato admitted and I play with my fingers feeling slightly sorry for him. He was raised to kill. He didn't have another option. He couldn't know anything else in his life. Peeta moaned when Cato swung him around in his grip. "I could still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bringing pride to my District." My father stepped closer to the screen seeing Peeta pointing to something. Katniss fired her arrow shooting Cato in the hand. Peeta pushed him off to be eaten by the beast until she drew another arrow making his death quick. The Canon goes off as I layed back on the couch smiling. "They'll go home...they'll go home." The sun rose in the arena where the announcer came on again. "Attention, tributes, Attention. There has been a slight rule change. The previous revision, allowing for two victor's from the same district, has been revoked. Only one victor may be crowned. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in you're favor."

Haymitch's POV

A Canon went off as I dropped seeing Maysilee bleeding from her neck. She had been picked to death by some sort of pink Capital bird. I take her hand in mine releasing some tears at losing someone close to me. I didn't know her personally but we watched the others back in this place. Somehow a district 1 and I end up fighting. I slice her eye and she cuts me in the stomach with her axe. She throws her axe at my head but I dodge it having it hit the forcefeild. Right before Maysilee was killed I'd thrown a rock realizing that the edge of the field would throw it back. Dropping to my knees I groaned feeling more blood circulation out. The district one girl just smiled getting pale by the second thinking she just had to out last me. Until I heard the axe fly over my head burying itself into her skull. She fell backwards with a Canon labeling her dead. Listing my head up I released a shacky breath hearing the top of the arena opened. From that day forward I wasn't just a victor, I was a survivor.

Y/n's POV

Katniss dropped her bow opening her hand revealing some black berries. Getting to my feet I stand by my father who didn't take his eyes off the screen. If her and Peeta ate those then they would be the first pair to defy the Capital. Making the Hunger Games seems pointless. Changing our way of life forever. The pair nearly swallowed the berries but the announcer shouted through the arena. "Stop, stop, stop. Ladies and gentlemen may I present the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games." Katniss embraced Peeta with a grin. I throw my head back cheering feeling my father pull me in for a hug. "We're going home. We're going home." He hugs me back letting me have my moment of happiness. Remembering that his family got killed because he showed them up years ago. Now Katniss and Peeta's families were in danger. Nighttime had fallen over the Capital as I stood outside holding my ring over my heart whispering to the stars. "I'm here mom. We're alive still...I miss you." Katniss and my father stepped out onto the balcony and he warned her of how dangerous things will become.

Squeezing my father's hand in mine I stepped out onto the stage with Cesar Flickrrman. The crowd got to their feet as I take a seat by our Victor's. Resting my hands on my short orange dress I waved to Celestia in the front row and to my supine she actually waved back. "So Miss L/n, shall we expect your return in the future?" Cesar asked leaning forward in his chair. Staring behind him at my father he slowly nodded his head yes with a weak smile. "Yes Cesar. I'd be honored. Celestia Snow is a delight." I replied watching the girl run up on the stage. Jumping into my lap hugging me. I wrap my arms around whispering into her ear. "We'll always be friends." The crowd all awed at the sight before we walked off stage heading for the train.

Stepping off the train station everyone in our district is smiling and cheering. My eyes scanned the crowd landing on a smiling Prim on Gale's shoulders. Without waiting another second I ran through the crowd heading for him. He sits Prim on the ground having her throw her arms around me. Bending on my knees I chuckled into her hair hugging her back in relief. "You have no idea how much I missed you, Rose." She pulls away watching my eyes drift upwards to Gale who smiles at me. "Go on, kiss him." Prim smiled when I get to my feet running up and crashing my lips onto his. At first he stumbled backwards suprised before wrapping his arms around my waist. I break the kiss resting my hands on his face. "What was that for, golden strawberry?" He slowly breathed out in labored breaths. "Gale, I have feelings for you too. I heard you before the peacekeepers pulled you away. And I don't want to waste another chance without telling you."

My arms wrapped around his neck feeling him cup mu face in his hands kissing me. My heart flutters at the feeling of his lips on mine. My father always had this wild look in his eyes where he would touch his fingers to his lips. Imagining the last time he kissed my mother or even their first kiss. The one that held everything they were feeling. In this moment it's only me and Gale. Until the crowd moved allowing my father to step forward with a grin on his face. The wind tousled his blonde hair I'm front of his eyes. "So this must be Gale." He teased and I glare at him where he bites his lip not saying anything more. I didn't want to tell Gale the whole truth yet. Everyone around us started cheering again for me to see Katniss and Peeta had their hands intertwined raised in the air smiling.

Back in the Capital President Snow stood in the game makers room. His hands resting on the railing as a guard walked up. "It's done, Sir. Seneca had some final words for you." Snow turns to face the guard unfolding the documents about you and Haymitch. "And what were they?" The guard stared back at him no expression on his face as he delivered the words. "Y/n L/n is related to one of our Victor's. She shares blood with Haymitch Abernathy." Snow turned his back to the man crumbling the files throwing them across the room. He had been shown up by him in the second quarter Quell years ago. Now he it happened again by two lovers from District 12 and by you. He wouldn't stand for it. No one would defy the Capital and get away with it. He watched the footage of you kissing Gale and so he vowed right then and there he would make you and your loved ones pay.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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starsaroundsaturn · 2 years

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what i really liked about the hunger games

reading the hunger games (specifically Mockingjay) and that bloody scene. that scene where Katniss makes Johanna a sachet of pine needles because she thinks that the smell might remind her of home. it nearly made me cry.

like suzanne collins did such a good job of walking the line. Making Katniss so stubborn, making her such an unreliable narrator, hate herself so much that all she can think is that she’s an evil person, that she’s responsible for all the death around her. She did such a realistic portrayal of trauma and depression and PTSD with Katniss. Like there are many “tough girls” in literature that I really disliked and couldn’t understand why they were given the importance in the story that they were, but Katniss makes so much sense.

like, she’s been in traumatic circumstances since she was a child. We should talk about her ace (adverse childhood experiences) first. These are toxic stress experiences that are likely to create a lasting impact on children. Neglect: emotional and physical. That’s 2 right there. Her mother couldn’t be there for her little sister and herself. She took on the role of caretaker (which is ENORMOUS in terms of stress and pressure) for her younger sister and herself when she was 11. This was not intentional neglect on her mother’s part, but the experience was awful. Her mother had a mental illness, depression. That’s 3. The reason for her mother’s depression was death of a relative, their father, there’s 4. An ACE score of 4 makes triples your likelihood to experience chronic depression, to have a serious problem working, makes you 4 times more likely to experience alcohol addiction, and actually makes you more likely to experience physical illnesses like heart disease or a stroke. Even without the arena, Katniss’s life experience was devastating.

Then they put her in the Hunger Games. She experiences a war zone. She experiences her trauma being broadcast for people to enjoy. She’s pressured into romantic relationships. (Not by Peeta, really: he isn’t trying to manipulate her in any way, but the capital certainly is, and the one male mentor/father figure other than Cinna that Katniss has in her life is pressuring her too. Gale does put some pressure on Katniss as well. He’s trying to get her to choose him when what Katniss really really needs is space to take care of her mental health. The last thing she wants is marriage). I think we could also add substance addiction by a family member to Katniss’s ace score here since she views Haymitch as a mentor, almost family figure and she’s still under 17 at this point.

Her experience of PTSD and trauma explains so many things. She doesn’t want kids: she saw what happened when her mom lost her dad, and she sees people loosing their kids all the time. She doesn’t want a romantic relationship: she sees the damage that loosing one has done to her mom. Her nearly immediate attachment to Cinna? I’d say she’s subconsciously seeking a dependable, trustworthy father figure and he’s the first one she has. Her work avoidance in book 3? Probably trauma. Her anger all the way through? Trauma. It’s a very good portrayal.

The unfortunate thing is that these things could make her seem very toxic and cold as a person when she’s instead extremely traumatized if you don’t know about ACE or PTSD.

But even then, there’s things like I mentioned at the beginning. Flowers for Rue. Her concern for the avoxes. Those pine needles and bark for Johanna. Her joking with Finnick in Mockingjay. There are all of these absolutely silent things she does to be kind, without even thinking about them as kind. Giving food to strangers at the lake. She doesn’t do them for notoriety. Most people don’t even notice that she’s doing them. I would say that’s what I like most about Katniss as a character. I think probably the only people who notice those silent things about her are her friends and family. They’re tiny, thoughtful things, and they make her who she is. I think that’s why I think she’s really a hero. Not because she does brave or courageous things, but because she does things no one will notice when no one else will think to.

#the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #katniss #meta #reading #trauma #ptsd #realistic depictions of mental illness #ace scores #adverse childhood experiences

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bill-y · 3 years

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𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: Over there, buddy

Part two:You’re here right now. :)

Part three: Click here, pepperoni salami.

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

I separated with Gale and Katniss for a while, telling them I needed air. I sighed, leaping from branch to branch in the thicket of trees. Bread, not just bread, baker's bread. If I'm lucky I could get just enough squirrels for the baker, he had a taste for it but his wife was much of a witch, so he only buys it when she's not around.

I remembered how she found me stealing some burnt bread from the trashcan. I looked at her with wide eyes, frozen, I thought I was going to die, stealing was punishable for death, after all. But she just let me go, screaming about her frustration of Seams picking through her trash.

I got bread that day either way.

I landed on a sturdy branch, spotting a squirrel on the tree adjacent to me; it was quite huge, I'm sure he'd love this. Let's just hope the witch isn't home by the time I give this to him.

I crouched down, still as a statue as I watched the squirrel run up and down the tree. I pulled out the thin, glistening dagger, unwrapping its course, leather bindings, which became a makeshift thin rope. I felt my eyes unconsciously widen, watching the squirrel's movements.

My arm aimed, then with a simple flick, the dagger whistled through the air. The small creature was then pinned to the bark of the tree through its eyes. The dagger's blade was thin enough to not damage anything when aimed right.

I pulled on the rope, the blade coming back, dragging the animal carcass with it. A small smile tugged on my face, I can get bread.

Kunal was surely panicking, he was the type to worry about the smallest of things. He once stepped on a cat's tail, Buttercup, Primrose's cat and he bawled, nobody could calm him down. Until he was offered food, that is.

I chuckled at the memory, slowly pulling the blade off the head of the squirrel. I held it in my hands victoriously, a grin on my face. I whistled a small 3 tone song, the chirping mocking birds falling silent before they imitated the tone.

After meeting up, we went back home, passing by the Hob. It was sort of a black market, where coals are transported directly to trains. I disliked it here, the amount of coal dust always bothered me, so when I come here I tend to cover my nose.

We managed to trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for some salt. The lady who sells soup, the one that always glares at me because I've insulted her soup on multiple occasions, Greasy Sae: took half the greens we gathered, along with the dead dog meat that she calls "beef".

That's why I hate her soups, though it's not like I have much of an option, we can't afford luxury here. Unlike those obnoxious, entitled, privileged people in the Capitol. My jaw clenched at the mere thought of those scums.

We finish our business on the market, so we went to the mayor's house, who was particularly fond of strawberries. We knocked on the back door, his daughter, Madge opening it for us.

She's in Katniss and I's year sits beside us at almost every event because we don't really have groups of friends. For being the mayor's daughter you'd expect her to be an entitled brat or maybe a snob, but she was alright, she kept to herself.

I like that, I hate noisy people, They'll scare away the game, that and I've never really liked loud noises. I still remember the explosions in the mines, it was traumatizing, even though my father didn't meet death there. I really wished he had.

Madge didn't wear her usual attire, instead, she wore an expensive white dress, her blonde hair up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. I felt my face scrunch up, that day was supposed to be a form of celebration. It's more of a way for the capitol to show who's in control.

We were being punished for the crimes of the people who failed, disguised as some form of celebration. It's disgusting.

"Pretty dress," Gale complimented. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's genuine or if he was just being ironic. It was a pretty dress, but it was a waste.

She smiled, "Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I clenched my jaw, "But you won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly, my voice monotone. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Real gold. The testament to the fact that she probably won't be chosen. "You probably have five entries, compared to us, that's a blessing."

"That's not her fault," Katniss said. Madge looked slightly hurt, probably because I've never really spoken my thoughts to her, I try my best to be polite when she engages a conversation with me.

"I know," I responded plainly. Madge smiled towards me, though it was clear it wasn't exactly genuine. She then handed the money for the berries. She looked towards Katniss "Good luck, Katniss"

"You too," She responded.

We walked toward the Seam, I can't help but feel angry. Her? Going to the Capitol? What a joke. When you're twelve your name gets put in the pile once, thirteen twice then so on. Up until your eighteen, where your name is entered seven times.

But the thing is, the rich have an advantage. You can enter your name willingly in the pile when you're starving in exchange for some tesserae. I had been doing this since I was twelve, having entered my name 3 times, for my mother, brother and myself. Every year following suite, it has always been like this.

Now at the age of 16, I've entered my name twenty times, same with Katniss. Gale was in even greater danger, with a number of forty-two.

And she'll be the tribute this year? It can happen but it's deadly slim. I knew Gale felt the same way, listening to him rant about tesserae in the woods with Katniss was enough confirmation, along with the fact that I join in on the rants. Always end it with a promise to destroy the Capitol, somehow.

But what good does that do us?

Gale, Katniss and I divide our spoils, though it wasn't really the evenest distribution. Gale got more, understandably since he has more mouths to feed.

"See you guys in the square," Katniss said, Gale nodded, "Wear something pretty," he joked.

I decided to stop by the bakery, by then the witch should be home but I took my chances. There was Mr Mellark, sitting outside, watching the pigs. He saw me from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "Greyback!' he called.

"Mr Mellark, still up for some squirrel?" I ask, holding the fat one up. He nodded, "You're lucky my wife isn't here, yet. Hold on, I'll get the bread for Kunal," he said, rushing inside.

I walked to the backdoor of the bakery so that he wouldn't trouble himself that much. I waited awkwardly outside, looking at a small bird fluttering about. I whistled, holding my finger out.

The bird landed on my finger, making me smile. From the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, blonde, stocky. Could probably kill me, if I'm being honest. Even though I was fast, I wasn't strong.

Soon enough, the bird flew away with the arrival of the baker, with a loaf of sweet, savoury bread, hot from the oven. "Here you go, Greyback."

I nodded, handing him the squirrel. "Oh!" he hummed, "Have you met my son, Peeta?" he asked, a smile on his face, "You're in the same year, yes?"

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I know him but I don't know that well him that well. My eyes travelled to the boy, who simply waved and briskly walked away. "I don't think so," I answered.

"I better be going, Mr Mellark. Nal needs his favourite bread after all," I said, flashing a small smile before I left. A small pit of dread boiled in my stomach, something bad is going to happen.

But then again, it's Reaping day, nothing good ever happens.

Word count: 1.3k

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#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peetamellark #hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #hunger games #male x male reader #male reader #x male reader #katniss everdeen #gale #male reader insert #gale hawthorne #Katiniss #Hunger games x reader #what the fuck is tumblr's layout i am so fucking confused.

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

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Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

Read More On AO3

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #hunger games #fanfic #writing #dancing on my own 💔👸🏼✨

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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The Soul Within the Star

Written by: @nightlock-1989

Prompt 133: The victory tour is live-streamed and mandatory viewing for each district. What no one expected however, was for Snow to know Peeta was the words behind Katniss - the one he couldn’t control. When peeta starts talking about rue and thresh in D11, snow issues the command, and everyone is shocked when a bang rings out and a red spot starts rapidly spreading on Peeta’s chest. Reactions and the aftermath! [submitted by anonymous]

I wish I knew who submitted this but whoever it was, I hope you enjoy. I kept glossing over this prompt and then one day I read it again and the story came to me.

Rated T and no beta

The Soul Within the Star

“He can be dealt with,” Plutarch Heavensbee says to President Snow. “As soon as the opportunity arises, we will take it. Knowing him, I think he’ll make a mistake publicly.”

President Snow slowly smiles, twirling a perfect white rose between his fingers. “I’ll issue the order to have them armed and ready. As soon as he speaks a word out of line, he will be eliminated.”

*****

Katniss is having difficulty speaking, so Peeta begins for her. He begins talking about how Thresh showed Katniss mercy and how Rue reminded Katniss of her sister.

Katniss is invested in what he is saying before being startled by a loud bang. She’s looking around to see what the possible source is when she hears a thud next to her. Peeta is laying on the ground. A small red spot on his chest begins to rapidly spread. She is on her knees by his side in an instant, one hand applying pressure, the other caressing his cheek.

“Peeta, look at me. You’re going to be okay,” Katniss assures him, although not quite believing her own words.

“Katniss?” he gasps. One hand covers the one on his chest while the other hand, coated in blood, caresses her cheek.

“Where the hell is the medic?” their mentor yells.

Peeta’s eyes begin closing and Katniss shakes him hard. “Stay awake, Peeta.”

“I’m so tired, Katniss.”

“No, don’t even think about it. You stay with me,” she cries.

He pulls the hand that’s on his chest away and brings it to his lips.

“Always,” he whispers before he succumbs to the darkness.

“NOOOOO!” she screams while thrashing at the Peacekeepers who are pulling her away. She feels a poke in her shoulder and then darkness follows her, too.

*****

When she comes to, she is on a soft bed on the train. She looks to her right and sees Haymitch, sitting in a chair with a bottle to his lips. He senses she’s awake and moves towards the bed, sitting in the empty space.

Haymitch barely moves when he shakes his head.

“Where is he?” she whispers.

“A hovercraft took his body.”

They tell her it was a rebel who shot and killed one half of the star-crossed lovers.

*****

It does nothing to soothe the districts and when the Quarter Quell announcement is made that the tributes will be reaped among the existing pool of victors, Katniss can do nothing but burst into laughter. She has gone mental and is unpredictable since Peeta was taken from her. Hopefully, the President won’t fault her family if someone else kills her, instead of her doing it herself.

Her plan is hindered, however, when Plutarch informs her that if she doesn’t actually try, the President has ordered her mother and sister to be killed. This is entertainment to the Capital citizens after all.

*****

In the arena, Katniss is lured by a beautiful voice, Peeta’s voice, away from the other victors. She leaves them behind, seeking only what she desires most. Finnick races past her when there is a terrifying scream. Peeta’s tortured scream soon follows and the two of them are trapped for one agonizing hour.

“Who was that voice?” she asks Finnick.

Finnick, leans into her ear and whispers, “My Annie.”

While she has no fight left for herself, she is willing to fight so that he can go home and be with his beloved.

*****

She focuses on a star as she’s being lifted by the claw. Her father told her that long ago, before the Dark Days, people spoke of souls going to a place called Heaven, that was up in the sky and where you reunited with loved ones after death and that there was a soul within each star. Maybe she is looking at Peeta’s.

*****

She comes to in the hovercraft but before she can grab the empty syringe, she is poked and feels as if she is being consumed by fire. As her eyes drift shut, she smiles, eagerly welcoming death.

*****

She hears mumbled voices, something about someone needing to rest. The voice offers to stay with her. Fingertips caress her cheek, and she feels lips on the crown of her head. Katniss finally feels whole again, and the feeling is directly linked to whoever this person is. She inhales deeply before reaching for the hand on her cheek.

Katniss hears a sharp intake of breath. “Katniss,” the voice whispers.

She smiles. This is the voice she was hoping would welcome her.

“Katniss,” the voice says louder.

She opens her eyes, her grey one’s looking straight into the most hypnotic blue. Growing up, she thought Prim’s eyes were the nicest shade of blue; however, they could not hold a candle to Peeta’s.

Katniss leans her cheek in closer to his hand. He even smells like cinnamon and maybe dill? She really is finally with him. Peeta takes a moment to wipe the tears from his own eyes.

“You’re really here?” she whispers.

He nods running his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her hair.

“Yeah,” he lets out shakily.

“And we get to stay together forever now?” she asks with a smile knowing that she is finally where she is meant to be.

He leans his forehead against hers. “I will never, EVER, leave you. I promise.”

“Always?” she raises her head slightly, her nose touching his.

“Always,” he assures her.

“I’ve waited so long,” she begins.

“I know sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s hand cup her jaw.

“I can finally tell you,” Katniss says dreamily.

“Tell me what?” he asks, gently rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

“I love you, Peeta,” she proclaims, closing the short distance from her lips to his in a light kiss. She pulls back to look at him, noting nothing but adoration. He only offers seconds of respite before he leans down, claiming her mouth with his. Katniss gives in, elated to finally be with her boy with the bread once more.

The kiss turns frantic, each exhibiting possessiveness that can only be quenched by the other. Katniss raises her hand to curl her fingers into his hair while Peeta cradles her jaw. At a slight tug of his hair, Peeta lets out a moan before using his tongue to beg for entrance. Katniss grants entry, their tongues now engaged in a sensual dance.

There’s a beeping in the background that causes Peeta to pull away. He moves to stand but Katniss grips the front of his…jumpsuit?

“No,” she says, terror in her voice. “I’m not letting you leave me.”

“I just have to- “

“No, I love you….so much, Peeta.” The beeping is getting faster. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t say it when you were alive.”

“Alive?” A dawning of realization crosses Peeta’s face but before he can assure her, a team of medical staff rush in barking out orders and pushing Peeta back.

