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delicatekissez · 3 months

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I Bet On Losing Dogs. | EVERLARK

All three parts of my completed fic, I Bet On Losing Dogs.

Originally posted on Ao3, check it out Here.

Please lemme know what you think!! .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part One.

I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place By the ring.

My fingers tap a nonsensical pattern on the side of the window, I’m sure I’m irritating every stuck-up doctor in this room but I don’t care, they can’t shout at or chastise the girl with the bruises around her neck. The girl who, no doubt, looks more like a thin ghost of a person than a sixteen-year-old.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Haymitch asks. It’s still a shock to see him sober, to see his coal, Seam eyes unclouded. Sober Haymitch is sharp, and not quite as willing to mock me as drunk Haymitch is, and I’m starting to get really sick of the way his eyes keep darting to me from across the room. I don’t want his sympathy.

“He will wake up any moment now. It’s just taking longer since we had to increase the dosage of the relaxer after his last episode,” the doctor answers, not once looking up from his clipboard, scratching at his stubble as he writes down some more medical mumbo-jumbo.

I’m not supposed to be here, there’s no doubt that several people would freak out if they knew that Haymitch had lied about Coin authorising this visit.

But I needed to see him again, maybe because I thought that the rabid dog that had greeted me with it’s hands around my neck had just been all a bad dream, and my sunshine boy, the boy who smelt like bread and looked like summer, was going to be in here, ready to mock me for falling for this horrendous new prank.

Got you good, didn’t I sweetheart? He would say, and he would grin at me and I would scowl at him, just like it was supposed to be.

But as I watch him through the one-sided glass, I realise just how naive a hope that was, there was no prank, there is no sunshine boy anymore. There is just this… thing. Even in his sleep, he looks different, gaunt and somehow still angry as he lies on his back, shackles tight at his sides.

It’s been over a week since he had choked me, but the bruises are still here. And the feeling of his clammy hands squeezing the life out of me lingers on my skin. I suddenly forgot why I had requested this at all, why would I want to see that thing? This isn’t my Peeta.

“Haymitch I think this is a—”

My sentence is interrupted by a flurry of activity as Peeta wakes up, sitting up abruptly in the bed, his wails louder than I have ever heard them to be.

“Let me out! She’s going to kill you all!” the rabid dog screams, banging its wrists on the shackles. It’s strange, I think to myself. For something to look exactly like my beautiful Peeta, but be so utterly different.

“I think he’s talking about you sweetheart,” Haymitch quips dryly, stepping out of the way so that a doctor can open the door to calm Peeta.

I don’t have it within me to bother with a snide remark back, my eyes fixated on how the doctor approaches him like he’s a wild horse to be tamed, her arms raised in defence as she shushes him, her crackly voice sounding through the speakers in the room.

“It’s okay Peeta, everything’s okay,” the doctor soothes, pressing a finger to Peeta’s wrist. She’s holding a syringe behind her back, just in case the rabid dog bites.

“Nothings okay if she’s here. Katniss is going to hurt us, the Capitol sent her to hurt us!”

His voice is like venom, spitting out the words. His blue eyes are dark, unhinged. His voice, something that could spin out stories like silk — is now used only to tell everybody what he thinks of me, and I can’t stand it.

“Girl, are you okay?” Haymitch asks, and suddenly he is next to me, startling me immensely.

I jump and step a few paces back, not unlike a wild animal myself. “He sounds the same,” I say, my voice cracking. Technically I’m supposed to still be on vocal rest but I’ve given that up. I don’t know why this is what I say, but I am startled by the fact he sounds like he always has, his usual distinctive boyish drawl which used to be reserved for joking is now used to scream obscenities about me.

Haymitch just nods, not bothering to stand any closer. He drags a shaky hand through his long dark hair, looking like he wants to say something I’m not going to like.

“Maybe today isn’t—” “I need to talk to him,” I reiterate, my gaze unwavering on his face. Haymitch looks somewhat yellow, and I realise probably for the first time in years, he has shaved neatly and without cutting himself.

“Just… just prepare yourself.”

I don’t want to have to prepare myself. I want to be able to walk into a room and open my eyes and see those light, cerulean ones staring back at me. I want to be able to walk into that room and see Peeta’s easy smile, I want him to open his arms and tease me for not brushing my hair. I want him to laugh with me over how silly the clothes are and how bland the food is.

“You have five minutes, Soldier Everdeen,” the woman tells me, placing the syringe back on the table. She had managed to calm him down with her words enough so that I could see him. I don’t know whether to be grateful or not.

“Stand three paces back, and try not to talk about anything too taxing,” the male doctor adds, finally drawing his ruddy eyes from the clipboard.

I don’t acknowledge their instructions, but I look to Haymitch for a moment, seeing my own worry reflected in his eyes. Slowly, he gives me a nod and I let my hand grip the door, opening it and entering the room.

The lights are bright, twinged with green. It smells like antibacterial spray and mint. No wonder Peeta can’t sleep here, there’s not a single window for him to crack open. He can never sleep well if the window isn’t open.

“You,” the rabid dog spits, his dark eyes trained on me. He is oddly still, but his eyes are entirely focused on my movements. It’s all so unlike how he used to watch me, he used to look at me like I was something to be admired. Now I am watched like an enemy.

I remain silent as I walk in, suddenly self-conscious of my ill-fitting District Thirteen uniform, my knotted hair and my shallow skin. I have never felt insecure around Peeta before — his eyes used to strengthen me, but now they make me want to hide under a table.

“Can I ask you something, Mutt?” He asks, calculating and sly.

“Only if I can do the same,” I answer, my hands are restless, and I want to badly bite my nails down to the quick, I want to do anything but stand here.

“Why would I ever be in love with a measly thing like you?” The dog asks, a brow raised at me. His curls are flat, almost mousy brown with sweat. I wonder for a moment if they are cleaning them properly, the way he likes to — by lathering the soap up and letting the conditioner soak in.

“I don’t know — but you were,” I answer, determined not to cry, determined not to blink. This fact, I am confident in, Peeta used to love me. I wanted to close my eyes and relive the memory, but the rabid dog speaks. drawing my attention.

