#she helped katniss and saved her life even though she didn’t know that katniss was a safe person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fyreflys · 6 months

Note

Prompt if you’d like it! Peeta giving his cold to Katniss on accident but since she no longer has a spleen, it turns into a more flu like illness for poor Katniss and Peeta must nurse her back to health (similar to her caring for him in the cave but ya know… #married)

Oooo this is an adorable idea! And I got another prompt that I think I can include that would work perfectly together. MERGE TIME!

Chicken Noodle Soup

(Katniss’s POV) - Love and Some Verses, Iron & Wine

Everlark period/sick-fic, just fluff fluff fluff

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you sick.”

Is what Peeta keeps telling her. Constantly apologizing for transferring his cold. Even though Katniss didn’t even bother trying to keep her distance to avoid getting sick, so really it’s her own fault.

Katniss is pretty sure that no one ever really intentionally tries to get others sick, it’s always an accident. Happens as a result of what being sick means. And she knows Peeta didn’t do it on purpose, he couldn’t possibly have wanted to make her sick as a dog. So the fact that he keeps apologizing, as if there’s any possibility that he did do this on purpose, is beginning to make it feel like maybe he did. That, and it’s getting annoying. Very quickly.

“Peeta,” she groans, “Just- shut up.”

She doesn’t actually mean that. He’s really the only thing keeping her sane right now. She’s been bed ridden for three days now, and if her body didn’t feel like shit, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for a hike in the woods.

“Sorry.” He whispers, dabbing the wet washcloth on her forehead.

Yesterday Peeta dragged her to the doctor, because he’s convinced she’s dying. The doctor just confirmed it’s a bad cold, made worse by the fact that Katniss no longer has a spleen to help her immune system. He gave them some medication that “might” help, and then sent them on their way.

Needless to say, Katniss was not happy. Mostly because Peeta had dragged her out of the house when she felt like shit for no apparent reason.

Peeta was angry too. Kept mumbling something about “malpractice” and the doctor being an “idiot” and then trying to convince her that they need to go to the Capital, to see a “real” doctor.

“Peeta, I’m not sure if you have forgotten, but I’m in exile. Banned, to stay here in twelve for the rest of my life. So no, we cannot go to the Capital.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that she really doesn’t want to be re-reminded of all the terrible things that they’ve seen and had happen to them; most of which happened in the Capital.

“You’re the mockingjay. If something was majorly wrong with you, they’d have to save you.”

“I don’t want to be the mockingjay, anymore.” She’d grumbled as he tucked her back into bed, “and I’ve lived through worse than this.”

He frowned. Much like he is right now, as he looks at her with those big, blue, pleading puppy dog eyes.

“What?” She rasps.

He licks his lips. “I just…I’m so sorry you’re sick.”

She swears his heart is too big for his own good.

“You know what would make me feel better?” She sighs.

He perks up. “What?”

“Cuddle.” She whispers. She’d usually reach out to grab him, but her body feels too much like lead to exert that much energy.

He smiles. “I can do that.”

He peels back the bedsheets, and Katniss shivers at what feels like freezing air. He curls in behind her, gently squeezing her close. She melts against him. The arm around her warm and comforting. Until his hand slips under her shirt and his fingers start tracing patterns on her side, and he begins to pepper kisses to her shoulders. Despite them being small and gentle touches, her nerves feel overly sensitive with how feverish she is, and each soft graze almost feels painful.

“Stop- please,” she whispers, “that- too sensitive.” She mumbles.

“Oh. Sorry.” He places one more peck to her cheek, and then leaves her be.

She falls into sleep like a rock tossed down a ravine, skipping sleep entirely and diving straight into dreams. The world feels like it’s tilting and spinning around her as she dreams. They start out as strange and uncomfortable, but somewhere along the way they get more and more unhinged, twisted visions persisting, until finally-

She startles awake suddenly, eyes snapping open as she gasps for air. The nightmare feels plastered to her eyelids.

“Peeta?” She croaks softly, heart hammering in her chest as a tear slips down her cheek.

But she’s alone. Peeta is nowhere to be seen. She forces herself to reach across the bed behind her in search of him. But he’s not there either.

Momentarily she fears he’s abandoned her, but then she realizes that’s ridiculous. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to.

She tries to shake the nightmare from her head. Desperately trying to imagine something else, like- Deer. Deer and squirrels, prancing through the forest. The nightmare was not real not real not real, as Peeta would say.

She takes a deep breath. Her entire body aches painfully. Specifically her lower back and her hips and- oh.

Even sick, and aching all over, she knows this feeling well.

“Damn it.” She huffs.

She supposes it was about time this happened again. She doesn’t bother keeping track. There’s no use with how irregular she is.

“Peeta.” She calls, but her voice is weak.

He doesn’t come. Where is he? She sighs. She’s going to have to do this herself, isn’t she?

She wills herself to gather any remaining energy she has to sit up. It takes a few minutes to convince herself.

I could just wait here, until he comes back-

No.

She sits up suddenly, impulsively, not giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it. Her head spins, pain pounding through her skull. She coughs, clutching her head.

When the throbbing passes she manages to will her legs to dangle over the side of the bed. And then on the count of three she stands. She’s shaky, and the air is freezing agaisnt her feverish skin, and it’s awful.

Just get to the bathroom-

She makes it a few steps towards the door. And then she stumbles. She just barely catches the doorknob. She sends the door slamming closed as she falls.

“Katniss?!” Peeta shouts from down stairs.

She rolls over onto her back, and the world feels like it’s still spinning. He comes rushing into the bedroom, crouching down when he sees her.

“Oh my god are you okay?” Hands are immediately at her head, feeling for any bumps or bleeding, “What happened? Why are you out of bed?”

He sits and sets her head in his lap, brushing hair out of her face.

“Bathroom.” She whispers. “Just. Fell.”

“You should have called for me I would have helped.”

“I did.” She breathes, and even talking is exhausting. With Peeta right above her the world finally stops spinning.

He frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was making pasta.”

She takes in a breath through her mouth, nose too stuffy. “Bathroom.”

“Well- I think we should take a moment. You just- what, fell trying to walk? That’s pretty concerning,” He feels her forehead, “and you’re really burning up, gosh.”

She could have told him she had a fever. It feels like it’s radiating through her bones.

“Toilet,” her tongue clicks softly in her mouth, feeling dry, “Bleeding.”

“Bleeding? What- where? Why didn’t you say you were bleeding! Oh my god-“ he starts to shuffle, pulling at her clothes to find the source.

“Period.” She groans, just about fed up with him.

“Oh.” He pauses. “Right. Okay. Let’s get that taken care of then.”

He shuffles to sit her up against the wall, and then scoops her up bridal style. He carefully sets her down by the toilet, holding on as he pulls down her sweats and underwear in one fell swoop.

And yep- there it is. A massacre in her pants.

Peeta helps her sit, making sure she’s stable enough to sit up on her own. He pulls off her sweats and underwear, turning on the sink to set them in.

“Cold,” she whispers.

“Cold? You’re cold?”

Well- yeah, she kind of is. Despite feeling like she’s burning up from the inside, the floor and the toilet seat and the air is freezing against her skin. But she’s referring to the water.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “But-water. Cold water.”

“You need cold water? I can get you water. You’re probably thirsty you’ve been asleep for like four hours.”

Okay, yes, that too. She could use a glass of water.

“Yes, but- blood. Needs cold water.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay. Cold water. Right.”

She closes her eyes, slumping on the toilet as she pees. Peeta leaves to grab stuff from the bedroom. He returns with a fresh pair of clothes. He holds a cup of water up to her lips, and she sips. It feels like heaven down her throat.

“Thanks.” She breathes.

He just pecks her forehead. “How bout I run you a short bath? Luke warm. Try to get your body temp down. And you could really use a shower.”

She groans.

“I know- I know. But it will make you feel better, I promise.”

She just grumbles. He gets to work running a bath, and then scrubs the blood out of her underwear under the sink. He struggles to get a pad into the clean pair of undies, and Katniss finally wills herself to use the little energy she does have to show him. He kisses her cheek.

“Right. Got it. Now let’s get you in.”

She complains, but doesn’t have the energy to fight against him. He pulls off her sweaty t-shirt, and picks her up and sets her down in the tub. The water feels freezing at first. She yelps, clutching at him.

“I know- I know it feels cold but I promise it will help. You’re burning up Katniss. We need to cool you down.”

She holds onto him, and he presses kisses against her head. After a few minutes it starts to feel okay. He gently pours water through her hair. He scrubs in shampoo and rinses. He gently scrubs her with a warm soapy washcloth after he pulls the drain, just under her arms and between her legs, barely batting an eye at the blood. They’ve both seen enough of it for a lifetime. He turns on the shower head to rinse her off. The water feels like freezing needles against her overly sensitive skin. By the time he gets her out and finishes toweling her off she’s pissed.

She glowers at him from the toilet as he dresses her. He ignores her scathing eyes as he sprays in conditioner and brushes her hair, fumbling to put it in a makeshift braid.

“There! See, all better!” He smiles when he’s done.

She is not amused. Yes, her body feels less like a boiling fire, but she still hurts. And despite him doing all the work, she’s exhausted. But she’s too angry and stubborn to admit it, or even consider closing her eyes for some shut eye.

He chuckles. “You’re such a sourpuss when you’re sick, you know that?”

“That was hell.” She snips.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, okay Haymitch.”

He pulls her off the toilet and pulls up her underwear and pants. He gently scoops her up.

“You want to set up camp downstairs on the couch? That way it’s easier to get my attention if you need something. Also I’m making you soup.”

She gives a grunt, and winces as the pain that radiates up and down her spine and belly.

“I’ll grab you some painkillers.” He adds on.

She would usually turn those down. But at this point she’ll take them.

He gently lays her on the couch. He runs back upstairs to grab linens. He comes back down with arms full of blankets and pillows. He drops them in a heap on the floor. He leaves again. Katniss looses track of all the things he runs off and gets, eyes slipping closed.

He takes her temperature.

He hisses, “One o’ two. Yeah. You’re definitely getting meds.” Which he shoves into her mouth very shortly afterward. He tries not to look worried, but she can tell that he is. She’s worse than she was yesterday. He forces her to take the medication the doctor gave them the day before. She doesn’t have the energy to fight him.

He tucks her in under one blanket, but gives her plenty of pillows. He sets tissues and a glass of water on the side table next to her head. He kisses her forehead.

“Anything else you need?” He says softly.

Probably. But right now she’s exhausted. And talking is too much energy. So she just hums.

“Okay. Soup should be ready in thirty minutes or so. Do you want me to wake you up or let you sleep?”

Truthfully, she wants him to curl in beside her on the couch and not leave her side. Because with him pressed against her, she has a semblance of relief.

Instead she just grunts. He pecks her forehead again, chuckling softly.

“Okay.”

And then she’s left alone. And despite being tired, she can’t seem to fall sleep. The pain is just too much. Enough that she’d toss and turn, but she doesn’t have the energy to do so. So instead she lays motionless in agony, waiting for meds to kick in.

It’s possible she does drift off. But it seems like each time her eyes open the grandfather clock by her mothers old bedroom door hasn’t moved an inch.

Finally Peeta reappears, with a steaming bowl in hands.

“Chicken noodle soup, for m’lady.” He bows, just for the dramatics.

He helps her sit up, and carefully spoons it to her lips. With how much pain shes in, the thought of food makes her nauseous. But Peeta coaxes her to eat. And she does. One small spoonful at a time. With how stuffed her nose is she can barely taste it, but what she does taste is good.

And it reminds her of the cave, in their first games. As she spoon fed him. Monitoring his leg. Trying everything she could think of to keep him alive.

Thankfully, now is nothing like that. This is peaceful, and warm, and safe.

With food in her belly she realizes how hungry she is. And she just about scarfs down the rest of the bowl, along with the hunk of bread he dips in the broth. And she feels like she has a little more energy.

“You want more?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head. She feels too full. Any more and she might puke.

“Your appetite is back. That’s a good thing.”

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” She grumbles.

“Like- actually?” He freezes, shifting as if ready to grab a bin.

“No- just- a lot of food. Nauseous from the pain.”

He frowns. “The pain meds should have kicked in already. You look better. Less pale.” He feels her forehead. “You don’t feel as hot.”

She winces. “Cramps.”

His face relaxes. “Oh.”

She closes her eyes. With a full belly she’s ready to pass out.

“What if…I tried to rub them out?” He says softly.

Her eyes flicker open lazily. “Please. And- my back- please.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He leans in press a kiss to her forehead.

He gently pushes her to lay down. He tugs up her shirt and pulls the waistband of her pajama pants lower.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks softly.

She slowly moves to touch, fingers almost feeling numb against her own skin as she traces just inside of her pelvic crests, and down below her belly button. His warm hands are still almost too much against her feverish skin when he reaches out. But she needs this.

He’s far too gentle.

“Harder,” she whispers, “like bread.”

He’s good at kneading bread.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you-“

“There’s no way you could make me feel worse than I already do. Please.”

And finally his palms and thumbs press in. She urges more, and more, and finally gets impatient and shifts his hands to press right there and- oh. It feels so good she actually moans.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” She gasps.

He grins wickedly. But doesn’t comment on any more of her breathless gasps as he digs in and finally gives her relief.

“When- you’re done,” she breathes, “gonna need- bathroom.”

He pauses, “Do you have to pee? I’m literally pressing like right on your bladder-“

“No- new pad.” Because he’s quite literally kneading the blood right out of her. Which would usually be disgusting, but right now the relief feels too good for her to care.

“Oh. Okay.” And he keeps going.

She nearly falls asleep with his hands on her stomach. She still hurts, and the pain still radiates through her bones, but the stretch of her cramping muscles is almost heavenly. She closes her eyes, and Peeta presses kisses to her shoulders, trailing down to her stomach. He rubs softly after he pulls back, hands sliding over her hips.

“You want me to do your back?” He asks softly.

She hums. He helps flip her over. His hands and fingers roam over her skin, pressing and pulling all the way up her spine and between her shoulders. She practically melts into the couch as he soothes her aches. His lips ghost over her skin in subtle kisses, and she never wants it to end.

Eventually he pulls away, tugging her shirt back down.

“Bathroom?” He asks.

She grumbles. “Don’t wanna move.”

He hums. He forces her off the couch anyways, and drags her to the bathroom. She changes things herself, and then he helps her back to the couch.

“I’m gonna eat and then we can snuggle. If you want. I can turn on the TV.”

She just grunts. He turns on the screen above their fireplace mantle, and flips through channels. He lands on a show they’ve binge watched over the years, and then leaves for the kitchen. She zones out the sounds and clatter that he makes. Finally he sits down by her feet with a bowl of soup, and her eyelids feel heavy. She drifts halfway between awake and asleep, until he curls up with her. He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you.” She whispers. He’s done more than enough for her. And she knows he’d do everything if he had to. And she is thankful.

“Of course.” He breathes. And pecks her lips.

She smiles, and uses the little energy she does have to snake an arm around him and hold him close. Their foreheads knock together.

“I love you.” He breathes softly.

She hums, “Love you too.”

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loimposibleesloquenoseintenta · 1 month

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Her favorite uncle

Another short story about teenage Willow Everdeen Mellark, but this time at her home in District 12. She sneaked out to have some fun with her friends at night, and now she must face her parents. But no worries, uncle Haymitch is there to save the day, well kind of. I just wanted to write something about Haymitch being an old uncle/grandpa figure to Katniss and Peeta's daughter. In my mind she can be quite rebellious and impulsive, while still loving her family and wanting to make them proud. But she's also young and wants to have fun. I like thinking that between her and Haymitch there is a special bond, he listens to her and tries his best to guide her. And she trusts him deeply. Also, Willow and her brother (Rye) do get along and love each other, I just didn't develop their relationship that much this time. tw: mentions of underage drinking

The treacherous keys slip from my hands and hit the ground. I curse under my breath. At this pace, there’s no way I’ll get in the house without making any noise. Great. My head’s killing me and now I’ll have to come up with an excuse to explain my night out. I can see my parents’ face already. I think about my brother, biting his tongue, acting like he doesn’t know anything about me sneaking out. He’d never snitch on me, but I know how much he hates secrets. In this family trust is everything, and I respect that. But I just wanted to have some fun with my friends. Is that so wrong?

Under the night sky, I struggle to see the keys, and the drunkenness doesn’t help much. I finally find them and continue on my way, dragging my feet. I'm about to resign myself to the consequences when I notice light coming from Haymitch’s kitchen. Could he be awake at this hour? Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me. Curiosity drives me to stealthily approach his window and when I take a peek inside, I jump back startled. Sitting at the table, drinking something hot, is my old uncle Haymitch looking at me without an ounce of surprise. Mi mind is still somewhat confused, but if one thing’s for sure, is that I’m in trouble. And he knows it too. He points at the door with his thumb and his eyes leave no space for refusal.

As I enter the kitchen, I'm enveloped by the smell of coffee. With his back to me, he's making a second cup. I sit down and place my head on my arms.

"So, tell me, did you have fun, little one?" he asks handing me the drink.

"How did you know?" I mumble with my eyes closed.

"Your brother called me" I lift my head so fast I get dizzy.

"Hey, you know it’s not his fault. He’s just worried about you. You should be thankful he didn’t tell your parents, honey" and he’s right. I can’t blame Rye for anything. I’m the one who broke the rules.

"What about you? Why didn’t you say anything?"

"I think you’re old enough to fend for yourself. But if they found out, I won’t deny anything, you hear me?" he declares with an accusing finger.