Katniss screams and resists every effort before she is restrained, her heart rate climbing to 180 beats per minute. Peeta is forcibly removed, fighting with everything he has to get back to the woman he loves…. who has finally told him that she feels the same way.

Outside, Peeta collapses to the ground and begins to sob while the brief light in Katniss’s heart goes out.

*****

Eventually Katniss awakes, and there to greet her is someone Katniss is assuming is a doctor.

“How are you feeling, Katniss?”

“Please kill me,” she begs.

“Katniss, I assure you, it is better to be alive.”

She shakes her head, “No…. Peeta is not here.”

“Peeta IS here, Katniss. He’s been here—”

“NO, HE IS NOT. HE BLED TO DEATH IN FRONT OF ME.”

The doctor injects something in her IV. Katniss is sure sleep will come…. but this time it doesn’t. She is just calmer.

“Peeta is alive Katniss. We’re in District 13.”

Katniss opens her mouth to argue, when her sister walks in, smothering her in a hug.

“Prim,” she gasps. Her mother walks in soon after followed by her mentor.

“But I died in the Games,” Katniss says.

“You blew out the forcefield,” Haymitch explains.

“It was all a part of the plan to get the victors out,” Plutarch explains as he casually strolls in.

“I’m alive?” Katniss asks.

Haymitch pinches her hard causing her to yelp and Prim to kick him in the shin.

Katniss breaks down in tears, realizing that while she is indeed alive and safe with her family, the exchange with Peeta had to have been some kind of dream.

“He really is gone,” she gasps.

“Katniss, the boy’s alive,” her mentor says.

She begins shaking her head when someone comes running into the room. She looks up and there is Peeta who crosses the room with purpose before cupping her jaw, a little roughly, and smashes his lips to hers. Katniss grips his wrists tightly, willing him to hold her there forever. The kiss is so intense and full of love and passion that Katniss doesn’t register any of their surroundings. When they pull apart, Peeta once again has tears in his eyes. Some have fallen from his face to mix with Katniss’s own. The only people remaining in the room with them are Plutarch, Haymitch, and the doctor.

“None of this was real?” she questions.

“Peeta getting shot in the chest was real,” Plutarch confirms.

“I can attest to that with how bad it hurt,” Peeta says, unzipping his jumpsuit and pulling up his undershirt. Katniss can see where he was shot, touching the raised and discolored skin with a whisper of her fingertips. Peeta pulls her hand away allowing his shirt to drop before he kisses her fingertips.

“We made sure when we shot him to just miss his heart,” Plutarch adds.

Katniss reels back and is scrambling to attack Plutarch while Peeta holds her firmly back.

“We had the hovercraft standing by to treat him. Snow was going to do something one way or the other and it was better to get him out when we did. He knew that Peeta was a more dangerous threat with his words than you could ever be.”

Katniss relaxes and breathes in Peeta’s scent to calm down. The calmness only lasts briefly before she turns to Haymitch. “Did you know?”

“Sweetheart—”

“DID YOU KNOW?”

Haymitch hangs his head in shame before nodding slightly. Katniss possesses a strength no one knew possible and breaks free from Peeta’s grasp, raking her fingers along Haymitch’s cheek, blood coating her fingertips.

A medical team swarms in but Peeta shields her.

“NO. No drugs. Everyone out.” The room gapes at him. “I SAID OUT, DAMN IT!”

Katniss sobs in Peeta’s arms, collapsing to the floor and dragging Peeta down with her. He lets her cry into his chest while he cradles her body and rocks her back and forth all while keeping an eye on the monitor which is measuring her heartbeat.

Katniss falls asleep, the rocking motion soothing her. Peeta places her back in bed where she sleeps for hours.

When she comes to again, her face is buried in Peeta’s neck, his arm draped across her stomach. She grazes his jaw with her fingers causing him to stir awake.

“You’re alive and here with me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” Peeta says with a kiss to her forehead. “You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” she answers before her lips touch his again.

#nightlock-1989 #prompt 133 #springtime edition 2021 #submission

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

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Fall-ing In Love

Author: @mandelion82

Prompt: Fall-ing in love. Picture this on a walk on an Autumn day. Chilly day. The leaves have changed, breathing it in… you notice how a dock is still out in the water. You stand on it breathing in that air… until a dog barks which startles you and you fall in. Boy walking the dog jumps into the semi chilly water to save you. He takes you to his house to warm up….he’s cute, btw. Hope this is something you can work with. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125]

Rating: T (to be safe, for mentions of alcohol)

Author’s Note: Canadian!Peeta x American!Katniss, meet-cute. Some of the places are real, including, of course, Manitoba, Winnipeg and Tim Hortons. Some places (and things) are made-up, obviously, so don’t bust me, my Canadian friends. I tried to be as accurate as I could on things I didn’t make up, lol. So, this was getting much too long for a prompt fic, but I am considering continuing it on A03 in the near future. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for the prompt, @katnissandpeeta125!

______________

It was October 9th, and the Everdeens‒Katniss, her sister, Primrose, and their mother‒were currently making the drive up to Manitoba, Canada from their home in Grand Forks, North Dakota. They were traveling to visit their Uncle Haymitch for Canadian Thanksgiving, which fell this year on October 12th.

Katniss and Prim’s mother’s brother was a solitary man, an alcoholic grump, to put it bluntly, who had no real interest in associating with anyone as far as Katniss knew. But her mother had decreed they should all get to know him better. Katniss knew that her motivation lay in regret, regret that she’d lost touch with him after he moved to Canada, and other things… And now that her husband had passed, and with Haymitch being her only living older relative, she wanted them all to forge a closer relationship with the man.

Good luck to them.

Initially, her mother had tried to get Haymitch to visit them in the US, but he’d refused, saying he didn’t plan on leaving his home, ever. Stubborn as a mule. And so, her mother had suggested they visit him. Truth be told, Katniss was shocked that old Haymitch had agreed, and from the sounds of it, it had taken some arm-twisting. But, in the end, Haymitch had welcomed them to stay in his house, saying his casa was their casa. He’d said it was because he couldn’t turn away family, but Katniss suspected it had a lot to do with her mother offering to cook a large meal for him.

Haymitch Abernathy was basically a hermit, a hermit with a very nice, very large home‒he lived in a rustic, spacious log and stone cabin on Lake Victor in the small town of Panem, just outside of Winnipeg. The trip to see him had somehow turned into a three-week ordeal, their mother having decided they might as well make a vacation out of it.

Katniss had no idea how this was going to work. Her mother had promised Haymitch they wouldn’t be a burden, that he’d barely know they were there. Given how big his home appeared in photos, that might be possible, if it weren’t for her mother’s lofty ideals of getting to know him better. Katniss could just picture it: her mother waiting on her uncle hand-and-foot, trying to get them all to bond, organizing family game nights, and consequently, Uncle Haymitch fighting the urge to jump out the window. Well, he might like the being waited on part.

The reason they could take such a long trip was that their mother had her own business she could take anywhere; Prim attended one of those year-round high schools with the unusual breaks, and as for twenty-one-year-old Katniss, she’d long since graduated.

Katniss had been accepted to a state university in North Dakota, but admittedly, she was torn about actually attending. For one, the tuition and fees were outrageous; it had seemed like a waste of money they didn’t have. On top of that, she hadn’t qualified for financial aid, and so, she’d been working her butt off for nearly two years to save up enough to get started. Her mom, and even sixteen-year-old Prim, had been scrimping and saving in order for her to go to college, too. It brought Katniss endless guilt, even more upon the realization that she was no longer certain it was what she wanted.

She didn’t really know what she wanted to study or do with her life; all she knew was that she wanted to take care of her family and see Prim succeed. When their mother shut down for nearly six months after their father died, Katniss had feared everything would fall apart. She didn’t know how to reach her mother, and she hadn’t been prepared to basically become her sister’s caretaker at seventeen. She loved Prim; in fact, Prim was the only person in the living world she was sure she loved, but it had been nearly too much. They’d managed, though, as always.

Now, Prim had dreams of becoming a doctor. She had real potential, too. Medical school was crazy-expensive, though, and Katniss wondered if perhaps her college money would be better invested in helping Prim reach her goal. Katniss was more of the worker bee, anyway. She’d been thinking about this a lot on their drive up, that is when Prim wasn’t prodding her into singing along with the radio (because she loved her voice) and playing car games.

The Everdeens had taken an alternative route to Canada because Prim had expressed interest in visiting the International Peace Garden. When they arrived at the border, a friendly guard with an accent not too dissimilar from Katniss and Prim’s mother greeted them. He went about his routine check and sent them on their way with no issue, and they entered their neighbor to the north.

Although they’d gone out of their way quite a bit, for Katniss, it was worth it to see Prim’s face as they walked through the floral (fortunately still in bloom) grounds of the Peace Garden. They toured the Sunken Garden and saw the Promise of Peace sculpture, a set of hands releasing a dove, which Prim loved and had to snap selfies of herself by, along with the entire family. They moved on to the North American Game Warden Museum, which Katniss found interesting, and then to the floral clock, another favorite of Prim’s. After that, they had a small picnic in the picnic area and finished off their tour.

______________

Because of the detour, the Everdeens didn’t arrive at Haymitch’s place until well after three. Haymitch’s wooden home was adjacent to the serene blue-green Lake Victor, surrounded by tall evergreen trees and a mix of pine, balsam, ash, and poplar, whose leaves had transformed into a palette of brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges. Upon first inspection, it seemed to be the perfect escape into nature.

When they pulled up, Katniss saw Haymitch exiting his home and approaching their car.

“Well, there they are,” greeted her old uncle in his still-Americanized accent. He was obviously trying to sound peppy, but Katniss could tell he was skeptical about all this. So was she.

Shutting her driver’s side car door, “Hello, Haymitch,” her mother greeted him with a smile. She stepped forward, reaching out for him. Haymitch met her halfway and gave her a squeeze. He also hugged Prim, then reluctantly turned to Katniss.

There was no need to bother with it or mince words‒they both knew the other wasn’t a hugger, and they accepted that. Haymitch forced himself with his sister and with Prim, and as for Katniss, she didn’t really like being touched by anyone except Prim, and previously, her father.

“How ya doing, sweetheart?” Haymitch asked, keeping his distance as if she was something venomous. Okay by her.

“Fine, Haymitch,” she replied. “And you?”

“Just dandy. Uh,” he turned back to the other two, “why don’t y’all come in,” he offered, motioning with his hand toward the house. They followed him inside, only to stand in the foyer for several awkward moments before Haymitch offered them the grand tour.

The place was indeed large, with high ceilings supported by long, thick logs and massive windows, which could definitely use a dusting but beheld incredible views just the same. It was refreshingly uncluttered, aside from a substantial collection of alcohol behind his bar and in the liquor cabinet. Surprise, surprise. Haymitch warned the girls about sneaking some of his liquor, but that was neither here nor there. Katniss had never touched the stuff in her life and didn’t plan to start now, and Prim would never do such a thing. Always sweet as peaches, she’d never even gone through a rebellious teenage phase.

Next, Haymitch showed them to their rooms‒there were enough for all of them to have one to themselves. Katniss took the smallest guest room, giving her mother the largest and her sister the one with the best view. Katniss didn’t plan on staying in the house much, anyway.

After that, her mother got right to work, settling in and cleaning up around Haymitch’s place before announcing she was going to start dinner. Haymitch grumbled a little, but ultimately, didn’t stop her, especially with the promise of food hanging in the air. And while his sister made herself at home, Haymitch opted for taking a bottle of whiskey and a glass to his favorite chair.

______________

After a big meal and a little conversation, the Everdeens retired to their respective rooms. Katniss assumed her mother would be reading and Prim would be listening to music or on her phone if she didn’t lose signal, and as for Katniss, she was planning to go out tomorrow morning, so she prepared her bag and went to sleep.

That night, Katniss dreamt of her father. She hadn’t done so in a long time, but being in this place brought him readily to mind. It was the woods. Being in the woods reminded her so much of him. She wasn’t sure how to feel about her mind suddenly being flooded with thoughts of her dad. On the one hand, her memories of him were cherished, but on the other, sometimes forgetting was easier…

______________

In the still of morning, just as the sun peeked out over the horizon, Katniss slipped out of bed. The house was peacefully quiet, aside from the typical early morning noises emanating from the wilderness outside. She dressed quickly and took the stairs as softly as possible, avoiding the couple of spots she’d discovered creaked loudly. She walked into the wide-open living room and was surprised to find Haymitch already awake, seated in his green overstuffed chair with his feet propped up on the coffee table, staring out the windows. He didn’t even turn to look at her when he said, “Good mornin’.”

“Good morning,” she muttered back, stepping into her boots she’d left by the door. She laced them up and grabbed her father’s old, leather hunting jacket.

“Going out?” he asked in a gruff, groggy tone.

Katniss shrugged on the jacket. She could tell by the air that slipped in through the cracks of the windows upstairs that it was chilly out, but she had on layers, so she should stay warm enough.

“Yeah,” she said, hiking her bag up onto her shoulder.

Katniss expected her uncle to question where she was going (she didn’t really know where) and when she’d be back (she didn’t know that, either) as her mother and Prim would, but all he said was, “There’s some bear spray on the table. Take it with you.”

She could get used to this, decided Katniss. A quick verbal exchange or, even better, none. She lightly pressed her lips together and thanked her uncle as she snatched the canister of deterrent from off the table and stuck it in her pants pocket. And she went outside.

It was, indeed, chilly out, but not the unpleasant kind that cuts straight through you to the bone. Katniss observed the morning mist rising on the water and breathed in the perfect scent of trees and distant mountain air. Again, she was reminded of her father. Despite the bittersweet nostalgia, getting back to nature was always a good thing for Katniss. Maybe this place was a good idea after all. Sticking her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she trudged off, traveling the short distance down to the lake.

She hadn’t gone far when she noticed a long, wooden dock. She stepped onto the dock and took the walk all the way to the end. The tips of her boots just barely hung over the edge. Around her, it was almost completely silent, aside from the occasional honk of the geese flying in formation overhead. Katniss looked up, then down and out across the reflective surface of the water, now illuminated by the rising sun casting its soft pink and yellow glow. A pair of loons swam by, barely even noticing or caring about her. They must be used to people, she surmised. Not like this was a hopping tourist spot, but clearly, people lived here as she’d noticed several other large homes around.

Katniss took in the rest of her surroundings visually, then shut her eyes and breathed in deep. It was definitely Fall. Fall had that exact same smell every year whether in the United States or Canada, and once again, it was one she so closely linked with her father.

As she stood on the edge of the dock, a loud bark pierced the morning stillness. It was so high-pitched, so sudden, and so close that Katniss lost her balance, opening her eyes just in time to go careening into the lake. She was cold and wet, and it took her a moment to realize what had just happened and to get her bearings. By the time she did, a pair of strong arms were wrapped around her middle, pulling her back toward the dock. Somehow, she’d swum out a few yards in the wrong direction, probably disoriented by the shock of the surprisingly frigid-for-Fall water.

But who had her around the waist?

She was barely able to register the solid form of a guy before he hefted her onto the dock. Katniss got to her feet and took a couple of steps back, allowing him room to pull himself out of the water. She heard that unmistakable bark again and looked to see the dog (she assumed) that’d startled her swimming up behind the guy. The dog’s owner turned around and pulled it out of the water, setting it on the dock; it licked his face then trotted off toward land, giving her a cursory glance and a sniff along the way. Fortunately, it waited to pass by her before shaking out its thick, reddish-brown fur.

It was only then that Katniss got a good look at her ‘rescuer.’ Standing at full medium height on the edge of the dock, she noticed he was broad-shouldered and stocky, with ashy blond hair that fell in damp waves across his forehead. And very blue eyes. He was cute. Really cute, actually. Maybe the cutest guy she’d seen in a while, at least that she could recall right now. But maybe her brain was frozen from icy water.

“Are you alright?” the guy asked sincerely.

“Y-yeah,” she mumbled, hugging herself as she involuntarily began to shiver. It hadn’t seemed very cold out, but of course, that’d all changed now that she was soaked through and the wind was hitting her. “Wh-why…did…y-you do that?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

The guy didn’t answer but, instead, grabbed his coat lying on the dock and strode over to her. With surprising flair, he whipped it around, draping it across her shoulders. She wanted to protest, but it was so cold, and his jacket was so warm that she couldn’t seem to form one. She shrugged it on, and he helped her slip her trembling arms through the holes. As if that wasn’t kind enough, he even zipped the jacket up for her. It felt like something an overly doting boyfriend would do, and despite her cheeks being practically frozen solid, she felt them heat up.

And then, when he began brusquely rubbing her arms to create friction through his coat, she blushed even harder. A stranger was touching her‒she barely let her family do so‒in a practical yet affectionate manner, and she wasn’t even resisting…

Katniss stared briefly down at her soggy boots, then raised her gray eyes to meet his blue ones. “Um, thanks. What about you?” she asked, referring to his lack of coat.

He dropped his hands to his sides, giving her a small smile. “I’m fine.”

Clearly, he wasn’t. His burnt orange sweater and khaki pants were saturated, and every few seconds or so, he’d shiver. He was obviously freezing but trying to hide it. A guy thing, she supposed.

“Why did you do that?” she repeated her earlier question. “You didn’t need to do that. I was fine. I know how to swim.”

Honestly, she wanted to rant at him. There was no reason for him to jump in; it made no sense at all, and now they were both soaked through.

He shrugged, then embraced himself for warmth. “I didn’t know that. As for why, it was instinct. I just saw a person in trouble, and when a guy sees that, he’s gotta act.”

So, he was just doing the decent thing any guy would do… Not any guys she knew. Maybe Canadian ones were different.

“I’m Peeta,” he said, extending his hand to her. “Peeta Mellark.”

“Katniss,” she replied, giving it a brief shake. “Everdeen,” she added hesitantly.

He smiled at her. “Well, Katniss Everdeen, we, uh, probably shouldn’t stay out here, wet like this.” She was surprised he hadn’t said so sooner, and she was surprised neither of them had made any move to leave. “Where’d you say you were staying?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t.”

“Well,” he exhaled, “if it’s far, maybe you better come to my place.”

“What?” There was no way she was going off with a total stranger, to his house, no matter how cute or charismatic he was.

“To get warmed up. It’s just over there.” He pointed, and she followed his finger. It was the house directly across the lake from Haymitch’s.

“It’s really not far to where I’m staying,” she said, not wanting to tell him exactly where.

“Yeah, but it’s a bit nippy, Katniss,” he persisted, briskly rubbing his own arms, “and being wet like that, you could catch your death of pneumonia, eh?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

Peeta smiled wider, revealing a pair of dimples. “Do I look dangerous?”

She scrutinized him, his innocent little grin, those soft blue eyes crinkled up at the corners. “No, but appearances can be deceiving.”

“Sure they can. But hey, I promise I won’t hurt ya.” He held up his hand in some kind of scouts’ honor symbol. “We Canadians are very friendly.”

“It’s really not necessary, Peeta. You should go home and get yourself warm.”

“Sorry. I would, Katniss, but Canadian hospitality dictates that I see you get warmed up, or at least get to the place you’re staying. I can tell you’re not from around here.”

Was that supposed to be an insult or simply an observation? Even if it was meant to be the former, he’d said it in such a polite manner that she couldn’t take it as such.

Katniss heaved a sigh. “Okay.” She didn’t need it on her conscience if this nice guy got sick.

“Good!” Peeta exclaimed, bouncing a little. She didn’t know whether from excitement over her agreement or trying to keep warm. Maybe a little of both. This got his dog excited, too, and it barked from beside him.

“But, for your sake, I hope you’re harmless because I’ve got bear spray in my pocket.”

Peeta raised a brow. “I see. Well then, I’d better be on my best behavior, huh? Cause that stuff’ll mess you up!” He grinned at her, and the corners of Katniss’s lips twitched in response.

“Shall we go, then?” he suggested, motioning. Still being ultra polite, even though he had to be an icicle by now. She nodded.

Why was she agreeing to this? Katniss wondered. Haymitch’s house was right over there. It wouldn’t take her that long to get there. Was she crazy?

She didn’t have much time to ponder it, though, because Peeta was already gently leading her off, his hand ever so lightly brushing her back.

______________

Peeta’s home was nearly as large as Haymitch’s and looked quite similar on the outside. Inside, it was structurally the same, yet completely different. He had art on the walls, a few sculptures, and hockey paraphernalia, the Winnipeg Jets. Overall, the place felt homier, warmer, and definitely more colorful.

“It’s nice.” She was trying to be polite, though she knew she wasn’t anywhere near as polite as he was. “Do you live here alone?” she asked, glancing around for any signs of others.

“Most of the time,” was his confusing response. He noticed her bewildered expression and gave a small chuckle. “Sometimes my parents come around, and one of my brothers stays here off and on.”

Well, that didn’t clear things up much.

“Long story.” He laughed.

Clearly.

“How old are you?” Katniss asked, not knowing where it came from. She hoped that wasn’t considered rude around these parts.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “25.”

Peeta didn’t ask how old she was in turn, only smiled and led her upstairs. Katniss patted her pocket to make sure the canister was still there. Hopefully it still worked. But if Peeta was a killer, he was just about the nicest one she could imagine. Of course, wouldn’t that be the perfect crime?