“I was?” he repeats, drifting off in a line of thought, his eyes turning glassy. My eyes flicker to his leg, why haven’t they removed his prosthetic? Don’t they know that he sleeps better with it off?

“Ask me your question then,” he spits out suddenly, exasperated by me already. I shift from foot to foot.

“Do you remember… everything?” I ask, my voice trembling.

I can’t say what truly I mean here, not with the nosy doctors craning their necks as we speak. I’m beginning to think they are no better than the Capitolites, watching me and Peeta perform, their attention glued to our every move.

Peeta looks puzzled, his sceptical brows dropping as he scans my face. I blush deeply, the heat on my cheeks obvious to anyone looking, and his face softens. It only lasts a moment, less than a millisecond, but I see it, the true blue of his eyes.

“You’re talking about how we fucked on the train, aren’t you, Mutt?” An evil, cunning grin takes over his bruised face.

I wince, not from embarrassment but from the clinical way he’s talking about our nights together. Those nights that were meant only for us, nights spent desperate, afraid, and so in love.

“You are, you’re talking about how you fucked me, deep and good. And then proceeded to ignore me in the daytime. Of course I remember those, Mutt. Those are the memories they didn’t want me to forget,” he clarifies, loving the way I am frozen to my spot, a stray tear escaping from my eye.

My throat closes, and the shame burns from within. Somewhat from my embarrassment of him saying this in front of Haymitch, but also from the fact he said it exactly how it was, that's what I did, I fucked him and then acted like it didn’t happen.

“Thanks for your time, Soldier Mellark,” I say dryly, wiping the tears and squaring my shoulders, walking out of the room.

“Mutt! Enemy! Someone stop her before she kills us all!”

His screams are somewhat muted once I shut the door to the room, everybody's eyes fixated on me as I lean against the door, my face emotionless.

Haymitch approaches me, his own face long and much too serious.

I step away from the door as I watch the doctor from earlier prepare her syringe. I almost wish she would stab me instead, maybe knocking me out for a few hours would help me try and convince myself that this whole terrible interaction was just a dream.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to your room,” Haymitch says, his voice stern as he takes my shoulders, guiding me out of the doctor’s room. I’m crying, and they are silent fat tears. I hate crying, especially in front of this new severe, sober Haymitch.

“I knew we shouldn’t have done that,” Haymitch mutters under his breath as he walks me through the long corridors, the tears won’t stop, no matter how many times I wipe them away they return, fatter and wetter than ever.

Other than the occasional sniffle, I am silent on the way back to my room. I want to scream.

I want to punch, kick and wail, and I really wish that Haymitch had some moonshine on him right now.

It hits me all at once, the fact that he will never be the same.

I will never see my boy with the bread again. I will never be able to tell him how much I love him. I will never be able to let him know how sorry I am for never being brave enough to tell him that before.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

He’s leaning over me, his arms pinned on either side of my shoulders. His eyes are closed but I want to see open them so badly.

“Peeta, what are you thinking?” I ask, my voice is quiet and I’m panting.

Peeta chuckles and groans slightly, “I’m thinking about anything else right now, so that this doesn’t end too prematurely.”

He exaggerates his point as he fully deepens inside of me, and my eyes pop out of my head. This is the second time we’ve done this, and I’m still not used to the way he feels as he fills me.

I can’t help but grin as I watch Peeta’s face melt into that of pure pleasure. I lean over and kiss his forearm that rests beside me, his chest is glistening with sweat and if I could, I would lick every last drop off with my tongue.

“Katniss oh my… Sorry sweetheart, it’s just that you’re s-so tight,” Peeta moans, dropping his forehead and resting it against my own. I laugh and kiss his sweaty cheek, the skin salty and tempting.

“Are you hurting?” He asks, pulling away and looking into my eyes. Last night I had bled all over Peeta’s bed, meaning that we had to sneak over to my chamber half-naked in the middle of the night so we could sleep. I was selfishly glad in that moment that Avoxes couldn’t speak, because we were screwed if they could tell anyone what we were up to.

“No, it’s okay, you can move,” I say, the burning has subsided somewhat, and I’m amazed that Peeta has been able to keep himself so still, when I can tell all he wants to do is move.

He considers me for a moment before moving, checking my eyes to see if I’m telling the truth. The feeling of him filling me over and over again is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt, and It’s significantly better tonight.

Peeta’s moans are low and plentiful, and I close my ears and commit these sounds to memory, mainly for when we’re back in the Victors Village, so that I can add to my repertoire of Peeta-related thoughts whenever I’m alone and touching myself.

“So good Peeta, faster,” I panted, gripping his back and trailing my manicured fingers over it. I wish I could mark him, but there would be too many questions from both of our prep teams, so I am cautious not to make a single identifiable scratch.

The pace quickens and my stomach burns, that familiar building sensation is a lot stronger than the night before, and I manage to match Peeta’s pace, crashing my hips with his, wanting to feel some friction on that little nub between my legs.

It’s perfect as we move, with just my high-pitched, involuntary moans and his grunts filling the room. And all I can think about is how I never want this to end.

I’m building up to my release when Peeta stiffens, and his body shakes, I feel that burst of heat as he fills me.

“Fuck. Sorry Katniss,” he moans loudly as he comes, sinking on top of me and breathing in deeply. He lasted about twice the amount of time compared to the night before, and I had truly enjoyed it, so all I could do was kiss the top of his head and bury my fingers in his soft curls, whispering sweet nothings as he comes down from his high.

“That's okay baby,” I whispered, a nickname so tender that I would ever only dare to use it in moments such as these. Moments where it seem as if the world was just made up of Peeta and I.

“My baby,” I repeat as Peeta slumps against me, softening inside of me and humming as I push his sweaty hair out of his face.

After a few minutes, Peeta finds the strength to move over, pulling out of me as he does so. I throb slightly at the loss of him, but I turn over immediately, watching his face in the glow of the moonlight from the window beside my bed.