"Thank you Haymitch" I offer him one of those smiles I use to soften him. They always work, even if he denies it.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now drink your coffee and tell me what you’ve been up to over there"

There’s no point in hiding anything to him, he can read my mind without trying. So, I tell him all about the laughs, the dancing, the drinking and the gossip. We keep talking until dawn, and, even though he doesn’t judge me for my juvenile adventures, he asks me to be more responsible next time. Especially with my drinking. At times like this I wonder how his life used to be before I was born. Even if my family tries to be as honest as possible about their past, I know there’re things that are just too hard to explain. I understand that, so I don’t pressure them, but sometimes I can’t help but think about it.

When the phone rings, Haymitch tells my mom I had agreed to help him with his geese that morning. Apparently, I was so excited with the task that I had woken up extra early to enjoy breakfast with my favorite uncle. I doubt she bought it, but she didn’t ask more questions. Later I understand that she just wanted to laugh at my disastrous attempt to deal with those wild animals. Well, at least someone’s having a good time. With that said, I think I won’t drink again for a long, long time.

#the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #toast babies #toastbabies #everlark family #everlark #everlark headcanon #post mockingjay #willow mellark #willow everdeen #rye mellark #rye everdeen #haymitch abernathy

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tundrakatiebean · 1 year

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While rotating my blorbo for a possible fic in my head I came up with a heartbreaking headcanon and I’m inflicting it on the rest of you because let’s be real - I don’t have time to write anything properly I have too many other creative things that take precedence.

So Tigris’ comfort item is an old fur coat from her parents. Tigris is known to have been a stylist for the hunger games. Tigris is also known to have been extremely sympathetic and kind to the tributes.

I think her coat is long gone by the time Katniss sees her in her shop selling fur, with a hidden cellar full of pelts. It was clearly an old coat. It was a remainder from Tigris’ family and one she relied on frequently during her fraught life so it could have been worn to shreds. Or sold during some of the rough times while Coriolanus was gone and money was tight. But I don’t think that’s what happened. I think while she was a stylist, while she saw these poor, hungry and scared kids, she tried to give them any comfort she could. She was always kind and thoughtful.

I think the first year she was a proper stylist she begged Coryo for district 8. She wanted the kids who understood fabric and how it worked and how it could be styled. Even though Coryo saw a district that far away as a slight to A Snow. I think she saw these two kids and she asked what would comfort them - what little piece of anything she could give them to help them. The kids didn’t know how to answer. The idea of district tokens hadn’t come to be yet, but she’d make sure to tell Coryo to add that for the next games. She told them about her comfort item - the old fur coat. Something that was a rarity in the districts and especially the one that made clothes out of leftover fabric remnants from the factory. She let them feel it and think about what could comfort them. After the kids were taken back to their quarters and she was left to design and sew costumes that would make them memorable she put her coat on. To think. To feel the fur around her, between her finger, and she had an idea.

That was the first time she took scissors to her coat, her most favored possession. It wasn’t to take a lot. Just two little pieces that she sewed into each of the costumes. Right in the pocket. Where the kids could reach in, rub their fingers against the feeling of fur, and remember somebody cared and wanted them comforted even if she couldn’t save them. She did it for every one of the kids she designed for. Leaving a little piece of her soul for each of those doomed to suffer and die. Until there was nothing left and she did enough surgery on herself that Coriolanus finally let her stop designing and she could disappear into a shop full of comforts and ghosts.

#Katie is rambling 2k23 #ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #Tigris #I am going insane thinking about this

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kahlanmars · 8 months

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BAD FEELING part.31

IT'S THE FINALEEEE! Then we have an epilogue and then stop. Finished it. THE END.

I actually have a season 2 in mind, but I don't think if I should post it here on just on AO3. Let me know!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

31. Good Feeling

Home is not like it used to be. Some houses are still up, like Holly’s, but everything is broken and the ruins are all over the District. Most of the animals are dead, and the ones that aren’t are scared and gone wild.

Not everything is lost, though. The people want to do things right, the reconstruction has already begun.

You can’t be a part of it, of course. You are in your bed and the doctor asked you to be up one hour per day, and everyone is fussing over you like you are about to die again.

After the end of the war, everyone rushed home. Effie and Portia are back in the Capitol, which needs reconstruction as well, and they took Peeta with them to help him. He needs Capitol doctors. And you said no to Portia, because your district needs you and now you couldn’t do it, you don’t have the strength.

And now you are at peace. You want to stay with Haymitch, you don’t want to lose him, you’ll find another job in Twelve.

Perla is in Four with Finnick and Annie, and Lora is back in Eleven with Chaff.

Now that you don’t have your friends anymore, Katniss is buried in her home and refuses to go out, and you remember Madge too well, you feel a little alone.

But Holly is here, though.

«Mom?» You ask, watching yourself in the mirror. The scar of the surgery is right along your hip, it’s ugly and you don’t look pretty anymore.

«You shouldn’t be up.»

«I’m tired of staying in bed, my bones hurt.» You pause, because you want to ask her something. «Did you know my biological mother?»

She tenses. She doesn’t want to talk about it, you always knew and that is why you always avoided the topic but now that you risked your life without knowing it, you feel like you have the right.

«Yes, I knew her.» She answers after a good minute. You shouldn’t push it, but now it’s the time to know.

«Was she your friend?»

«She was an avox. Your father too, they tried to run away from Capitol City and they captured them. Then they flew again, because your mother was pregnant. If they stayed…» An avox. In all this time you didn’t think your parents could have been outlaws. You tried and tried to figure out why they gave you up, and the chances were always two: either they were too poor to raise you, or they didn’t want you.

«They used to kill avox’s children.» You finish for her.

«They wanted to go to Thirteen, but your mother had to have you. An elderly couple from the Seam called for my mother and we came.»

«You were younger than me.»

«I was nineteen and terrified, because that was against the law. You don’t help an avox, you report them. And yet we didn’t. They couldn’t talk, obviously, but the look in your mother’s eyes I couldn’t forget. It was like she was screaming “Save my baby, please, save my baby”. The birth was complicated, your mother was so weak from the run and the tortures. She died.»

Your mother died giving birth to you. You feel conflicted, because that means she didn’t give you up because she didn’t want you, but she died giving birth. You know you are not supposed to feel guilty about it, but it’s hard. And that also means you don’t have another mother somewhere that could find you.

«And my father?»

«He couldn’t have kept you. People in Twelve couldn’t protect him, Thirteen was a myth, a legend. He was an avox. A pariah. He didn’t want to leave you, but he had to. He was a handsome young man, you know, you look a bit like him.»

«He didn’t want to leave me.» You repeat, and you feel smaller and younger than your age.

«Your grandmother promised him we would keep you safe. She was thinking about her. She was supposed to be your adoptive mother, and I was supposed to be your older sister.» You don’t even remember your grandmother, she died when you were two. You barely have flashes of her, but she looked like an ancient woman to you. She was fifty at best. «But when I saw you I knew. You were mine. You were meant to be my daughter.»

You squeeze her hand. «I ruined your life, you didn’t get married, always alone.»

«I didn’t want to. And I know I was severe, I was strict, but that’s because I was terrified of losing you. Two women alone, three before but your grandfather was already gone, we weren’t safe in Twelve.»

You try to picture her and you find out you have some memories. Holly’s long brown hair when she lifted you up, her hands when she lectured you on herbs, the songs she used to sing for you. You don’t get it, in your memories she is not young, she is a mother. She was nineteen. A kid herself, Lora’s age. You can’t bear to ask her if she never fell in love or she gave it all up for you.

«I don’t remember.» You whisper, and you feel sorry and guilty about that. Were you a difficult child? Could you have done more?

«I tried to shield you. I thought if you were perfect you couldn’t have any enemies.» She resonates.

«But you were nineteen.» Just a year after the end of her Games. A year after Haymitch’s games, when he was sixteen, a year after Marjorie’s “death”.

«And I made a mess.»

«You didn’t. Infact, I think I’m pretty close to perfection.» You joke but you hug her. «I get it. I get why you did what you have done, you just wanted to protect me. And you did it! I’m here. And I saved myself because I knew things you taught me. Skating for the Game Masters, the Sagittaria. I didn’t die because of you.» You get it now. All the times you wanted her to be like every other parent of the District, instead of having curfews and rules to follow.

«You didn’t die because of you. But I’m glad I’ve helped. And now you live in this big house and you are all grown up…» You are almost shocked when you see her eyes watering. Holly is not big on showing feelings.

«We are ten minutes apart, mom. You don’t need to cry about it.» You laugh, but you see something in her eyes just for a moment. It’s probably just the fact you moved out, it’s a big thing for a mom.

The decision to move out has been… not really a decision, actually. You were so tired and weak you couldn’t decide anything, and Holly and Haymitch decided - according to Perla, it involved a lot of yelling - that a big victor’s house was better to recover. You don’t complain, since you can have cuddles and breakfast in bed with a shirtless hot boyfriend, a big bathroom where you can keep all your things and a king size bed.

«Humour an old woman, c’mon.»

«You’re forty four, mom, you are hardly an old woman!» You stay in the hug nonetheless. She smells like lavender and carnations.

«This young, young woman needs to go home. I have to help in the morning, we are rebuilding the school.» She pats your head and lets you go. You decide not to think about the school. That was supposed to be your place.

«You don’t stay for dinner?» You ask.

«I don’t want to be poisoned, thank you.» You let out a laugh but look at her bad nonetheless. She is still warming up about your relationship. Or she just likes to treat him badly.

«Haymitch knows how to cook. He is quite good.» You are just as surprised as she is. You always cooked for him when he was your boss, because he was too wasted to do anything. And now you find out he actually knows how to. And, in his words, He likes to take care of you.

«I would like to know when you don’t think he is good at something, child.» And the coy smile you let out only confirms it.

The thought of the scar doesn’t let you go, though. You are in front of the mirror and you watch it like you’d watch another enemy, but it’s your flesh, it’s your body. You want to get rid of it.

«Don’t obsess.» You hear a voice and you turn around to see Haymitch. He leans against the door in a pair of old jeans and he is shirtless and God he looks like a whole meal. He is fresh out of the shower, his chest is still wet and so is his blonde hair. A great sight. A sight you can get used to.

You lick your lips and immediately cover the scar. «Hey…»

«I wanted to ask you if you wanted to eat.» He asks and kisses your shoulder, guiding you to the bed because he is the one who obsesses over your injury. If he wasn’t so hot he would have been a little annoying.

«Yes, I want to eat.» You jump at the opportunity and you answer purring like a cat, since he wanders around bare chested and with those blue eyes and c’mon, he should think about the consequence of his magnetic field being a little too strong.

You hug him and kiss him, but when you reach for the belt he stops you, with a huge grin on his face. «The doctor said no sex.»

You roll your eyes. «C’mon…»

You don’t deal well with “No sex”, especially when you don’t want to think about the kids, the reconstruction or your District in general, since you can’t help anyone now. Haymitch is your favourite stress-relief and he is more than willing to be that for you. And you two behaving like teenagers doesn’t add up with the doctor prescription; every night you make out a little more and every night is a little harder to stop, hands wandering around places where they are not supposed to, his mouth going a little lower every time, teasing your neck, your cleavage, your belly button.

«You nearly died. Be good.» He giving you orders doesn’t improve the chance of you getting better at this dealing, and by the glimpse of lust you see in his eyes, he is in the same situation.

«A good girl?» It’s your turn to grin when he slaps your ass.

«Minx.» He accuses you, while he is on his way to prepare dinner. He is stoic in his mission to keep you safe, but he is as passionate as you are.

«You tempt me and I’m the minx?!»

Since you are not okay, you usually have dinner in bed. This is something you don’t particularly like, because you would like to stay up, but Haymitch seems comfy and you suspect he likes to have you all snuggled up while he eats.

«You should eat more.» He warns you. «If you don’t like it we can call Sae.»

You would like to eat, especially since he is good at cooking, but you are too tired. It’s annoying. Everything is annoying now, except for chatting at the telephone with Effie (Haymitch’s house has a telephone, and for you is a big, big news because you never had one of these, so you use it almost every night connecting with the girls, Effie or Finnick) and kissing your non-boyfriend. Every bone in your body hurts, and on top of that you feel guilty. You are not helping in Twelve, you are not reaching for the kids who were hurt in the explosion, if not by letter, and you can’t even help Haymitch at home. He is cleaning, cooking and taking care of you and you can’t do anything. When you tried to tell him he looked at you like you had another head, he answered that you got shot for fucks sakes stay in bed and proceeded to kiss your thoughts away from you.

«No, I like it. I’m just tired and full.» You peck his lips. «It’s okay.»

For a moment you stay silent, he is finishing his meat - thanks, Katniss, but you don’t want to know what she hunted, you just want to eat in ignorance - and you are hiding your face against his neck.

«About the scar…» He begins. So he saw you earlier. You know the scar is the least of your problems right now, you could have had it much worse, but it’s an aesthetic thing and aesthetic things are yours. Only Effie can get it. Surely not him. In his world - and yours, to be fair - a scar is just a scar, there’s nothing about beauty that allures someone in the district. It is all about survival, if you have a scar it means you are alive. And Haymitch is full of scars because he survived a Quell, so that makes him strong, respected.

«Yeah?» You don’t want to talk about it. You’ll see doctor Aurelius and you’ll talk to her, you don’t need to show him how shallow you are.

«You know you are still the hottest girl alive, mh?» He lifts your chin up with his finger, and normally you wouldn’t smirked or joked but now you are not that sure anymore. But the fact that he tries to understand you, even if for him it's a whole other perspective, it’s huge. Even if you are sure there is a part of him that is screaming that you turned out to be a full Capitol girl.

«Maybe.» You whisper. Perla is strong, Haymitch is strong, you are pretty. You know how to allure people. You survived because people took care of you, because you are friends with strong victors. Finnick, Perla, him, even Effie. And you love them back, of course, but… If you are not pretty, what the hell are you?

«You are. And you deserve that scar. It means you fought for it.» He insists and you find yourself rolling your eyes.

«Barely.» You whisper. It has not been exactly a fight, you just saw something and acted, all instinct. Normally you are not a fighter. You are a manipulator. And that doesn’t mean you always use your power for bad, but being pretty is part of what you can do.

«The hell? You saved my life.» He shouts. He is aware shouting is bad, but sometimes he can’t control it. He is a man from the District raised by men from the District. Not really good manners. When you cover your ears he immediately stops, though. Because he loves you. Because he knows better.

«My fault, my responsibility.»

«Your fault?! How is that your fault?» He is controlling himself not to get mad, you sense it.

You take a deep breath. «You had to explain the plan to me. To make me get it.»

«I didn’t explain it, you understood. You, alone.» He sticks his finger on you, but when you take it in your hand he chuckles and kisses you.

«You did send me clues. And I kinda told Finnick. They probably heard me and-» You start shivering, stress is not good if you almost died, but he takes you in his arms.

«Stop it. You still saved my life. And by the way, I have scars too, and you kiss them.» He whispers in your ear before kissing it.

«It’s different.»

«Because I’m a man?» In his defence, it doesn’t seem like a joke. He really tries to understand.

You still glare at him. «Because it proves you are a fighter.»

«And that proves you are a fighter too. A survivor.» He caresses your cheek. He really believes that. He sees you as a fighter, and that makes you proud. You doubt that, but that makes you proud.

«Not like you.»

«Not like me?! Daisy, stop. This is bullshit. For a self absorbed person you are quite blind about what you can do. You won the Hunger Games. You saved Finnick, Effie. You saved me. And it wasn’t because of me, or Perla or your mother. You saved yourself.»

You watch him fondly. You don’t know how, you barely recall the facts from the Games, but somewhere along the road you stopped being a couple who only fucked and the relationship began. And you love him. You are in love with him and you definitely had a high school girl crush on him - you don’t blame yourself, the man has game - but you think this is love. The real big thing. You feel sure, protected and you can’t stop smiling when he is around, and you want to protect him from the world yourself, you want to be the one he can be himself with, and if that means hovering on him at night because the tremors won’t let him sleep, or feed his geese when the headache is too strong, you’ll do it willingly.

«I love you.» You whisper against his lips with a dumb smile on your face and you kiss him passionately. You never thought you were going to have this life.

«I love you too.» Then he sees your face and laughs, «Still no sex.»

«Don’t go around tempting me with a handsome face and loving words!» You joke, «I guess we have all the time we want and I can wait because you won’t leave me because I have an ugly scar...»

«Correct, you are breathtaking, scar or not. As for the time… not so correct. I have to tell you something.» You stop. You are definitely not ready for other problems. But you trust him, so you don’t know what to think.

«What have you done?»

«I’ve talked with Portia. Well, Portia talked to me, she thought I didn’t want you to leave but I didn’t know anything.»

The offer. You said no, of course. It wasn’t worth it and now you are injured, anyway. You won’t force them to be your nurse.

«Oh. I won’t leave, Capitol it’s not worth it, I want to stay with you and you have to stay here for Katniss and I get it! And-»

«I brought you tickets.» He blurts out.

«What?» You only let out, in shock.

«I brought you tickets for the train. Not today, not tomorrow but in a few months you should recover.»

You don’t know what to say. He wants you gone? Or, or he is sacrificing himself because you did it first.

«But I don’t want to leave you, I don’t want to break up…» You don’t want to force him to stay away from Katniss. He and Katniss may not like each other for the most part of their days, but they get each other and he is like his father at this point. Her mother and Prim are out of town, she can’t come to them (a thing that her mother calculated, you think), Finnick is in Four, and Peeta is in the Capitol, recovering. That poor girl is alone in the whole world. You don’t want to rip him away from her.

And you suspect she is good for him too. He is really trying to dig sobriety for her, to be a good father. He wakes up in the morning every day to check on her, he keeps up with Mrs. Everdeen and he also tries not to break the phone even if he really hates it.