He twisted the knob and pushed open the second door on the left, explaining that it was his room. He stepped in, but Katniss lingered in the doorway while he went to his closet. He rummaged around a bit before pulling out a sweater and pair of sweatpants.

“I’m sorry that this is all I have,” he said. “Not very fashionable, but it’s the smallest I own.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really care about fashion.” She didn’t, and she was already feeling much warmer. She thought to tell him she should really just go now, but Peeta was insistent, and so, she took the clothes and allowed him to lead her to a bathroom down the hall. “This is the nice one,” he said. “For guests. There are some towels in there. Feel free to use anything you need.”

“Oh. Okay.” Once more, she nodded, and she stepped inside and locked the door.

After dressing, Katniss left the bathroom. Peeta was waiting, leaning against the wall with a bag in his hand. “Here, a bag to put your wet clothes in,” he said. He thought of everything.

It was only then that she caught his accent. Subtle yet noticeable, she heard it when he said certain words like bag, which he pronounced as a cross between ‘beg’ and ‘bayg.’ It wasn’t uncommon for people around her area and in nearby Minnesota to speak that way, so she hadn’t really thought about it, but she did now. She thought the subtle difference in his speech to be kind of cute, actually.

Peeta led her downstairs and asked her to wait on the couch. He still hadn’t changed himself, which she felt bad about. “I’ll be right back,” he said, dragging out the a in the word. “Then I’ll make you some tea.”

“You don’t have‒” she began, but she stopped herself, knowing it was useless to argue. This Canadian stranger’s hospitality apparently knew no bounds.

While he was changing, Katniss briefly wondered if she should just go, but that felt incredibly rude. He really had been so nice thus far, so she waited.

He came back, dressed in a hockey jersey and jeans. His still slightly damp, wavy hair was slicked back in some kind of style now. It made him look less boyish, more manly, and she couldn’t deny, quite attractive.

Peeta offered her tea once more, using his previous line about Canadian hospitality. She accepted and carefully watched him make it for her, so he didn’t slip anything in it.

“You use that excuse about hospitality a lot,” she quipped.

“S’not an excuse. It’s practically the law around these parts, sweetheart,” he said, handing her the tea.

“Sweetheart? Another Canadianism?” She was joking, of course. She knew full well it wasn’t because Haymitch called her that all the time, and he was originally American. It had always seemed like a strange term to Katniss, though, one that only truly fit with couples who’d been married forever, and not even then for her. She was never planning on getting married.

Then again, she kind of liked the sound of the word ‘sweetheart’ rolling off Peeta’s tongue…

“Nah, that one’s just mine.” He winked at her, and in spite of how forward she thought him, she smiled ever so faintly over her mug. Then she blew lightly on the tea and took a tentative sip. Just right.

She watched him prepare his own tea.

“You don’t take sugar in your tea?” she asked, noticing he hadn’t added any to his cup.

“Nah. I’m not much for sweet things. Drinks, anyway.” He winked at her again.

Katniss pressed her lips together. Was he flirting with her?

“Well, I like them. Sweet drinks,” she quickly added the second part. Peeta grinned at her clarification and took a seat on the couch with her, at the other end. She shifted in her spot, her back digging into the armrest. She was uncomfortable, yes, but not because she didn’t trust him. It was because of his looks and the scent coming from him and infused in the clothes she wore. Like cinnamon and dill.

“So, you’re from the States?” Peeta asked, taking a sip, then setting his cup down on the coffee table.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I can just tell. From the way you talk and your mannerisms.”

Katniss picked at a loose thread on the side of his sweatpants. She wasn’t really good at conversation, and she didn’t know what to say next, until she caught sight of his dog over in the corner. “So, your dog…um, what breed is he or she?”

“Oh, she’s a mutt.” Peeta laughed. Katniss laughed a little, too.

“Okay, but a mutt of what?”

“Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever and lab.”

Katniss nodded, even though she knew nothing about either type of dog, particularly the first. “I see. What’s her name?”

“Biscuit.”

“Biscuit. Really?”

“What?” He smirked.

“Well, it’s just…a little generic, isn’t it?”

“Generic, huh?” Peeta chuckled. “Well, I didn’t name her. My brother did. Used to be his dog, but he found out his wife’s allergic. He was gonna have to give her up, so I took her.”

“That was nice of you.”

“I s’pose.” He shrugged. “Figured he could at least see Biscuit this way. I call her Cookie most of the time, though, because that’s what a biscuit is here. My brother’s into American slang,” he explained.

“I see. Well, it’s…cute.”

Peeta smiled.

They talked a while longer, about basic things mainly, and after some time, Peeta cleared his throat. “So, Katniss, I was wondering…now that we’re dry, would you like to have some breakfast with me?”

“Uh…”

“If you haven’t had any, and you’re hungry, that is.”

“Well…”

“I would cook for you, Katniss. I’m a decent cook, but I don’t have much in the house right now. Wasn’t expecting company.” Company. Meaning, the klutzy girl he’d fished out of the lake then dragged home to make sure she got dry and warm, all out of the goodness of his heart.

“So, I was thinking I could take you out somewhere. Would you allow it?”

She should turn him down, say she needs to go or that her family is expecting her. Speaking of which, her family…she’d almost forgotten about them. They probably were wondering what happened to her.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said, rather regrettably.

“Please, Katniss. I’d really like to make it up to you. It was Cookie’s fault you fell in the lake.”

Peeta put on a smile, and it was so bright and beautiful and hopeful that she hated to wipe it away by saying no.

“Well…I…should check in with my family first.”

“So, you’ll allow it?” he asked, grinning like mad.

“Yeah,” she smiled back, “I’ll allow it.”

She might as well. If the guy was going to kill her or attack her, he would have done it by now, wouldn’t he? She shook her head at her own thoughts.

Then, another popped in.

“Hey, do you have Tim Hortons?”

Peeta chuckled. “Oh, you like Timmies, eh?”

“Yeah, I like the timbits.”

“A lot of Americans do, but let me tell you a secret…” He leaned across the couch, not close enough to touch her but enough that she could see the sparkle in his eyes and feel his breath against her face. “They’re much better here than in the States.”

Katniss smirked. “I see.”

“No offense to you guys, of course. And to answer your question, we do have Timmies, but it’s all the way in Winnipeg. I don’t mind taking you there, but would your family miss you?” He was giving her that dimpled grin again.

Katniss laughed, a little awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, maybe someplace closer?”

“I know just the place. A local place. Better than Timmies, too.”

“Okay. Well, I should, uh…” She rose from the couch, and he bolted upright at the same time. Probably’d been taught it was good manners. “Get back.”

“May I walk you?” he asked.

“Uh…” She hesitated. How would it look if she came strolling back to Haymitch’s house with a guy? Then again, how was it going to look when she told her family she was planning to go out for breakfast with the cute Canadian stranger across the lake? She couldn’t believe she was going to have breakfast with a cute Canadian stranger she just met…

But she actually wanted to go.

Katniss let Peeta walk her most of the way back to Haymitch’s then exchanged numbers and told him she’d meet him in twenty minutes at the dock. She figured she could ask Haymitch about him. It might be embarrassing, but she needed to find out a bit more information before going somewhere with him. As for her number, well, she couldn’t believe she’d given him that, but at least it gave her the option of blowing him off without in-person contact if she needed to. Then, if worse came to worse and he kept trying to contact her, she could always shut her phone off for the duration of the trip‒she barely used it, anyway‒and then she could get a new number back home…

______________

When Katniss returned, Haymitch’s place was alive and filled with noise. Prim’s singing reverberated off the rafters, and her mother and Haymitch were bickering like (most) siblings do about some nonsense.

“Katniss, there you are,” her mother exclaimed when she saw her, sounding a bit flustered. “Where were you?”

“I sent the bear spray with her,” Haymitch declared, throwing his hands up as if he expected to be blamed and to say it wasn’t his fault.

As for Katniss, she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to say she was at some guy’s house, nor explain why she was wearing his clothes and carrying her damp ones in a bag.

“I went out for a walk,” she opted for. The three all turned toward her, examining her curiously.

“Katniss, what are you wearing?” asked her mother.

Great.

Well, she’d known that was coming. She should have tried to sneak in the back.

“Yeah,” Prim chimed in, “why are you wearing a sweater about three sizes too big for you that isn’t even yours, huh?!”

Might as well rip off the bandaid now. And so, she told the story…

“Oh, how romantic!” gushed Prim when she’d finished.

Their mother was staring at her while haphazardly wiping down the table for the third time, and Haymitch looked bored.

“It wasn’t romantic at all; it was stupid,” Katnis corrected, earning a disapproving look from Prim. “I was right off the dock, and I can swim, as you know, but this guy just jumped in after me. He said something about Canadian hospitality and how he just reacted.”

“What’d you say this guy’s name was?” asked Haymitch.

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark. He’s your neighbor.”

Realization began to dawn on Haymitch’s face.

“And where’d you say he lived?”

“Right across the lake,” Katniss answered. “You know him?”

Haymitch stroked his stubbled chin, and his mouth curled up. “Oh yeah, the boy across the lake. Yeah, I know him. Nice kid. Bakes good bread.”

“He baked bread for you?”

“Yeah, when I moved in. Said he was bein’ neighborly.”

Katniss smiled to herself. Yeah, that sounded like the Peeta she’d met…

“Wait, what happened after?” Prim interjected. “Are you wearing his clothes?! Did you go to his place?!” Her voice was coming out in squeals; she was getting entirely too excited about the whole thing.

Katniss sighed. “Yeah. I wasn’t going to, but he was insistent that I go to his place to dry off and warm up, and I had that bear spray in my pocket, so I figured if he turned out to be a psycho I could use that or kick him in the groin and run.”

Prim had the widest grin on her face now. “Oh, so he took you back to his place to ‘warm up,’ huh?” Prim used air quotes for the last part.

“Don’t you dare use the air quotes, Primrose!” Clearly, her sister had been reading those ‘romantic’ novels again. “Nothing happened, Prim.” She was directing that statement at everyone, though. “Peeta gave me some dry clothes to wear, a warm drink; we talked a little, and that was it.”

There was a group head bob.

“And…well, he invited me to breakfast.”

Katniss ignored her sister’s exclamation that she was going on a date and stormed up the stairs to her room, well, the room she was using. While trying to decide what to wear on her not-a-date, she considered the whole thing…

Was this worth so much harassment? Katniss wasn’t sure, but she liked Peeta Mellark. She liked him a lot. As a matter of fact, if these were more normal circumstances…if she wasn’t in a foreign country, if she hadn’t known this guy for no more than two hours, and most importantly, if she was a completely different girl, she might say there was a chance she could be falling for Peeta…

But no, it wasn’t possible. Not her. Not so soon. Not ever, really. Katniss Everdeen refused to fall in love or get married. She’d long since decided it wasn’t for her, that she would never go through what her mother did. She rejected the notion, altogether, of letting herself feel so much for another person that she would practically stop living if she lost them.

But the feeling Peeta gave her today, it made her almost…hopeful. It made her wonder how good it could be… Still, she refused to succumb to it. She would go to breakfast with the Canadian boy across the lake; she would enjoy her time with him, and then she’d tuck the nice memory away for safekeeping. That would be the end of it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mandelion82 #submission #prompt

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everydayescapeartist · 3 years

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First Lines

Tagged by @forbiddenfantasies1 -- Thank you! This was fun!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

1) Jaime stood perusing the wide selection of cards in the Harrenhalmark Gift Shop aisle. (Wench You Care Enough to Send the Very Best, Jaime/Brienne, rated G)

2) It had been a relatively slow night so far. (Ladies’ Night at the Lion’s Den, Jaime/Brienne, rated M)

3) The movie theater was quiet. (The Christmas Leap, Katniss/Peeta, rated M)

4) She’d known this would be part of her creative writing class. (Smut Writing for Dummies, Jaime/Brienne, rated E)

5) She only does it because it’s for Sansa’s Psychology Research class and because Sansa promises her anonymity will be kept and because Sansa is her best friend. (It’s Hard To Look Right At Ya, Baby, Jaime/Brienne, rated T)

6) Joanna and Aleysia were as close as sisters, though they shared no blood. (I Don’t Want to Toe the Line, Jaime/Brienne, rated T)

7) Jaime couldn’t believe he was here, actually considering doing this. (A Knight Under the Big Top, Jaime/Brienne, rated T)

8) There she stood in the dark, feeling all the fool she should for letting Renly talk her into coming to this stupid party. (Seven Minutes with the Seven, Jaime/Brienne, rated G)

9) “I was wondering, my queen, if you’d be so kind as to bend the knee for me.” (Bend the Knee, Jon/Daenerys, rated M)

10) She’d been so excited to get to learn from him, the Golden Lion, knighted (by Ser Arthur Dayne no less) when he was just 15, and invited into the Kingsguard that same year. (Gonna give you all my love, boy, Jaime/Brienne, rated E)

11) She sat at the small, round wooden table feeling numb, staring at the faces around her, the faces deciding a fate she had no say in. (Build a Bridge, Katniss/Peeta, rated M - Note: I realized I suck pretty badly on this one because I forgot that I posted it for PiP, so while I’ve had eight chapters drafted for several years, I kind of forgot anyone might be awaiting them. *hangs head in shame* As you can see if you look at my works list, life shit got real around here and I was just rolling into a hiatus at this point, though I didn’t know it at the time. I cannot make any promises, but perhaps I’ll try to finish this one in some way that satisfies me and post it eventually. Probably no one cares at this point, but I still feel bad.)

12) We take our turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. (In All Moments, Katniss/Peeta, rated M)

13) Dear Dr. Aurelius, You asked me to write a little something about anything "remarkable" about each of the days of this week since it is the anniversary of Prim's death and you want to make sure I don't just get locked up inside myself again. (Prim, Promise, and Progress, Katniss/Peeta, rated T)

14) "That'll be $4.50," she informed the middle-aged man still in his business suit from work apparently, his fresh-faced beauty of a girlfriend (wife? mistress? who knew?) hanging on his arm. (Change at the Fair, Katniss/Peeta, rated G)

15) "I'm in the mood to play tonight. Are you?" (Web Spinner, Katniss/Peeta, rated E)

16) Katniss settled down comfortably onto the thick branch she’d ascended to, resting her back against the dark bark of the tree’s trunk. (Reading Companion, Katniss/Peeta, rated T)

17) I walk back over to where Finnick is keeping watch and sit back down just a couple feet from him, keeping my eyes trained in the directions he is not covering. (It Can Never Be Enough, Katniss/Peeta, rated T)

18) May (Peeta): He was so happy to have gotten the job. (Hot Buns, Honey Buns, Katniss/Peeta, rated E)

19) “Peeta, come on, man, call it a day!” (Beautiful Shield, Katniss/Peeta, rated T)

20) His fair hair and skin stood out here and that, plus how off-key he was as he sat on the sand humming a tune whilst sketching in a notebook, is what caught Katniss Everdeen’s attention as she made her way past him toward her friends. (New Old Friend, Katniss/Peeta, rated T)

Patterns: I guess I typically try to set the scene a little, let you know where the characters are & generally what they’re doing & maybe how they’re feeling about it. Most times, I don’t start with dialogue, though sometimes I do. Lord knows I use enough dialogue after I give you the initial sentences usually, haha!

Favorites: #5 because it amuses me, like I can feel Brienne’s discomfort in the situation..and because I hope it makes people want to learn more about whatever her predicament is. #8 also because I apparently like Brienne’s feelings in different predicaments, lol. #11, which makes me feel even worse, but yeah, I like the somber feeling of it.

Tagging (apologies, I’m sure I’ll repeat tag someone who has already been tagged/done this - feel free to ignore): @writergirl2011 @ilikeblue @angel-deux-writes @theunpaidcritic @twelvemonkeyswere @bussdowntarthiana @sohereforyou @jennagill @hutchhitched @muttpeeta and anyone else who would like to do this :)

#first lines tag game #eea writes #shit I write #myfic #my fic #braime fics #everlark fics #jonerys fic

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junie-bugg · 4 years

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The Heartrender - Chapter Four: Flames

Here it is! The last chapter of ‘The Heartrender’!

In which I finally post the Everlark smut, lmao.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Happy reading💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter Four: Flames

He was shivering on the front stoop when she brought him a cup of nettle tea. The smell was similar to that of the tea he’d had back home, though in his mother’s house they made sure to only steep birch bark and angelica root. Giving a guest nettle tea was a sign of poverty and god forbid the Mellarks confirm what the entire town already knew to be true. He sloshed the steaming gray-green liquid around, eyeing it warily. The ceramic felt rough against his palm. The heat was welcome after so long outside, but instead of accepting her peace offering, he set it down on the stone step.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said sharply. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He scratched at his beard, a bitter laugh bubbled out of his throat. The perfect picture of forced nonchalance. “But you’d burst my heart. So much for that truce.” He had tried to avoid looking at her but couldn’t help but glance up when she didn’t respond.

Her eyes were rimmed with red and she had changed out of her nightgown. She now wore a simple white and blue frock. It was the kind that milkmaids wore in the Sjorkden countrysides during the summertime, though this one lacked the swirling embroidery and was made of a warmer, thicker cloth. The sleeves shone white against her deep skin and her hair floated loosely about her face, the inky color of obsidian pulled from the depths of the very earth. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively.

“You have no idea…” she started but then trailed off.

“No idea of what?” he pressed.

“You have no idea how much you scare me.” She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and then turned away from him, looking out into the mountainous distance. He was struck with how young she looked in that moment. Just a girl really. Frightened and cold and half a world away from home.

“At first I was scared of…” Her eyes darted back to his. “Well, look at you. You’re massive. But also the fact that you despise me without even knowing me. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Peeta didn’t respond. From infancy, he had been taught to fear her kind. Witches were monsters. Demons. Barely even human. First instilled in him by his mother and after he ran away from home, the masters. Those fears were settled as deep as his very bone marrow and wouldn’t be so easily uprooted. But as he watched the breeze play with her hair and the subtle movement of her skirts as she shifted from foot to foot, the hateful voices of his kin quieted ever so slightly.

“Say something,” she said weakly.

“You could have killed me…but you stopped yourself… ” He was trying to make sense of it all, and once again, the only conclusion he came to was that he owed her. He had owed her the moment she pulled him from the sea and perhaps he would never stop. She was always sparing his life. What had he done in return?

She stared down at her feet and Peeta realized with a start that he was admiring the slender curve of her neck, the same soft stretch of skin he made a habit of caressing at night when she wasn’t aware of him. This wasn’t right. He bit the inside of his cheek, summoning his anger back up. It wasn’t as readily equipped as it had once been.

“If you had drawn a sword on me a few days ago, I think I would have killed you. But now I… I don’t want you to…” She swallowed, the words were as thick as a paste in her mouth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her confession made him uncomfortable. It was like she had rolled over and was showing him her soft underbelly. It wasn’t like her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want us to trust each other.”

“That might prove to be a mistake,” he pointed out. “We haven’t had the best track record.”

“I know,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “But I’m tired of being afraid.”

She had spared him, more than once, even when it could prove dangerous for her to do so. She had kept his heart beating and his blood warm even when it would have been easy to let him freeze to death. She said she was tired, Peeta realized that he was too, and without him even meaning for it, the iron chains of his preconceptions shifted.

“No matter what you paint me to be, I’m no monster,” she said as she bent down to pick up the tea. Her hair brushed the stone step.

“Then what are you?” Peeta asked.

“A survivor. Just like you.” At that moment, her face was unreadable, stone-like, as if she carried a whole uncharted world inside herself that Peeta would never touch. But there, if you looked closely as she placed a gentle hand to his shoulder and pressed the tea back into his palm, there was a chink in the armor. Like when she had allowed him to listen to her heartbeat, something so intimate and out of place between the bickering and long stretches of wary silence between them.

It was a softening of sorts, a slivered glimpse through branches and into the clearing beyond, as if all other encounters he had witnessed before were of shifting leaves, ripples in a lake, half versions of a girl, and this was the first time Peeta had the courage to look closely and really see her.

He wondered what she saw in him.

There was a tenderness in her eyes, and in response to the pressure of her hand, a blooming warmth opened in Peeta’s chest the same way a door opens on rusted, unused hinges. Slowly and with great difficulty, as if out of practice, but open all the same.

That was until her eyes narrowed, her lips twisted unpleasantly, and she said: “Don’t ever point your sword at me again, or I swear to god I’ll make you piss yourself.”

They followed the coastline, sleeping in abandoned whaling lodges some nights and huddled together behind boulders on others. The times when they had no lodge were the toughest on the witch since she felt it her duty to stay up to keep them warm. She’d be drained and sleep-deprived the next day and their speed would be greatly diminished.

Peeta offered to carry her. It was the least he could do in exchange for all she had done for him, and she was so light it’d be no burden at all, but her pride was a delicate thing and she refused every time. That was until they hadn’t set foot in a lodge in three days and she was on the verge of collapsing. Peeta didn’t ask this time, he just scooped her up and let her sleep with her face pressed into his chest.

“You’ve started smiling in your sleep. Did you know that?” she mumbled groggily one day as Peeta walked with her in his arms.

He chuckled, the crystallized mist of his breath swirling around his head. “How would I know that? I’m the one sleeping.”

She laughed lightly and curled her hand in the wolf’s fur of his cloak. He could hear a smile tinging her voice when she responded. “What do you dream about?”

He lied. “Home. Sjorkden.”