Outside the window was just a blur of trees as the train whizzes by, and I mourn the loss of our bliss for a moment as I remember that we were destined to be pretend lovers for the rest of our lives.

Peeta leans on his side, looking at me as I think. The touch of his hand on my shoulder is enough to bring me away from my thoughts of President Snow, blood and the feeling of dread.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry you didn’t…” Peeta says, his voice is small and even though the room was dark, I could tell that he was blushing.

“That’s okay, I still enjoyed it,” I said, a blush of my own springing to my cheeks. How could I ever break this boy's heart? How could I ever tell him that I can’t love him?

Who knows what Snow would do to him if he knew that what I feel for Peeta is real.

So when I snuggle further into Peeta’s chest, I hear him sigh contentedly. I pretend not to hear it when he kisses the top of my head, and whispers in my ear;

“I love you, Katniss Everdeen.”

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“Fine,” I say, “Send me to Two.”

I march away from Plutarch, from everyone in this godforsaken place, because they don’t understand. I can’t be here. I can’t be in a place where the boy I love doesn’t know me, doesn’t love me back.

I’m weak. I bet on Peeta, I bet that he would be the same boy as he was in the Quell. I bet that he would return from the Capitol and take me in his arms and fuck me and love me and call me his. I’m just an idiot girl who bet on the wrong, rabid dog.

So I need to get out of here, and I need to go to District Two.

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side I'm losing by their side…

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part Two.

My baby, my baby You're my baby, say it to me.

Sharing a room with Johanna Mason is harder than I thought it would be.

At least in District Two there had been the chance for some fresh air and hunting, but being back in Thirteen has been nothing but confusing.

Training with Johanna and being outside is a chance at fresh air but a hard-fought one. Plus, rooming with her is getting to be more irritating than helpful at this point.

Like now, as she lies awake, humming a tune so incessant that I can’t even think — let alone sleep.

“Do you have to do that?” I snap, finally losing my patience.

Johanna smirks and the orange glow from the lamp that separates our beds illuminates her gaunt features. “It’s the national anthem for Panem dear Brainless, I have to show my patriotism wherever I can.”

I growl and try to scooch down in my rickety bed, burrowing my head under the thin blanket to try and block out the sound. To my dismay, Johanna has found amusement in my reaction, and as a result she starts to sing the words of the song aloud.

“Gem of Panem, mighty city, through the ages you shine anew-w-w-w!” Johanna sings, her scratchy, off-key version of the cursed song seeps into my ears, and I snap.

“I can’t do this, I’m going for a walk,” I say, throwing the duvet off my body and slipping on my hunting boots. I must look quite the sight in my long grey nightgown and big boots, but I could care less.

“Just don’t get caught Brainless!” Johanna calls after me as I slam our room door shut, huffing as I do so.

My rage brought me to the end of the hallway. It was lit with the same dim orange lights that were present in our room, giving the place an creepy atmosphere.

The sounds of me stomping down the hall and the whirring of some sort of machinery in the walls were all that filled my ears, and I swore internally at District Thirteen and all of its fucking practicality.

I march for a minute or two longer, holding my arms crossed to avoid the chill in the air. I haven’t even spared a thought about the night guards that were posted around the place, making sure the District was safe at night.

District Thirteen heavily frowns upon anyone wandering about at such an hour, so I presume that the guards are more to keep us in rather than to keep the Capitol out.

Before I can even register what I’m doing, I find myself at the hospital ward. The shiny metal reflecting from the sign snaps me out of my grumpy stupor.

Why have I brought myself to the hospital? I hate it here. After waking up from my sleep-syrup Morphling fever dream where I thought, idiotically, that Peeta was holding me, I haven’t been back here. I even made my mother dress my gunshot wound in my bedroom.

But I knew why I was here, why my legs had subconsciously walked me here. Peeta.

I wrinkled my nose at the sight of the entrance doors, the antiseptic smell was overwhelming. I haven’t even seen Peeta since he’d told me that he remembered about that night with the bread, and again, called me ugly and plain.

I was still staring nonsensically at the doors to the hospital when I heard an echoey laugh. A low male one at that. Footsteps followed and quiet chatter. The night guards, I realised, and my heart immediately started racing.

I did not need any more shit from Coin, or Haymitch or even fucking Plutarch, so as I saw the light of their flashlights I thought fast, and scurried through the hospital doors and into the ward, hiding behind the first corner I could find.

My bare arms were covered with goosebumps as I heard the voices get louder, the two men approaching where I was standing.

“Did you see that door close?” one of them asked, his voice reflecting a familiar District Twelve twang.

“It’s probably just Mellark again, Heavensbee told us to just leave him alone when he’s wandering about — could be dangerous.”

My breathing is laboured as I listen, Peeta? Are they talking about Peeta wandering around the District at night?

“Yeah, yeah, he’s probably just off to the Everdeen’s floor again, let’s leave it,” the District Twelve one affirmed, and the two men turned around, talking about something so boring I don’t even care to listen.

Everdeen’s floor? Not only is Peeta allowed out of his room at night but he… Comes up to my floor? God, what is Plutarch thinking letting him do that?

“You’re lucky they didn’t see you. Those two would sell their soul for some entertainment at night.” I freeze as I hear the voice, the familiar voice of a boy who I used to know filling the quiet of the night.

I stopped breathing as I burrowed more into my corner, trying to see in the dark where he could possibly be.

“No point in hiding Mutt, I’ve already seen you. Now come out,” Peeta says, his voice thick and more demanding than I’ve ever known him to be. I curse myself as my cheeks break out in a hot flush.

He’s getting better — physically at least, he sounds stronger. I haven't seen him in quite a few weeks. He’s clearly still brainwashed though, my Peeta would never demand anything of me, ever.

Frustratingly, I find myself peering around the corner of where I am hiding, and I see him — dressed in sleep shorts and a grey District Thirteen t-shirt. He’s sitting on a hard plastic chair, and the glow of the orange cancels out the bruises on his face.

His leg is stretched out, the titanium shining. He’s leaning forward like he’d had his head in his hands before I’d come in. He looks a lot healthier, and more like my version of Peeta. How I didn’t notice him sitting there before was beyond me.