Haymitch would be miserable in Capitol City.

And you are not even that good anyway.

«Who talked about breaking up? You want to stay in that hell of a city? I’ll come during the weekends. You can come sometimes. It’s just for a few months.»

«At least a year.» You bite your bottom lip, unsure.

«A year has a lot of weekends. C’mon. I know you want to make dresses or wear dresses or whatever. You have talent. I remember the dress from the curtains in Thirteen, you were stunning.»

You laugh, «Are you sure?»

«That you were stunning? I fucked you that night, didn’t I?»

You blush, he is crude but is that weird that it turns you on? Probably. «About the trip. You hate Capitol City.»

«Well, I suppose it’s not all bad. Effie is from Capitol and she is my friend. Portia wanted my head but she’s not that bad. Do you want to go?»

«I don’t want to lose you for something that can go bad.» Because you are terrified. You didn’t pass the exam to be a teacher, you didn’t win the games, the only thing you are good at is being protected by someone. This is not a talent.

«Not what I asked. Do you want to go?»

Of course you want to, but if you won’t be that good…

«…Yes.» You manage to say. Doctor Aurelius says it’s good to be scared. And that also makes you happy. You want to learn more, you want to become actually good, to be with Portia who is a genius in her job, and to work, sewing all day, it looks like a dream. Now that the grey jumpsuits are out of the way and you can use your dresses, you will love exploring your fantasy.

«It’s settled, then.» He winks at you and he looks so sure, you… not so much.

«Will we survive this?» You have to ask. It’s not simple. You are so used to be together - Perla calls it “Co-dependency” but she just wants to make fun of you - that a day apart is a big change.

«We can survive anything, Sweetheart. Maybe just not the doctor sex strike.»

You burst into laughs and kiss him sweetly. «We can cheat a little…»

«Don’t even try. I’m not losing you again. Not now that you are in our home.» Our home. That makes your heart flow with joy.

«If the house is mine too, does that mean I can decorate? I have a lot of ideas. I can sew the curtains and- do you think I’m crazy?» You stop. It’s his house. It has been his home for twenty five years. Maybe you need to slow down.

«I know you are crazy.» He strokes your neck. «You can do whatever you want here. I’ll just enjoy the view.»

«I’m happy to be here. With you. With our devil’s birds.» You add, because you can hear them screaming for food even if Haymitch just fed them. Sometimes, you go near them and you whisper “Foie gras” just to see their reaction. You would never, though.

«And our stolen books.» He bites your shoulder. He is in a playful mood today.

«Seriously, you have to let it go.» You shake your head and place yourself in his arms, after putting the plates on the table near the bed.

«Hey, I know I’m not the most optimistic guy in the District… » He starts, but you have to snort.

«Or in Panem. Or in the world.»

He ignores you this time. «But you know what?»

«What?» You watch him fondly.

«I have a very good feeling about this.»

#haymitch x fem!reader #bad feeling #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch imagine #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #woody harrelson #the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #fanfiction #princess daisy #daisy pinecone #katniss everdeen #thg fanfiction #thg #thg katniss #hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire

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promptsinpanem · 2 years

Text

Longing

Summary: Peeta Mellark realizes he isn't happy giving up his dreams of having his own family. He is at odds with himself, longing to have a child with the love of his life, Katniss Everdeen. Rating: T Prompt: R6D4 Green (Life)

At Odds

(Peeta’s POV)

I would never pressure Katniss. I love her, and she is more than enough.

Or is she?

I don't know. Why am I having these thoughts? I know I love her, and she IS my life. My whole life. But lately, the tug in my heart for a baby has been too much. It's like a physical ache that pierces me every time I think about it. When I walk to town and see children playing, my usual response of being happy to see them becomes sadness. I would never get to experience having a child of my own.

I don't know what changed, because I used to be fine about it. For years, I had accepted that Katniss did not want to have a child, but these past few months, I doubted my decision. Was I really okay with it? Will I ever really be happy just having Katniss as my only family?

These thoughts make me feel like I'm betraying her. By even entertaining the idea that Katniss is not enough for me. Why wouldn't she be? Katniss loves me. In the arena, she gave up everything for me. When I returned to Twelve, she helped me get better despite her own struggles.

When I was released from the Capitol, I was half-mad. They didn't know what to do with me, so they exiled me to District 12 before I was even fully healed. Saving me became Katniss’ priority. After I planted primroses in her yard, she came to my house to see me. Her eyes were filled with fear at the sight of me, but she did try to check up on me, even from afar. In Thirteen, I traumatized her when I strangled her. Touching her neck whenever I was in her presence became an unconscious habit of hers. Even though I was holed up in the basement, trying to get away from her, Katniss brought me game every day and stayed in my living room just to keep me company. So many times, I pushed her away -- so many times -- yet she always came back. Katniss loved me. Still loves me after all these years. So why am I asking for more? Why am I so baby-crazy that I would even consider Katniss not enough for me? I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her. There is no doubt about it, so why is my heart double-crossing me?

I try to brush away these feelings to the back of my mind as I work in the bakery. Things have been looking up, and we're expanding to the next lot beside us. It will be a cafe of some sort where people can dine and enjoy freshly baked bread and pastries. My right-hand man, Lenny, is doing all the work in the drink section, and our taste tests have been more than promising. Many of our customers who tried our free samples can't wait until we finally start our cafe. Katniss has been nothing else but supportive of me, coaxing me to keep going and trusting in myself. She always tells me how proud she is of me and I feel so loved by her. I wish I could brush away my other feelings because, damn, I sound so ungrateful and disloyal at the moment.

I guessed it all started when Thom and Delly had Katniss and me babysit little Timothy. He was two years old, a chubby and fudgy little thing with blonde hair and gray eyes. His cheeks were rosy even with his fair skin, and with his teeth coming along, it made him so ridiculously cute. It was just for one day as Delly and Thom needed to visit an ill friend in District 11. I have held so many babies before; mothers just seem to toss them into my arms at the bakery, but there was something about little Timothy that day that snared my heart. We were just playing in the living room with the wooden blocks Katniss gave him for his birthday. She took the time to cut branches and carve out different natural shapes for little Timothy, then she sealed the wood with sweet-smelling beeswax. Timothy loved it, and he couldn't stop playing with the blocks. We were stacking the blocks together and laughing out loud when they fell.

His squeaks were so endearing they made our big house vibrant with life. We chuckled and laughed, and I made funny faces at him to make him giggle all the more. I was always good at making babies happy, and I pulled all the stops for little Timothy. He was so jolly and so giggly, clapping his hands while saliva drooled out from his mouth. His head would jerk back when he started to smile, and we both lost it in happiness. Then, he just suddenly hugged me and called me "Papa." I didn't think he meant that I was his father. It was just how kids were. They used the words they knew when they spoke, and at that time, he called me "Papa" and embraced me. He rested his round head on my shoulders, seeming to want to sleep, and I just held him. He was tired from all our playing and laughing, I guess. I still remembered his sweet baby smell. The faint scent of vanilla shampoo that Delly used on his hair. The slightly sour smell of milk clinging to his skin. His delicate and tiny baby clothes. And the soft mewls that he made when he fell asleep. I fell asleep on the floor with him, leaning my back on the couch while little Timothy rested on my chest. When I woke up, Katniss lay sideways on the couch behind us, one of her hands resting on little Timothy's back and the other on my shoulders. After that, I couldn't shake the feeling of hoping for our own child.

I brushed the feelings away days later because I felt like I was a hypocrite to Katniss. I've been reassuring her that she was enough for me all these years, and here I am harboring feelings for another dream. I threw myself at bakery work with a vengeance, focusing all my attention on the cafe, sketching various layouts, and designing menus. I baked like crazy, inventing recipes we didn't need at the moment. I tried as much as possible not to think of vanilla shampoos, tiny baby clothes, and tender little breaths. When mothers with babies came to the bakery, I made an excuse to get something at the back. When I saw kids playing on the street, I walked on the other side, so I only needed to give them a wave and not stay awhile for chit-chat or arm swings.

It was working, and I finally felt like my old self, but then I had a dream of Katniss in the meadows holding our child. It was like my mind retaliated against shoving the thoughts aside. If I couldn't bring the contemplations to my conscious life, then they would come out in my unconscious life -- a.k.a. my sleep. I wish I could say it was a nightmare, but it wasn't. I woke up with warm, fuzzy feelings that morning. And even the mornings after. I was happy, but I was also heartbroken and mad at myself. The more I tried not to think about it during the day, the more vivid and blissful my dreams were at night. Nothing was as captivating and soothing as seeing Katniss in the meadows, breastfeeding our baby. In my dreams, she would look at me with her stormy gray eyes and a peaceful smile as she nourished our child. The picture was so beautiful, Katniss was so beautiful, and our baby was so beautiful. I wanted to go back to sleep the very moment I woke up just to relish the feelings longer. I felt awful, though. So freaking horrible because Katniss was asleep beside me in bed every time I woke up. She would give me a good morning kiss and look at me with so much affection, but all I wanted was to go back to my dream where another Katniss was waiting for me. Katniss, the mother of my child. I was so fucked up. I hated myself.

I know Katniss noticed the changes in me. She would ask me what was wrong or give me this concerned look when I would zone out. If we were walking together in town and there were kids or a couple with a child between them along our path, I would involuntarily squeeze Katniss' hand. My heart simply ached when I saw children. I had these questions about how it would feel if I was in their parent's shoes. How would it feel like walking hand in hand with my son, swaying him between Katniss and me? How would it be like taking my daughter to school or braiding her hair because fathers could do that too, right? How would it be during birthdays? What cake would my son request when he turns seven? What questions would they ask? Will they be as stubborn and resilient as their mother? Will they be interested in the bakery? How would our lives change the first moment we would lay our eyes on our child? With every question, my insides clenched and ached, and I swear I wanted to cry sometimes. I did once in my painting room when it was too much. It just hurts. I scolded myself for being so uncontrolled after. The emotions of just wanting something so much but not seeing how it could work out or worse, agreeing that it was best to not have it in the first place was agonizing. Every time Katniss smiled at me or hugged me or kissed me, I felt like a fake. I felt like I was lying to her. And I was. I was even so ludicrous that when we were in bed and making love, I had momentarily wished that maybe a slip would happen and we would be pregnant. I was so fucking selfish in those times, and I hated myself even more. It was unfair. It was wrong.

How could I have those thoughts about Katniss? She needs to be on board with this decision -- which we already agreed on years ago. My skin crawls at my hypocrisy. I have to talk to Katniss about this. She's the only person in the world that I want to talk to about my feelings about bringing a baby into our lives. I know that she would understand me and set me right.

….……………..

Lies and Realizations

(Katniss’ POV)

Peeta's been hiding something from me. I know I'm not the perceptive one between the two of us, but the changes in him are just too evident to hide. Try as he might, Peeta is such a poor liar and is innately good that when something is wrong with him it just spills out.

While asleep, he would have this contented expression -- peaceful and quiet like our afternoons in the meadow. It was like all his worries were resolved. I loved watching him like that when he slept. He was just so beautiful. He carried a soft smile, and his breathing was calm. Sometimes I even see him have an eager smile, and then he would say my name. I would press a kiss on his forehead on those nights, sometimes even a kiss on his lips, because I couldn't resist. But when he wakes up, something shifts. Happiness would shine when he opened his eyes, but after I kissed him, his lips would grow cold, or there would be a momentary freeze as if he realized something terrible. Then he would try to hide it by burying his forehead on my neck and kissing me there. But his kisses felt different. One time he even said the word "Sorry" after a kiss. It was so faint, and he thought I didn't hear him, but I did. What was Peeta apologizing for so early in the morning? What is happening to my husband?

I tried to cast aside the feelings first because I trusted Peeta. If something was wrong, I knew he would tell me. Our vow spans fifteen years now. Sure, our toasting was impulsive, and we didn't plan to have it in the middle of the night on some random day, but we both knew we wanted to do it. It was like what he said in the interview during the Quarter Quell, we wanted to make our love eternal, so we did. We vowed to love each other, honor each other, make each other happy, and provide for each other's needs. His hijacking, my depression, and all our fears were things we fought fiercely so that they won't come between us. None of them was above our love. Together, we would forge a strong marriage. Always.

But something is gnawing on Peeta now, and he is not telling. I have to find out and help him.

I have an inkling of what it might be, but I have to be sure before talking to him. Knowing him, I don't want to scare him or make him push his feelings aside because I know he will prioritize me above everything else. That's just so Peeta. Putting himself last so he could make everyone happy. Make me happy. He loves me so much, and he tells me so every single day and opportunity he gets. I can only wish he knows how much I love him back. He is my life. My love. My everything.

I started noticing the changes a few months ago. Peeta would vary his path going to work or squeeze my hand at random times of the day when we were together. We would walk in town eating ice cream, then suddenly, I would feel him stiffen for a split second as if something ached inside him. I would look at him and ask him what was wrong, but he would just brush it away and give me some small reason. Reasons like the hot weather, which he never complained about before ever. Or that his prosthetic leg had buckled, which he never said anything about, even when we would take the long hike to the lake. We would trek for four hours straight every Sunday, and never once did he say that his prosthesis would "buckle." What did "buckle" even mean? To give him the benefit of the doubt, I would give his leg a massage when we got home to make sure he was all right. He would be very thankful after, and then he would retreat to his painting room. He would go there to sketch or draw up ideas. Doing art relaxed him, and he would show me his paintings or sketches after. It has been a long time since he has shown me any of his works. I'm welcome to come to his painting room, but I never did unless he asked me to. I do it out of respect for him. Peeta needed his own space, just like I needed my woods every day.

The very clue that convinced me was my visit to the bakery three weeks ago. Mothers love handing Peeta their babies. I guess they figured out years before that between Peeta and me, it was Peeta who would welcome the tiny living creatures with open arms. They would lift their babies over the counter so Peeta could hold the gurgly little things while they filled their baskets with bread and pastries. He would coo and make faces at the baby and everyone in the bakery would smile from hearing the baby giggle so much. It warmed everyone's hearts. It warmed my heart to see him so happy and enjoying himself. But lately, he would go to the back to fiddle with something or make a call when a mother came in with her child. Peeta would never pass up the opportunity to hold a baby before, but now he seemed to be avoiding them entirely. We would still babysit little Timothy when Delly and Thom needed help, but aside from little Timothy, Peeta was staying away from all children, it seemed.

When things become too hard to sort out, I go to the woods. One way or the other, I always get answers in the woods. Sometimes, I go to my father's lake to talk to him and seek his advice. His body may be long gone in the mines, but I know his soul and spirit live in the woods. I knew he met Peeta before he died. My father would trade with Mr. Mellark, and we would get fresh bread every three days. Peeta was always with his dad in the kitchen, kneading dough or just watching him decorate cakes until he was assigned the job himself.

It warms my heart to know Peeta and my father crossed paths. I still wish he is here to see Peeta as my husband. I think he would have liked the boy with the bread and would tell me that I made a rare catch.

While in my father's lake, I ponder everything that has happened to Peeta's life so far. I am not the introspective type between the two of us, but living with Peeta taught me a thing or two about contemplating life. I remember how Peeta acted when he was younger, living in the bakery with his loving father and a witch of a mother. How he had two older brothers he wrestled with. He loved his brothers, and he would tell me this over dinner. Talking about his family helped him heal. Peeta became an orphan when he was just seventeen. He lost his family when the Capitol firebombed Twelve on that horrific day. He didn't know it at the time as he was being tortured by Snow. He came back to me slowly. I could still hear him asking to let him die during our Capitol mission. He pushed me away to protect me because he went mutt on me at the hospital. I'm glad I still had the good sense to not give him the nightlock pill. I was half-mad at that time, but I knew one thing then: Peeta needed to live. He came back to me after the war, albeit still sick from the hijacking. They gave up on him.

How preposterous that they gave up on the kindest, most generous, and self-sacrificing person in all of Panem. They just put him on the train and left him in his house to die from his tortured mind. He couldn't be expected to heal by himself alone. He needed people to help him sort out what was real and what was not real.

I resented the new Panem then; I still resent them to some degree because of it. Slowly and with much resistance from my help, Peeta let me in. He came back to me. I still feel the warmth of his palm on my forearm the first time that he voluntarily touched me. We were sitting on his porch just watching the rain pour on the earth and make puddles, not speaking but just letting the time go by. He just placed his hand on my right forearm as he did before on the train and said nothing. When the rain stopped, he removed his hand and then said the softest thank you before going back inside his house. I considered it a win then and never doubted that Peeta could fully recover his memories.

We grew back together. He started baking again, bringing me cheese buns in the morning. He took care of the primroses in the garden. He held me on the first night he was conscious enough to recognize my screams. After that, he stayed with me every night. There hadn't been one night when we hadn't slept on the same bed (or couch or carpet) for fifteen years. Starting his own bakery again brought so much joy to Peeta. I was so proud of him for keeping the legacy of his family alive. Those were blissful years. It felt like nothing could dampen our day.

Except for one thing -- having a baby. The only thing that brought us real conflict was talking about starting a family. Peeta would reason with me, and I would explain or yell at him. We would go back and forth, tossing the ball to each other without respite. He was kind and calm all the time, and it was me who would lose my composure because my fears were just too great. In the end, it was always Peeta that would concede for my well-being. He was the one who stopped asking five years ago. We talked about it one last time, and he said that he had finally accepted what I wanted. He granted every wish of mine for years except that one. It took him a decade to come to terms with it, and we were both comfortable with our decision. We both agreed that many things in life made us happy and that having each other was the ultimate joy. He loved me, and I loved him. After everything we both went through, that was enough. More than enough. But now, I think Peeta has a change of heart.