“Do you have a family, lieutenant?”

“I do,” Peeta said solemnly. “Or I did.” He wasn’t thinking of his blood. Older brothers with a taste for cruelty. A timid father who retreated into a mixing bowl whenever trouble brewed. A mother with a short temper and an even shorter supply of love for her youngest son. She had called him ‘runt’ before he worked up the courage to run away and enroll in the academy.

Whoever first said “blood is thicker than water” was a fool. Peeta had seen barrels worth of blood wash away in water. He had seen his home town swallowed up by mists from the deck of a ship. He had seen his mother weeping over another lost child running down her legs and then turn to beat her living, breathing sons the same day. Blood meant nothing.

No, he did not think of his blood. He was thinking instead of his brothers in arms, the men he’d known as boys, the sparring circles and the holiday feasts, the proud slaps on the back, the dirty inside jokes, and the secret drunken parties held when the masters went to bed. He felt a hollow ache deep in his chest when he remembered most of his friends were dead, lost in a never-ending crusade that had been handed down to them like a dusty, blood-soaked artifact of another time.

And then he thought of her and with no magic involved, his heartbeat quickened.

She was all he had left.

“I had a family too,” she whispered and Peeta heard the words she wouldn’t say out loud.

A raid.

“When?” he pressed cautiously, afraid of pushing her to open up to him again. It happened so rarely that she would let a scrap of her life from before The Bloody Rose loose. He knew she had lived in Ellsworth for a few years, the merchant town where the commander had found her, working off a steep indenture in a pleasure house. But she was a Heartrender, originally from the southeastern country of Krell, a land thick with forest and swamp. She was a girl of humid summers and wooden houses, not the chilled stone harbors of a trading port.

“I was eleven when they took my father, thirteen when my mother disappeared, and-” her voice trembled, though she tried to hide it. “They burned Primrose last year.”

The witch said they but all Peeta could hear was you. He wanted to console her but what could he say when he and his people were the cause of her suffering? Peeta had turned in plenty of young women to the council. What if one of them had been her sister? Guilt gripped his throat, his stomach, his lungs. He felt heavy with self-loathing.

Perhaps it wasn’t her that was the monster. Perhaps it was him.

Perhaps it had been him all along.

With words stuck in his throat, he walked with just the wind and the crunching of his own steps to break up the silence.

“It’s nice that you’ll have somewhere to go if we get out of this,” she said in an attempt to change the subject.

Peeta had flashed her a small smile, but his insides withered like flowers in a frost.

He didn’t really. Not anymore.

At least, not in Sjorkden.

The witch walked near the cliffside, peering down at the black sand beach every once in a while. Peeta knew she stepped lightly and was careful with her footing, but still, he didn’t like her so close to the edge. He pulled her away.

“Stop,” she grumbled, twisting her arm out of his grasp.

Peeta clenched his jaw but didn’t try touching her again.

She narrowed her eyes at his sour expression. “I’m being careful, I swear.”

“What are you looking for?” he demanded.

“A way down. I’m sick of this cliffside,” she said as she returned to the edge.

“We don’t have time for a stroll on the beach.”

She scowled. “The last time I checked, we have all the time in the world.”

“We need to stay on course or we’ll never get to Fjordhingă.”

“About that…” The witch pursed her lips, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I’m not going.”

“What?” he sputtered. When had she decided this?

“There’s nothing for me there. It’s just another merchant town and I’ve had my fill of those.”

Peeta scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers grazed the thick stubble on his jaw. “We’re not going to be staying there.”

“Then where will we be going?”

His lips started forming the word Sjorkden, but that wasn’t right. His homeland was no place for her. So what was he going to do when they arrived in Fjordhingă? He couldn’t bring her back to Sjorkden and turn her in. She’d be imprisoned, tried, and then burned. That was no longer an option. But if he let her go…

He couldn’t bear the thought. Not being with her. If he watched her board a ship and stowaway to her homeland, a raid ravaged country she didn’t even seem to want to return to, he knew a piece of himself would be carried off with her. A piece he’d never get back. But what choice did he have?

A small part of him missed when she had just been ‘the witch’ and not something more. He missed when things were black and white, not muddled shades of gray. Nothing made sense now. Not the golden warmth that passed through him when she smiled. Not the sickening, vengeful bottoming out of his heart when she cried. He found himself hating the men that had touched her, used her body for their own lustful releases. He daydreamed of hunting each and every one of them down and cutting off their fingers, one by one. But why stop at the fingers? Why not make a brilliant bloodbath out of it? A final crusade.

Perhaps that’s what they would do.

But just as Peeta opened his mouth to answer, unsure of what exactly was going to come out, the rock gave and the witch plummeted down the cliffside.

The masters had taught Peeta not to give in to panic, to take danger in both hands and bend it to his will, until what he had wasn’t a dangerous situation, but a controlled one, preferably in his favor.

All those lessons went out the window as he watched her scrabbling to find purchase on the cliff face.

Instead of eerily calm, he felt the world tilting in and out of focus. A fiery rush of adrenaline alighted his nerves as if he were made of oil-soaked paper and someone had thrown a match at him.

He wrenched his pack off and dove, just barely managing to grab onto her wrists before she lost her grip on a loose root, but not before he cut the inside of his forearm on a jutting rock ledge. The rock sliced through fabric and flesh, the hot, tearing pain erupting up his arm as the weight of the witch and her pack pulled him down. His screams echoed out across the sea.

“Don’t let go,” she whimpered. Below her dangling body was a six-hundred-foot drop, more than enough to shatter her bones and dash her brains from her skull if she slipped. He thought she had been cut as well when he saw dark red seeping into her skirts, but as his vision blurred and blackened around the edges he realized it was his own blood running down her body. His hand and her wrist were slickened with it and soon she only clung to him by one arm. Peeta braced himself and slowly lifted her up the cliff, digging the tops of his feet into the ground to keep himself anchored.

She was shaking like a leaf, her heart beating so hard Peeta could feel it under his palms as he hauled her onto stable ground. When her legs cleared the edge, she crawled on hands and knees to vomit into a dead bush while Peeta rolled onto his back to cradle the throbbing, torn flesh of his arm against his chest. Perhaps it was only a minute or perhaps it had been many when the witch finally crawled to his side, her face swimming above him. She lifted shaking hands to his wound, her fingers slipping over muscle and blood as she began chanting lowly in Krellian.

There was a tingling warmth, an emerald green light, the feeling of flesh slowly knitting itself back together, fiber by fiber. He lifted his good hand to caress her cheek, wiping the tears away. He hated when she cried.

“Stay still,” she ordered tremulously. “Please, just stay still.” As the edges of his vision blackened and he was pulled down into unconsciousness, only one thought registered.

What a terrible hunter he must be to have fallen in love with his prey.

Before the shipwreck and the nights spent pressed against the witch, Peeta rarely had good dreams. He had nightmares or he had nothing, so when he dreamed of the sound of her footsteps at the door after a long day, the thrumming heat of her body in a moonlight bathed bed, or of the fluttering of two heartbeats underneath his palms, he thought perhaps he had died and this vision was his reward for one good act in a lifetime drenched in blood.

He had saved her. They were even.

He could die with that.

But all too soon the dream ended and he sank into a shallow realm between sleep and consciousness.

Animal skin walls. Ashwood beams. The fragrant smoke of a cooking fire. The press of warm lips to a cool forehead.

The passing of time blurred. The only constant he was aware of were hands. Gentle caresses to his brow, his cheeks, the pad of a thumb caught on his chapped bottom lip, knuckles against his jaw, a single fingertip running along the slope of his nose. She sang Krellian lullabies in husky tones, whispered prayers against his throat, traced cool runes into his skin with water, rubbed the warmth back into his numb feet.

Trӕvani ᶌala ką.

Stay with me.

“Always,” he mumbled in his mother tongue.

“You need a haircut,” she said accusingly as she lifted the knife above his head. Her silver eyes flashed dangerously, a warning, that if he didn’t cooperate, she’d make him.

The shipwreck had been nearly two months ago, his injury about a week, and in that time his hair had grown in waves well past his ears. He’d had close shaves when he was in training, a clean face too, but he liked the feel of shagginess on his neck and a thickening beard. Though apparently, the witch liked when his hair was more manageable.

“You need a bath too,” she grumbled as she swatted his hands away and carefully started trimming.

“You offering?” he quipped.

The witch snorted, undeterred from her task. “You wash my back, I wash yours. That’s how it works around here.”

Peeta wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no.

They sat together by the fire. She was perched upon her knees, a ring of blond forming soundlessly on the hard-packed dirt. As she worked, Peeta traced a finger over the jagged, pink scar on his forearm.

The witch had saved his life. Again. If it wasn’t for her and that spell, Peeta would have bled out. The cut was deep, almost to the bone, and had severed many nerves and arteries. The muscle tissue would normally be beyond repair, but now, besides the scar which the Heartrender had sheepishly admitted she wasn’t skilled enough to erase, there was no trace of injury. No pain when he circled his wrist, no twinge when he flexed his fingers. Almost as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. He felt the shift almost as soon as he was conscious enough to sit up and drink on his own.

This was no longer a game of survival, a cease-fire between warring parties. They had come to cross some invisible threshold. The first truce had been borne through words alone, the second through her restraint, but this partnership was borne through Peeta’s actions, the risk he took in that dive, almost dying in her stead.

She wouldn’t forget that.

The witch came to kneel in front of him and set the knife down, brushing the remaining strands of hair from his shoulders. Peeta watched her thoughtfully. Her lashes were as dark as dried ink on parchment paper and her face looked fuller than it had on the ship, her cheeks glowing like polished bronze medallions in the firelight. Peeta admired her lips the most. Pink, full, and slightly parted. Plump as a dew crusted rose in spring. Her tongue danced behind her teeth when she opened her mouth to speak.

“You should kiss me.”

Peeta’s mind went blank. “What?”

“Or don’t. It’s up to you.” She had shrugged then, a small smile curling her lips as if she knew a secret he didn’t. “I’m a very good kisser though.”

Peeta had never kissed a woman before, and she had worked in a pleasure house. Surely she was used to men with more experience than him. Though that had been a job to her, a means to get by, an indenture she had been forced to agree to.

This was something entirely different.

His cheeks flushed as his body responded, his mind going fuzzy with desire. He wasn’t just thinking of kissing when he said: “I don’t know how.”

“I’m a good teacher. Besides, I like that you’ve never known another woman. That means I have no competition,” she said lowly as she leaned into him.

“You wouldn’t have competition even if I had,” he breathed, and then she closed the scrap of space between their bodies.

If he was back in Sjorkden, if he had completed his blood cull and turned in fifty witches, if he had been granted his talisman, a polished stone artifact that would symbolize his ascent from soldier to honored veteran, he would be spending the winter in fruition. He would have chosen a noblewoman to court, dined with her family, brought her gifts of ice wine and shimmery sapphire cloth, and only after their intertwined hands had been bound by silken Siyana ribbons, only after her golden bridal plaits were undone and left to fall loosely across her shrouded shoulders, only after they burned a winter rose and let the fragrant smoke settle upon their skin, would he be permitted to kiss her for the first time, under the eyes of god and before the eyes of her father. As was proper.

This was not that kiss.

It was better.

The witch’s lips were soft and tasted of salt, though something deeper lay beneath the remains of their last meal. Drops of amber honey, the bittersweet juice of frukkala berries, the earthy notes of pine bark.

Her mouth guided his as she twined her arms around his neck. Slowly at first, and then something snapped and she pressed her tongue into his mouth with a desperation bordering on hunger.

Peeta trembled where he held her, running his fingers down the soft fabrics of her dress, circling the dip of her hips and then climbing up the even bumps of her rib cage. He didn’t want to break the kiss but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush his lips against the hollow of her collarbone. She sighed in appreciation when he did just that.

Her skin was flawless, smooth, pliable. Heat radiated from her like coals, the silky steadiness licking at his flesh as he undid the ties of her dress. The fabric fell away and Peeta’s eyes slowly raked over her nakedness. She was small but she was stunning, her body lean and sinewy like a willow nymph from a fairytale. Her breasts were pert and Peeta watched firelight dance over her pebbling nipples. The sight sent heat straight to his groin until the building pressure was almost painful.

“Your turn,” she said as she lifted his tunic over his head, lightly tracing silvery white scars across his collarbones, chasing them down his chest, his navel, until she reached the line of dark blond hair that disappeared past his trousers. Her fingers stilled, her gaze flickered up to his, and Peeta took the opportunity to wind his hand into her hair and pull her down for another kiss.

He remembered the press of her naked body the first night they’d slept against one another. His desire then had been shameful, sprung up from some twisted part of him he had tried to hide behind hatred and mistrust. But this. This desire roared unchecked through his body, burning infinitely hotter now that he knew she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her.

“Maybe we should move away from the fire,” Peeta suggested breathlessly in between kisses.

“No,” she murmured huskily. “I’m going to take you right here.” She pushed him down onto his back into their nest of furs and lifted her legs to straddle him, grinning when she felt the press of his hardened erection under her hips. She pinned his wrists up by his ears as she lay her body on top of his, rubbing her core against him in slow, even circles. His cock throbbed, straining to get out from the confines of his pants.

“You’re such a tease,” he groaned.

“It’s more fun that way,” she whispered cheekily, and then she released his wrists and clasped his face between her palms, kissing him ever so slowly, worrying his bottom lip between her teeth. The sensation made him dizzy.

“Have you ever felt this good before?” she asked in a sigh.

“Only in dreams,” he responded as he chased her lips and pressed his palms into the small of her back.

She pulled away, an intense curiosity alighting her eyes. “What do you really dream about?”

“You,” he whispered. “And me.”

Her lips curled into a sultry grin as she softened and leaned down to press her mouth to the hollow below his ear. He turned his head to give her more room. “And what do we do together in these dreams?” she purred as she sucked on his neck.

“Everything.”

She laughed against his skin. “You’re being cheesy.”

“It’s the truth,” he said defensively, but the smile threatening to crack his face open seeped into his voice and made him sound as if he were joking.

She moved away again and Peeta was about to object, pull her back, crash those beautiful lips against his own once more, but there was no need as she ran a gentle hand down the line of his abdomen and then slowly, inch by inch, pulled his pants down his thighs. He hissed when his cock sprang free and bounced onto his stomach. She was so close he could feel the wet heat of her breath fanning over his skin.

The witch raised a brow, admiring his size. Peeta knew from spending nearly a decade at the academy and then a number of years on witching vessels that he was… well endowed. You don’t spend that much time among men without seeing something, and to compare one’s self to others was human nature.

He pulsed in her soft hand as she pulled his foreskin down, revealing the glistening pink head. She ran a gentle thumb along the ridge. Then she leaned down and slowly took him into her mouth.

Peeta had never felt so vulnerable.

It was like she commanded full control of him. She simply had to twirl her tongue around the head and he would groan and buck his hips without even meaning to. She worked the base with her hands and hollowed out her cheeks, flicking the ridge with her tongue, caressing the slit, tasting him as no woman had before.

Peeta moaned loudly and clenched his abdomen. His thighs trembled. Suddenly, she stalled, squeezed the base in her hands, and then lewdly popped his length out from between her lips.

“Eager aren’t we?” she purred.

Another moan escaped him as she began pumping, using her saliva as a lubricant. The delicious feeling of her hands rucking up his skin was almost enough to make him unravel. The wet sounds of her attentions filled the lodge as his nerves kindled, blazing like a wick burning from both ends.

“Slow down,” he begged, embarrassed by how ragged and breathy his voice had become. He felt weakened from being wrapped in her hands but he realized he didn’t mind. It was a good weakness, the kind that left you warm and a little watery in the knees. The tight pleasure coiling in his body was mounting past anything he had ever reached on his own. It was agony when he stalled her hands and his pleasure plummeted.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he panted, lifting his head to look at her. She still grasped him in her hands. His rounded tip was blush red where her tongue had been. It was perhaps the most deliciously erotic sight he had ever witnessed.

She drew her eyebrows together, revealing that cute little brow crease.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he said, brushing the hair off her shoulder.

“What do you have in mind?” she challenged before running the tip of her tongue up along a bulging vein of his shaft. It was wholly distracting.

“You… you’re going to have to stop that first.” He lifted his eyes upwards.

“Are you praying?”

“Maybe.”

She picked up on his nervousness, folding her tongue back into her mouth. “Look, if you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” she said, but that wasn’t it at all. He was ready, he was just hesitant. He didn’t know the workings of a woman’s body. He knew only his own, the strength he possessed and the burdens he could bear, the battles he could wage and the soaring pleasures he could summon using his own two hands. He knew her, he just didn’t know how she was put together, and therefore, he didn’t know how to make her fall apart. But that would all change if he could just swallow his insecurities.

“Come here,” he beckoned, wetting his lips nervously.

He had grown up surrounded by boys of all ages, and though they were never permitted to indulge in the union of flesh, both because there were no girls at the academy and because it was forbidden for witch hunters to do so, he had still heard raunchy tales of all the things men and women could do in bed together.

And he had one particular act in mind.

She softly tapped the head of his cock against her lips as if deep in thought. Each brush sent sparks traveling down his shaft. “That’s a tad ambitious for your first time,” she murmured, but Peeta could tell she was happily surprised at his offer. He had fingers and lips and tongue. Peeta was unpracticed, but he knew with her guidance he could satisfy her.

“You said you were a good teacher,” he reminded her, the timbre of his voice taking on a gravelly deepness. “Teach me how to please you.”

She set him down and then slowly, with back arched and eyes hooded, climbed over his body. Her long black hair fell from her shoulders like a spill of water.

“Higher,” he instructed, allowing the pads of his fingertips to stroke the springy flesh of her breasts and then the planes of her bare stomach as she continued climbing. She settled her thighs on either side of his head allowing Peeta a good view. He looped his arms under her legs to anchor her in place and splayed his hands over her lower back. Underneath a thick tuft of hair was her core, pink, swollen, and blooming like a flower in spring. Peeta’s cock jumped at the sight.

“If you want to please me you’re going to have to do more than stare at me, lieutenant,” she laughed.

Peeta steeled himself and swept a finger along her folds. It was a shallow caress, a tentative touch, but his fingertips came away glistening with her essence.

He exhaled slowly, watching as the witch’s slit leaked her arousal. There was a heavy moment, the air pregnant with the crackle of potential, until eventually, Peeta gathered the courage to flatten his tongue and taste her.

She tasted sweet. Musky.

She tasted human.

Her body tensed, responding to his touch. “Right here,” she breathed as she pressed a set of fingers to a small bud at the apex of her entrance. He lifted a thumb to the spot, thankful when she guided him in slow circles. With her instruction, he used his tongue to gently caress her lips and his thumb to circle her clit, humming appreciatively whenever he felt her flutter.

“Your beard tickles,” she laughed when she determined he had gotten the hang of it. She leaned back to rest her hands on the corded muscles of his thighs, thrusting her chest up to the ceiling and bucking her hips slowly along with his rhythm. He was moving more on instinct than anything else when he dipped his tongue inside of her.

It took time and he knew he was being clumsy, but the witch wouldn’t let him stop. His tongue was heavy and jaw sore when she replaced his fingers with her own, increasing the pressure and riding his mouth to release.

Her spine snapped, her eyes slid closed, curses fell from her lips, and something primal within Peeta awakened. He found himself desperately pulling her closer, lapping at her entrance, milking her release, and swallowing her arousal.

When it was over her core pulsed faintly and she opened her eyes to smile languidly down at him. Peeta’s tongue slowed. “You have something…” She broke into giggles and then brushed at his lips with her fingers, managing to smear even more of herself on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled, lips tingling. He liked this view. Her dewy skin seemed to glow like the very embers smoldering not three feet away.

“Before we do this,” she said, unhooking her legs from around his head and coming to once again grasp him firmly in her hands, “I need you to promise you won’t finish inside of me.”

His breath caught as he imagined it.

Being inside of her.

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” she pressed, pumping him idly.

It was an absurd situation. Surely a man would promise anything to a vixen grasping his very manhood in her hands. But to Peeta, it was more than that. He had her trust and here was a chance to prove he deserved it.

“I promise.”

With their deal struck, the witch mounted him. Peeta admired her figure in the gilded firelight once more, brushing his fingers against her peaked nipples and kneading the comely flesh as he watched the shadows dance and pool in the dip of her navel. This was a sight he would never be sick of.

She positioned the head of his shaft at her entrance and slid the tip along her slit to gather slickness, earning a few strangled sounds from Peeta. Her folds were soaked after her orgasm and he slid his hands down her body, gripping the backs of her knees in anticipation.

“I want you to watch my face as I take you in,” she whispered. “Every last inch.”

There was a tight, building pressure that suddenly broke into a slide. He slid past her folds, embedded within her. The feeling of the witch’s hot, silky heat molding around him, squeezing his shaft and cradling the head, was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Her core fluttered. So did her eyelids.

“Watch me, lieutenant,” she reminded him as she raised her hips to slam down on him. The wet slap of skin on skin rang through the air.

“Peeta,” he grunted.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Peeta.”

“Peeta.” She sighed his name like a prayer, letting the vowels roll off her tongue as if she were tasting them, and Peeta thought he had never heard it spoken so sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Peeta.”

His laugh melted into a groan as she clenched around him. He looked down between her legs at where their bodies overlapped. He was embedded to the hilt. She was taking it all.