“I won’t attack you Mutt,” he adds, leaning back, his head back on the concrete of the wall. He’s sitting outside of his room, and I wonder if he’s as cold as I am.

Slowly I creep from my corner, standing cautiously three metres from him — as if the doctor with the clipboard was standing near us, instructing me what to do.

“I don’t sleep anymore, and apparently walking is good for me… so they turn a blind eye to my night-time adventures.”

I shift from foot to foot, the leather of my boots is rubbing against my heel, and I’m sure I’ll have a blister by morning.

“I can’t sleep either,” I mumble, I hate how much of a pull I still feel to him, how much I still feel the urge to wrap my arms around him, tug my fingers in his cropped blonde hair.

“Dreaming of Hawthorne, no doubt,” he chides, looking up at me, those dark eyes scanning me from my oversized boots to my messy braid. I blush even more.

“Don’t worry Mutt, I’ve still got these pretty bracelets, I couldn’t even hurt you if I wanted to.”

“Do you?” I test, “Want to hurt me?”

He puzzles at me, and his hands are rubbing his thighs as he scans my face.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, it’s less cocky and more shy. A tone more familiar.

I look down at the linoleum floor, I pine for him even now. The sound of him was so close to what it used to be I could almost imagine him breaking out into a toe-curling smile.

“I keep on painting you,” he sighs and tugs a hand through his short hair. I catch the action in my peripheral and again, it’s so familiar that it hurts.

“I paint you like you are in my dreams, evil and seducing and wanting me dead,” he elaborates, and I lift my head, only to see that his eyes are screwed shut.

“I paint you naked, laying across the picnic blanket after that day on the rooftop,” another long sigh, “I paint you in the Games, wild and afraid.” I swallow, my throat dry and forming a lump.

“I paint you, and I can only paint you ,” he sighs, and his eyes meet mine. I step forward, watching as his eyes widen. He reminds me of a deer in the District Twelve woods, the ones so afraid to die, not like the unbothered ones of Thirteen.

I don’t know what to do, I feel like I’m grieving. Grieving for my boy, grieving for the damaged one that sits before me now.

“W-when you go to bed tonight, take off your leg, you’ll sleep better,” I blurt out, my gaze fixated on the latches that separate his real thigh from the metal of the prosthetic.

Peeta furrows his brows, looking down at the leg like he never even realised he could do that.

“How do I even…” he asks, and I breathe in, stepping slowly towards him. I look at his cuffs, and his wrists around them are red and inflamed. He must be digging them into his flesh on purpose.

I’m closer than I’ve been to him for weeks, close enough that when I kneel in front of his leg I can smell his familiar scent, a scent so uniquely Peeta that it dazes me for a moment.

He looks down at me expectantly and I gesture over the latch on the left side, cautious not to touch him and push my luck.

“You just pull the latch on each side and pull it off gently. You have to do it when you’re already in bed though, because you can’t walk once it’s off,” I explain, pointing to the latches on either side of the leg. His eyes are following me, his lips slightly parted.

“How do you know this?” he asks, his hands tracing the latches gently. His voice is shy again, and he sounds younger than he is.

“I’ve done it — before. For you,” I say, blushing again as I remember the circumstances of doing this for him.

I expect him to reply with some sort of quip, maybe a harsh comment about me being a common Seam slut, or that I was the spawn of Satan, hellbent on destroying him.

“Thanks Kat,” he whispers, and my head snaps up. His eyes are blue, and his hand is trembling. It’s like he’s come up to the surface, and I hold my breath, watching as his eyes darken once again, and he disappears again.

We’re both quiet for a moment as I stand up, stepping back as I watch his expression change. He starts to shake, and his legs are spasming. I think he’s beginning to have an episode.

“Get. Out.” he spits suddenly, holding his head in his hands.

“Peeta—” I say, quiet and desperate.

“Get out!” he screams, loud enough for anyone around to hear.

I scramble back, determined to leave now. Peeta digs his wrists into the cuffs and groans. Everything in my body is telling me not to leave but I have to, he’s warning me. About himself, so I sneak one last tortured look at him and escape from the hospital ward, sneaking back to my room as fast as I can.

Thankfully Johanna is sound asleep as I slip back into the room, removing my boots and tucking myself up in bed, willing myself not to cry as I shut my eyes and think only of Peeta.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says, and my stomach flips in that familiar, welcome way.

I’m blushing, and wishing that I could have the luxury of telling him that we’ll live together forever. But instead of spouting such deceiving, naive promises, I just settle on a simple; “Okay.”

“Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say, and I kiss his hand, the one that’s wrapped around me. His eyes are so blue, and I take my time as I stare into them. When I’m about to die in that Arena, the last thing I want to remember is the colour of his eyes, and how a small ring of yellow wraps the blue iris’. Quite like how the sun reflects on the ocean during the sunset.

“What?” he asks as he notices me staring, dragging a hand through my hair, the gesture is so soothing, and I don’t regret for one second for letting him mess my hair up.

“Just thinking…” I say, adopting my best effort at a teasing tone. “About last night.”

His pale, freckled Merchant skin bursts into a wonderful, decadent blush. I smile and settle my head further into his lap, dragging a finger from his bicep to his hand.

The night before we had shared my bed yet again, despite the many protests from Effie about ‘etiquette’ and ‘saving ourselves’.

It had been at dinner when Peeta had scoffed in Effie’s face, telling her that it was too late for that. I cringe as I remember how Haymitch had spat out his wine, and Effie’s jaw had practically dropped to the floor.

That had silenced Effie as I followed Peeta to my room, making sure that the door was locked before I got down on my knees, taking his length in my mouth for the first time.

“Do you remember what I promised you?” Peeta asked, his hand moving from my hair to my cheek, bringing me back to the present, back to the rooftop.

I nodded, remembering how he’d looked after he’d come, his shy smile and his promise of returning the favour for me.

“Maybe,” I answered, squeezing my legs together slightly as I imagined Peeta between my legs.