I guess I knew that this would have happened anyway. Peeta would be perfect as a father. And Peeta, being an orphan, sure longs to have a family of his own. A family with me.

I sigh deeply at the realization of what I had withheld from him all these years. I'm still afraid, extremely, but I guess I should have realized earlier that Peeta would hold my hand no matter what. He stayed with me all these years and through every situation. Nothing was beneath him when it came to me. He loved me, pure and simple. And now I look at how much I didn't love him back. This was one longing Peeta held on to, and I was too selfish to see it. I let my fear blind me. I didn't factor in the effect Peeta would have on me. We're always better when we faced our demons together.

My Peeta. My poor husband. How incredibly long have I refused him, have crushed his heart out of fear? He must be so miserable denying himself such simple happiness because he put my needs first. I feel terrible overlooking this part of him. How can I call myself his wife? I have to fix this, and I hope it's not yet too late.

….………….

Resolution

(Peeta’s POV)

"Hey," I greet Katniss as she enters the bakery. "How was hunting?"

"Hey," she greets me back lazily with a warm smile. She's always so alluring when she returns from the woods. She carries its calmness and life with her every time. "I went to my father's lake."

“Oh yeah? That’s wonderful.”

"It was. I didn't bring anything back, though. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I grab a paper bag from the back and give it to Katniss. "Cheese buns?"

"For me?" she flirts. "Why not?"

Katniss eats the cheese buns with gusto. She savors the cheese oozing out of each bun as she bites into them. I've been baking like a madman this afternoon to ease my anxiety. I made her all kinds of cheese buns -- a batch filled in the center with three different kinds of cheese, another bunch with some paprika in it, and the third batch with pesto made from the herbs Katniss gathered yesterday. I have two more stashes for tomorrow which I will bake in the morning at home. Baking really does wonders for my nerves, and I calmed down substantially after doing it.

"Are you closing up soon?" Katniss asks after her third piece of cheese buns. She already guessed about the paprika that I added in the second batch. "I haven't made dinner yet, I'm afraid. I went straight here after the woods."

“It’s okay. I made a lot of cheese buns. Is that acceptable for dinner?”

"You don't even have to ask," she mumbles in between bites, then kisses my cheek with her cheesy lips. "I could eat this all day!"

“Good thing you married a baker, huh?”

“Best decision I made,” she teases. “By the way, we should go to the lake tomorrow. We haven’t gone there in two weeks. How about it?”

"Sure. I'd love that," I say and move in to claim a kiss. "Good thing I married a huntress."

She beams at me and gets another cheese bun. She really loves cheese.

We walk hand-in-hand on our way back to Victor's Village. It's Sunday tomorrow, and the bakery is closed, like every shop in District 12. We pass by some kids playing on the streets, and I try my hardest not to react to them. Instead, I focus on the warm cheese buns in my free hand and on the feeling of a small piece of paper tucked deep in my pants pocket. While waiting for Katniss at the bakery, I started making a list of reasons why Katniss is more than enough for me. I scribbled a couple so far before she arrived and I quickly hid the list in my pocket for later. I'll finish it at home after dinner. Katniss wouldn't suspect a thing as I usually make lists when we're sitting on the couch by the fire.

“I’ll take a shower first, okay?” Katniss tells me after we’ve settled down in the kitchen. I usually do the cooking except for days when there are too many orders at the bakery. Tonight, I don’t mind doing it. It will give me more time to work on my list while she showers.

"Okay. Take your time," I reply, and Katniss gives me a quick kiss and ruffles my hair. She knows that I love it when she does that. That's one more thing I have to add to my list.

When I hear the shower pour upstairs, I bring out the folded paper from my pocket.

'Reasons why Katniss is MORE than enough for me.' The word 'more' is underlined twice and written in bold letters for emphasis.

1. She loves me.

Nothing compares to being loved by Katniss Everdeen. She loves so fiercely and generously. What more can I ask for?

2. She brought me back from my hijacked state.

3. She saved my life so many times and in so many ways.

4. She’s the most patient when I try out new recipes. She doesn’t rush me like Haymitch. She just watches me and writes down the recipe as I go.

5. She kisses me every morning. Even with bad breath because there was a time we both loved having midnight snacks.

6. She brings me game and fruits and herbs and flowers from the woods. She forgot today, but that's nothing compared to fifteen years of gifting me every day.

7. Her voice. Need I say more?

8. She ruffles my hair like I have the most beautiful curls in all of Panem.

9. She lets me braid her hair on Sundays.

10. She encourages me to pursue my dreams — the bakery, the cafe, my art.

I rub my cheek as I remember how I got to exhibit some of my works twice because of her. I never imagined that in my wildest dreams.

11. She tells me she loves me EVERY day.

12. Her body.

13. She holds my father in high regard.

She traded with him, and I'm so thankful they met even briefly.

"Hey, Peeta," Katniss calls from the stairs, and I stash away my list. "I forgot, I brought you some wild apples. It's still in my hunting bag."

I scratch out 'She forgot' on number six of my list. She never forgets.

After dinner, we retreat to the living room to warm ourselves by the fire. It's not really cold today, but we love it nonetheless. Katniss is reading a book sent by Effie. She's been sending us classic books for a few years now, and Katniss is the one burning through them as I've been busy working on the cafe. I bring out my list and tuck it between my usual notebook to disguise it. I glance at Katniss, and she's buried in the old book. Good, I'm safe to write as many things I can on my list.

14. She loves bread and cake.

15. She lets me sketch and paint her.

16. She sings to me when I am sick or just tired.

"So serious." Katniss distracts me after a while and rubs her foot on my outer thigh. She's taking up most of the couch, leaning on the other end while her feet just brush my thigh. "It's Sunday tomorrow, Peeta. Just rest."

I give her a small smile and close my notebook to hide my list. “How about a foot massage?” I offer. I shift on the couch to remove her socks and start rubbing both her feet. I make a note to add this to my list.

17. She lets me massage her feet.

She lets out a deep sigh as I warm up her gorgeous feet with my big hands. I place my palms on either side of her right foot and gently twist it with just the right amount of pressure that she likes. The result is immediate, and she relaxes. She's a little tense from hiking to the lake, so I take my time to warm her feet up. Then I rub her arch, slowly running my thick thumbs along its length. Katniss has such deliciously slender feet that I take my time stroking them. Kneading them and caressing them with my full attention. I continue my smooth motion from the heel to the ball of her foot, shifting from soft to hard presses.

To my luck, I get rewarded with a throaty moan and a deep exhalation from Katniss. "So good," she tells me as her chest dips.

I can see that she already stopped reading her book but is still holding it up. The toes of her feet are a little ticklish, so I massage them lightly and slowly. It still tickles, she says, but at least she doesn't kick me or pull away her foot. I love seeing how my touches shoot signals up to her knees and hips, sending them off the cushion as her muscles contract. Sometimes she scrunches her eyes, and her foot curls as she restrains her natural reflexes.

I don't know what it is, but she's so exquisite to watch during these times. She’s seriously so sexy. I can't take my eyes off of her.

I try different massages on her feet, finding delectable pressure points that trigger spots around her body. I squeeze her heels firmly, then use my knuckles or fist to indulgently stroke her arches. I then airily tap my fingers all over her skin like fluttering kisses. She hates it when I grasp her Achilles tendon with my thumb and index finger, but I do it all the time to get a reaction from her. I make it up by sliding her loose sweatpants up and running my hands along her powerful calf. I stroke her firm muscles to build heat on her skin, then apply more and more pressure after, increasing the blood flow there. My blood flow increases somewhere too, just watching her.

The massage would have been better with oil, but the oils are all the way up in our bedroom, and I am in no mood to get them. Katniss closes her book later and lets it drop on the floor with a soft thump. She finds a more comfortable position, laying her back flat on the couch and resting her feet on my lap. She shifts her free foot near my crotch unconsciously before digging her head deeper onto the couch pillow. She takes a deep breath and then puts her right hand over her chest. Her neck is blushing red as she tries to calm her breathing.

"Peetaaa ...," she releases breathily. I take all my cues from Katniss and continue massaging her luscious feet. Most of the time, she likes her massages hard and lingering, her legs and feet needing deep stimulation because of all the walking she does in the woods. Other times, she just likes warming and rhythmic touches. I'm happy to oblige with both anytime.

When I'm done, Katniss is so cozy, that she's ready to go to sleep. "Katniss?" I coo and give the top of her feet delicate kisses. I've been resisting it while giving her the massage.

“Hmmm ….”

When Katniss doesn't move, I gingerly lift her up and carry her to our bedroom. I almost forgot my list and have to double back to get it.

"Peetaaa ..." She drags my name just under my right ear while I go up the stairs. Her voice radiates warmth all over my torso.

"I got you, love. Don't worry." She tightens her arms around my neck and nuzzles the skin there. I only get away with pet names when she's very sleepy. Otherwise, I get a scowl. I guess I have to add her scowl to my list too. As much as she gives it to me out of frustration, I still love it. I love every bit of Katniss. Even the things that annoy me, like unscrewed containers of spices or milk in scrambled eggs or mail half-opened and left on the kitchen table or bath towels left on the bed. I can't count how many times I exited the shower only to find out there were no towels. At first, I thought she did it on purpose. You know, so she can see me wet and naked after a bath, but more often than not, she's not there when I leave the bathroom. I just find two towels on the bed. One mine and one hers. I have to add those things to my list. Not the towel, but how much she drives me crazy and how she scowls at me. It's weird, but I love them.

I make a mental note.

18. Her scowl that I love so much.

19. Her quirks that drive me crazy.

I carefully lay Katniss on her side of the bed, tucking her under the covers, then I make my way to the bathroom for a shower. The list is still in my pant pocket, safe while I wash off the flour from my skin. It's been such a long day, but tomorrow will be longer. I have to be honest with Katniss. She needs to know what's going on with me.

Freshly bathed and loosened up by the warm water, I lift the covers and slide beside Katniss. She lays her head over my shoulder like every night, cupping my bare chest where she can feel my heartbeat. I linger on the lavender smell of her hair and skin.

"I love you, Peeta," she says sleepily before planting a kiss on my collarbone. She then puts one of her legs over mine, hooking her body against mine. She is perfectly melded on my side, and I feel so loved.

"I love you too, Katniss," I whisper back and kiss her dark hair.

"You're my world, Peeta … you make me so happy," she whispers while lightly rubbing her palm over my heart. I feel guilty all over again for all my uncontained thoughts of babies and starting a family.

I silently mouth ‘I’m sorry’ into the air of the room and squeeze her hand over my heart. Katniss is more than enough for me. I don’t need anything else.

Nightmares totally have a different hold on me. Or I should say, my hijacked brain and not my nightmares, have a dubious hold on me. My dream bit me like a venomous snake because I actually touched our baby in my sleep. It was the same picture of Katniss gracefully sitting by the meadow in a flowing green summer dress that conveniently opens in front for breastfeeding. Normally, I would just watch from afar as my dream unfolds, but this time, I was right there beside Katniss, my right arm over her lean shoulders and my left softly on our baby's downy hair. I swear I could feel their weight and warmth on my palms, on my chest, and on my heart. I could unmistakably smell baby shampoo and milk. And I could vividly remember Katniss' expression of joy and peace. She was so radiant, and I felt so complete holding my world in my arms. I woke up with warm, fuzzy feelings all over my body again but quickly brushed them away. I can't indulge in these sensations. I still have an hour before Katniss rouses, so I carefully untangle myself from her body. I need to get this image out of my head and also finish my list.

I put on a worn-out shirt and go to my painting room, dragging my loose pajamas on the floor and clutching my list in my left hand. I turn on the lamp beside my work table. Then I sit in front of my easel that holds a painting I have been working on. I know Katniss doesn't come to this room unless I ask her, but I still cover this painting for fear that she may glance at it while passing by. That would be a disaster when it happens. I reread my list and added a few more things to it.

I must have been so engrossed in my thoughts because when I heard Katniss call my name, she was already in the hallway, only a few feet from the door. I panic and hastily hide the list under the cloth covering my recent painting in front of me. I brush my hair without purpose, trying to search my brain for what to say to Katniss when she comes into the room.

“Peeta?”

"I'm here," I say, failing terribly to sound normal. I turn around on my stool to face the door. "I'll be right out."

"Peeta?" she says again, but this time she's standing at the doorway. "Did you have a nightmare?"

‘No, I had a very pleasant dream, actually, ' I say in my head. "Yeah," I lie instead.

"Did you paint it already?" she asks with her raspy morning voice. She knows me so well. I need to paint my nightmares so they stop.

"Ummm …," I offer, and my lack of a clear answer worries her. She walks towards me, enveloping me in her arms. She feels so soft and comfortingly warm as she embraces me.

"I'm okay now, Katniss," I lie again. "We can go back to bed now." I pull her off of me and cradle her cheeks between my two hands. I offer her a weak smile and kiss her forehead. She nods, then embraces me again. We stay entwined for a few more minutes until I feel her hand move behind me as if reaching for something. I hold my breath.

"What's this, Peeta?" she asks and holds up my list near the light. Shoot. I didn't hide it well enough. The next thing I knew, the cloth behind me fell to the floor, revealing my painting.

"Um ... umm …," I offer feebly.

Katniss rubs my arms and then walks towards the easel. It holds a painting of her by the meadows breastfeeding our baby. It's my favorite dream but one I felt most guilty of. I didn't know why I thought it would work, but I'd been secretly painting them, hoping the dream would stop, just like my nightmares before.

"Are there more?" Katniss asks with a raspy voice. I steal a look at her and catch her soft gray eyes, she's not mad, so I go ahead and show her the rest. In total, I have four paintings done already. They're all from the same dream, but I rendered different parts. One was Katniss' careful arms holding our baby over her chest, another our baby's small pink hands, then just soft, yellow swaddle cloth, and another just the meadow with its golden sunset. I don't offer Katniss any explanation as she thoughtfully observes them. She touches each one, her fingers lingering on the tiny baby hands I painted on a big canvas.

"Katniss?" I ask after a while. I'm so terrified that she would plummet into depression, the paintings triggering her long-time fear. "I wanted to talk to you about it … I was going to tell you later …"

She puts her fingers over my lips, silencing me. “How long?”

I won’t lie to her anymore.

“Four, five months. Since Delly and Thom had us babysit little Timothy.”

Katniss just nods her head once and lets out a shallow breath. She's just standing there in front of me, her eyes softly looking at me, but they are unreadable. My heart is thumping out of my chest, my tears building out of nervousness. I feel hot and cold all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Katniss," I begin and try to hold her gaze, but my eyes betray me with tears. "I'm sorry … I didn't mean to …," I sob.

"Sssshhh … Peeta …," she coos and hugs me tightly. I'm trembling, and I can't help it.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss ... I know … you're scared …" I gulp for air.

"And I understand. You're … " I can't breathe. "You're more than enough for me … You make me so happy," I ramble on in between sobs and hiccups.

Katniss is all I need. I know that now more than ever.

"Peeta …," she begins while running her palms over my back. "That's not true, and we both know it."

"No, it is," I say in earnest and hug her tighter. "You're all that I need. You're my world. Please, you have to know that."

"And you are mine." She pulls back and cups my face with both her hands. "You are my world too, you understand? I want to make you happy," she says, her voice so incredibly tender.

“I am happy … I just need more time … I’m sure I’ll forget …”

"Peeta, you're not, and you shouldn’t." She pulls me back and rests her forehead on my chin. "I want to make you happy. Completely happy."

"Katniss, please …," I plea, pouring all my love into her at this moment.

"I want to try." She exhales to my chest, her warm breath seeping through my cotton shirt. "Let's try starting a family."

"But Katniss … you don't ..."

"No buts, Peeta," she cuts in and bunches my shirt with her right hand and I know she's trying to be strong. I feel her squeeze her eyes shut. "I'm still scared, Peeta. But you will take care of me, right?" she says with a quiver in her voice. I can't believe my ears, and I am shocked into stillness.

"Peeta?" she calls, then looks up to my face. She's peaceful, afraid but with resolve. "I want to try having a baby with you. Build a family. I'm so scared, though, Peeta ... but I know it will make you happy. You will be with me all the way, all right?"

"Always"

My tears continue on, but I feel my body relax with her palms over my chest. I’m crying from happiness.

"I love you. Now come and kiss me." A small smile laces her eyes, and I know this is real. We are going to try having a baby. It will happen. My dream is suddenly happening.

“I love you, Katniss. You make me so happy. You’re my everything,” I say with every ounce of my being.

“Kiss me already, Peeta.”

And I do. I did it in between laughs and sobs and hiccups and with trembling hands on Katniss' jaws. I was giddy with joy and excitement for our future together. Katniss is more than enough for me. So much more than what I deserve in a hundred lifetimes, maybe not even then. I add one more important thing to my list.

20. She wants to start a family with me.

Katniss then picks up a pen and scribbles something on my list.

21. Katniss Everdeen has Peeta Mellark. Her love.

-- Fin --

#promptsinpanem #fivetenfifteen #specialchallenges #dandelionlovesyou

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seasonsofeverlark · 2 years

Text

Gone Missing

Author: @norbertsmom

Prompt: I’d like to request a prompt for my birthday 04/20

When journalist Katniss Everdeen is taking hostage by a group of terrorists she was investigating, a Special Force unit of four men is dispatched to free her.

Peeta Mellark is part of the unit.

A relentless pursuit begins between her kidnappers and the group of soldiers who risk their lives for her. Specially a blue-eyed soldier [submitted by @alwayseverlark]

Rating: M for mentions of abduction, human trafficking, violence, and future smut.

Summary: Investigative reporter Katniss Everdeen is looking into the disappearances of young men and women from the outer districts. When she herself disappears, Peeta Mellark and he fellow Special Forces unit are call in to save her.