Her breasts bounced with her body, and as she pressed down on him, Peeta raised his hips to meet her.

“Harder,” she begged.

Peeta slid his hands up her thighs, squeezing the flesh through his fingers like clay and rolling his hips sharply upwards. The head of his cock bumped her cervix. “Like that?”

The witch gasped, her body clenching with his thrust, and let out a little giggle. “Yes,” she moaned, allowing Peeta to take control of their rhythm. She leaned down to kiss him as he palmed her ass, spreading her open so he could set a faster tempo.

The small lodge filled with the lewd sounds of slapping skin and heavy grunts. It was ecstasy, being inside of her, and with each thrust Peeta felt warmer. His skin burned against hers.

Peeta wanted it to last longer, but as his thrusts stuttered and he felt that familiar tingle in his balls, he knew he couldn’t hold on. The witch started grinding on top of him, tuned into his body’s tells; the increasing cadence of his breath, the tremors in his hands, the intensity of his thrusts. It was time to keep his promise.

With a toe-curling shudder and a string of unintelligible curses in his mother tongue, Peeta pulled out and finished onto his own stomach, his hot seed quickly cooling on his skin. The witch panted above him, one hand splayed over his chest, another by his head, supporting her weight. Her skin shone with sweat and the loose hairs on her nape were damp.

“Let me clean you up,” the witch purred and Peeta watched in disbelief as she unhooked her legs from around him and shifted down. Her pink tongue darted out to lick the spend off his skin, and then she slowly traced up the ridges of his cock to capture the last pearlescent dribbles off the hypersensitive head, licking that clean too as if she were finishing something delicious. She stuck out her tongue to show him.

She had swallowed it all.

“You are something else,” he laughed giddily. He had never felt so satisfied and tired at the same time. He laid his head back on the pelts as the witch gently toyed with him softening in her hand. Her palm glided slowly, slickened by her arousal.

“I knew you were a virgin but I didn’t know you were a virgin,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Peeta asked, suddenly embarrassed. Had he done something wrong?

“You never got a blow job when you were younger? Not even a handy?”

He wasn’t sure how she could possibly have known that, but perhaps he had been too loud. Was that possible? His face flushed with heat. “No. I… I was never really around girls. Not until now at least.”

She smiled softly, carefully placed him down, and then crawled up his body to rest her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, tugging gently on her scalp. The strands were slightly knotted, but after Peeta had run his fingers through the tresses a few times, they felt as soft as silk. A spill of ebony satin. Any fabric that wasn’t the rough spun texture of his tunics.

“That was rather good for your first time,” she said. “I thought you’d be more… instantaneous.”

He chuckled. “I’m a soldier, not a priest.”

She smiled into his chest hair. “So you’ve satiated your urges all on your own?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I thought all Sjorkden witch hunters were pious and pleasure starved.”

“Perhaps not pleasure starved but pleasure...hungry. It’s not as fulfilling when you’re alone.”

There was a pause as they listened to the soft crackling of the fire, felt it’s comforting heat on their skin, and watched it’s muted light dance across the walls.

“Is it bad that I’m happy? That I’m your first, I mean,” she mumbled softly. “I know we don’t owe each other anything, but I’ve wanted this. At least once.”

“Only once?” he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

He could never go back. Not to his country. Not to his old ways. Not to a life without her. Did she think after they made it back to civilization that he would abandon her? After everything they had been through? After everything she had made him feel? And what was this about him not owing her? He didn’t even know her name but he owed her everything.

Absolutely everything.

She lifted her head off his chest and met his eyes. She was searching for something in his expression and the raw intensity of her gaze made him gulp.

“I don’t want this to have just been once,” he whispered, coming to cup her cheek in his palm and running a calloused thumb over the delicate skin under her eye.

“Any sane woman of my talent would be afraid of you, valkrӕlla,” she said lowly, her lips parting delicately with her words. She raised her hand to hold his palm against her cheek. “Instead, I find myself unable to let you go.”

A fierce rush of affection crashed through Peeta’s body. He understood because he felt the same way.

She was his.

He was hers.

Anything else was unthinkable.

He traced his fingers down the dip of her spine, catching small droplets of sweat. “You must know you have nothing to fear from me,” he insisted, pleading with his eyes, trying to make her understand that he felt it too. That he had been wrong before. That perhaps he didn’t deserve her forgiveness for the way he had let himself despise her, for the way he had treated her. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her at all. But maybe…

Maybe she would still have him.

“I’m sorry I was so cruel to you, valjakka.”

Beloved.

Her breath hitched. “I know,” she whispered, and then she drew closer, tipping her mouth to his.

He tasted himself on her tongue.

Peeta gathered her up and pressed her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her slender body atop his chest. The other kisses had been lustful, desperate in the same way a flame sucks the oxygen from a room. But this one kindled hope. Life.

It was as if she was air, and he, a drowning man.

When they had exhausted themselves their lips broke apart and they lay on top of the furs, lapsing into a comfortable silence as Peeta grabbed one to cover their naked bodies. The fire was nearby but the bitter air from outside still managed to creep through the walls, slowly cooling their sweat-slicked skin.

“Peeta,” she breathed, a small sound of happiness escaping her lips. “Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.”

“Don’t wear it out,” he joked, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue and languishing past her lips was like a shot of pure energy. He was keenly aware of how it affected his body, reawakening his lust as he shifted uncomfortably on the floor beneath her.

“My name is Katniss,” she offered shyly.

Katniss.

He let the name caress the inside of his skull. The syllables fell from his lips and tangled in her hair. It suited her, hard and soft at the same time. Just like the way she made love.

He told her so and she laughed.

Epilogue

Peeta’s old hatreds finally died as he looked into her eyes and saw humanity reflected back at him. He thought of her as precious and wondered how he had never seen it before. She was a blizzard, an earthquake, a monsoon, all at once. What a beautiful thing it would be to succumb to her power.

She may have looked all hard planes and edges, but when she made love, she didn’t act like it. Her body was soft, flexible, willing to bend to any shape Peeta pushed her into. In the accompanying weeks, they trekked further north and found shelter not only within lodges but within each other. She had particular tastes and wasn’t afraid to tell him so, and she always claimed ultimate control of what was done to her.

She was quivering beneath him, legs spread, clawing at his body for dear life when he uttered the ultimate promise against her skin:

When they arrived in Fjordhingă, he would find honest work as a laborer to pay for their passage onto a ship. They’d sail south past the Narubi Canal, away from the waters of the Undersea and to Xenen or Prӕna Gaul or Caɦn, someplace hot and out of Sjorkden’s reach. They’d make a living off the land and build a house with their own two hands, with walls of salt-aged wood and pink marbled stone, not animal skin and ash. They’d thatch the roof with golden grasses, paint the wooden slats orange or yellow, something bright, and fill the deep window boxes with heavily scented wisteria blossoms and honeysuckle. The garden would be overridden with dragon fruit and mangoes and persimmons which they’d slice and eat for breakfast. They’d dry the salt from seawater and keep a pen full of pigs. Wear the light cotton clothes best suited for heat and humidity and tear them off each other to make love on the beach. Every night, they’d watch the sky catch fire, a brilliant dying world of smoldering citrine and blood blush clouds. They’d carve out a new life away from the titles of ‘witch’ and ‘witch hunter’. A fresh start without the black shadow of Sjorkden or the bleak memories of Krell to hang over the domestic and companionable goings-on of each day.

And when she allowed it, any child they created together, any seed of his that sprung from the wet earth of her womb and wailed itself into existence, he promised, just like her, would wield dominion over his heart for as long as he lived, and perhaps even after that.

THE END

#The Heartrender #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #everlark smut #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #last chapter

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hutchhitched · 4 years

Text

Three Months (an Everlark story benefitting Fandom Trumps Hate)

Early in 2019, @fandomtrumpshate encouraged creators to offer works in exchange for donations to organizations that support anti-hate and anti-discrimination actions. I offered two auctions for Everlark stories. This is the first, a 10,000+ word story for @iwishicouldread247 (She’s relatively new to tumblr, so please welcome her on board.). Thank you for bidding on my auction and providing the following prompt. You are awesome.

Prompt: Peeta has been home for a year. His time in the service left him with nightmares and a prosthetic leg. The only thing he's got going for him is the beautiful, grey eyed physical therapist that won't stop pushing until he's back on his feet. Katniss feels drawn to the sometimes surly vet and before long she finds herself head over heels not knowing if he could ever feel the same.

Rating: E

Trigger warnings: violence, language, PTSD, amputation

Length: 13,080 words

________________________

“Mellark! Cover me!”

Peeta glances to his left and ducks as bullets whizz over his head. Crack, crack, crack! As soon as they hit, he braces his saw against his shoulder and squeezes off a round at the cleft in the mountainside where enemy combatants are raining down hellfire on his unit. The gun recoils and slams into his shoulder repeatedly, but he keeps shooting.

It’s loud—so loud that he almost misses the chop of helicopter blades in the distance. The exfil is only a few seconds away, and he can’t wait to get the hell out of harm’s way and back in the barracks on base. He’s been in Afghanistan for far too long, and the only thing he wants is to make it home safely as soon as his enlistment ends in three months.

Three months. That’s all he has to survive before he can ship back home and use the GI Bill to go to college, something he’d never be able to do without the financial help of the government that didn’t mind exchanging his body and life for an education. Three months for a four-year degree and a lifetime without student loans. Three months, three months, three months.

The chopper lands behind him, and his squad leader’s voice crackles in his ear. “Move out!” Boggs yells. “Exfil now!”

Peeta secures his weapon and runs. The chopper’s only a few hundred yards away, but it seems to take forever to cover the space.

“Faster,” he mutters as he sprints across the rocky sand.

He’s so close, almost there when his left leg crumples under him. He yells and clutches his thigh as he rolls. Something’s wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong, he realizes when his hand comes away covered in blood and his shredded fatigues flap over his torn boot.

He doesn’t have time to process. The team members behind him grab him as they run past and pull him, screaming in agony, to the helicopter. As soon as they’re secured, they’re in the air, leaving the dogfight behind.

“Stay with me, Mellark,” Boggs barks, but he’s already sinking under. “Mellark! Mellark!”

_________________

Mellark, Mellark, Mellark, Mellark, Mellark…

“Shut up,” he grumbles and slaps a swipe to his right. The noise continues, and it takes several more seconds before he can shake off the haze enough to recognize the blare of his alarm. Cursing, he smacks his phone and knocks it off the coffee table. He’s fallen asleep on the couch again, too exhausted and pissed off to drag himself to the bedroom where his mattress is too soft and it feels wrong to wake up alone instead of surrounded by his unit.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles and drags his hand down his face. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, and his stubble scratches his palm as he wipes drool from his chin and groans. It’s been three months since he got this apartment. Three months since he’s been deemed healthy enough to get the fuck out and live on his own.

His whole life seems to be lived in three month increments now. Three months after he lost his leg, his enlistment should have officially ended, but he was still in rehab then. Still laid up in bed, recovering from his wounds, and cursing the world for his shitty luck, Peeta celebrated three months fighting phantom pain from the knee down and wondering if he’d ever walk again. Another three months passed, and he was half a year past the attack and back in the States. His body was just starting to heal enough to think about the next steps. Three months later, it had been three-quarters of a year with half a leg, and he was fighting depression, PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, and an uphill physical battle. He was fitted for a prosthetic, and he accepted he’d need persistent therapy to adjust to his new life.

Three months later. That comes up over and over. A year now—four times three months—and he can’t believe he’s no closer to a better life than he’d been when he lost his leg. No happy homecoming, no college, no future, and no fucking leg. The army was supposed to give him more, not leave him with less.

“Fuck this shit,” he growls and rolls onto his side away from the light slanting through the blinds. If he can just fall back asleep, maybe the throbbing headache from his hangover will go away. Maybe if he slept for three months.

He’s just slipped back into a blissfully dreamless slumber when the world explodes around him. Peeta releases a string of expletives when he hits the floor, barely avoiding the sharp corners of the coffee table as he hurled himself off the couch. He covers his head with his arms and waits for the shooting to stop. It takes longer than it should for him to realize no bullets are flying. It’s just loud knocking on the door.

“Open up, Mellark! You’ve got PT today.”

Peeta shakes his head and blinks his eyes open, squinting against the light. “Fuck off, Odair,” he yells. “I’m not going.”

“The hell you aren’t,” Finnick barks. “I’m giving you 20 seconds, and then I’m coming in.”

“Leave me the hell alone, you jackass,” Peeta roars and scratches his crotch. Briefly, he curses his lack of morning wood. His ego rapidly deflates as reality invades his half-awake state. He hasn’t been horny in weeks. Not even copious amounts of hard-core porn have helped. He’s been so desperate, he even tried gay porn—girls, of course—and still nothing.

“Three…two…one…” A key rattles in the lock, and Finnick, his best friend and fellow veteran, swings the door open and shakes his head. “Well, at least you have pants on this time.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Tempting, but no,” Finnick quips with a grin. “I know I’m sinfully pretty, but you’re going to have to work a little harder if you want to get me into the sack.”

“Not even if you grew tits overnight.”

“I’m talented, but I can’t grow body parts.”

“Neither can I,” Peeta grumbles and waves at his lower half. “If I could, I’d have already done it.”

Finnick shoots him a sympathetic look, but Peeta doesn’t want anything of it. He raises both middle fingers and holds them up, so his friend won’t miss the gesture.

“The bus leaves in twenty minutes. I’d suggest a shower. You smell like a distillery.”

“Whiskey doesn’t mind a missing leg.”

Finnick glares at him, and Peeta flips him off some more before clamoring onto the couch and flopping against the cushions.

“You know, if you’d quit with the world’s biggest pity party, you might realize the nobody else really minds a missing leg either. Whiskey isn’t your only friend, dickhead.”

Peeta laughs wryly. “I couldn’t give a fuck less if I have any friends.”

“Keep it up, and you won’t,” Finnick snarls. “Get your ass off the couch and get in the shower. If you don’t, I’m going to throw you in there. You’ve got PT today, and I’m done listening to you whine and bitch.”

“Yeah, whining and bitching. It’s nothing. No excuse to be pissed off if you lose half a leg. Still got from the knee up. What do I have to complain about?”

Finnick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before he speaks softly and slowly. “Peet, you had a shitty thing happen to you, and it’s not fair. None of this is fair. None of what you’re going through is fair. None of it, but you’re not dead.”

“No, just a cripple.”

“That’s what you call yourself. That’s not what you are, and that’s not what I call you.”

“Yeah, you call me asshole.”

“I call you my best friend, and I’m not going to sit back and watch you sink further into this…whatever funk this is.”

“Finn—”

“No,” he snaps. “Get off your ass and get in the shower. I’m taking you to PT.”

“My therapist is a dick.”

“So are you. Perfect match.”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Peeta flips his friend the bird and wishes he had something more extreme. Three times in two minutes seems to lessen the power of what should have been a way to chasten his friend, but Finnick doesn’t even bother to look irritated about it. Furious, Peeta and grabs his crutches from the side of the couch. “Don’t follow me.”

“You know I can’t stay away from your sweet ass, Mellark. Hell, even Annie wants some of that booty.”

“Annie can have everything I’ve got every day,” he offers, only half-joking. “Redheads are animals in bed.”

“Keep your paws off my woman, you ass.”

“Just let her know I’m willing to show her what a real man can do when she gets tired of hanging out with you.”

“This is why you don’t have more friends!”

Despite himself, Peeta’s grinning by the time he gets to the bathroom, but that lasts as long as it takes for him to struggle into the shower and flop onto the plastic chair he has to use now to complete his hygiene routine. No more standing in the shower. He’d tried it once and fell so hard, he thought he’d broken his tailbone. It was just one more thing in a long list he’d never do again. It was also humiliating. Humiliating to crawl on his hands and knees, dripping wet, and call his best friend who found him sobbing and broken on the floor.

Sighing, he adjusts the water temperature and grabs the shampoo. Even taking a shower is a chore now, but the warm water eases the tension in his shoulders and the pain in his head. Water drips from the stump at his knee, and he grimaces at the rawness of his wound. Even a year later the scar tissue is a red, mottled mess that makes him gag. He’ll never get used to it, he knows, but he longs for a day when he doesn’t feel like his insides are being ripped apart when he’s faced with his broken body.

It seems like a year should be enough to adjust to his new normal, but then again, three months was too long to stay safe in a war zone.

He soaps up and rinses. The last thing he needs is Finnick barging in on him when he’s naked. If he isn’t out in two minutes, that’s the next step. He hisses as phantom pain sweeps over him. Breathing deeply, he wills it to pass before he turns off the shower and towels dry.

“Seven minutes!” Finnick calls from the living room. “Don’t make me come in there.”

“You know, I can send you a nude if you want. Might be easier than coming over here all the time and pretending to harass me just so you can see my junk.”

“I already have a spank bank of you, Mellark. I use it to get it up for my girl.”

“Okay, that’s just gross,” Peeta yells. “At least let her see them too. Let her know what she’s missing when she hangs out with you.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare her.”

Peeta grimaces and shakes his head. If he didn’t know how deeply his friend loved his wife, he’d wonder about some of the things he says, but the Odairs had one of the best military marriages he’s ever witnessed, and he’s seen a lot. They’re totally devoted to each other through deployments and everyday life. If it wasn’t so fucking irritating, it’d be inspirational. Not like what his girl— Cutting his thoughts off before they can spiral, he grabs his crutches and heads to the bedroom to dress. There’s no way he’s getting out of PT today, so he might as well wear his favorite sweats.

“Fucking shit day,” he grumbles and pulls a threadbare t-shirt over his head. Six and half minutes later, he’s in the living room glaring at his best friend but ready to go.

They’re at the clinic in twenty minutes, but it takes longer than Peeta wants it to before he gains his footing and swings into the building on his crutches. He hates how everything is an ordeal in a way it never used to be unless he was being unnecessarily overdramatic. He’d been plenty lazy when he was whole, often deciding to forgo seconds or another beer if it meant he had to get up from the couch and get it himself. Now, though, everything took effort. Necessary actions like taking a piss were problematic. He’d almost fallen the first time he tried to balance on one leg and direct the stream at the toilet. He’d been so angry, so furious, that he’d sprayed half the bathroom with urine and slammed his fist into the mirror and cracked the glass.

“Mr. Mellark?”

Peeta whips his head sideways at the voice. He slips and stumbles slightly, and a gentle, warm, undeniably feminine hand steadies him. He stares at her fingers on his forearm and licks his lips as heat radiates from her touch. Feeling unsteady in more than one way, he raises his eyes to hers and feels a jolt as he falls into platinum pools.

“I— I’m— Um, Mell— Peeta. Yes.”

She, whoever she is, tilts her head and confusion laces her graceful features. He wants to kiss her. He wants to wrap her braid around his palm and tug her to him and nudge her mouth open with his tongue and taste her and make her whimper with want and then fall into bed with her and fuck her six ways before the sun rises. He wants. So, so much.

“I’m sorry?”

Peeta swallows hard and shifts to tuck his hips backward in an attempt to stay soft—because his dick hasn’t been interested in a month but now it decides to wake up and say hello. It’s trying to salute this woman, because apparently his cock has no idea you don’t ever salute civilians.

He gesticulates with one hand, careful to keep the crutch under his armpit, but he can’t say a word. He’s never had that problem before, but coherent sounds won’t come out of his mouth no matter how many times he flaps his lips and gasps like a fish on dry land.

“Finnick Odair, ma’am.” Finnick has followed him in and extends his hand to the woman who’s driven every articulate thought from Peeta’s mind. “This sputtering human is my best friend and all-around grouch, Peeta Mellark. We’re here to see Haymitch Abernathy. Peet’s been working with him since he got back from Afghanistan.”

The woman’s face moves from flustered to breathtakingly gorgeous in a series of looks that make Peeta want to drop to her feet and worship her like the goddess she is. His heart swells as she flashes them both a shy, apologetic smile. He wants to see it every day for the rest of his life. He wants to put it there and murder everyone who ever makes it fade.

“It’s nice to meet you, Finnick. Peeta,” she nods to him before introducing herself. “I’m Katniss Everdeen.”

Peeta tries to say something. He really does, but his words are gone. Even the sarcastic, irritable, petulant words he’d leveled at Finnick earlier. He wants to talk to the vision in front of him, but he can’t get out a single word.

“Peeta thinks it’s nice to meet you,” Finnick teases and jostles his friend by bumping his shoulder. “And it is nice to meet you, Katniss. But—and I’m just grasping at straws here, but where’s Abernathy? This grump needs PT more than you and I need air.”

Katniss laughs, and Peeta swears he hears harp music played by angels. It’s melodic, and he longs to do everything he can think of just to hear it one more time.

“Mr. Abernathy’s out of town this week. Family emergency. I’m covering his appointments in the time being. It’s only temporary, but I promise you’re in good hands with me.”

Peeta gulps as her silver eyes shine at him. He nods, still mute like a lovestruck idiot, and Finnick pinches his arm.

“Ow!” he yelps. “What the fuck was that for?” Peeta glares at his best friend and then flushes when he realizes he’s just used profanity in front of the most perfect human he’d ever seen. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She laughs again, and he wants to melt into the floor. “You can call me Katniss, and it’s absolutely fine. I’ve been known to cuss a little. Only at appropriate times, though.”