I could feel Peeta hardening underneath my head — it seemed like I wasn’t the only one imagining that.

“Peeta… I don’t think we can do this up here,” I breathed out as I sat up, shifting to sit in his lap. I had no idea how little or many cameras were up in this place.

Peeta grinned and leaned forward, stealing a kiss from me. “I don’t care Kat. I’m going to be dead in a matter of days. And I want to die having been a man who has tasted you.”

My gasp is audible, and I can’t help myself as I cup his face, pulling him towards me and kissing him with such a ferocity that I hadn’t before. I couldn’t handle him and his words. I wanted to scream that I’ll be the one to die in a few days, not him. But this was futile, and his lips tasted too good to pull away.

His hands twisted around my waist, and I extracted a low moan from him as I flicked my tongue along his bottom lip, tasting the inside of his mouth. My hands ended up in his hair, as they always did, and I tugged at the strands, wanting to hear him make those soft sounds again and again until the day I die.

His hands became bolder, skimming the hem of my top and escaping up the fabric. His big hands felt so good on my back as he explored all of my skin like it was the first time he’d done it.

I couldn’t stop myself as I ground into his jean-covered hardness, my clit throbbing for attention as he cupped my breast, his big hand covering it over my thin bra, eliciting my own moans from my lips.

“Peeta I w-want,” I moan embarrassingly loudly, grinding down on him once more, feeling his erection hot and heavy between my legs.

“What do you want?” He asks as he pulls my shirt up, and I raise my arms so that the now offensive garment can be removed. I’m uncaring of the chill in the air, or of how feral I must look, half-naked and begging for more.

As Peeta pulls away, admiring me in my shabby District Twelve bra that I had chosen to wear today instead of the Capitol contraptions. I squirm under his gaze, suddenly embarrassed over how plain I must look to him.

“No, none of that,” Peeta says, picking up my chin and forcing me to look at him, “you’re so beautiful Katniss. My imagination did not do you justice.” He’s grinning, and he leans forward to kiss my erect nipples, and I giggle from the pleasant sensation.

“Now ask me what you want me to do to you. And I will do it.”

I bite my lip and huff. I’m not used to asking anybody for anything, but Peeta has always made me break all of the rules that I made for myself.

“Can you… taste me ?” I ask, mimicking what he’d said to me moments before.

Peeta practically growled as he grabbed me, whipping off my bra and his own shirt, kissing me with a newfound passion. I giggle again as he lays me gently down on my back, kissing down my neck and breasts.

“No marks remember. I do not need my prep team asking questions,” I say as he sucks on a spot that connects my neck to my shoulder. He’d discovered just how much I liked being kissed here a couple of nights ago, and he hadn’t left it alone since.

“You’re no fun,” he huffed, pulling his lips away and focusing on my breasts, suckling and nipping at them wonderfully. He seemed to be obsessed with them, and I remember the look of pure awe he had given me when I had taken my top off for him for the first time.

I moaned and squirmed as I felt my clit throb, it was begging to be touched. I could feel just how wet I was as I pressed my legs together, hoping that Peeta would get the hint of where exactly I needed him to be.

“Shush baby, I’ll get there,” Peeta says as he looks up at me. He’s slotted perfectly between my legs and I flush at him returning the nickname I can only call him in our most intimate moments.

I whimper once more and unbutton my pants, deciding to take action some myself. Peeta tuts disapprovingly as he pulls his lips from my chest, but he helps me peel off the pants from my legs, his hand running up the smooth, hairless legs that the prep team have insisted on me having.

I’m left in my underwear, and again it is my usual, plain District Twelve attire, and I cringe as Peeta’s finger swipes the outside of the material, where he can surely feel just how much he has affected me.

Peeta smiles in wonder as he cups my mound, making me wriggle to try and gain some much-needed friction.

“I’ll never get used to how wet you are,” Peeta whispers, leaning down and breathing a deep, hot breath over my underwear-covered pussy.

“Peeta,” I whine, unashamed and getting more desperate as each moment passes.

Peeta just kisses my inner thighs, the soft untouched skin is sensitive and I find it hard to keep my legs open.

“Peeta,” I moan again, and Peeta looks up at me, his hair messy, his eyes wild.

“Ask me Katniss. Ask me what you want,” Peeta says as he kisses my inner thigh once more — and I’m so desperate I don’t even hesitate in begging.

“Please Peeta just taste me already,” I beg, and Peeta closes his eyes as I speak, soaking up my words.

I hesitate for a moment as he stops, a small beautiful smile plastered on his face. After this quiet lull, Peeta reaches for the band of my underwear and tugs them down, revealing my centre and the small thatch of hair that the prep team let me keep.

I watch so closely that I fear that if I look away from Peeta I will wake up, and it will just be another one of my dirty dreams. But as Peeta groans, leaning down and literally breathing the scent of my sex in, I can’t help but moan and close my eyes in pleasure.

“Katniss you are truly unreal,” Peeta moans, and I don’t even have a moment to mentally debate this before his tongue is on my clit.

I moan loudly, way too loudly by anyone's standards, as Peeta attacks my clit. He suckles and licks and even bites my small bundle of nerves. I am so tightly coiled that I feel like sobbing as my orgasm builds.

I feel Peeta’s fingers swipe along my folds, gathering my wetness before entering me. He pushes them in and out of me as he sucks on my clit, and my eyes roll to the back of my head involuntarily — and my head drops down to the picnic blanket.

I focus on the sensations acutely, on the feeling of Peeta so attentively sucking and licking me, on his little words of praise between nuzzling my sex and kissing me. The feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of me over and over again was too much for me to bear.

I’m close, and I know I am, so I moan louder, desperate to crash and achieve that relief that I have been waiting so long for.

“Cum for me Katniss,” Peeta says as he pulls himself from my clit, his fingers still unrelenting. The sound of his voice, thick and sexy is what does it, and I finally snap, coming all over Peeta Mellark's face.

I’m instantly boneless, and my hips drop against the picnic blanket. The feeling of pure satisfaction is one I am not used to at all, and I open my eyes to see Peeta hovering over me, a small, loving smile on his face.