Takes place in an AU universe where the 10th Hunger Games were the last. Coriolanus Snow never became president. Katniss is still from District 12, but without the misery and starvation.

Author’s Note: Happy birthday, @alwayseverlark. Here’s part one of your birthday fic. I’ll have the rest of it posted soon. _______________

Katniss settles down at her computer with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand, as the screen comes to life. Her sister Prim’s bright smiling face fills the screen and Katniss can’t help but smile back at her.

“How was your day, Little Duck?” Katniss asks before taking a big bite of her peanut butter sandwich.

“Clinicals are kicking my butt, but I love it. How’s your day going? Any leads on the disappearances?”

“The receptionist at the orchard wouldn’t let me in to see the foreman, even though I had an appointment. Apparently they didn’t know who I was until I showed up or they never would have agreed to see me. She tried to tell me they had no records of missing employees. People just run off. Can you believe it?”

Prim shakes her head.

Katniss finishes off her sandwich and takes a big drink of water.

“When I pushed back and demanded copies of their employment retention records, the smarmy foreman came out of the office. He tried to tell me he’d love to help me, but he couldn’t possibly share employee’s private information.”

“What did you do?”

I reminded him that the orchard is owned by the district, and that retention records are public property and he is required to provide them to anyone who asks.”

“What happened then,” Prim asks with a smirk.

“Oh, you should have seen his face, Prim. It went ghostly white. Quite the contrast to the odd black facial hair he was sporting. But he quickly regained his composure and assured me he would have the records for me first thing in the morning.”

“Good. He probably never had anyone talk to him like that before, standing up for herself.”

“Probably not,” Katniss says. “I did talk to one of the employees. A young woman, about your age, named Rue pulled me aside as I was leaving the office.”

“What did she tell you?” Prim asked excitedly.

“She gave me the names of a few people to look into. She knows for a fact that a few have gone missing. She had a friend named Thresh who would never leave his sister and grandmother all alone. And one of her former classmates disappeared right after she got accepted into college. She and her family had been saving for her tuition for years. She left everything behind.”

“Yeah, those both seem pretty suspicious. You think the foreman is in on it?”

“Oh yeah. That’s why I set up a camera outside his office. Want to see what going on there? I can share the screen with you.”

“Sure,” Prim said, excitedly. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Don’t be too excited, Prim. Investigating is slow going. Sometimes nothing happens for days,” Katniss says as she get the split screen set up.

“I know, but I’ve only ever seen home in District 12 and school in District 4. I’d like to see the world like you do, Katniss.”

The view on the screen is dimly lit because it’s nearing sunset. The trees in the background sway in the wind, but otherwise, there’s no movement.

“See, pretty dull. Nothing going on,” Katniss says.

“It’s still nice. Look at that orchard. It must smell heavenly, all those fruit trees,” Prim says dreamily.

“Definitely better than twelve,” Katniss agrees with a chuckle.

A young woman comes into view on the screen.

“That’s Rue,” Katniss says, “The young woman I talked to earlier. I wonder why she’s going to the office at this time of day. She should be home with her family. She told me she’s the oldest of six and helps her mother out with her younger siblings.” Katniss clicks a key on her keyboard. “There. I just turned on the sound so we can hear too.”

After a few minutes pass and Rue does not come back out of the office, Katniss starts to worry. “Where is she? I think something is going on. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for talking to me. I’m going to go after her. See if I can help, or at least find out what’s going on.”

“Be careful, Katniss. This isn’t a District mayor skimming tax dollars. This could be very dangerous.”

“I know, Prim. But I can’t just sit here and watch. I have to go check on Rue. Make sure she’s okay. If it makes you feel better. Keep watching the screen. You can see and hear me when I get to the office and hopefully come back out with Rue.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Call Uncle Haymitch. He’ll know what to do.”

Prim sits back and bites her nails as she watches her sister leave her apartment. All thoughts of the test she needs to study for long forgotten as the minutes pass. It seem like hours as she waits for Katniss to show up again on the other side of the screen.

Katniss finally appears and Prim lets out a sigh of relief.

Katniss quietly walks up to the office window and peers inside. She looks up at the camera and shakes her head, mouthing the words, “can’t see anything.” She then walks over to the screen door and turns the knob. It opens, so she walks inside. Quietly closing the door behind her.

Katniss is now completely out of view behind the closed screen door.

Prim holds her breath as she listens for any sound from her sister. She hits record, just in case.

After a few minutes, low voices start coming through, but they are too quiet to hear. Prim turns up the volume on her computer as far as it can go, and she finally can make out the voices.

“A little early for your documents, aren’t you, Miss Everdeen?” a snarky male voice asks.

“Am I?” Katniss asks. “I thought you said to come back tonight?”

“Now, now, Miss Everdeen. Don’t lie. Why are you really here? Looking for someone?”

“Do you have someone here who can answer my questions?”

“Don’t play coy, Miss Everdeen. I’m aware you spoke to Rue Stenberg after you left my office. Did you see her come in here on the camera you planted? Yes, I know about your camera, Miss Everdeen. Don’t worry. I’ll give you all the information you want. You’ll get to see where our tributes are taken, firsthand. You can be the star of your very next story. Well, if only you were to make it out alive.”

Scuffling can be heard. Katniss comes running out of the door. She quickly looks up at the camera.

“Katniss!” Prim screams as she watches her sister swiftly run away, followed shortly by two Peacekeepers and another man. The man directs the Peacekeepers to split up, each going in a different direction, then calmly turns around and walks back toward the office. He stops at the door and looks up at the camera. He points his finger at the camera, then raises his thumb, making the symbol of a gun as the corner of his lips slowly raise into an evil grin.

Minutes later Katniss burst into her apartment. “Prim, are you still there?”

“I’m here, Katniss. I saw them run after you on the screen. They could be there any minute. Get out of there.”

Katniss scrambles around her apartment, gathering her things as she tells Prim, “They got Rue. I know it. I could hear her muffled cries. They tried to grab me, but I got away. I gotta get out of here. I’ll get some help from, from, I don’t know where. I gotta go.”

“Go, Katniss. I’ll call Uncle Haymitch, let him know you’re coming. Get out of there, go see him.”

“I’m going, Prim. I’ll come back for my computer when it’s safe.” Katniss throws her backpack over her shoulder and heads for the door. “Good luck at school, Prim. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya soon,” Prim says as Katniss opens the door to leave.

There, standing at the door, are two Peacekeepers and the man with the beard. “Going somewhere, Miss Everdeen?” the bearded man says before one of the Peacekeepers hits Katniss on the side of the head and she’s knocked out cold.

“Katniss!” Prim screams, but quickly covers the camera on her computer as the man with the beard looks up at Katniss’ computer. He smiles that evil grin again before turning back to leave. Prim watches in horror as her sister is dragged away.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #spring 2022 #spring #birthday #norbertsmom #submission #prompt

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lemonluvgirl · 3 years

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New Everlark Modern AU Fic Sneak Peak!

Hitting The Target By: SparklingStella & LemonLuvGirl87

Summary: “When you shoot, you’ve got to keep both eyes on what you want to hit.” Katniss tells him seriously. “Do you bring this kind of tenacious focus with you to all aspects of your life?” Peeta asks, hoping his wildly mounting attraction for her isn’t as obvious to her as it feels to him. “When the situation calls for it. I’m good at going after what I want. And I find my mark almost every time.” She tells him with such a straight face he would have believed they were still talking about archery if her smoldering grey eyes weren’t glued to his mouth.

When hot shot college archery rookie Katniss Everdeen makes it to the USA Archery Collegiate National Championships her first year on the team, the university’s newly appointed college sports reporter Peeta Mellark is sent on assignment to cover her and the archery team’s meteoric rise to fame. What he never intended was to get so invested in the subject of his article, or to get so infatuated with the girl herself.

~Snippet From Chapter One:

“Peeta! Where’s that article on the golf team’s latest tournament?” A frustrated feminine voice rings out through the university newspaper work room.

“Fuck me,” Peeta mutters tiredly under his breath while trying to simultaneously shrink down to inconspicuous levels so his editor, Johanna Mason, won’t hear him or see him. But even the hunching of his massive shoulders and lack of reply can't help him now. She knows he's here. She knows he's not done. He feels a sweat break out on the back of his neck as she approaches his work station. Knowing Johanna she’d take his curse words as an invitation for sex, not as an expression of utter unenthusiastic dread. And he doesnt want to have sex with Johanna. He doesn't like her that way. Actually, he's found himself almost resenting her in recent weeks. She's the reason he's got writer's block right now. He’s dreading having to finish this article. It's driving him nuts.

Peeta hates golf, (he told Johanna this when she gave him the assignment) and he’s been doing nothing but covering their university’s shitty golf tournaments for the last few weeks. And even though he’s seen enough mediocre college golf to last till the end of eternity, he can’t for the life of him finish this pathetic golf article that was due half an hour ago. The thing is just a boring, uninteresting, cold fish piece of shit. And he hates himself for writing it. He hates Johanna even more for assigning this piece to him. It's like she knows exactly which soul sucking assignments he desires least and saves them just for him.

“Mellark! Are you still stuck on the conclusion? Stop playing with your dick and finish the fucking article already! We’ve got a deadline to meet!” Johanna says when she finally reaches his desk and stands over his shoulder, only to find he’s stuck in the same spot he was an hour ago.

“I’m trying Johanna! But this--this story is just--”

“Just what asshole? Too hot for you to handle? It's a damn 600 word news piece, not a 60 minutes interview for god sakes!”

“It's BORING! And there’s no way to make it interesting! I’ve tried! Its just---garbage! Dry, utterly boring and sleep-inducing garbage!”

Johnna stands stock still for a minute. Peeta worries he may have gone overboard.

Then she starts shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, yeah duh! I mean it's college golf, not exactly riveting stuff. ” She says in between involuntary shoulder shakes.

“So you knew. You knew it was a crap assignment and you made me write it anyway! That’s just great Jo. That’s terrific. Why couldn’t you assign it to Beetee or Wireless or something? Didn’t you tell me when I joined the paper that I had the best ‘authentic writing voice’ you’d heard in years? And yet Marvel and Cato get to cover our basketball and football team every season! What am I doing here JO? How is this a good use of my skills?”

“Mellark, you’re talented. That’s exactly why I give you the tough assignments. You can dress up a pile of shit and make it look like a chocolate sundae. But, you’ve only been on the team for a year. You still have to pay your dues rookie. But, look, I’ll make you a deal. Finish this shit show of an article, and make it readable. If you can do that I’ll give you a better assignment this coming week. Not basketball or anything super big, because you know, baby steps, but I promise it will be a step up from the golf crap.”

“Fine Jo. But I’m holding you to your promise! Maybe I should make you sign a contract so you don't go back on your word,”

“Yeah, yeah, Mellark. No need to break out the ritual sacrifice knife to make me sign my soul away in blood. I'm a woman of my word. I'll deliver on my promise. But, you better wow me with this conclusion, or else it's back to the golf carts, pretentious khakis, and designer sunglasses for you.”

“It's going to be the best shit sundae you’ve ever had Jo. I promise.”

And it was. Peeta managed in the next 20 minutes to tweak and finish the article until it was actually an interesting and engaging college sports piece, and by the time the story had to go to print Joanna was smiling.

“So, I take it that smile means I’m going to get assigned something decent this coming week?”

“Well, since you actually pulled it off, I’d say so.” Johanna slams a piece of paper down on his desk. It contains a name, email address, and office phone number.

Haymitch Abernathy [email protected] 555-451-1213

“What’s this?”

“Contact info for your next assignment. Email this guy and set up a time to go and observe his team at practice. He’s the head coach for the university’s archery team. Word around campus is there’s a new freshman blowing all the competition out of the water. The team’s got a shot at nationals this year. I want you to do a full piece on her, and the team. You can interview the coach too. The higher ups want to make this feature article a two page spread.”

“Two pages?!”

“Yep. So don’t say I never did nothing for ya Mellark. Oh, and take your camera and get some candid shots. Apparently she’s hot. That’ll be good for the article too.”

Peeta laughs, only Johanna would so openly comment on sex appeal as a way to increase their readerbase.

“Ok, Jo. Sure thing. And thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bring me back something spectacular and we’ll see if you deserve to be bumped up permanently to something more substantial after this.”

Peeta nodded, and smiled. He was hopeful, enthusiastic, and most of all really intrigued to find out more about his newest assignment. Maybe he can gain more than he imagined...Johanna did say SHE, the apparently female assignment, is hot. Most interesting...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

More Coming Soon!!! Story will be posted to AO3 as a collab between @sparklingdust4612 (SparklingStella on AO3) and @lemonluvgirl87

#everlarksmut #everlark #modernau #collegefic #everlarkcollegefic #athlete!Katniss #reporterPeeta

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

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Slightly paraphrased, but Peeta talking about that moment he developed his crush on Katniss is just too sweet 😊

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 22-24 are below the cut (sprinkled in some psychology thoughts again).

heart

Honestly, I think the people in Panem would perceive the whole everlark storyline the same way we perceive and react to our ships on tv (desperately wanting to reach through the screen, shoving the characters forcefully together, screaming “And now, kiss!”); especially the Capitolites who barely recognize the tributes (or people in the districts, in general) as people. The people in the districts would definitely view the whole thing more under a “reality tv” kind of lens, questioning how much of the relationship is real or not (we know that Finnick certainly thought that the entire thing was just a spiel, until Peeta hit that forcefield). The time spent in the cave must have been pretty convincing, though.

mind

I think that Katniss is still torn here - On the one hand, she kind of wants to believe that Peeta is actually into her (remember the happiness she felt when Peeta told her how his crush on her began, and it all added up and seemed so real), but on the other hand she’s terrified of that possibility because A) lingering trauma from her mom’s depression in response the Mr. Everdeen’s death, B) Katniss never even considered falling in love, so that’s a sudden unexpected thing to deal with, and C) maybe it’s just for the sake of the Games; and wouldn’t that hurt, getting your hopes up only to learn it was only for show? (How about we ask Peeta about that?)

soul

Yeah, that quote about Peeta only eating stale bread also struck me as quite sad. It just further adds to his understanding how there should be more to life than just survival, though. (One day, I’ll make that post about Peeta, Katniss, and Maslow’s pyramid of needs, I swear! I’ve already gathered some research material)

Chapter 22

My mother’s hand strokes my cheek and I don’t push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don’t trust her. - Ugh, I can’t... Katniss misses her mom, misses being cared for😢 I’m so glad we’re going to see her patch up her relationship with her mom in CF... On a different note, Katniss craving that gentle touch just perfectly illustrates why she’s so drawn to Peeta, who is generally such a gentle soul (I mean, he’s literally the person stroking her cheek here 😊)

He [Peeta] doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness. - As I was saying... 😉

“I’ll go hunting soon,” I say. “Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.” - I love them so much😊🥰 And then Peeta makes sure she’s well-fed and hydrated, he rubs her cold feet and tucks her into the sleeping back... and she let’s him! 💗

“He [Thresh] let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” asks Peeta in disbelief. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain,” I say. “And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he says. - Oof. This exchange here is interesting in many ways: 1) it highlights their different experiences, tied to their different socioeconomic backgrounds, basically, and 2) that Katniss is very much aware of this difference, but we also see hints of her own ignorance here - because Peeta didn’t have to starve in his childhood, she thinks that he can’t possibly understand this level of hardship; but there are other ways in which one can suffer/lack fundamental needs, which brings us to 3) Peeta’s response about being “obviously too dim to get it”; I think this is a clue to his mom being also verbally abusive towards him: she called him “stupid creature” when he burnt those loaves of bread for Katniss and when he’s losing it in the attic of the Justice Building in D11 in CF he is mad that Katniss and Haymitch keep things from him “like [he’s] too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them”, which - to me - sounds like he’s tired of being treated that way (i.e. the way his mother treats him)

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a a small child. - God, this is a teenager in a murder-arena who feels like wanting to go home is a childish notion instead of a totally legitimate wish for anyone in that situation, regardless of age 😢

It’s not that Peeta’s soft exactly, and he’s proved he’s not a coward. But there are things you don’t question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Gale questions everything. What would Peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Gale’s tirades against the Capitol? - Geez, Katniss, give Peeta some credit here! A) It’s not like Peeta can walk around District 12 talking publicly about the injustices happening there - she and Peeta hadn’t even talked with each other before the reaping, whereas Gale is her best friend who rants to her while they are outside the confines of D12 and B) Peeta is literally the one who introduced the whole “not a piece in their Games”-idea to her; why would he be clutching his pearls over Katniss and Gale’s irreverent banter?! Just because Peeta didn’t live on the brink of starvation (she again brings up how his house smells like bread and - at this point - still thinks that the family running the bakery actually gets to eat what they produce just like that), doesn’t mean he doesn’t see how shitty life in D12 is - he can still want better conditions for those who are worse off than him!

“I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” - Well, we’ll see this song and dance again in CF...

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. [...] And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.” - I wish CF Katniss would remember this moment when she is questioning her motives about saving Peeta’s life in the arena - You. Care. For. This. Boy! You. Value. Him. For. Who. He. Is!!!

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. [...] This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. - Whoo! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 😉

I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe. - He makes her feel safe in a murder-arena!!! 😭 This is the kind of stuff that makes everlark just a top tier romance, tbh

Peeta telling Katniss about his crush starting on their first day of school 🥰😭 - and her reaction to it... For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy - yes, because you have a crush on him, too! - and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff [...] So, if those details are true... could it all be true? - YESSSSSSSS!!!