She winks, and Finnick chuckles behind him. “Well, this is going to be a hell of a lot of fun. I was planning to run errands while you’re here, but maybe I’ll stick around for this one.”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you,” Peeta mutters, and Finnick laughs again. The two men glare at each other for a few moments, but then Finnick shakes his head, smiles, and walks to the door.

“See you in a bit, Mellark. Try to keep it in your pants.”

Peeta flushes bright red and stammers an apology that probably sounds like he’s having a stroke. Something about the military and Irish assholes and no excuse because it’s too early to be drunk and say terrible things to beautiful women. Whatever it is, he’s sure he’s made absolutely no sense at all and only proved how inept he is at making conversation with anyone, let alone a deity who graces humanity with her very presence. To her credit, Katniss doesn’t flinch or do anything other than nod.

“You can apologize by working hard for me today,” she insists and motions for him to head to the folding parallel bars.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Katniss.”

“Ma’am?”

“My name is Katniss.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. Katniss, ma’am.”

He’s a complete moron. He wants to curl into a ball and die, completely mortified that his normally charming self can’t seem to do anything but stammer like an idiot. He vows to make up for it by working his ass off for her, to prove himself worthy, to feel like himself again instead of someone who’s as broken as anyone’s ever been.

An hour later, Peeta’s sure he’s going to die. Correction, Peeta’s going to die because Katniss is killing him. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and every inch of him aches. His arm muscles tremble, and he curses his legs—both of them—for working like spaghetti and threatening to fold under him at any second.

He knows he’s been slacking, that he hasn’t taken care of himself the way he should be, that most of this is his fault, but he didn’t realize how terribly he’d screwed up his own recovery because Haymitch (who Peeta’s now convinced is the nicest human being alive after undergoing Katniss Everdeen’s grueling session) hasn’t pushed him nearly as hard at the gray-eyed beauty who’s strong as steel and doesn’t give an inch. Peeta simultaneously wants to bed her and beg her for mercy. Maybe at the same time.

“Good work today,” Katniss praises as she hands him a towel and scribbles some notes on her clipboard. “See you on Wednesday.”

“Thank you, ma’am—Katniss!” he corrects before she can do it herself. He’s terrified she’ll force him to do more exercises if he crosses her again, and that might be the end of him if she does. He wipes his face and slumps into the nearest chair. Finnick finds him there a few minutes later, too dazed and exhausted to move.

“Ready to go?”

Peeta lifts wide blue eyes to Finnick’s green ones and nods stupidly. Finnick just laughs and helps him to his feet.

“She work you over hard?” Finnick teases after getting no response from Peeta for half the drive home.

“So hard,” Peeta breathes.

Finnick can’t help laughing at the bewildered expression on his friend’s face but doesn’t push. There’s a new spark in Peeta’s eyes that hadn’t been there since before they were shipped out a few years prior. Back when Peeta wasn’t so jaded and cynical.

Peeta refuses Finnick’s offer to stay and cook him lunch. He needs some time alone to ground himself, and he huffs his relief when Finnick just shrugs and waves goodbye. Peeta stumbles into the house and flops onto the couch, groaning at his sore muscles and surprised at the throb of desire between his legs. It’s been so long since he’s been horny, and he’s been half-hard since he got to PT. He used to masturbate constantly, his libido somewhat legendary and his ability to seduce women just as strong. That was all before.

But now.

Dark hair and gray eyes and smooth skin, and Peeta drops his head back against the couch and wills his dick to relax.

It doesn’t.

Astonished but thrilled to feel that heavy pull in his balls again, Peeta spits in his palm and slips his hand into the elastic waistband of his sweats. He’s clammy and disgusting from the session, but that doesn’t matter as his fingers brush against his erection.

“Fuck,” he groans, and his eyes flutter closed.

He doesn’t bother to free himself. There’s plenty of room in his pants to pump vigorously. His hand’s wet and warm, and his cock’s thickened and throbbing with need. He’s ridiculously out of practice and scared shitless about what it means that his sex drive’s suddenly reappeared, but it felt so good to jack off, to feel desire pooling low in his gut and his muscles tensing and his balls grow heavier and his thighs quivering and—

“Oh, shit,” he pants. “Fucking dammit to hell.”

White heat shoots through him, and he comes so hard he swears he loses consciousness for a few seconds. It takes forever, his load thick and hot and sticky on his hand and in his pants and all over his crotch, the first time he’s come in god knows how long. His gray sweats have dark spots as they cling to his skin in wet patches, and he heaves a sigh of relief so deep, he feels hollowed out.

“Katniss,” he whimpers and closes his eyes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t clean up the mess. Somehow, it’s comforting to have evidence that he’s still alive, still interested, still capable. He should get up and shower. He should dispose of the evidence, but he doesn’t do anything other than slip into darkness, a lazy grin on his face, spunk on his hand, and her name on his lips.

_________________

His leg’s on fire. He’s on fire. He’s screaming. The world around him is screaming.

“Stay with me, Mellark. Stay with me.”

His throat’s raw. Everything’s raw. His leg hurts so much, and he wants to scream so it’ll stop, but it doesn’t work, and he’s burning up, and he hurts, and it was only supposed to be three more months. Only three more months.

“Stop the bleeding. We have to stop the bleeding.”

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

Blood and fire and screams and thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

Make it stop! Make it stop, please!

“We’ve got to take the leg.”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

He screams, but no one hears him.

_________________

Peeta jerks awake, the scream still on his lips. The afternoon sun dapples the living room floor, and he groans as he registers how disgusting he feels. Dried sweat and cum cover him, and he stinks. God, he’s disgusting. His apartment is disgusting. His life is disgusting.

He’s got to get himself together.

Pissed off that he has to, he texts Finnick and asks him to come over and to bring Annie with him. Without waiting for an answer, he heads to the shower and repeats the process he underwent that morning. He tosses his stained sweats and the worst of his laundry into the machine and grabs a garbage bag to into which he gathers empty liquor bottles, grease stained pizza boxes, and crumpled hamburger wrappers. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Everybody’s got to start somewhere.

He’s slumped onto the couch, frustrated that he gets tired faster than he should, when his friends arrive. Finnick’s there with Annie, Johanna Mason raps on the door a few minutes later, and his best friends from high school, Darius and Beetee follow shortly after. He tries not to think about his missing family, how he’s been estranged from one brother since he told them he was enlisting and the other since soon after he got back. He tries not to think of the friends who didn’t come home from the war. He tries not to think about a lot of things. Instead, he focuses on what’s in front of him, who came on short notice and wants to help, and what might be the next steps to finding his way back to who he wants to be.

Clearing his throat, he faces the room and says, “I don’t like a lot of fanfare, so I’m not going to make a big speech.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Johanna shouts, and he glares at her fondly.

“Y’all have been really great the past year. Before that. Just really great.” He pauses for a beat, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. “I know I’m messed up. Since…the leg and, and, uh, you know, my family…and…”

“You don’t have to say her name, Peeta,” Annie coaxes gently. “We know.”

“I just want you to know, I’m trying.”

Everyone in the room gazes at him with compassion, and it jars him to realize Finnick’s been right the whole time. They don’t see him as anything other than their friend who’s gone through more than anyone should have to handle.

“Consider this me asking for help.”

Finnick claps him on the back, and Annie tugs him into a tender hug. Johanna, never one for displays of affection, swipes a palm over her right eye. The others just offer him nods of encouragement.

“So, how about we drink some beer and watch some football? It’s Monday night. I could use some normalcy.”

The evening with his friends helps, and Peeta’s feeling almost like his old self when Johanna joins him on the couch.

“Good to see you working through some things,” she says in her smoky voice that’s always reminded him on honey, liquor, and cigarettes.

“Thanks, Jo.”

“I know I was hard on you. I could have been more supportive of your choices. And then after, too.”

“After I fell apart because my fiancée fucked someone else because she couldn’t handle being with half a man?”

“No! Well, yeah. I mean, not the half a man part. The rest of it,” she said with a sad smile. “She didn’t deserve you, you know.”

Peeta shrugs and peels the label off the empty beer bottle he holds. “She was my fiancée, Jo, and she cheated on me while I was sitting at home on the couch thinking she was at the grocery store. I couldn’t walk, and she was having an orgasm. She’s a fucking bitch.”

“Still… I should have supported you better.”

“And I should have realized you were trying to help.”

Peeta glances sideways at his friend and eyes her as she runs her hand through her spiky black hair. It had been several years since he and Jo had gone through basic training together, and she’s always been completely honest with him. It had hurt when she tried to tell Peeta that the woman he thought he loved wouldn’t stay faithful when he shipped out, but Jo had always had the guts to go through the shit with him. He could have listened instead of defending Clove—who clearly didn’t deserve any of the misplaced loyalty he’d had for her. And the rift with his brother would never be resolved. Peeta didn’t have enough kindness in him to overcome that.

“Truce?” Peeta asks, and he clinks his beer against hers.

“I’ve heard your screams, Mellark. Very familiar with them. I feel like we can get past anything together.”

_________________

“Mellark.”

The voice is gentle but insistent.

“Sergeant Mellark, can you hear me?”

He tries to answer, but his entire body’s on fire. It hurts to breathe. The thought of opening his eyes is more than he can handle.

“Sir, we need you to open your eyes.”

With great effort, he blinks them open, although they remain unfocused.

“Welcome back, sir. We’re glad to see you.”

“Where am I?” he croaks, his voice disused and rusty.

“You’re at LRMC.”

He’s in Germany in the hospital. He’s not in Afghanistan. His leg…

“My leg?”

The orderly looks at him with compassion. “We’ll call the doctor to come talk to you.”

Peeta struggles to sit up as his stomach lurches. Someone calls for a tranquilizer, but he rears up and screams when he sees his lower half. His left leg is gone. A needle jams into his neck, and he slips back into a blissful black hole where nothing hurts and nothing matters.

_________________

Peeta’s ready and waiting on Wednesday morning when Finnick arrives at his house. Instead of his friend having to meet him at the door, Peeta meets the pickup at the curb and hops in.

“Up early today?”

“Can we get some coffee on the way? I can’t make it for shit.”

Finnick nods and points the vehicle toward the nearest coffee shop without saying anything. He sits with Peeta in companionable silence until they’ve gone through the drive-thru and are on the way to the clinic for the appointment. Then he listens as Peeta rambles about little things that would have made him furious a few days ago.

“Really proud of you, man,” Finnick says as Peeta slides from the truck.

“I’m not doing anything special.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Finnick responds. “But you’re doing what needs to be done, and sometimes that’s the bravest thing a person can tackle.”

Katniss waits for him inside, and Peeta almost freezes at the sight of her. He wants to ask her out immediately, but he fights the urge. She’s his therapist, and that’s strictly off-limits. His regular PT will be back next week, and then Peeta can work on figuring out how to get to know the beauty who plans to make his life a living hell for the next hour.

“Is there a reason you’re slacking this morning?” she asks, and he has to bite his tongue not to curse at her. “I mean, you’re a Marine. I thought they were the best of the best. This lackadaisical attitude isn’t showing me much of that.”

He wants to quit, to yell at her and blame his leg for giving up, but all the anger in his soul burns into a fathomless pool of lust. If he walks away from her now, he’ll be leaving part of himself. He has to prove to her he can do this. Then, maybe he’ll start to believe he can.

“Come on, soldier,” she barks. “Fifty more feet. Get a move on.”

“I’m moving,” he spits and glares at her.

“That’s it,” she encourages. “Show me your fire. You’ll be rewarded really well if you keep it up.”

Desire shoots straight to his groin, and his hands slide on the bar as his mind goes to a dark, lewd place. He takes a few more steps, cursing his prosthetic while his shoulders and biceps strain to keep balance. Panting and exhausted, he stumbles at the end, and she catches him. She pushes her left shoulder into his chest and steadies him.

“Looks like somebody wants that reward,” she teases and helps him stand on his own.

“You have no idea,” he grunts. “No idea.”

She flushes a beautiful shade that makes her eyes sparkle and slaps him on the shoulder. “Good work today. I’ll see you on Friday. One more session, and then you’ll have your normal guy again.”

“Nothing about Abernathy’s normal,” he calls to her retreating back, and she waves over her shoulder without looking at him. “What about my reward?”

“Friday!” she answers as she leaves the room. “If you behave.”

_________________

Peeta tries to stay under, but he can’t. Too soon, he’s flying to the surface and his eyes open of their own accord.

A fresh hell starts every day as the doctors talk to him, explaining the procedures and what he can expect now that it’s done.

“You’re very lucky, Sergeant Mellark. We only had to take the leg below the knee.”

“You’ll be shipped home, and then three months recovery before a prosthetic fitting.”

“The shell hit your artery. You almost bled out on the helicopter. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“The last guy I treated wasn’t so lucky.”

“You’re lucky, sir.”

“So lucky you were in exfil when you were shot.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

The word echoes through his mind, but it won’t register. Not this way. Losing a limb isn’t lucky, no matter what anyone tells him. He’ll never be convinced.

It’s all too much, so he closes his eyes and wills the tears to stay hidden. He just wants to be alone.

_________________

“Hold it!” Katniss barks. “Don’t you dare drop. Come on. Ten more seconds. You can do this.”

Peeta grunts, and his low growl turns into a howl as the seconds creep along—one, two, three, four. He’s going to do die. His arms are going to fall off, and he’s going to collapse in a pile of boneless goo. His upper body is shaking as he holds on to the pullup bar. His deltoids tremble, and his biceps strain, and his triceps are on fire, and he wants to kill everyone. He also feels unmistakably, gloriously, amazingly alive.

“That’s it! Yes!” she shrieks. “Drop!”

He yells loudly as he lets go, releasing the pain and stress, but her arms are there to steady him. He wobbles on his right leg, protecting his left. He’s still not used to the prosthetic. Still tends to wear it only when he’s at PT instead of integrating it into his everyday life. He’s not sure why. It probably has something to do with accepting his fate, which says a lot about how stubborn and mule-headed he is, even when the loss is already permanent. He’s never going to be flesh and blood below his left knee again.

“You’re amazing,” Katniss says and heaps praise on him. “You’ve worked your ass off for me this week. You deserve that reward now.”

Peeta leans into her touch. His eyes drop to her mouth, and he imagines for a second the way it would feel under his, her tongue tracing his lips and the wet heat between them. She shakes her head and steps away from him completely.

“Hot tub. Go! No more working out. You deserve to soak those sore muscles.”

“You’re the devil,” he pants. Everything hurts, and his shirt clings to him in sweaty patches.

“I’ll make sure to tell Abernathy that Satan took care of his clients.”

Peeta stares at her for a few seconds before turning to walk away, unsteady, limping, but on his own two feet—well, one of his feet and a prosthetic one. He’d forgotten about his regular therapist during the session. The thought of getting back to normal appeals to him, but he’ll miss her urgings, both gentle and authoritative, in his sessions. But now maybe…

Well, he might be able to work up enough nerve to ask her out.

He ponders the option in the whirlpool, the hot water easing and soothing his muscles. He thinks about it on the way home and considers asking Finnick before slinking into the house and spending the weekend rolling the option around in his mind.

Is it okay to even ask? She’s not his regular therapist, so he can’t imagine a reason it would be a problem ethically. He doesn’t want to get her in trouble at her job, but he really likes this girl. Woman. Female. Whatever.

How would he ask her? It’s not like he can just waltz up to her and blurt it out in the gym. He doesn’t know her outside of the clinic, and he has no desire to stalk her. He’s going to have to work on finding a way to talk to her that isn’t creepy or voyeuristic. That might take some creativity, and he’s not sure how much of that he has left anymore.

Would she agree to go out with him? This is the sticking point for him, because he hasn’t dated anyone since he got home. Not since it all happened. Not since his fiancée found out he’d lost a leg and then fucked his brother instead of staying faithful.

“She’s not gonna want you, Mellark. She won’t.”

He works himself into a mess of despair over the weekend and seriously considers skipping his appointment on Monday morning. The only reason he gets it together is because he really wants to see if maybe he’s got a shot with her. If he can just get an inkling today, he’ll know whether or not it’s worth it to kill himself to impress her.

_________________

He’s been in the hospital for two weeks before he can stand to think about calling his fiancée. He doesn’t want to break her heart, and he’s worried about how she’ll react to the news. He also doesn’t want to face the nagging little worry in the back of his brain that she hasn’t tried to call him once she was informed he’d been injured. An email telling him she’s happy he’s all right isn’t exactly enough to convince him she’s particularly concerned.

He’s cried more than he wants to admit over the past several days. After the initial shock of losing his limb and a few panic attacks caused by phantom pain during which he feels like his brain’s been hijacked, his mental state is one of anguish, despondency, and hopelessness. He has no idea how he’s going to rebuild his life. None of this was in his plans.

The military grants him telephone privileges, and Clove’s aware of the time the conversation’s supposed to happen. With a heavy heart and desperate desire to talk to the woman he loves, he waits with bated breath for her to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes into the phone, and his voice catches on a sob. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Peeta,” she says, her manner stronger than his. “How are you?”

Her reception isn’t as warm as he’d like, but he shoves the twinge of unease aside. They’ve been separated so long, it’s normal for things to be a little awkward, right?

“Are you sitting down?” When she doesn’t answer for a few seconds, he says as gently as possible, “You better sit down, sweetie. I’ve got some news.”

“What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, and tears stream down his face. He’s about to break his fiancée’s heart, and he has no idea how to be the bearer of bad news. He’s supposed to make her life better, easier, sweeter. He’s not supposed to destroy it and saddle her with half a man.

“There was a dogfight,” he begins cautiously. “You know about that. I was injured.”

“Yeah. You’re in Germany. They told me you were… They told me you’re going to be okay.”

“I am, babe. I promise. But—”

“But what?” she demands, anger tinging her words.

“Baby, the injury’s pretty bad.”

“How bad?” she asks sharply. It almost sounds like she’s spitting at him.

“My left leg. Uh, it’s, I mean— Clove, they had to amputate below the knee. I’m an amputee.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and somehow that makes it terribly, hideously real. He’s weeping openly now, broken-hearted for his loss and for the burden he’s putting on the woman he loves. He expects comfort. He waits for her acknowledgement, for her reassurance that it’s going to be okay, that she’s grateful to have him back alive, no matter what’s missing now.

He waits for her to say something, but all he hears is silence.

“Clove?” he asks after a few minutes pass. He’s tentative, but he’s starting to panic.

“I’m here,” she whispers after a delay so long he wonders if they’ve been disconnected.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs, even though he has no reason to apologize. It isn’t like he had a choice.

“How long until you’re back in the States?”

Confused, he furrows his brow and stammers out a non-committal length that’s loosely based on the information his doctors have provided. Her detached tone spurs icy claws to wrap around his heart and crawl into his stomach.

“Soon.”

“Let me know when you have more specific information. I’ll make sure to be there when you get off the plane.”

“Clo—”

“I’m so sorry. I have to go,” she blurts. “I have an appointment.”

“I—”

“Take care of yourself. See you soon.”

The line goes dead, and Peeta sits in shock, the phone held to his ear and an ache in his gut so sharp it causes physical pain. He blinks, and his eyes barely reopen. Too devastated to process the conversation they just had and what his mutilated lower half means for him in the months to come, he allows his eyelids to flutter shut and drops into subconsciousness. It feels like a pile of pillows.

_________________

“If it isn’t my favorite patient, Sergeant Mellark.”

“Abernathy,” Peeta says with a curt nod.

“You’re on time,” Haymitch observes under a furrowed brow. “And you don’t stink like booze.”

“I had an epiphany.”

“You had an epiphany. That’s…unique.”

“Yeah, well, you should leave town more often, I guess. Give me some space to think without you yapping at me.”

Haymitch raises his eyebrows and surveys Peeta. His eyes twinkle, and a lewd grin spreads across his face. “Ah…I see.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Mellark. Absolutely nothing.”

Peeta snaps his mouth shut and ignores his PT. He has no intention of giving the man any ammunition—even if it was any of his business. Instead, he shrugs off his hoodie and tightens his shoelaces. He’s ready to work, and he doesn’t have time for someone poking into his personal business.

They’re halfway through the session when he sees Katniss across the gym, and he loses his grip on the pullup bar. He falls without warning and releases a frustrated growl at the pain in his left leg. She glances his way and gives him a gentle smile under a concerned look, but Haymitch barks at him to get off the floor. Peeta turns away and gets back to work. He hasn’t figured out how to approach asking Katniss on a date, so he focuses instead on getting his body back in shape. The last thing he wants is for her to see him as unworthy of her.

The hour ticks by without further incident and Haymitch grumbles his approval as Peeta wipes his brow and heads to the parking lot. He goes home and downs a protein shake, makes lunch, and dusts off the free weights that have lived in the back of the closet since he’d been on his own. Music blares through the headphones, and he shuts out the world as he pumps iron.

Peeta develops a routine over the next few weeks. On the days he has physical therapy, he spends the day working on his recovery. He lifts weights and cooks healthier meals than he’s bothered to eat in a very long time. The muscles that atrophied during his convalescence heal and bunch under his skin, and he feels better than he can ever remember when he wasn’t on deployment.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he paints and sketches and writes. He rediscovers his love of beauty and language. He develops his craft and feeds his talent. It feels like psychoanalysis and works better than any session he’s had sitting on a couch and chatting with a trained professional. He knows head shrinking works, but he finds being alone with a paintbrush or pen or charcoal in his hand is better for him.