“T-thank you.” I manage to choke out, throwing my hands around his neck and kissing him, finding it strangely arousing that I could taste myself on his lips.

Peeta kisses me with intent, and he sinks against me, only then do I feel or notice the wet patch at the front of his jeans.

“Peeta did you…” I ask, pulling his lips from his and looking down at his hips. I was fully ready to return the favour to him. And even to an extent, I had been excited to do it again.

Peeta flushed crimson, a shade so dark I was afraid he was going to pass out.

“S-sorry it’s just you were so, and I couldn’t…” He explained, his voice timid, and I growled, kissing him passionately as I imagined him losing it over merely giving me oral.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” I whisper into his ear, my hand stroking the soft hair at the base of his neck, twirling the small curls with my finger.

Peeta visibly relaxed, kissing me. I let him place a blanket over our mostly naked bodies. And I allowed myself the luxury of burrowing into his arms so that we could watch the sunset together.

I’m glad my back is pressed up against Peeta's chest, meaning that he can’t see my eyes tear up as I think of how little sunsets I have left, and how little time I have to spend with my sunshine boy.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

The Capitol is somehow colder than District Thirteen. I wrap myself tighter into my thick jacket and hope that the chill I feel will go away as I rub my hands together.

“You don’t have to be on watch you know,” Boggs reaffirms, staring down at me with a sceptical stare, his eyes flickering from me to Peeta, who was sitting motionless across from me, staring blankly at the sky above us.

“I know,” I say, trying my best to force a smile, “But I want to. Get some rest Boggs.”

Peeta looks over at me as I say this, his weak eyes are no longer dark, instead now replaced with an inherent sadness. This made it so I couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds at a time without my throat closing up.

“Okay, any issues, any of you — don’t be afraid to wake me,” Boggs repeats, both to me and Jackson, but he knows that the point is useless now, it’s so drilled into us now.

Boggs finally gives up, sighing and returning to his tent, and I watch him flop down onto his sleeping bag. I wonder who he was before all of this, has he always pictured himself as a commander? Or when he was little did he wish to be something or someone else?

Peeta is knotting and unknotting Finnick's rope, and I watch him carefully from the corner of my eye as he starts to get more and more agitated, tugging at the rope like it is a snake that needs to be strangled. He wants to say something, and I let him.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not.”

Peeta sighs and drops the rope, looking down at it in his lap for a moment before he continues, “Back and forth. Back and forth.”

I have no idea how to reply. I think of our interaction in the hospital ward that night, how he had come back to me for a mere moment, the blue of his eyes unclouded and the darkness disappearing.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me,” I answer honestly, and I manage to pry my eyes from my twitching hands, looking up at him, “After that I always thought of you as… an ally.”

Ally. Ally. I curse myself for my stupidity. What an idiotic word to use. He was so much more than that to me.

I think over Haymitch’s sentiment to me, what would Peeta do if our roles were reversed?

I pine for the reality in which the Capitol had picked me up in the Quell. Peeta would’ve made a much better figurehead. And he would’ve stayed untouched.

I could’ve handled whatever they would’ve thrown at me in the Capitol because I would’ve known that he was safe, that's all that would’ve mattered to me.

I think about Peeta and the way he used to have with words. I think about his tongue and how hot it used to be against my skin. Ally? Peeta would’ve never merely called me an ally.

“Ally,” Peeta repeats, his eyes boring into mine. His hair has almost fully grown back, now thick and curly enough that I could’ve run my fingers through it. Long enough to hold onto.

“Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally.” He lists all of the words off with a nervous stammer, and even now he is still better at expressing himself than I have ever been.

“I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try and figure you out.” He picks up the rope again, his shaking hands slowly winding it into knot after knot. “The problem is, Kat, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

I look away from him, stealing a glance at Jackson, who I have forgotten is sitting right opposite me. She is watching the scene silently, her hands busy picking at the skin of her thumb.

“Then you should ask, Peeta. That’s what Annie does.” Finnick's voice rises from the shadows, and I freeze, having had no idea that he had been awake this entire time.

I watch as Peeta nods, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. I want to tuck a loose tendril behind his ear, just like I used to do.

“Ask who?” He asks, looking over to Finnick with his sad, pale blue eyes. “Who can I trust?”

I pang once again. A reality where Peeta doesn’t trust me is one that I’m not used to living in. Jackson eyes me and Peeta from opposite, stopping her fidgeting as she speaks up. “Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.”

Peeta’s gaze is directed to Jackson, his eyes narrowing as the rope twists in his fingers. “You’re my guards.” he speaks with a small, unamused scoff.

“That too, but you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget,” Jackson replies, and her tightlipped smile is the biggest one I have ever seen from her.

I blink in wonder at Jackson, grateful to her for saying this. I had somehow forgotten this myself, how Peeta had saved me, again — even when he wasn’t even sure if I was alive or dead in Thirteen.

The group falls into a stagnant silence, the sounds of the snoring from the others and the rustling of the rope filling our ears as I fight an internal battle. All I want to do is hug Peeta, to discover if his arms wrap around me like they used to.

I want to ask him what he remembers from those nights on the train and after. I want to know if he remembers the bliss that was our final day on that rooftop. I want, I want and I want.

Peeta suddenly drops the rope again, his nose wrinkling with effort as he turns to me. “Your favourite colour… it’s green?”

His voice is so small, so small and so familiar.

“That’s right.” I can’t stop it when my gaze meets his, and I want him to remember so badly. “And yours is orange.”

“Orange?”

“Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say, and the memories flood in. Of him and me, sweaty and spent and laying in my bed, his hands drawing shapes in my naked skin. I flush all over and add, “at least that’s what you told me once.”

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes flicker down, staring at my chest before looking back in my eyes again. And I know that even if it’s hazy — he's remembering exactly what I look like with no clothes on.

The tips of his ears turn pink, and he picks up the rope again, focusing on it a bit too closely. “Thank you.”

And because I’m an idiot. And I’ve been a complete idiot this entire time — from the day that I never took the chance to thank him for the bread, to the day where I pretended to be asleep, instead of telling him how much I loved him back.