“You have a... remarkable memory, “ I say haltingly. - as a severely socially awkward person... I felt that lame response in my bones 😅

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. - God, this would be such an amazing moment if it didn’t get tainted by that immediate sponsor gift, which just serves to muddle Katniss’s feelings with her sense of survival, further complicating her relationship with Peeta... *sigh*

Chapter 23

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you...” “I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. “Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. - Peeta is the master of being a cheeky little shit and adorable flirt at the same time

“So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?” I ask him. “No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you,” he says. - I appreciate that while Peeta has had a crush on Katniss forever, he clearly didn’t spend the entire time pining after her, oblivious to the rest of the world - he has a life outside of Katniss Everdeen, but ultimately, it all lead back to her

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!” “Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. - Laugh all you want, this is going to end up being your future anyway 😄

He [Haymitch]’s at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to bready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he’s holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of tring to keep us alive. - Katniss is already worrying about her “new pal”, I see ;)

Maybe he [Haymitch] wasn’t always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. - Honestly, that sounds absolutely awful...

Poor, Katniss, when she learns of Thresh’s death :( - But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh’s murder. - It’s horrible how compassion and basic human decency gets construed as ‘weakness’ in the world of Hunger Games (esp. the Capitol)

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. - Honestly, I think a word analysis of THG-series could be interesting; how often does Katniss mention “warmth”, “steady/steadiness” “safe/safety/security” in connection with “Peeta”?

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he says. “Bet that’s expensive,” I say. “Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says Peeta [...] Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it’s true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread - Katniss is starting to realize that the lives of the merchants isn’t a cushy as she thought; also, in a way, we see a “prettier” version of how Panem treats the districts overall -> feeding the districts just enough that they can do their work (plus/minus a couple of people who’ll die of starvation, but at a small, for Capitolites insignificant margin), but not so much that they are in good shape to rebel; here, the merchants of D12 have just enough that they can live a “decent” life (they know it could be worse -> the Seam), but they don’t have enough to live a free, comfortable, self-determined life either. This also just further drives a wedge between the inhabitants of D12 (the merchants won’t want to rebel because they don’t want to get ‘demoted’ in their lifestyle, starving like the people from the Seam, and the Seam folk feel resentful towards the merchant people, while also not having the resources to rebel, due to their awful socioeconomic conditions)

What would be my life like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what my identity is. - It’s so sad who Katniss has been so consumed with ensuring that her most base needs are fulfilled that she barely has had the time to really figure out who she is and what she wants from life (If we’re talking Maslow’s pyramid of needs, Katniss would primarily be stuck on the lowest tier 😢)

At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. - Honestly, Katniss counting on being good friends with Peeta after the Games is the highest honor she can bestow on him at that moment (she’s so into him, lol); of course, knowing that their relationship is going to be a bit rocky once they’ve come back makes this thought a little sad... but we also know they’ll make up (and out ;) in the future

Peeta licking his plate and blowing a kiss out to Effie is such an adorable goofball-moment 😊

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. - This moment would be so cute (also, Peeta’s so confident in Katniss’s skills to protect him, which is adorable - toxic masculinity who?) but... Ugh, he’s just so giddy here, it kind of breaks my heart for when he learns later that (at least some) of Katniss’s reactions were just for show

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds,” I say. “Your call, Just tell me what you need me to do,” Peeta says. - Love how Peeta’s always ready to follow Katniss’s lead :)

Ideally, I’d dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt [...] “Katniss,” he says. “We need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” [...] “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” - Teamwork! If it weren’t for Katniss worrying for Peeta’s safety, they’d be on the same page here

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I haunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. “What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. - I really like how Peeta’s challenges Katniss here; he doesn’t just go along with everything she says, while still being quite reasonable

I feel like I’m eleven, again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. [...] I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. - I don’t know, but Katniss feeling tethered to Peeta makes me think of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, according to which children with a secure attachment to their primary caregiver use their “attachment figure as a safe base to explore the environment”... Of course, Ainsworth’s Strange Situation was conducted with young children, but attachment styles are supposed to influence the relationships we form with people in our later lives as well (including romantic relationships)... I dunno, just a random association that popped into my brain 😅

Chapter 24

Peeta’s a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. - Heh, Peeta sure knows how to handle fire, huh, Katniss (or should I say: Girl on Fire?) 😏

I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for him when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so greateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. - Aww, this is so sweet (and domestic)!

It’s funny. I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. [...] But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. - They are a team! Katniss doesn’t have to face the horrors of the Games alone anymore! It keeps boiling down to this.

#thgagain #thg #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #everlark

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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.

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

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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The Principal

Prompt 37: Forbidden romance AU: Katniss is the school principal. Peeta is a new teacher fresh out of college. Age!gap Everlark. Smut happens. [submitted by @mrspeetamellark]

Author: JHsgf82

Rating: M (may go up for the next part)

Word Count: 5,336

Author Note: Edit by @mrspeetamellark. Thank you! Quote is by L.M. Montgomery from Anne of Green Gables. Okay, so I preface this with, I’m not a smut writer. I’m branching out into this territory, but I’m still quite inexperienced, so go easy on me. Due to lack of time, the smut scene is pretty short, but I plan to write a much more extended one, several, actually, in the next part (s). I hope you enjoy it!

Trigger Warning: Age gap/age difference, Older!Katniss. Both adults.

Katniss strode down the familiar halls of D12 to her office, her father’s old, brown, leather satchel slung across her shoulder and a single muffin in hand, which she’d bought from this nearby bakery she’d decided to try out. She wore a black boatneck tank beneath a long, ribbed green cardigan (left unbuttoned), black dress pants, and belt.

At 30, Katniss was the youngest principal in the history of D12 and one of only two female principals. Her female predecessor, two principals ago, Ms. Lucy Gray Baird had been an inspiration to all, and though Katniss never met her, she felt her influence everyday. For one, her eye always caught Principal Gray Baird’s picture on the wall‒her dark, curly hair pulled up in a bun, makeup on her face, and smiling. And two, she’d heard Lucy Gray Baird could sing like a bird and likewise led students to frequently place in All-District (or higher) choral competitions as Katniss had done when she was a teacher.

But Katniss didn’t participate in those things anymore. And as for Ms. Gray Baird, well, some said she was alive, but no one knew exactly where she’d flown off to after she retired. Whether she was off somewhere living peacefully, or dead, strangely, Katniss felt as though her spirit roamed these hallways‒and Katniss was not a supernatural or superstitious kind of person.

Two years ago, Katniss was offered the principal position. It was a great honor, and although she hated leaving her teaching position, she couldn’t decline it. Since she’d become principal, Katniss had implemented some good changes, so she thought, and she truly hoped her father would be proud of her.

Katniss prided herself on being authoritative, firm but fair, and decisive. She trusted her gut instincts when making decisions in work and in her personal life, and normally, she made good ones. Last night, however, was not the best decision of her life, and she’d already caught some heat for it this morning. But, to quote one of her favorite authors: ‘[Today] is a new day with no mistakes in it…yet.’

Once settled into her office, Katniss brought up her email and her schedule. She was to meet with the new teacher in only ten minutes. It didn’t leave her much time; she could either quickly send out a few emails that needed to be sent and scarf down her muffin or save the muffin for after the meeting and deal with the hunger gnawing at her insides.

Fortunately, Katniss was something of an expert on hunger‒not life-threatening hunger, but she knew what it was like to do without and forego her urges. Again, not last night. Last night seemed to be the exception to all rules pertaining to Katniss Everdeen. What she had experienced last night was similar to what she was feeling now, albeit entirely different‒last night’s hunger had nothing to do with food.

With a sigh, Katniss dug into her temples. This was neither the time nor place to be thinking about last night’s escapade, but she couldn’t seem to help it. As her hang‒headache wore off, more details kept coming back to her, and she felt herself reclining back in her chair a moment. There was nothing wrong with a little daydreaming, a quick fantasy, although work was not the best place for it; but perhaps, it would sustain her throughout the day. Resist. She squeezed her eyes shut, commanding her hippocampus to shut down its function, gripped the arms of her chair, and leaned forward resolutely.

As she attempted once more to focus on her work, that other type of hunger, actual hunger, pricked at her, urging her to take a big bite of the muffin.

Great. In a matter of seconds, she’d thought about the very two things she’d vowed not to‒the muffin and last night.

Satisfy it.

At least the former.

Hoping to satiate her stomach, Katniss reached out with pinched forefinger and thumb, thinking she’d just tear a little off the top, but then…no. She didn’t trust her urges lately, even if last night had been incredible. She needed to learn, or re-learn, how to control them, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. So, she ignored the muffin. This would be an exercise in self-control.

She returned to the e-mails.

Not long after, her assistant chimed in over the phone’s intercom, “Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark is here.”

Pressing the button, she talked into the speaker, “Thank you. Send him in.”

When the broad, blond man stepped through the doorway of her office, Katniss felt all the blood drain from her body. Her eyes widened, and her mouth, all of a sudden drier than cotton, dropped open. Realization dawned on his face, too, his pale eyebrows shooting up and his body going stiff. Much like hers. Katniss felt as though she had a ramrod stuck up the back of her shirt for as straight as she was sitting up.

Oh no, not him.

But it was him, the man from last night, the man she took home with her after a chance encounter at a bar. In a flash, those memories her brain had been sorting out, which she’d so deliberately been trying to subdue, came rushing back at her, assaulting her. And the night’s events unfurled before her eyes in a montage of flirty conversation, sexy looks, sensual touches, lingering kisses, and...sex, incredible sex.

Katniss felt pinpricks stabbing her all throughout her chest; she could barely breathe. Inhaling and exhaling, slow and steady, she placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, urging it to calm down, as if that would do a thing; then, she fumbled for the water bottle in her bag. She located it and took a quick swig, kind of wishing it was alcohol‒although, look at the mess that got her in…

“Are you alright?” he gently asked. She glanced back up at him.

On second look, yeah, it was definitely him, the very same blond man she’d had in her bed less than 3 hours ago. What was his name…? It started with a P…something to do with bread… Shit. She couldn’t even remember his name!

But it was even worse than that. Not only did she sleep with a man who was now her employee, but he was six years younger than her!

Oh God, was this going to be her legacy now? Screwing the younger teachers? She could just imagine the whispers and the looks she’d get, what the parents and her colleagues would say if they found out…

As for him, he didn’t seem wholly un-phased, although he looked calmer than her. He was just standing there watching her, his cheeks slightly ruddy and his hands tucked sheepishly into his pockets.

“F-fine,” she choked out. But she wasn’t. This situation was anything but fine. And what kept reverberating in her head was: ‘How could I have been so stupid?’ It was stupid enough to get intimately involved with a guy she just met, one much too young for her, while intoxicated, but for him to be a teacher at her school…! Okay, so she didn’t know that then.

Pushing aside her ignorance over who he was…but yes, there was that. She really should have known. Upon recollection, he’d said he was a teacher; he’d even told her that tomorrow was his first day and he had an early morning meeting with the principal of his new school‒there were only a few schools in this area… She should have pieced it together, or at least, been more cognizant of the warning signs.

Why had she done it? Well, all she could really say was that she’d wanted to lose herself last night. And it had been nice, more than nice. Last night, she’d realized how starved she’d been for human affection. For touch. Closeness. Had it really been so long? Or, maybe it was his specific touch she’d been craving? No, that was foolish. What kind of useless drivel was her mind formulating now? This is what she was reduced to when she was hungry.

But how could she have even entertained the notion in the first place? How did it even begin? Oh yeah, she remembered now…she’d been in a shitty mood, had a bit too much to drink, and he was hot.

Thinking back, Katniss recalled their eyes locking across the bar, and she’d done a double-take, then a triple-take, then a slow observation up and down his body, what wasn’t blocked by the bar, anyway. She’d planned on leaving it at that, as a look-but-no-touch kind of scenario, because this guy was clearly younger than her, and frankly, she just wasn’t in the mood. Or, so she thought. But he had other plans…

Katniss watched him stand from his seat, take his drink and napkin, and approach her. She swallowed down the lump in her throat at the enticing sight of his lower half which had been previously hidden from sight.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked. Polite or cliché line, whichever the case, she didn’t have any fight left in her today, so she merely shrugged. He was good-looking, and he smelled nice, like a masculine aftershave (a rain-soaked wood perhaps) and strangely, also like cinnamon and dill.

‘Okay, this is fine, so long as he isn’t a talker…'

He was a talker.

But Katniss rather enjoyed the velvety sound of his voice, and he seemed nice enough. He was clearly working subtle flirtations in, and though she appreciated the ego boost, it was best to cut it off before he put in too much effort.

She was direct, so she went with a blunt tack.

Katniss sighed, exaggerating her annoyance with him. “Go away, little boy. Go home to your mother. I’m sure it’s way past your bedtime.“ This young guy was hot and obviously interested, which was flattering, but she was in such a shitty mood that she didn’t even care if he thought her a bitch.

"Ouch.” He grimaced yet seemed undeterred. Boldly resting his hand on her arm and leaning in to where his lips barely brushed the shell of her ear, he whispered, "I promise there’s nothing little about me."

Katniss couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. "Really? Is that the line you’re choosing to go with?”

Still, he didn’t seem discouraged. “I admit it’s not my wittiest remark, but I get better with time." He shot her a little wink.

Cheeky kid.

"How old are you?” she asked.

“24."

"I was right, just a child.”

“Last time I checked, the age of legal adulthood was 18."

Katniss scoffed. "What are you, a lawyer?" Not her wittiest remark, either.

"No, a teacher.”

Huh. Small world.

If only she knew then how very small, indeed…

“So, how old are you?” He rested his chin on his knuckle, making him look even more boyish. She couldn’t deny he was cute.

“You’re not supposed to ask a lady that,” scoffed she.

"Alright, then how about I guess?" She rolled her eyes as he went off in his head. "Mmm…27?”

“You’re sweet, junior.”

“Thanks, but I prefer ’Peeta.’" He stuck out his hand, and reluctantly, she offered hers.

"Katniss.”

“Katniss,” he repeated, tasting her name on his lips like it was a fine wine or something.

This guy was good. He’d kept her talking and gotten her to introduce herself. He hung onto her hand, placing his other atop their clasped ones, trapping hers there.

“Well, Katniss, so you’re older than me." He shrugged. "You look young, and it doesn’t really matter to me, anyway."

"Why not?��

“Because you’re beautiful. I’d know; I have an eye for beauty." He flashed her a perfect smile. "Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? It seems like you’ve had a rough day, and I could use one, too. No harm in having one together, right?”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Look, I’m not planning on getting sloshed; I’m just a little nervous about my first day of work tomorrow, so I could use a little something. Keep me company? I promise you’ll barely have to put up with me at all.”

Smiling faintly, Katniss nodded.

Yes, he was very good. Persuasive. Incredibly persuasive. He’d persuade her of a whole lot more that night…

Even knowing where it was inevitably leading, they’d taken their time at the bar, chatting about a little bit of everything but nothing really. Peeta (that was his name) kept touching her in a manner that was just enough to get her engines revving but not enough to make her uncomfortable.

And Katniss had thought, why not? Why not give herself a little treat? She made it sound like she’d gone for an ice cream at Dairy Queen rather than dragged a young, hot guy she just met home, but at the time, it hadn’t mattered. She’d impulsively decided to live a little, for once.

And he was good, so very good.

They’d barely made it in the door before they were tearing at each other’s clothing, lips roaming, bodies pressed up against each other. They’d slammed into a couple of surfaces before he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He’d carried her off to her bedroom, which took her a moment to remember where it was. He’d covered her body with his, propping himself up slightly, and she’d ground her hips up and into him while he teased her center and tasted her tongue, then her breasts, then moved lower.

He’d eaten her out, and after, he’d pressed her up against her headboard; she’d had to grip it tight and hold on for the ride as he swiftly entered her from behind. Then, when he was ready, he’d flipped her over onto the bed and slipped inside her again, lacing his hands with hers and thrusting strong and steady until she reached completion a third time.

By the end of the night, they were sweaty and spent, and she was a little hoarse.

But she recalled how it wasn’t all fast and rough. He’d also been tender with her, brushing the hair out of her face, peppering her face with little kisses, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear while he spooned her.

But all that fun was over. Now, it had come back to bite her in the ass.

First off, Katniss had woken feeling disoriented, and a bit sore. When she remembered (the gist of) what had happened, she’d been mortified, but at least the mystery guy with the odd name had had enough sense to be gone when she got up.

Good, she’d thought. Saved her the embarrassing conversation of having to kick him out.

At the time, it had seemed like a better idea to go to her place than his. He would know where she lived, yes, but if he tried to murder or harass her, that’s where her neighbor came in.

Her cranky old neighbor, Haymitch, was a cop, when he wasn’t drunk, that is. Katniss imagined him to be like one of those rogue cops in the movies and TV series, who wasn’t afraid to pop a cap into someone who deserved it when the criminal justice system failed. And for some strange reason, he’d taken a shining to her. Most of the time they mutually despised one another, but occasionally, it was as if he flipped a switch and decided to be pleasant, and he could even be protective of her. He’d hollered and acted crazy once to get rid of a guy for her, even pulled his badge on another crazy boyfriend. And if all that didn’t work, at least she had a weapon under her bed.

Speaking of crotchety, old Haymitch Abernathy, she’d passed him in the hall while he was stumbling out of his door for this morning’s paper, and he’d accosted her…

“Ya really shouldn’t be dragging strange men home from bars, sweetheart. S’not safe.”

“Didn’t know you cared, Haymitch,” she said dryly, folding her arms. Although, she did. He was a textbook type, putting on a tough façade, acting as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone when actually he cared a lot.

“Sure,” he shrugged, “you’re like the daughter I never had‒and never wanted.” He added the last part with a slight curl of the lips.

“Gee, thanks, Haymitch.”