The weekends are spent rediscovering his love of life. He spends time with Finnick and Annie and the rest of his friends doing a myriad of activities ranging from karaoke to hiking to attending local high school football games and indulging in one too many hot dogs. It’s his guilty pleasure since he’s so disciplined during the week.

The PT sessions get easier, Haymitch lavishes him with praise, and Peeta’s heart catches in his chest every time he sees Katniss from far away. She always nods at him, but he hasn’t spoken to her since she told him to head to the hot tub after their last session together. He contemplates tracking down her phone number, but he’s not ready yet. He needs more time to be good enough for her.

Three months pass before he knows it, and Haymitch stops their session a few minutes early and tosses Peeta a towel.

“You know, you can stop being a martyr any time now,” the PT says gruffly.

Irritated, Peeta asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been working your ass off for the past three months. It’s not for no reason.”

“I want to get better.”

“You want absolution.”

Peeta laughs wryly. “Who doesn’t?”

“Mellark, you could live a hundred lifetimes and never feel like you’re good enough. Maybe it’s time to take it easy on yourself.”

Peeta purses his lips and doesn’t answer.

“Actually, it may just be time to ask her out.”

He freezes and stares at his therapist. “What did you just say?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes and strolls toward his office. “I said ask her out. She’s been watching you, probably more than she even realizes. Ask her out.”

“I don’t— She— Who are you even talking about, old man?”

“Hey, Everdeen!” Haymitch bellows, and Katniss pokes her head out the women’s locker room.

“What do you want, Abernathy? The next town over heard you yell,” she says with a smirk.

“My charge here—Sarge, that is—has some questions about some exercises you did with him when I was gone. Says he wants to adapt them for his workouts. Help him out?”

“Sure,” she chirps and jogs across the room to stand before Peeta. “Hey. You’ve been working hard the past few months.”

Peeta flushes and stubs his toe against the ground. “Thanks. I appreciate the kick in the ass you gave me when we worked together. It…it, uh, helped.”

“I’m so glad,” she says, clearly pleased and a tiny bit embarrassed. “It seemed like you needed someone to remind you that you’re worth it. You made a huge sacrifice for your country, and empty words and a million thank-you-for-your-services don’t really help when your life spirals out of control.”

He studies her carefully for a few minutes. Trim body, thick braid of dark hair over one shoulder, and those gorgeous pools of silver that shine from her face. She’s just as beautiful as she was the first time he saw her, and he hasn’t stopped wanting to be with her since she’d said his name three months prior.

She ducks her head and bites her bottom lip. “Sorry. I don’t mean to discount people’s attempts to say thanks to our veterans,” she blurts. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just mean… I mean… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For your service?”

He barks with laughter and a grin tugs up the corners of her mouth. They smile at each other companionably for several long, charged seconds. His hands itch to reach out and brush run his thumb over her bottom lip. “For my service, huh?”

“Yeah, for lack of anything else coherent.” She toys with the end of her braid and then asks, “What were the exercises you want to adapt? I can help with that.”

Right. What Haymitch said. His thoughts race, and he racks his brain to figure out what to say without sounding like a total idiot. He has no idea what to ask that won’t be blatantly obvious he’s just trying to get close to her.

“Well,” he drawls, dragging out the word, “I’ve been working on balance and core strength, but I’ve got a twinge in both my shoulders. Every time I lift, I strain my delts, and that means I’m struggling with planking and sit-ups and push-ups and some other things. Any suggestions for how to relieve pressure on my shoulders?”

“Deep tissue massages. Work the muscle really hard, and it’ll…uh… I mean, pressure and heat—if you like things heated, that is. Warming oils can help, too. I can give you some…” She stumbles to a stop, clearly aware that she’s rambling, and her face flushes a spectacular shade of fire engine red. Every word out of her mouth was a double entendre, and she’s obviously mortified by what she’s said.

“Know anybody who gives good ones?” he asks innocently and watches her reaction. She squirms under his gaze, electricity crackling between them.

“I can give you a reference,” she mumbles miserably and looks like she wants to melt into the floor.

“You can get me a number, huh?”

She nods and shifts from foot to foot. “Yeah, I’ve got a list in my office.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d love to get that from you. The number, that is.”

“Okay,” she responds quietly.

“Your number.”

“My—? What?”

“Katniss, I’d really like to have your number, if that’d be okay,” he explains carefully. When her eyes shine at him hopefully, he swallows hard and takes a chance. “Would you, maybe, want to have dinner sometime? Go out with me? On a date?”

Her expression shifts from shock to pleased to eager in nanoseconds. She squares her shoulders and smiles widely at him.

“I’d love to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Giddy, he pulls his phone out of his gym bag and hands it to her. “Can I get your number?”

She types in her contact information, and Peeta grins and waves instead of saying anything more and ruining the moment. It’s been three months since he met her, but it only takes three seconds for him to text her when he leaves the gym. By the time he’s out of the parking lot, they have a date for Friday night.

_________________

Peeta’s been home for three months when his phone rings with a call from Clove. She’s an hour later than she said she’d be coming today. She promised to bring him some things from the store, and he wonders what’s stumped her.

He answers with an approximation of a smile. He doesn’t have many of those these days, but talking to his fiancée is one way to lift his spirits, which are admittedly in the dumps. “You don’t understand the list, silly woman?”

She doesn’t answer. There’s a muffled scuffle in the background, and he listens carefully, trying to figure out exactly where she is. Still at the grocery store? Driving home? Did she have other errands she decided to run while she was out anyway? It takes thirty seconds, at least, for his ears to adjust and recognize the sounds. His brain blacks out, and he shakes his head, unable to process what he’s hearing.

It’s Clove’s voice. He knows it like he knows his own, but it can’t possibly be real. Someone’s hacked her phone and is mimicking her. That’s the only logical explanation. Panic clogs his throat, and his lips move soundlessly. He’s too stunned to speak.

She’s moaning. Broken grunts in a frantic rhythm that’s accompanied by rustling noises and a steady thump. He listens, horrified, unable to disconnect and stop the hell he’s hearing. He knows what those sounds mean. He’s heard them from her every time they make love, every time he’s inside her, every time she’s close to climax and wails his name as she tips over the edge.

“Graham!”

Peeta’s world shrinks to that word. His brother’s name. Noises that are definitely male. Sounds that make his stomach lurch, and he gags. He can’t reach his crutches fast enough, and he definitely doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time. He has the presence of mind to drop the phone and grab a trashcan. He empties his stomach, retching and choking on humiliation and sorrow and pain that burns worse than this scar.

When he’s done, he picks up his phone and sees the connection’s still open. There’s no way she meant to call. It has to be the worst-timed and horrific butt dial of all time. He ends the call and leans back on the couch, too heartsick to do anything other than turn off his thoughts and sink into the cushions.

Clove returns a half hour later, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. She stops when she sees him. He feels like death, so her shocked face doesn’t surprise him. He must look even worse.

“What happened? You look terrible.”

He glares at her, holding her gaze and piercing her with accusation that cuts into his soul.

“You fucked my brother. Get out.”

Her face drains, and he sees panic flicker in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Check your call log. I think you misdialed. Unless you wanted me to hear.”

Her hands tremble as she swipes up on the screen. Her shoulders slump, and she curses under her breath. It’s clear she’s just now realized what he heard.

“Peeta, I—”

“Get out.”

“Peeta—”

“Get out!” he screams. “Get out, you bitch! GET OUT!”

Stricken, she stumbles backward and through the door. He picks the whiskey bottle off the coffee table and takes a swig. He drinks. Somewhere between half and all the way through the bottle he deletes her number. Then he deletes his brother’s. Then he throws his phone across the room so hard, the screen shatters. Just like his heart.

_________________

Peeta wipes his palms on his jeans and huffs in a deep breath. He mutters to himself words of encouragement and finally lifts his hand and knocks on her door. His heart clogs his throat as he waits for her, and his vision goes fuzzy when she finally opens the door.

“You look…I mean…wow,” he stammers, and Katniss smiles shyly at him. He can’t really speak as they walk to his car. The drive to the pub is uneventful, although quiet, and Peeta sighs in relief when they’re ushered quickly to a semi-private booth near the back of the restaurant that’s both far enough away from the kitchen and isn’t too close to the bathrooms.

“You ever been here before?” he asks and hands her a beer list.

“No,” she answers. “It’s nice.”

“I thought about taking you to Chez Panem, but that seemed…I don’t know, not your style. Like you’d be uncomfortable there because everything’s pretentious,” he explains, his voice threatening to crack on every syllable. He’s so beyond nervous he doesn’t know the word for it. “I hope that’s okay.”

Katniss reaches over and squeezes his hand before dropping hers back in her lap. “This is perfect Peeta. You read that situation exactly right.”

He flushes, pleased at her words, and ducks his head to look at the menu. It shouldn’t be this hard, but somehow, he feels like he’s fourteen again and has a crush on the girl in his class who barely gives him the time of day. Never mind that he’s a military vet, has been engaged, and has bedded his fair share of women. He’s as nervous as he was on the night he lost his virginity. He’s scared of what that means.

“Thanks for going out with me tonight,” Peeta offers after the waitress takes their orders. “I know I’ve been on your radar you for a while. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it.”

Katniss’ eyes sparkle, and she laughs lightly before answering. “You don’t seem to give up on much. I doubt you would have taken too much longer to figure it out. Besides, it’s been three months. I figured you’d been trying to impress me for long enough.”

Three months. It hits him that another three-month increment has passed without him even realizing it. Maybe this is the one that will break the cycle of terrible things. Maybe this three-month period will turn out all right for him in the long run.

Maybe it’ll even be amazing.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he answers and fumbles for another conversation topic.

“How are you adjusting to civilian life?” Katniss asks, and Peeta drops his eyes to study his hands. This is one of those questions that makes him wonder how to answer. Should he say he’s fine and he’s doing fine, or should he be honest and turn the conversation much more serious? Does she really want to know how he’s feeling, or is she just being kind?

“Uh…” he mumbles and shoots the waitress a grateful grin when she sets beer glasses in front of them both.

“That well, huh?”

Peeta shrugs and takes a long sip of the lager. Flavor bursts over his tongue, and he relaxes his shoulders slightly before answering. “It’s difficult,” he admits. “I joined the military so I could afford college. And then…” He motions to his leg before continuing. “I know I can still go. Later. I know life isn’t over, but this is a big blow. Losing my leg, things with my family aren’t great, some, uh, other personal stuff… It’s been tough. And nightmares and loud noises. There’s been a lot of trauma, and it’s hard to deal with that when I’m trying to relearn how to walk and shower and…pardon the crassness, but how to take a piss without falling over.”

Katniss studies him for a few minutes, quietly and with an empathic look. If there’d been a hint of pity, he isn’t sure what he would have done, but there isn’t. She looks like she might actually understand what he’s trying to say. That he’s acknowledging the loss and mourning his old life without succumbing to despair.

“You’re a pretty remarkable person, Peeta Mellark.”

He blushes and looks everywhere but directly at her. “Nah,” he protests, but she isn’t having any of it.

“You really are. You’re one of the hardest-working patients I’ve ever met. You can hold your own with Abernathy, and that’s not easy. You know when to shut up and listen, and you challenge when you feel like you’re being pushed too far. That’s admirable. You respect authority but don’t follow blindly. That’s important in both military and civilian life, and it makes for a good man.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, his face beet red. “I mean, you’re tough as nails, worked my ass into the ground, but you knew when to back off and lavish praise and offer rewards. That seems to translate into confidence and competence and care and compassion.”

“The four Cs of PT.”

“Is it really?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“No,” she answers, her eyes sparkling as a chuckle escapes her. “But it sounded good.”

He rolls his eyes and adds, “And you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, and you’re really beautiful.”

Katniss blushes then, and he decides it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“What else should I know about you? Because I’d really like to know everything.”

They talk for hours, both of them flustered and blushing and giddy and intrigued by the other. She regales him with stories about her family, in particular, her sister who it’s obvious Katniss adores. He tells stories about Finnick and the rest of his unit, his time as a high school wrestler, his obsession with painting and drawing when he was young and how he’d given it up because his mother had convinced him it wouldn’t get him anywhere in life. How his fingers had itched to grip a paintbrush again, and he’s got a wish list for paints and canvases he wants to buy. How he thinks it might be good therapy to lose himself in swirls and shades and tints and perspective.

They talk so long that Peeta loses track of time. All he knows is that he feels alive with her, finally feels like a whole person instead of someone with only half of himself to offer. It’s amazing what being treated as a human instead of a statistic will do for his attitude.

Finally, he sighs, “I guess we should get going.” He doesn’t want the night to end, but the pub is nearing closing time. He takes slight comfort in Katniss’ disappointed frown and offers her his hand as she rises from the booth. She grasps it and surprises him by winding her fingers through his. She doesn’t let go until they reach the car. Once settled in the front seat, he starts the car and backs out of the parking spot. When he shifts it into drive, he keeps his hand on the gear shaft and waits. A few seconds later, he moves it to her thigh.

“You’re a smooth one, aren’t you, Mellark?” she says with a grin.

He chuckles and squeezes her knee before putting his hand back on the wheel. “Maybe not if you just called me out on it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she admits. “Just admiring your game.”

“I used to be quite a lady’s man. Until—”

“Tell me what happened.”

Her voice is quiet but strong. It sounds like it belongs to someone who can handle anything and come out better on the other side.

“I was engaged,” he confesses. “Her name was Clove, and I thought I loved her. I did love her, but I didn’t really know who she actually was. She had trouble with my deployments, but she didn’t act on anything until the last one. I was three months from getting out when my unit was pinned down in a firefight. We were almost out when I got hit. Almost died. Lost my leg. When I finally got to talk to Clove, she didn’t take it well. I came home, and she… She decided she didn’t want our life anymore. She fucked my brother. Butt dialed me during it. I kicked her out. They’re still together. Getting married next year.”

Katniss looks absolutely stricken. Her hands tremble as she reaches for his leg. Her fingers grip his thigh as she breathes, “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs and gives a wry smile. “She would have made a terrible military wife. She’s better as a trophy for Graham to show off at his business dinners. They’re a matched set—beautiful, selfish people who like small talk and lack substance. I’m better off without her.”

“Regardless, it’s still a lot to deal with when you’re suffering the kind of loss you did.”

“It’s been a rough year.”

“You’ve done really well the past few months from what I’ve seen.” He preens a little at her compliment and smiles when she touches his shoulder.

“Sometimes, there’s a reason for getting better.”

He pulls to a stop in front of her house and stops the car. Following her to the door, he runs through a million scenarios about how to end their evening and isn’t at all prepared for what actually happens.

“I had a really good time tonight.”

Her eyes are soft and liquid as they gaze at him, and he can’t do anything but nod. He’s tongue-tied around her again the same way he was three months ago when he first met her. He’s still trying to form words, when she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down into a gentle, lip brushing kiss.

His heart bursts at the feel of her mouth on his, and the sparks flashing between them combust into an all-encompassing flame. He slants his head to gain better access, and her tongue sweeps into his mouth and knocks all coherent thought from his brain. She tangles her fingers in the hair at his nape and presses her body against him as breathy whimpers catch in the back of her throat.

“Holy shit,” he pants when they break the kiss for air. Two seconds later, she tugs him back into another searing kiss that makes his toes curls. His hands settle on her hips and then curve around to her ass. When he lifts her onto her tiptoes and nudges his hips against hers, they both release simultaneous groans that echo in the cool night air.

He tries to get himself under control. He steps back to gain some distance and breathes raggedly with his eyes pressed closed for half a minute. He’s feeling okay until he looks and sees her face, aroused and blissful with her eyes half closed.

“Peeta,” Katniss breathes. “I don’t…”

“I know. I don’t either.”

She looks at him, and he wants to run away at the same time he wants to pull her into his arms and stay with her forever. It’s too soon to have these kind of feelings, but they’re real, nonetheless. His heart clutches at her vulnerability, and he feels a rush of protectiveness.

Her eyes drift closed as he leans in this time and brushes his lips over hers. There’s no urgency now; just a deep connection that begs for slow, languid caresses. She tastes like hops and the brownie they shared, and she sighs in the back of her throat at the touch. He releases a strangled groan and tilts his head as their lips part. His eyes blink open to see her face frozen in what he can only describe as awe. Shadows of her eyelashes fall over her cheeks, and he pauses to study her before leaning down and nudging her nose with his and tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opens under him, and she tastes like springtime and icicles and hope.

“Come inside,” she whispers and tugs him into her apartment by his shirt. He’s slightly unsteady, but she holds him up, bracing his body against hers, and then his back is against the door as she kisses him so completely he feels it in his toes. Again.

Her hands are under his shirt, and his fingers are twisted in her hair. She’s glued to him, and he can’t remember the last time he’s wanted something as much as he wants her. She shifts and her hip grazes his groin. He grunts, and she presses into him harder.

“Katniss.”

“I hate your clothes.”

“I hate yours.”

“Take them off.”

“Mine or yours?”

She laughs into his mouth, and he feels like he’s a helium balloon. He’s never felt quite so free or desired or…happy, he realizes with a jolt. He’s happy. She makes him happy.

“Both,” she answers, and he obliges as he pulls her sweater over her head and shrugs his shirt from his shoulders.

Her skin against his burns, but it’s the good kind, the kind that reminds him of sticking his finger in hot wax and waiting for it to cool. It’s magical and skirts the border of pain and pleasure. It’s everything he’s feeling as his arms wrap around her back and her breasts press against his chest. He unsnaps her bra and drops his mouth to her neck. When she arches backward, he ducks to capture a nipple in his mouth and tugs the peak with his teeth. She produces a noise that makes his knees weak, and she pulls him to the couch.

“Bed’s too far,” she gasps as she shoves him down and straddles his waist.

He lies there, flat on his back, cock rigid and throbbing under her, and his mouth drops open at the sight of her over him.

“Your tits are… fuck…”

“Touch them,” she tells him, her tone almost an order, and his hands shake as he trails up her sides until he can cup them in his palms, his thumbs grazing her nipples. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes flutter halfway closed.

He wants to tell her how beautiful she is. He wants to tell her how inadequate he feels because she’s everything he’s ever wanted. He wants to stay like this with her forever. He wants everything. He didn’t know he could want anything as much as he wants to be worthy of her.

Her fingers fumble with his zipper, and he makes a noise that would be embarrassing if she wasn’t looking at him like he was the best thing she’d ever seen. She wriggles his pants over his hips and drops between his legs until her mouth—

“Oh my fuck,” he hisses as her lips closes over him. “Katniss. Shit.”

His hips arch under her, desperate to get closer. She sucks and licks him as he writhes, and he’s so close already. Closer than he should be for only a few minutes of her mouth on him. He needs to last. He has to wait for something. He doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t come yet. He can’t. He has to take her with him.

“You’ve got to stop,” he begs, but she doesn’t. “Katniss, please. I can’t— Slow down. Please.”

She shakes her head and releases him long enough to say, “We have all night.”

He swears and bites his lip. He’s trying to hold off. He tries so hard, but her hands cup his balls and her tongue licks the tip and he’s gone. He tries to warn her, but it happens too quickly. He’s filling her mouth before she can pull back, and he groans when she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she milks him with hollowed cheeks and an eager tongue until he’s quivering and boneless. He’s sweaty and fighting for breath when he’s finally able to form a sentence. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as sarcasm, but he’s a dick, and he knows it.

“You didn’t even take my pants off first. I feel so used.”

She snorts and clambers off him to shed her leggings and divest him of his wrinkled khakis that had been bunched around his knees while she gave him head. His breath catches as she climbs up and straddles him again. She’s naked, dark hair curled in a carefully trimmed triangle between her legs, and it’s glistening already.

She stretches over him, her skin fused to his. She ruts against his left thigh, careful to stay above the knee and not touch the sensitive skin of his amputation. She’s wet against him, eager to reach her climax, and he wants to give it to her, even if he’s not ready to go again.

Their mouths knock together in desperate, hot, lustful kisses. His hands caress every part of her he can find until he cups her ass and helps her grind down against him. She whimpers and keens at the increased friction, and his brain threatens to short circuit.

Peeta tries to slow things down. He cups her chin and calms the kisses until their mouths move languidly together and her hips undulate slowly and she’s dragging her pussy from mid-thigh to his hip. Over and over. Repeatedly until he feels like he’s never known anything but her marking him with her arousal, sticky and wet and hot on his shattered leg. Her breath hitches each time her clit rubs against the protruded hip bone, and his cock twitches.

“Yeah, keep doing that,” he pleads. She’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and he’s almost out of his head to be inside her. He needs a little more time, a little bit more recovery, before he can sink into her or her drop onto him or however this is going to work. He didn’t used to lay on his back for sex, but she seems to know what she wants, and he’s not about to argue with her. Not when they’re this close to something both of them want so much.

“Condom?” she asks as her teeth nip at his jaw.

“Wallet. Back pocket,” he answers, his voice broken and ragged. She fishes for his pants and finds what she needs. Then she raises onto her knees, still rocking against his thigh, and wraps her hand around his dick. He hisses at the contact, and blood rushes from his head to thicken and harden, making him ready again. She rips the foil and sheathes him quickly, and then she raises over him.