Because of this, I cannot stop myself as I lean towards him, my voice shaky and quiet, spilling to him exactly what I’m thinking.

“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. Your skin tastes like the sunset. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

Peeta’s eyes widen, and I freeze. Acutely aware of the fact that Jackson, Finnick and probably Gale heard me spill out this frantic confession.

His skin tastes like the sunset? Who have I become to even confess that aloud?

“Y-you…” Peeta begins, dropping his head to his legs, looking so tired and so confused.

“You can’t just. You…” His voice is weak and my confidence is shattered, my eyes fill with tears and I ache to lick my wounds in private.

“Goodnight, Soldier Mellark,” I say, rising from my seat and diving into my tent, crying those silent, wet tears as I think of my baby. My boy who is so close yet so far away all at the same time.

Baby, my baby Tell your baby that I'm your baby

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part Three.

I bet on losing dogs I always want you when I'm finally fine How you'd be over me looking in my eyes when I come.

I’ve hated being below ground for as long as I can remember. Our class trips to the mines left me nervous and sweaty, even before my father died. My time in Thirteen had been tainted by the fact that there’d been so many layers of thick concrete between me and the earth.

Now in the Capitol, where we are being forced to hide and navigate the underground tunnels like a group of disease-ridden rats. Being here in these tunnels is only driving me more and more to the brink of pure insanity.

My only solace during this time was my hidden mantra. To kill Snow. To watch him bleed and fade away slowly and painfully. For Rue, for Thresh, for Cinna, and Darius. For Peeta.

For how he has irrevocably and permanently changed my Peeta.

I was born to breathe the fresh air, to feel the earth on my feet. No wonder Pollux was reliving his trauma of being trapped here, I couldn’t think of anything worse. The last day has been a truly hectic one, with Boggs, poor Boggs, having his legs blown clean off. And now Mitchell — having been shoved into a deadly pod by a hijacked, rabid Peeta.

Nobody seems to blame Peeta, and Finnick spent a good deal of time pleading his case, but I know that Peeta blames himself immensely, and as I think of this. Of how he is punishing himself, it reminds me of the old Peeta, the one who took every single death so personally. I still remember the terror on his face when I told him that Foxface was his kill.

I’m on my night watch, and I’m now forcing myself to eat some of the canned potato and bean stew. It’s somehow both incredibly wet and oddly dry. I swallow chunk after chunk and imagine it’s anything else. Pollux is one of my main concerns. I hate watching how much the tunnels affect him, he’s been rocking himself for about five minutes now.

“Would you like to check out some stuff on the Holo with me?” I ask him, lightly tapping him on the shoulder so he will know that I’m talking to him. He opens his eyes, and the worry in them reminds me of myself. No doubt I have looked this feral several times in the past year.

I hold out the Holo, and he takes it. He seems to know how to work it at least a little bit better than me, and I ache to be able to talk to him about this, to have him explain to me how it all functions.

Jackson, the only other person who also probably knows how to work the Holo, is currently not speaking to me, she was clearly not happy with Boggs’ decision to leave the crazy, revenge-driven seventeen-year-old in charge of their most valued navigation system.

To Pollux’s credit, he shows me the best he can, and we discover more and more traps closer to the centre of the Capitol. It’s all so overwhelming, how big these tunnels truly are — that I give up after ten minutes of doing this. I hand Pollux the device, leaving him to his mappings, glad that it seems to provide a decent enough distraction for him.

I lean against the damp wall and survey the crew, most of these people I barely know, and most of them will not make it out of these tunnels alive.

I can’t help it, but my eyes are drawn almost instantly to Peeta. He’s lying down on the wet floor, his head resting by my feet. I sneak a look at his raw wrists, if I could’ve let myself, I could rub them and soothe his pain. But I hold back, he doesn’t love like that anymore, and that would be inappropriate.

He looks pained, his blonde brows furrowed. He’s looking down at his wrists with concentration. A wave of concern fills me as I watch him, the ever-present need to protect him is still there, even after everything.

“Have you eaten?” I ask and watch as he snaps out of his stupor, bending his head to look at me.

He looks soft, his blue eyes sad again. And he shakes his head to indicate he hasn’t. I presume he has been punishing himself too much to even consider his hunger.

I sigh and shake my head back, indicating to him my disapproval of this. I reach for a can of chicken and rice soup. I consider it for a moment before removing the lid myself. I don’t fully trust this self-punishing Peeta not to take extreme actions with a sharp piece of metal.

I nudge him slightly with my foot and shake the can, and he sits up, his wrists still together. I watch him silently wince as they rub against the cuffs. I hand him the can and watch him practically chug it. I blame myself for not considering his hunger sooner.

As he eats, I think about Snow again, about all of the things he has taken and all of the people I will miss. A tall, red-headed boy with a cheeky smile and a ragged Peacekeeper uniform comes to mind.

“Peeta,” I say and his gaze switches to me, putting down the empty tin on the floor.

“When you asked about what happened to Darius and Lavinia, and Boggs told you it was real, you said you thought so. Because there was nothing shiny about it… What did you mean?”

Peeta looks at me with some shock, clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. Or maybe he hadn’t expected me to listen so attentively to his conversation.

“Oh. I don’t know exactly how to explain it,” he tells me, bending his head back down and digging his wrist slightly into the cuff. “In the beginning, everything was just complete confusion. Now I can sort certain things out. I think there’s a pattern emerging.”

He sighs and I know he aches to run his hands through his dishevelled curls, but as he strains his hands up in the cuffs, I can see that he knows he won’t be able to reach.

“The memories they altered with the tracker jacker venom have this… strange quality about them. Like, like they’re too intense or the images aren’t stable.” he continues, shutting his eyes to try and picture them.

“You remember what it was like when we were stung?” he asks, opening his eyes and meeting mine. They are less sad now, and more determined.

“Trees shattered. There were giant coloured butterflies. I feel in a pit of orange bubbles,” I laugh emptily, fidgeting with my braid. “Shiny orange bubbles.”