“No problem.” He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. “So, I take it this one was okay?”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he was okay.” More than okay… “He even left without me having to tell him to.” She tapped her fingers against her arm.

“Ah, a smart one. However, I do have a complaint. Y’all made quite the racket last night!”

“Haymitch, god!” Katniss groaned. She pressed her fingers into her temple. They did; they really did‒she was surprised they hadn’t broken her bed‒and she was trying hard not to smile about it. Not in front of Haymitch. “Please, please do not talk like an overprotective parent one minute then comment on my sex life the next.”

“Then keep it down, why don’t ya?!”

God. Well, now he knew about her one-night stand. Oh well. Not like he’d say anything to anyone, and he was the least of her worries.

Back to the matter, and the man, at hand.

Peeta Mellark, the new teacher, stood in the middle of her office as if he didn’t dare come closer without permission. He was dressed in an orange and white striped button-down dress shirt tucked into navy pants, and he wore a navy tie. His ashy blond hair was gelled and slightly coiffed.

He looked good.

He’d looked good last night, too, more casual, dressed in a slightly form-fitting baby blue Henley and jeans, and his hair had fallen in waves across his forehead. Last night, he’d been cute and hot and fun; today, he was handsome and distinguished, and he’d suddenly aged five years. Katniss couldn’t decide which look she liked better on him. Both were attractive in their own right…but no, she absolutely should not be focusing on his looks right now, or ever.

Composing herself, she finally beckoned for him. “Mr. Mellark. Have a seat.”

He sat down, threaded his fingers together, and gave her a tentative smile.

Well, he certainly was much less confident today. Not that she could blame him; she was rather a jumble herself. She supposed she’d better address the elephant in the room.

She sucked in a breath and swallowed the lump in her throat before proceeding.

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t realize it was you. I couldn’t remember your name at first.”

Good one, Katniss.

“Ouch.” He gave a little chuckle. “Well, I remember everything about you, Katniss. Like, you have one sister; your favorite color is green; you love to get out into nature and go hunting, and you’re obsessed with hot chocolate and love to dip your bread in it.”

Well, they had covered some informational ground last night, hadn’t they?

His sexy grin returned, and just like that, the ice was broken, and he was the same cheeky, charming, albeit slightly smart-mouthed man she remembered from last night.

“Are you trying to be romantic or piss me off?” she blurted out.

“Neither. Just saying…”

“By the way, you should address me as Ms. Everdeen or Principal Everdeen. And we’re in a meeting.”

“Excuse my informality, Ms. Everdeen,” he stressed her name. How was it he could sound both contrite and like a smart ass at the same time? “I suppose it is much more appropriate if I call you that here.”

What was he inferring? That he might address her differently elsewhere? That they might actually associate with one another outside of school ever again? Their night together had been fun, amazing, really, but that was over. Even if she wanted to see him again, it was now forbidden…

Damn it all if thinking of it as ‘forbidden’ wasn’t getting her all hot and bothered. She squeezed her legs beneath her desk, digging her nails into the arms of her chair to ground herself.

She inhaled and slowly exhaled. “Yes, it is. Thank you, Peet-Mr. Mellark.”

Katniss still couldn’t understand what in hell was the matter with her. And how had she not put two and two together last night? She supposed it was because she hadn’t been on the hiring committee when he was hired; she’d only seen him as Mr. Mellark on paper. And they’d only exchanged first names last night.

Plus, she’d been stupid and horny.

“By the way, how’d you sleep, Ms. Everdeen?” Peeta gave her that sassy little smirk of his.

She scowled at him. “Never you mind how I slept.”

Peeta chuckled.

He was on dangerous ground. If he kept laughing at her, he was gonna get his cute, tight little ass fired. But then again, she couldn’t really do that. She had no legitimate reason to fire him. Sexual harassment, maybe, but she certainly couldn’t not claim that without coming clean about what happened between them.

“You know, I wanted to greet you properly this morning, but I had to get going. So sorry to just leave a note.”

Yes, she recalled his note. It was…a little sappy for her taste, but sweet.

Katniss sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. All of a sudden, her shoulders felt tenser than ever and that small twinge from before had become a gigantic pain.

“Did you injure yourself?” He wasn’t laughing or smiling this time; he seemed genuinely concerned.

“No,” she snipped. She had, but she wasn’t going to admit it to him. She certainly wasn’t going to tell this young, twenty-something that she’d pulled a muscle having sex with him. How humiliating that would be. Granted, it was probably made worse from sleeping on it the way she did, but the initial pull came from the sex. It made her feel much older than she was, and he seemed just fine. Bodies truly didn’t seem to function the same in the thirties as in the twenties; it was like an invisible line was crossed. “It’s nothing,” she told him. “Just a crick.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He paused. “You know, there’s a remedy for that.”

“Oh yeah?” She eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the inevitable pick-up line‒an offer to massage it for her or something. And dammit, she was getting turned on again!

“Heat,” said Peeta.

Oh. She internally berated herself for her lusty thoughts. What was worse was that now she couldn’t get the image of him massaging her out of her head.

“There is also massage, of course.” He flashed her that brilliant smile of his.

Damn mind reader!

With a sigh, Katniss drummed her fingers several times on her desk. Okay, this would be fine. It was over and done with, and they could begin a new, professional relationship‒so long as he got it through his head that this wasn’t fun and games.

“Okay, let’s get something straight, Mr. Mellark. This can’t happen.”

“What can’t?”

“This.” She motioned between them. “You…and me, whatever. Not again.”

“Oh, so we are going to talk about it,” said Peeta, crossing one leg over the other.

“I think we need to. Because this…I don’t know…this flirtatious talk and those smiles of yours can’t continue.”

“I can’t smile at you?” Peeta’s brow furrowed, and he placed a hand on his chest.

“Not like that, no.”

“I was just being friendly, Miss Everdeen.”

“No, you weren’t. You know what you were doing; you…nevermind.” She placed both hands on her temples and rubbed. Once she’d dug in really good, she covered her face with one hand, dropping the other to her desk. Suddenly, she felt his large, warm hand cover hers.

When she looked up, Peeta was leaning forward. Her gaze flickered between his bright blue eyes and his hand covering hers.

“I’m sorry to cause you stress. I promise I won’t make things difficult for you.”

“Thank you.” Katniss’s words came out with a gust of breath. “I appreciate that, Mr. Mellark. Thank you for being mature about this.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem.” Peeta removed his hand and used it to scratch the stubble on his chin. She couldn’t help drifting back to the way that stubble had felt against her inner thighs…

“I mean, what happened was a complete coincidence,” he continued. “No reason it should affect our positions here.” He dropped his hands to his lap and folded them.

“Right. So, then…” She perused his file. Thank God she was a speed-reader because she hadn’t had the opportunity to learn about him in a professional capacity, as she should have been doing, last night. “I see you have your Master’s in Elementary Education. And hm, seems you come highly recommended.”

Peeta’s hand had raised to partially cover his mouth, and she thought she caught the slight upturn of his lip. Was he laughing at her struggle to keep her composure, or…She swore if it was because she’d said ‘come’ she was going to reach across her desk and slap him, consequences be damned! He said he would be professional!

But really, what did she expect? He was young and most likely, immature, and she had just banged him last night. He probably wasn’t taking her seriously right now, at all.

“What?” she snipped.

“Nothing.”

Peeta was eyeing her muffin now. Did he really have such a short attention span? How did he ever make it through school, let alone become a teacher?

“I hope you enjoy the muffin,” he commented.

“Thanks.” What a strange segue.

“You know, I was going to make you breakfast this morning, but since it was your place, I didn’t want to overstep my bounds by rummaging around in your kitchen.”

How thoughtful. But overstep his bounds? Well, they were both so far out of bounds last night that the boundaries weren’t even visible.

“Plus, I had to leave early for this meeting with you, which I didn’t know was with you, since you never gave me your last name last night, and I was only told I would be meeting with Principal Everdeen.” He gave a sardonic little laugh. “What are the odds?”

“Glad you find this so damn funny, Mr. Mellark.”

“Not funny ha-ha, just kind of ironic. Not great literature-ironic or anything, but interesting.”

Katniss huffed. “Mr. Mellark,” she chided.

“I know I’m supposed to address you by your title, but you can call me Peeta if you want.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, then I suppose suggesting a rain check on breakfast would be a bad idea?”

“Yes, it definitely would.”

Peeta nodded. “Well, at least you have the muffin. Do me a favor and tell me how you like it.”

“Alright…" She sighed. How odd. Then again, Peeta didn’t seem like the typical guy. He’d made a lot of…quirky remarks last night. “But let me remind you, this is a professional meeting.”

“Of course.”

Before she could go on, Peeta interrupted.

“But you have to admit, it is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

Katniss folded her arms on her desk and dropped her head to rest on them a moment. “Peeta…,” she began in a warning tone when she raised her head.

“You’re not at all glad to see me?”

“No, Peeta. Sorry, but I’m not.” At least, not here she wasn’t. “This is horrible. It’s not ironic, and it’s not fate, unless you count it as a cruel joke of the universe, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

At the look on his face, she huffed in exasperation. “How can you not be as mortified as I am? It’s worse for me, but how do you feel knowing you fucked your boss the night before your first day of work?”

“Well, I’m not ashamed like you are, and I can brush it off.” Apparently, he couldn’t. “Two people met in a bar; they liked each other; they hooked up; it’s no big deal.”

“Maybe not for you. But can’t you see how this changes our whole dynamic?”

“Only if we let it.”

Katniss sighed. He made a good point. Perhaps he was wiser and more mature than she gave him credit for, even if he wasn’t acting it right now. Maybe if she started treating him more like a colleague and a man rather than a kid. She certainly saw him as all man last night.

“Alright.” Peeta casually folded his hands in his lap. “What is it you’re concerned with?”

“I don’t want anyone to know we know each other, let alone that we had a…physical involvement.”

“Fair enough.” Peeta nodded.

“And you’re to always address me by my title, not my first name, and definitely not by any of those little pet names you were spouting last night.”

Peeta laughed. “You didn’t like them, huh? I guess it was a little much; I just get…chatty when I’m turned on.”

Katniss rolled her eyes.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

“I also want you to know that what happened last night…that’s not me, or something that I normally do. Ever.”

Peeta nodded. “I didn’t figure you for the type. And neither am I, if I’m being honest.”

Katniss pressed her lips together.

“So, may I ask–and I’m not fishing for a compliment here, but‒what was different about last night?” he asked.

“Well,” Katniss heaved a sigh. “I was in a crappy mood last night, a really, really crappy mood. I don’t want to get into it; it’s personal, so let’s just leave it at that.” She thinned her lips “I was upset; then there was the alcohol, and you were…” There. It was more than that, of course, but she wasn’t going to stoke his ego further, nor add to the inappropriateness of the situation by saying how attracted she was (still is) to him. Not like it would come as a surprise, given her enthusiasm last night. “Nice to me.”

Again, Peeta nodded. “I see. Well…” He raised his broad shoulders and paused as if he didn’t know what to say next. “I hope I made your night better.”

Katniss couldn’t help it; she snorted. “Um,” she picked at her nail, grinning slightly. “You did. You…definitely did.” She looked up then, the smile falling away. “But I meant it when I said we should be professional, so I think this should be the very last this topic is ever brought up.”

"Anything else?"

"No, I don’t think so."

“Okay, then, let me see if I have this straight. You are Ms. Everdeen or Principal Everdeen to me, and I am Mr. Mellark to you. We’ve never met before today, but we have a mutual respect for one another and a purely professional working relationship.”

“Right. Very good.”

“Well, I do have a very high IQ. It’s in my file, you know.”

Again, she rolled her eyes.

“I think we have an understanding.” Peeta reached out to shake her hand, and when she touched it, she felt that same bolt of electricity she felt last night. “And I promise to be completely respectful and professional from here on out.”

#JHsgf82 #mrspeetamellark #prompt 37 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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hayffiebird · 2 years

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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 28

Chapter 28 Shadows dancing Haymitch pulled out the padded stool in front of the piano, flexed his fingers and began with an old ballad he knew Effie loved. With the kids giving her such a hard time, she rested back in her own room but the door was ajar. She’d had no trouble hearing. “I knew you couldn’t keep away, boy,” Madam chuckled in his memory. That low, gruff sound you could hardly ever draw out of her. Yeah, life was full of surprises, that’s for sure. Right before he and Effie wound up in bed together he played just to ease her mind off things, the night after he played so she wouldn’t bring up again what had happened earlier and before he knew it, it had became a fixture to their evening routine. Save these past few days he poured them both some broth almost every night and played her a song or two. Or three. It was one of the few drink preferences they had in common. And since her first few visits to the Hob where Sae introduced her to the wide range of hot beverages Effie finally unchained him from those God-awful, postwar tea parties she insisted on throwing. Dead flowers drowning on hot, honey-water. The memory alone was enough to trigger his gag-reflex. Come to think of it he hadn’t seen Effie so much as touch the teapot ever since he moved in. It got her nauseous too now, he reckoned. What with the pregnancy and all.