“Peeta,” she whispers and waits for him to look her in the eyes before she lowers herself onto him.

He enters another plane, one on which he’s never known pain or sadness or brokenness or anything other than the feel of her around him, the noises he’s making, the look of her riding him, the way she pants his name and leans backward so that her back is arched and her pussy slides over him at just the right angle and—

He’s already close again. There’s no way it’s possible, but he is. He needs to last. For her. He wants to give her everything, and he’s too far gone already.

Peeta shakes his head, desperately trying to gain some clarity. She’s making high-pitched mewling noises that seem to catch in the back of her throat every time she glides down his cock. Her eyes are glazed and hazy, and her lips are parted in a blissful half-smile.

Awed and reverent, he moves his hand from her hip and grazes his thumb over the trail of hair between her legs. It’s slick with lube from the condom and her own arousal. Her breath hitches, and he presses into her, seeking her clit, and cursing when she groans his name.

“Feel so good,” she babbles. “So good. God, Peeta. Yeah. Oh fuck, yeah.”

He presses harder, wiggling his thumb back and forth, faster and faster until she’s bucking atop him, frantic and unbidden. She’s bowed so far back, he can hardly see her face, but the rest of her is exquisite. Her skin shines with a sheen of moisture, and her lean stomach tenses and contracts with every thrust. Her thighs hug his torso, and her perfect tits make him want to spend hours laving them with his tongue.

“I’m gonna come,” he breathes, shocked that he’s telling the truth. “Fuck, Katniss. I can’t wait. I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

His words turn to incoherent moans as his eyes droop closed and his back bends off the couch and he pours into the condom with enthusiastic spurts of climax. He loses rhythm as he tries to stroke her to her own orgasm, but he can’t. He’s beyond spent, and he just cannot fathom that there’s any more energy.

Her hand joins his, and he forces his eyes open to watch her rubbing herself furiously. Her face is a mask of pained desperation, and he watches in complete astonishment as she starts to convulse. The sounds she makes. The way her legs and hips and—fuck, everything bounces up and down on him until she’s screaming and coming and pulsing around him, hot and sloppy wet and so fucking tight.

Eventually, she collapses against him, but it takes a while. It’s more than once and more than twice, and he can’t tell what’s real and not real, but it all seems a little hazy and shiny to him. He’s drifting, his hands trailing up and down her back, whispering soothing words into her ear when she finally lifts her head to kiss him.

“Shiiiiiiiiiit,” she hisses as she flexes around him involuntarily.

“I might have stopped living a little while ago,” he huffs, and she chuckles.

He’s lying. He’s more alive than he’s been in over a year. Since the day he thought everything had changed, but he was stupid. He knows that now. Meeting Katniss may be the thing that defines everything from now until the day he leaves the earth. And it’s only been three months.

Three months. How can it only be three months? How can that same time frame be the best thing that’s happened to him when once it meant the biggest tragedy?

She nuzzles his neck, and he kisses the top of her head and tightens his arms around her. He doesn’t want to let her go. Not ever.

“You don’t have to leave, right? Stay with me?” she asks.

He answers with a kiss.

_________________

“Hey, Mellark.”

“Sir?” Peeta asks as he waits in the wheelchair for his transport. He’s flying home today, and he doesn’t want anything other than peace and quiet.

“Just wanted to introduce you to the flight nurse,” the orderly says as he pulls a small woman along behind him. She’s petite and kind-looking, blonde with huge blue eyes that shine with compassion and gentleness.

“Hi,” he nods.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m Prim.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just turns and stares down the hallway, ignoring the awkward silence as he and the nurse are left alone together.

“Are you ready to go home, sir?” the nurse asks, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Have a lot of people waiting for you back there?”

“No,” he barks the monosyllable.

“Well, I’m so excited to see my sister. She’s a physical therapist, works with vets like yourself, and she’s the best person I’ve ever known. You’d like her.”

He ignores her and tunes out her chatter. He doesn’t want to hope for anything, and this girl’s incessant babbling feels like sunshine and optimism.

“I don’t like anybody.”

She gives him a gentle smile that makes him want to smack her. “You will, sir. Someday you will.”

“Not likely.”

“I give it three months,” she says and then surveys him sharply. “You know what, maybe a year. Maybe just a little more.”

“Until what?”

“Until you like yourself again, and then, by extension, others around you. You might take a while.”

“Three months, huh?”

“Three months once or twice or a few times, but yeah. Just wait.”

And because Peeta has nothing better to do, he glances sideways at his nurse and decides he’s too tired to fight anymore. Instead, he chooses to believe her. Three months. A few times. He’s counting on it.

#three months #fandomtrumpshate #everlark #everlark fanfiction #iwishicoulldread247

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beautifulpaxiel · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on “Ballad”

So I finished reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes last night (actually the early hours of this morning, if you want to be precise), and I thought I’d share my thoughts on it.

Can I say this book gave me Feelings?! With a capital F.

I couldn’t sleep for a while afterwards, my thoughts were all over the place as I tried to absorb it all. I kind of wish I hadn’t read it so fast - I tend to have a habit of reading books too quickly if I’m really into them and then regretting it later on.

Anyway.

I thought I’d do this as a series of bullet points because it’s easier for me to articulate my thoughts that way.

First of all, the Snows’ money was invested in District 13?

Tigris seemed really sweet. I wonder - still do, actually - what made her hate her cousin so much she wanted him dead by Mockingjay? And she’s actually three years older than Coriolanus, which makes her how old in the third book? Probably nearing ninety.

I was really intrigued to see how the actual Hunger Games were different in the beginning, and actually how a lot of the ideas to reform it were Snow’s.

I wonder if Snow got the idea of hijacking Peeta from the snake-biting incident with Clemensia? I know the species of muttation are different, but the snake venom supposedly had a neurological effect on the victim, which is kind of similar to how Peeta’s mind was warped? I don’t know. Probably barking up the wrong tree there.

Snow’s irritation and resentment of the Plinth family grated on me, which I suppose it was meant to, being as they were clearly nouveau riche. I particularly hated his disdain for Ma Plinth - aside from her cooking.

I like how Suzanne Collins didn’t force us to like Snow as a character even though he was the protagonist. He had some good characteristics (*ducks flying tomatoes*) but ultimately the seeds for his villainy were sown early on.

Speaking as I did of the Plinths earlier, I really liked Sejanus (as a lot of people seem to have done). He was obviously hamstrung by his family’s fortune and hated what the Hunger Games stood for. Also I enjoyed seeing him stand up to Professor Gaul.

Speaking of Professor Gaul, I would not want to get on her bad side - or her good side, for that matter. Does that woman even have a good side? *shudders*

Highbottom was an interesting character. I struggled to work out his motives in the beginning, especially how a lot of the time he was under the influence of morphling.But it all made tragic sense in the end.

Lucy Gray Baird - can I just say WOW? At first I didn’t know what to make of her - I mean, singing at the reaping, and slipping a snake down the dress of the mayor’s daughter? I thought that was over the top. But later I came to admire and respect her for her resilience. I did keep waiting for the penny to drop in terms of her relationship with Snow - was she pretending? And finally, I wish we’d gotten a clue to her eventual fate - that was left frustratingly open-ended. I kind of think she must be related to Katniss somehow, perhaps through her father? There’s too many references to her musical ability (both by herself and with the other Covey) for it not to be at least a possibility. It would also be her ultimate triumph over Snow - call it poetic justice.

Speaking of music, I thought that was a trifle overdone. I thought too many song lyrics broke up the flow of the narrative. Having said that, though, I kind of want to hear those songs that Lucy wrote. And HOW FREAKING COOL is it that she WROTE “The Hanging Tree”? And how it tied in to her relationships with Snow and Billy Taupe. Also actually knowing there was a hanging tree. I got freaking chills when it was mentioned.

And the Valley Song - now we finally know what it was that began the journey that is Everlark.

I gave a little snort when Snow said he hated mockingjays. Oh, Coryo, if you only knew how much.

I do wonder how long Suzanne was planning this for, given how much the two timelines tie together and what was in the films.

I loved the little references to the katniss plant. Feels strange to not be capitalising it.

Interesting that the Capitol's citizens were not always the monsters they seemed by the time Katniss & co. were around, although the sense of entitlement and superiority were there.

The way that the district tributes were considered by the Capitolites as less than human boiled my blood. They couldn’t even be treated by proper human doctors, no, they were treated by VETS, as if they were animals.

I think I definitely need to do a reread at some point so I can actually give a considered opinion of the book rather than these random points, but for now, that’s it.

Thanks for reading!

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad spoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #balladspoilers #i hope these spoiler filters work!#i know a lot of you are still reading #or have yet to read

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

Hey, i read your one shot « two kids » from the Writer’s Block and I really like it ! And it would be so great to read more of this verse (if you want and if you have time, of course)Happy New Year to you and your cute family !

Hello anon! Happy 2020! Hope it’s been great so far!

Ask and you shall receive...

Happy reading!

________

Summary: A follow-up to “Two Kids”. Katniss didn’t realize that it would happen so fast. Now, she just has to tell Peeta. Post-Mockingjay. Everlark with a smattering of Hayhanna.

“Two hearts, new start, every card is wild

There in your arms, with the radio up and the windows down

Loose hands, slow dance under crooked stars

We were clumsy at love

It was a shaky two-step in a parking lot…”

-Laura Gibson

Two Hearts, New Start

Six Weeks Later…

“This can’t be…”

I look over what is known to everyone—except for Jack, of course—as the ‘baby calendar’. My ovulation dates are carefully highlighted with my peak day circled as well as my expected date of menstruation. The idea was my mother’s after I approached her with the thought of having another child.

One morning, in-between feeding Jack, and making sure that the water was boiling for tea, Haymitch walked into our kitchen, tossed the calendar on our counter and walked out. Not that he would ever admit it, but the arrival of another Everdeen-Mellark offspring would be a welcomed event since he adores Jack.

My shock comes from the dates from the previous week; Peeta and my ‘attempts’ at conceiving. We try to keep it relaxed when it comes to all of this, but we’ve been so busy that our times together are usually quick and dirty—Johanna’s words, not mine.

In the woods…at the lake…on our back porch…Peeta’s back is probably killing him.

I understand that we’ve had sex frequently, but this is definitely off.

Am I pregnant already?

“No, it’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what?”

I jumped out of my skin, turning to find Johanna in the doorway. Jack, seeing her, flings the toast in his hand where it smacks into the cupboard right next to me.

“You scared me,” I tell her. “Look at this.”

Johanna goes to the calendar and examines it before turning back. “So, you have your rag?”

“I’m going to assume that means my period.” I shake my head. “Not today.”

“So Peeta has gone and put another baby in you.” Johanna grins. “Isn’t that what this whole thing was about?”

“But it doesn’t add up.” I go to the toaster and retrieve another piece for Jack. “I thought my period already happened—that’s why the sex happened last week.” I butter the toast and hand it to my son. “It wasn’t much and didn’t last for very long, but it was the same way last month—”

“You really are brainless.” Johanna peels the toast splattered on my cupboard and examines it before taking a bite. “Call your mother.”

++++++

“It’s called implantation bleeding,” my mother explains over the phone. “Or, at least that’s what it sounds like. Do you have any other symptoms?”

“The first time this happened is implantation bleeding?” I sink down in my seat as I try to add it all up. “And, was the second time—”

I feel my eyes watering at the thought.

“Have you felt any cramping?”

“No, just the bit of bleeding.”

“Then I don’t think that it’s serious. Women often spot while they’re pregnant,” my mother replies and I breathe out a sigh of relief. “But there is something else we should talk about.”

“What?”

“Katniss, if what you’re telling me is all correct, you are a little over eight weeks pregnant,” she tells me.

“No, we just started trying,” I argue.

“Wow, you’re slow.”

I jump and turn to find Haymitch at the doorway with Jack in his arms. I left him with his godfather and Johanna so I could discuss what was happening without someone throwing toast at me. He smirks as he sits Jack down in his highchair before pulling out a chair to sit.

“Mom, I’ll call you later,” I tell her.

“I’m sending you something,” she tells me quickly. “It might help assure you.”

“Assure me?”

“Bye Katniss.”

I hang up the phone and look to Haymitch. “What are you on about?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you were pregnant before you even started trying?” he barks at me.

Damn.

I feel dizzy and sit down. “We weren’t even trying…”

Haymitch quickly goes to the cupboard, grabs a cup, and reaches for the pitcher on the table to pour a glass of water. He hands it to me then sits in the adjacent chair.

“You had that same glazed look when you were pregnant with Jack,” he informs me. “And, you didn’t try with him either.”

I would glare at him except the nausea hits me.

So instead, I vomit on his shoes.

++++++

“My God, it reeks in here!”

I glare from my spot in front of the toilet. “Go away…” My stomach turns again, and I retch.

It was never like this with Jack; this child is going to be a terror.

Instead of listening to me, Johanna joins me on the floor. “You really did a number on Haymitch’s shoes.” She gives me an easy grin. “He’s out in our yard setting them on fire.”

“So, it’s our yard, now?” I question.

Now it’s her turn to squirm. “What are you implying?”

“You’re having sex with Haymitch.” Her jaw drops just slightly at my directness. “I’m throwing up my innards; I have no time for subtleties.” Sitting back, I press my face to the cool tiling of the room. “My only question is whether it’s fucking or more than fucking.”

“Whoa, that’s one dirty statement,” she retorts. “You kiss Peeta with that mouth?”

“Yes and more.” I look to her. “Is it serious?”

Johanna fidgets. “Haymitch hasn’t exactly kicked me out.” She closes the door, leaning back against it. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You should probably figure it out.” I flush the toilet before closing the lid. “He may seem very rough, but Haymitch can get hurt just like the rest of us.”

“Well, so could I,” Johanna counters softly. “How are you going to tell Peeta?”

“Oh yeah…” I close my eyes tiredly. “I forgot about telling him.”

Johanna chuckles. “How about not throwing up on him?”

“Probably the best course of action.”

She moves towards me.

“Why don’t you tell him tonight? Wear a nice dress…have an intimate dinner…strip him down—and then tell him mid-ride?”

“There’s the Johanna I know and love,” I respond. “That sounds good, even the mid-ride part.”

Johanna helps me up and I wash my hands and face as she re-braids my hair. I’m beginning to feel normal again and then turn to her.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.

And, for some reason, I give her a hug—this baby is making me all sorts of crazy.

“Gross. Your breath smells.”

And, we’re back to square one.

++++++

“It smells great in here!”

Peeta comes into the kitchen just as I pull out the roast from the oven. I never really go this fancy so I’m hoping that he gets that this is a special occasion.

I am wrong.

“It’s been crazy at the bakery,” he says as I place the roast on the table and then sit next to him. “I’m trying to figure out how to negotiate with the new suppliers because they’ve raised the price. Not sure how my Dad did it or whether it was my mom that negotiated…it seems like a job that she would be better at.”

Peeta gaves me a sad smile.

“Just add it to the many things to deal with when your parents are gone…my mother would have never bothered to teach me anyway. I think she may have even been surprised that I managed to open the place back up.”

Even though Mr. and Mrs. Mellark are gone, they still haunt Peeta in these small sometimes biting ways.

This is definitely not the right time; not when he is brooding over his parents and possibly worried about not living up to their expectations.

I place my hand over his.

“We can figure it out together,” I assure him.

Peeta nods, giving me that sweet smile that Jack sports whenever he gets the right piece of toast.

“Thanks—” He looks at the spread of food besides the roast; roasted potatoes and carrots that I spent hours peeling. Then, he looks at me in my knee-length green dress that displays my more positive attributes—according to Johanna. “—this is all nice. Did I forget an anniversary or something?”

I shake my head. “No. Johanna and Haymitch wanted to take Jack off our hands and we have some alone time…”

He nods slowly before standing and holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I take his hand. “Where?”

“Upstairs.” His hand lingers along the zipper on the back of my dress. “I need to appreciate this dress more—and aren’t we trying for another baby?”

It’s at the tip of my tongue to tell him that there is no need to try anymore.

Then, Peeta looks at me in that way that makes his bright blues darken into the blue of a midnight sea; that same blue when he kissed me in Quarter Quell and that familiar hunger draws up from my belly.

So, I let him take my upstairs.

++++++

“So, you didn’t tell him?”

Johanna sits on our porch steps as I sit on the adjoining bench, Jack in my lap.

“I was going to,” I start. “Then, he started talking about the bakery and how his parents would’ve known what to do…when either of us gets in a mood, it’s better to not throw big life changes into the mix.”

“So, you just didn’t go through with the plan,” Johanna states bluntly. She pokes Jack in the stomach, and he laughs. “Looks like your Momma is being a big ol’ chicken.”

My son tilts his head, his large eyes gazing on his playmate. “Chik’n?”

“Yup…you know…bok…bok…bok!” She bobs her head at him as if she has a beak and Jack bursts into giggles. “Come on Jack! Pretend to be Mommy Chicken!” Jack, so excited to play, immediately slips off my lap to follow her head movements. Then they stand up and circle the porch with their arms flapping like pretend wings.

It’s so strange to watch Johanna so carefree, as if neither of us had to fight for our lives in an arena.

However, we did.

Part of me is still a little afraid that I’ll wake up back in an arena…or in District 13…or on Reaping Day.

Part of me is still afraid that all of this isn’t real.

In times like these, I remember small things, like the way that Jack gives me kisses—sloppy but full of love. Or his strong kicks when he was inside me, or even that first turn of my stomach realizing that this new baby was inside me.

“Special delivery.” I look up from my seat to find Haymitch standing in front of me, a worried expression on his lined face. He holds out a medium-sized box wrapped in brown paper. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah, just doing a lot of thinking.”

The box is from my mother and I remember her saying that she would be sending something over. Ripping the paper, a note from my mother is taped to my present:

Katniss—

Normal fetal heartrate is 120 to 160 beats per minute.

Call me with questions.

Mom

I look at the box displaying a handheld device with a probe connected to it.

“It’s a fetal monitor,” Johanna tells us. We look to her in surprise and she has the good grace to blush. “When Annie thought she was pregnant with Dylan, I went with her to see a doctor in the medical facility in 13. They used one of these things on her.”

“Care to explain how this works?” Haymitch asks her, his gaze soft.

It’s still strange to see Haymitch affectionate in these small but meaningful ways. Peeta and I were so used to our taciturn—and often inebriated—mentor that watching him with Jack still surprises me at times.

I’m not even sure that he notices that he looks at Johanna that way.

“Katniss, lay down on the porch,” Johanna tells me.

I raise a brow at her. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to show you how to use the thing,” she replies. “Now, be a good girl and lay down.”

With a huff, I do as she says, laying on my back. Jack follows, laying next to me and I take his hand.

“Are you excited to be a big brother?” I ask him.

Jack scrunches his nose. “Brudder?”

“Yes, Jack,” Haymitch says. He sits on the porch bench. “Your Momma has a baby in her belly.”

“Here.” Johanna hands me the small monitor. “Just tell me if you can—”

I sit up. “Stop.”

Johanna puts her hand on my shoulder, quickly looking me over. “Is something wrong?”

I shake my head. “It’s just…someone else needs to hear this first.”

++++++

“You wanted to see me?”

Peeta sits next to me on the blanket. The wide field behind the fence stands before us, the orange of the sunset soaking us in its last bits of warmth.

“I have to tell you something,” I say. “But first—close your eyes.”

“You’ve been acting strange,” Peeta remarks. I glare and he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay! Closing my eyes…”

I hope I get this right; I spent half an hour on the phone with Mom to make sure.

Reaching for my knapsack, I take the fetal monitor out and spread the gel that it came with.

Laying back, I place the probe on my abdomen and begin to look…

“What’s that sound?” Peeta asks, eyes still closed.

“Just wait…”

Where are you, little du—

Then right at the very bottom of my abdomen, I find it—that sound of galloping that my mother described.

I find her.

“Open your eyes,” I tell Peeta.

He does and I watch him process the sight before him; me on my back with a probe on my belly and the strong beat echoing through the monitor.

“You’re…you’re—” Peeta can hardly speak, his voice thickening and his eyes filling. “Oh God, Katniss!” He presses his mouth to mine and as he pulls away, his hand reaches to my cheek. “You’re incredible.”

“I didn’t make her myself, you know,” I reply with a grin.

He smiles at me; that lovely lopsided smile that makes my stomach flip and I swear the baby flips too.

She already loves him.

I don’t blame her.

We stay listening to her gallop until the stars come out.

++++++

“I think that they’re celebrating.”

Haymitch sits on our front porch steps, Jack in his arms.

“Hope they don’t celebrate too hard,” I retort. “There’s a baby inside her.”

He laughs, that deep laugh that hits my core and I feel dizzy.

Actually, I’ve been dizzy lately, so maybe it’s not him.

“Are you okay?” he asks suddenly.

I join him, perching myself on the step below his. “I was just thinking…you’ve never asked me to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?”

The question is fraught with uncertainty.

I almost laugh; how could he be so uncertain while I’ve never been so certain in my life?

“No,” I say. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Good.” Haymitch presses a kiss to my temple. “Don’t ever leave.”

And, suddenly I’m dizzy again.

FIN.

#Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #Follow Up #Two Kids #The Writer's Block One-Shots #Hayhanna #Post MJ #toastbabies

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