A few places in the Capitol sold the stuff. Broth, that was. Though none of them nearly as tasty as Twelve’s. Sae was a wiz with her concoctions. She’d had enough practice and all – in bad times and worse – when they had little else. But even after things got better, broth was such an ingrained part of their culture it remained a steady dish on the Hob’s menu. Especially in the winter months and during the Harvest Festival. Great hangover food. Without those occasional cups brought in by Katniss or Peeta or even Sae at times he would have knelt over from malnourishment years ago. Warm milk with a pinch of spices that he stirred together when asked wasn’t so bad either but he still tended to burn the stuff. Broth was easier. “And it’s really good for the babies,” Effie said. The casting vote. She savored each and every sip; hands wrapped around her cup, much like Plutarch back in Thirteen when they finally broke out the coffee. As for the music. It unwound her. Relaxed her when nothing else could. And when she relaxed he relaxed. If that wasn’t a good enough reason he didn’t know what was. Anything to keep the babies in for as long as possible. To help them grow big and strong before taking on the bullshit of the world. Him for instance. He was rusty, without a doubt. Especially in the beginning. But as time wore on more and more melodies found their way out of his fingertips. It stunned him how accurately he remembered the ballads and lullabies and mountain airs of his childhood. A feat all the more impressive if you took into account he’d spent most of his inactive years marinating in hard liquor. Muscle memory, Effie would have called it. His heart had not forgotten the music of long ago. Simple verses with little variation from music assembly, the massively intricate melodies from Madam’s brittle, old music sheets that scattered to the wind if you weren’t careful. Even the occasional lullaby while ma rocked Amadeus in his cot or the joyful, playful tunes of father when he bounced his eldest on his knee. Effie never asked about the songs. If she had insisted on knowing the origins behind each piece he’d have a hard time keeping it up. Most of the time she just laid on her side, eyes closed and tapping her fingers to the music against her ever-expanding belly. “They love it,” she said. “I can feel it.” Such a sweet thought. Much unlikely but he hoped she was right. It was still hard. Gone were the days when he played simply for his own amusement or even escapism, the thrill of mastering a particularily difficult song. But if it brought them some joy he could better stand it. And yet, despite the painful memories interlaced with the music – of a different life, a different family – there were still moments. Not often, not long-lasting but just as strong, just as all-consuming as ever before. Times when a string of melodies, a song once loved, struck a chord in him. Reminded him of why he gravitated toward the piano in the first place. There would always be songs he couldn’t play. Not without having a complete nervous breakdown. Like “A rain of tears” or anything even remotely close to the hope song. But with or without them there were still plenty of melodies to go around. Once in a blue moon when the tremors weren’t as bad he even played freehand. One of his favorite pass-times as a boy. And being now an adult he could figure out bits and pieces of songs he once wrote but never finished. The evening sun made a star in the smooth wood. He was on the last verse of “Daydreaming” – as Effie had come to call it. The gentle note petered out. He scratched his nose and without even reflecting he played the somber introduction of “All the pretty little horses.” Brow crinkled at the sweet, sad sounds he paused. Where’d that come from? The song never even crossed his mind, not for several years now. He gave a slight shake of his head as if to clear it and then picked up where he left off. Why not? If nothing else it was a song he hadn’t already played her half a dozen times already. When ma needed to finish a big job and couldn’t afford having him running about the house papered with patterns and cutouts of fabric, she always left him in the safe ward of Greasy Sae. She was fond of singing. Some of the first lullabies he ever learned he learned in her kitchen. They weren’t songs written down on a piece of paper. They passed by mouth. From parents and grandparents, siblings, neighbors. Sae’s greatest source of music however came from Katniss’s grandmother. They were best friends growing up. The first time she sang him this particular piece he couldn’t have been older than three, three and a half. It was a sunny day, just like today. All of her kids were at school. He was tired and cranky, yet refused to stay down for his nap. Instead he sat cross-legged on the kitchen rug playing with the house cat. Now, Buster was a lot more docile than a certain flat-nosed, one-eared creature named after a yellow flower but even he had his limit. Sae was in the adjacent room making the bed but she rushed out at the sound of him. Fingers sprawled out like a sea star, he wailed at the top of his lungs. Buster glared at him from under a side table. Turned out he’d gone and pulled the cat’s tail and got a well-deserved scratch for it. Ma would have given him a telling-to but Sae never got mad at him when he was little. She simply led his obnoxious self over to the sink where they washed the tiny cut on the back of his hand. It was so small he didn’t even need a band-aid. She merely kissed the top of it and lifted him up in her arms. He clung to her neck on the way to the bedroom. Cried for a few more moments just for good measure. Tucked in, his sobs had subsided to snivels but he didn’t kick off the blanket this time. She booped his nose, something that never failed to put a smile on his face and with her hand in his she sang him the song he was playing now – in a fair and surprisingly beautiful voice. Good old Sae. He should call her. Kind of her to think of us, he thought, remembering the P.S. on Peeta’s post card. Though he highly doubted Effie wanted to dress her kids up in someone else’s hand-me-downs. Without him here, hitting the brakes, she would have stockpiled little kiddie’s clothes sky-high. Sighing he willed himself to focus on nothing but the music. The next note, the next verse. But today was a day of distractions. More than anything else there was one thought that kept nagging at him. Like a rodent nibbling on the fingertips of a dying man in an alleyway, too powerless to evade it. If Effie wouldn’t move to Twelve or any of the other districts – and he’d be damned if Amy and Ian would spend the rest of their childhood being lugged back and forth across the country. What choices did that leave him? It took no genius to figure it out. I move here. He considered this a moment. This latter life. Take up housing with Effie and the kids. Become a roommate of sorts. Sell the geese off or hand them over to Katniss and Peeta. Visit Twelve only for Christmas and birthdays and a week here and there. Dealing with the likes of Quinlan and Plutarch Heavensbee for parent-teacher meetings and ice skating classes and whose turn it was to bring cupcakes to the playground. Being neighborly and keep the peace with people who would love nothing better than to take a wipe and erase his kids off the city’s slate. A life in the place where his nightmare first began. Bad memories lurking at every corner. Make the Capitol his home. Not a minute into this future, even an imagined one, he was wheezing for breath. His throat lazed up like when wearing those awful jumpsuits back in Thirteen. He wasn’t playing no more. Instead he tugged at the floppy collar of his undershirt, gasping for air and still not getting nearly enough oxygen. I can’t live here! Not for always! It was one thing visiting every once in a while because of Effie. Like a maddening side-effect you must learn how to cope with because the medicine was too important. But he couldn’t stay here indefinitely! He’d sooner jump off The Capitolium. But what other choices were there? No good ones, at any rate. Eyes squeezed shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Red darkness rolled in on him like waves. He may not know what he was doing half of the times but he knew one thing. He wanted to be in their lives. In a real way. With an almighty heave he pulled himself up. He would have played but his mind was all blank. Couldn’t remember a single song. Old or new. His legs felt like they were filled with led but by some miracle they carried him all the way to Effie’s room. He didn’t know where else to go. The bottles were dry. Not a drop left. He peeked at her through the crack in the door. She lay on her side, cooped up in the U-shaped pregnancy pillow - their latest find. He didn’t even know those were a thing. If anything it reminded him of Flavius’s boyfriend arm, only much bigger, hugging her on all sides. A ray of sunshine played in her hair, still damp from the bath. It was in moments like these that you could really appreciate how reddish her hair was. Wonder where she gets it from. She had told him once, one time or another. Her grandmother? Great grandmother? Maybe in a few weeks she’d surprise him with a couple of gingers. He pushed inside. Not even sure if he wanted the door to creak her awake or not. What was he even doing here? He should let her rest. Effie mumbled something in her sleep. Always a talker, even when she was out cold. Her eyes fluttered behind closed eyelids. He plucked the empty cup off the nightstand, like it’d been his motive for going here all along. He lingered at her side, indecisive, chest aching for more than one reason. Finally, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her tummy. The usual double kiss. “I’m sorry I yelled at your mama, little ‘uns,” he murmured. “Shouldn’t have done that, I know.” He waited for the kick in response but this time there was nothing. He sniffed, his nose suddenly congested. He kissed them again and turned away, taking the cup with him. Should’ve known it was all a nightmare, he thought back in the kitchen, washing it under a jet of hot water. No way Effie could’ve made hot cocoa without causing a colossal mess. He knew something else too. Even with the air so baking hot you melted away like an ice cream he would not stand as second more in this picture-perfect house in this picture-perfect neighborhood. Not now. Effie’s purse still sat on the hall table where he left it. He opened it and got out the shopping list. Might as well get her those boogie bulbs and what not. He found the wallet in his jacket and peeked inside, frowning. Reached for Effie’s wallet too and emptied the interest of Trinket money mishmashed with his own Games winnings. After a moment’s pause, he shouldered in to a relatively clean shirt and buttoned up. He already changed the soaked sweatpants but if he showed up wearing this flimsy undershirt, yellowed from overuse and so threadbare it was practically see-through they wouldn’t let him in. For a fleeting second his gaze fell on the bread crate but then he swept it from his mind. I’ll take care of that later. Wallet bumping against his thigh and with Mrs. Bitch’s eyes following him behind the curtain, no doubt, he left the house far behind. He was in luck too. Further down the neighborhood he had no sooner turned a corner before the bus rolled up. He waved at it, jogging toward the stop. The driver accelerated and hit the brakes, then accelerated again, as if unsure whether to pick him up or not. Finally it halted to a stop with a whooshing sound. The man eyed him suspiciously but Haymitch swung himself up through the door and the monster of a vehicle resumed its course, heading for town. Slouched in a warm seat Haymitch stared out the dust-speckled window as the rose bushes and lollipop trees rolled by, giving way for bicycle racks and dragon-shaped fire hydrants. Forgetful of the fact he never left Effie a note.

#hayffie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #hayffie twins #amy trinket abernathy #ian trinket abernathy #the hunger games #fanfiction #post-mockingjay

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shesasurvivor · 3 years

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May 8, 2021 (fic)

It’s here at last! I’m so sorry I’m so late this year; things really got busy for me. But I could never forget my favorite girl completely. Here’s the update for May 8 this year!

Summary: Prim surprises Katniss for her birthday one year with an unexpected gift. Set pre-Games.

Read on A03

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I open my bleary eyes only to see nothing but darkness spread out before me. I’m used to being an early riser, but somehow this seems to be pushing it. I’m not sure what time it is, but it feels too early regardless. I feel the light pressure of a small hand pressed against my back as it gently shakes me. So I didn’t imagine it.

With a start, I sit up, wondering what’s wrong that either my mother or my sister could be stirring me awake. It would have to be an emergency because that’s the only time either of them is awake before I am. I’m already halfway out of bed, using my foot to feel around in the dark for my leather boots when I make out Prim’s small shape in the darkness.

“Prim,” I breathe. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, Katniss,” she says with a giggle, of all things. The sound is strange and catches me off guard. A giggle? That doesn’t add up. Then a dim light fills the room as my mother strikes a match, and I find Prim beaming at me.

“Happy birthday!” she sings out as soon as she can see me clearly. Our mother stands behind her, still in her nightshirt, smiling faintly at me as well.

Oh. My birthday. I’d nearly forgotten about it. Not that there’s ever much to look forward to, other than the memory that I’m eligible to put my name in the Reaping a few more times in exchange for tesserae. Happy birthday to me.

“We have a surprise for you,” Prim continues, pulling on my hand to encourage me to get out of bed. I’m still a little groggy and would rather catch a few extra minutes of sleep before I take off into the woods, but I follow Prim anyways and let her lead me into the next room, to our cramped kitchen. In the center of the room sits a small, unfinished wooden table that’s been worn down from years of use. And right in the middle sits a round cake that’s been decorated with white frosting and dotted with ornately shaped yellow blossoms.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of it. I can feel Prim exuding pride and excitement beside me. I want to be happy for her sake, to show how much I appreciate this. Instead, my heart falls into my stomach. All I can think about is how much it must have cost us to buy this.

“Oh, Prim,” I murmur, and there’s no mistaking that I’m upset and not as touched as she wanted me to be. And immediately I wish I wish I could take it back, or could have forced myself to play along, or something to keep the crestfallen expression that’s falling across my sister’s face now.

“You don’t like it?” Her voice is small, fragile. I crumble to pieces, then snap back together as I rush to reassure her that she hasn’t done something wrong. “It’s just… how much did something like this cost?” I’ve been by the bakery windows enough times with her to know that these cakes fall well outside of our pathetic budget. Not even my trades with the baker would catch us something like this. It would take a whole lot of squirrels to get something like a decorated cake from the window.

“Oh, is that all,” Prim looks amused now. “I just traded a wheel of cheese for it.”

“A wheel of cheese?” I repeat, not sure how to process the relief and confusion I’m feeling simultaneously. I’m beyond grateful that Prim didn’t spend anything more than that, but it doesn’t make sense. Prim’s goat cheese is outstanding, but it still doesn’t amount to the cost of one of the fancy cakes. “Mr. Mellark let you buy a cake for a wheel of cheese?”

“Not Mr. Mellark,” Prim explains. “One of his sons. The youngest one. His name is Peeta. He gave me some of the supplies and even offered to decorate it himself. He put the flowers on because I wasn’t getting them. He’s really good. Katniss?”

I’m staring blankly at the cake, trying to make sense of all this. I know the son she’s talking about, though this is the first time I’ve heard his name. Peeta. Peeta Mellark. We don’t know each other, at least not directly. But this isn’t the first time I’ve been gifted with baked goods because of him. There was one other time, on a fateful rainy day, when I thought my luck had finally run out and the end had finally come. Peeta Mellark. Of course, the cake is covered in yellow flowers.

“We’ll save it,” I say, shaking my head to clear out the memory. I smile down at my sister, looking up at me with relief at my lightened mood. “We’ll have it for dessert after dinner tonight.”

“Okay,” she agrees happily. She gives me a hug, then goes off to get ready for the day.

Later, in the crowded hallways of the school, I glance up and find Peeta Mellark staring straight at me. He looks as though he’s been watching me for a while, and for a minute, I think he’s going to actually come over to say something to me. For some reason, the thought makes me embarrassed. Heat flooding my cheeks, I look away quickly. A moment later, I dare to look back, but he’s not looking at me anymore either. Instead, he’s turned and has started walking in the opposite direction down the hallway. But as the hall begins to clear out, I notice a crumpled piece of paper lying where he had been standing moments earlier. Unable to resist the curiosity, I edge over to the spot and pick it up. On the wrinkled paper is a rough pencil sketch of the very same blossoms that dot the cake back home. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” is written in clean, careful handwriting underneath.

I lift my eyes and stare for a long moment in the direction he disappeared in, trying to make sense of it. Was he about to give this to me for my birthday? We don’t really know each other. Though he would have to know it was my birthday after he helped Prim with my cake. But why? Why would he do any of that? He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m the one who owes him, who will never stop owing him, and I still haven’t managed to get out so much of a thank you to him for saving my life all those years ago.

After a while, I give up trying to piece it together. The drawing can’t have been anything more than a practice run for the cake he decorated, with no other meaning. He was probably looking at me because he remembered my sister. There’s no further explanation for it. Besides, everyone loves Prim. I’m the forgettable one.

I think about tossing the crumpled drawing into a trash bin as I pass by but somehow feel bad about doing so. Instead, I fold it carefully and put it in my pocket. I forget about it until that evening when the Hawthornes have come over to help me celebrate my birthday. As Gale hands me a slice of the cake, I remember the incident, and a hand slips into the pocket and fingers the paper sitting there.

Briefly, I wonder if I should find Peeta Mellark at school tomorrow and return the drawing to him, but I push the thought away. He clearly didn’t care about it. Neither do I, I tell myself. But the picture sits safely in my pocket regardless. It will serve as a reminder of a particularly nice birthday I had one year, if nothing else.

#Katniss Everdeen #THG fanfic #Everlark fanfiction #Happy Birthday Katniss

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dontwakeme-causeimdreaming · 4 years

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SPOILERS: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

So I know when Suzanne Collins announced she was releasing a prequel to the Hunger Games, there was a lot of backlash that the main character was President Snow. I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed TBOSAS and have a lot of thoughts about it. (Bear with me this will be really long)

1. My first thought: Tigris? Like ~the~ Tigris from Mockingjay? They seem so close what happened between them to make Tigris willing to betray her family to Squad 451... obviously she was fired as a stylist for being too altered, but is there more?

2. I find it interesting that some of the improvements to The Hunger Games were Snow’s idea, like the betting and the providing the tributes food to make a better show

3. It’s absolutely horrible to see that the tributes were treated so inhumanely (Kept in the Monkey House at the zoo, starved, and given a veterinarian rather than doctor) but it’s also haunting to see the desensitization that eventually came along when it became more like a sport than senseless revenge in the Capitol. At least the Capitol children saw the problem in the 10th Games compared to the 74th

4. Reaper apologizing for having to kill the other tributes (188) is such a stark contrast to how Cato and Clove relish in killing when Katniss is in the 74th Games, which shows how well President Snow (or perhaps Dr. Gaul) did his/her job in turning the districts’s enemy into the other districts before the Capitol

5. It’s also interesting how Snow’s tribute (FROM DISTRICT 12) won the games because Snow bent the rules and relied on cleverness much in the way Katniss (obviously also from District 12) won her games

6. I LOVE that Lucy Gray wrote the Hanging Tree it must’ve been so haunting for Snow to hear when the propo of Katniss singing aired

7. The similarities between Lucy Gray and Katniss!!!

-Both have a younger relative they take care of

-Only females victors from 12

-Won by using cunning intelligence (Lucy Gray with the poison, Katniss with the berries)

-Singing the Meadow Song and the Hanging Tree

-Swimming in the lake

-Both consider running off the escape from 12 and survive in the woods

8. Snow defies the capitol (handkerchief in the snake tank) just like Katniss (the nightlock berries) to help win the games

9. “Some people call them swamp potatoes, but I like katniss better. Has a nice ring to it” (436) oh Lucy Gray! I know Katniss is a plant but it’s so fun seeing the name casually mentioned in the prequel not as a heroine but just as an ordinary name. Little does Snow know, a girl named after that plant is going to be his downfall

10. “What if this was his life: rising whenever, catching his food for the day, and hanging out with Lucy Gray by the lake? Who needed wealth and success and power when they had love?” (438) contrasted with “He [Corionlanus] imagined a group of people in wild animal furs scraping out existence in a cave somewhere. He supposed such a thing could happen, but that life would be a big step down from even the districts. Barely human” (395)

-It’s no wonder Coriolanus wants to marry a woman he detests (516) if loving Lucy Gray made him consider living in conditions he called “barely human”

11. I love Snow’s disdain for the mockingjays obviously because Katniss becomes ~the Mockingjay~, but I also love how Snow hates them because they represent a failure to the capitol, an “unauthorized co-opting [of] Capitol technology” (439), showing that the Capitol is not as necessary as they would believe (which Katniss as the Mockingjay emphasizes in the future when she dismantled the Capitol)

-“Coriolanus felt sure he’d just spotted his first mockingjay, and he disliked the thing on sight” (352)

-“He [Coriolanus] didn’t mind the jabberjays so much — they seemed rather interesting from a military standpoint— but something about the mockingjays repelled him” (417)

12. Do you think Sejanus knew that Snow betrayed him when he mouths Coryo? (470) For his sake, I hope he didn’t so that he could die feeling as though he still had a best friend rather than add more sorrow to his death

13. “Was the goal of survival further survival and nothing more?” (495) —> “but at least he would ensure survival for survival’s sake” (516)

-This reminds me of Gale’s rants in the woods when he and Katniss are hunting, how they’re surviving but not living, and that it’s a cause for rebellion and uprising

-It’s interesting to see Snow’s mindset change, from when he considered survival as the only virtue in his life when he and Lucy Gray were about to run off compared to when he decides he is capable of becoming the president and ensuring survival

-When Snow decides to ensure survival, it seems more as though ensuring the survival of the oppression to maintain his power rather than save humanity, as he claims. He, too, had scorned the idea of surviving to survive earlier (495), so why should he want the people in the districts to survive just to survive? Certainly not for humanity

14. Even the person who created The Hunger Games — Dean Highbottom — thinks they’re awful (515)

15. “Snow had been the ruination of them both” (516)

-Even though Snow doesn’t know what happened to Lucy Gray that day in the woods, I would assume she died because in the Hunger Games novel, “Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had only two. Only one is still alive” (THG, 19). Obviously the victor still alive is Haymitch.

-Although, perhaps she starved because music became outlawed with the arrival of the new mayor.

-I find it interesting that District 12 even knew there was more than one victor seeing as Dr. Gaul destroyed all evidence of the 10th Games.

16. Snow hates the idea of women selling their bodies in exchange for things they need to survive, as he sees it as losing all dignity, (like when he feels disgust at the line in Lucy Gray’s song from her interview on page 175), but then he makes the victors sell themselves once he’s president

17. It’s interesting to see the effect that Dr. Gaul has on Snow, because obviously her teaching is what made Coriolanus’s mindset change

-He calls her a lunatic (114) and agrees with Tigris when she calls Dr. Gaul sadistic (125) and felt horrified at the way Marcus’s body was displayed once caught (206), but he still says that he’ll continue the Hunger Games when he’s the president (516)

-He felt guilty murdering Bobbin (248), but in his reign as the president he was responsible for hundreds of deaths (which he never denied but did not seem to feel guilty for either in Mockingjay)

18. President Snow is known to poison his enemies to maintain his control, so I liked seeing him poison his first victim — Dean Highbottom — with rat poison (517).

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas spoilers #tbosas #coriolanus snow #thg #The Hunger Games #suzanne collins #tigris #sejanus plinth #dr. gaul #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #district 12 #katniss everdeen #gale hawthorne #haymitch abernathy #mockingjay

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xerxia31 · 4 years

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the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

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Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again.

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss.

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes.

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled.

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

“Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark.

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung.

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun.

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned.

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish.

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night.

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced.

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here.

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door.

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.”

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list.

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it.

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them.

Her breath caught, a choked little sound.

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed.

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew.

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon.

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.”

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly.

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy.

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call.

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again.

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him.

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked.

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain.

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned.

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.”

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together.

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said.

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV.

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together.

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling.

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera.

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level.

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

#everlark #bang #xerxia writes #this one is a little out there #but what can I say?#and I make no apologies for naming him Barley

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