He laughs with me and meets my eyes again. “Right. But nothing about Darius or Lavina was like that. I don’t think they’d given me any venom yet,” he says with a shake of his head.

I nod and consider him for a moment, and wonder if he hates me for forcing him to talk about his worst memories, “Well, that’s good isn’t it? If you can separate the two, then you can figure out what's true.”

He shakes his head again, a coy smirk on his face, “Yes, I guess. But if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can’t grow wings,” he says, his dry sarcasm returning after such a long time.

“Real or not real?” he asks, and I entertain him even though I know he knows the answer.

“Real,” I say. “But people don’t need wings to survive.”

He nods and shifts, turning to face me. He looks suddenly severe as he gazes into my face. He’s trying to solve me like a puzzle again.

“Mockingjays do.” he says, picking up the soup can and handing it to me. Our hands brush and I feel what I’ve always felt with Peeta, that little spark of excitement whenever his skin brushes against mine.

My breath halters, and as I pick up the can I look into his eyes, the purple rings from lack of sleep remind me that he should be resting. “There’s still time, you should sleep.”

He doesn’t agree, or argue but lies back down slowly. He’s closer to my feet now, and I want to be able to lie down with him. For him to wrap those arms around me and tell me that it’s all okay. That everything’s going to be okay.

As I watch him watch me, I suddenly can’t help myself, and I reach down slowly. Moving so gently, treating him like that wild, skittish animal again. I press my cold hand to his forehead, gently brushing back the stray curls that have fallen over his face. He freezes, closing his eyes for a moment and I stop my hand for a moment.

But he opens his eyes again, and they are unclouded and as blue as ever. I start to breathe easily again and move my hand gently. The endearment of the baby rests just behind my lips, and I watch as Peeta’s cheeks flush.

In a moment of pure weakness, my fingers brush from his forehead to his cheek, feeling his still soft skin that is tainted by some blonde stubble, and I smile as my fingers find his lips. I press my finger to the contours of his bottom lip, and he kisses my finger lightly.

As I pull away, my stomach flips and that wonderful feeling of fire igniting returns for the first time in forever. He opens his eyes and questions me.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” I say instantly, pausing before I finally say exactly what I’m thinking for once.

“Because that's what you and I do. Protect one another.”

He nods and closes his eyes, and I sit back, pressing the finger he’d kissed to my lips, placing my kiss in its place.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

As I look out into the blue of the water that laps around the Cornucopia, and I think of my lake in District Twelve.

The lake was the closest thing I ever got to a beach like this. The grainy sand in the Arena is no match for the soft mossy banks and mud that line my lake in Twelve. As I look into what seems like endless miles of water, I think of how my lake could probably fit about ten times into the ocean that surrounds the Cornucopia.

I look to my right, studying Peeta’s profile for a long moment. He’s attentively watching the jungle behind us, and I know I should be watching the water ahead just in case any Careers intend to make their move, but I can’t bring myself to tear away my gaze from his face.

He’s sunburnt, and the few freckles that he has have sprung to life, tracing his jawline like delicate kisses from the sun. I know that on the other side of his face, there are the faint remains of the blisters from the gas, but as I look at him from this angle, I can just imagine that this is what he looks like after a sunny day at the lake.

We’ve never spoken about what we’ve done together. How we’ve made love on the train, in our rooms at the training centre and on the rooftop. But now I ache to be able to talk freely about it, to know what he thinks about it, and if he can feel those same sparks that I do.

Our hips are pressed against each other, the damp sticky suits we are wearing rub together and just the feeling of this familiar pressure of his body on mine soothes me.

As I watch Peeta, a small smile appears on his face, and he turns to me, his eyes squinting slightly due to the low sun that frames the sky of the Arena. For once, I don’t tear my gaze away from him, instead, I mirror his shy smile with my own.

He looks pleased with this, and the sight is so warming that I can’t help myself as I lean my head on his shoulder, indulgently breathing in the salty scent of his skin.

Even though the Arena is the last place I will ever be alive, I can’t entirely hate it. The presence of the Capitol and all of the cameras allows me to touch Peeta freely. There is a certain amount of freedom in kissing and accepting Peeta’s kisses. And this time around, it doesn’t feel so fake.

As Peeta grasps my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine, I sigh into his shoulder, gently kissing the skin that the wetsuit doesn’t cover. He shivers slightly, and I close my eyes and think of what he looks like when he comes, the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth parts slowly.

I feel my core throb at these thoughts, feeling so suddenly ashamed of thinking of such things when I’m on the verge of death. When my only thoughts should be on protecting Peeta, not making love to him.

“Katniss,” Peeta whispers softly, his voice thick and deep. It reminds me immediately of how he sounds at night, how he sounds when his head is between my thighs.

“It’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” I tense, and breathe out slowly, raising my head to look up at him. His hair has gone spectacularly blonde in the sun, his curls slightly sweaty with perspiration. I sigh and think of the cameras. Oh, how I wish for even a moment alone with Peeta without the blasted cameras. And I just know that this will be a scene that the entirety of Panem will be tuned into.

I look desperately into Peeta's eyes, and he continues, “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.”

I know this, and he knows I know this, and I curse Haymitch and pray that he keeps my promise. Because I am ready to die so that Peeta can live. I have prepared myself for this inevitably.

He sighs, and drags his free hand through those sun-bleached curls, “So, I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.”

“Why are you saying this now?” I ask him, and I grip his hand tighter, worried that he’s going to let it go.

“Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says, sealing these words with another kiss atop my head, and my heart pangs as I try and remember every detail of his face.

“I would never be happy again,” he finalises as he pulls his lips from my head. “It’s different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.”

I open my mouth to protest as Peeta lets go of my hand, reaching to take his necklace, his gold token from his neck. I let my mouth close as I watched him hold out the necklace, his thumb stroking the Mockingjay symbol engraved on the gold. I think he’s reminding me of my duty to the people of Panem, and I want to sneer.

But I see just how wrong I was as his thumb finds a small latch, and he pops open the necklace, I feel like an idiot before for not knowing that it was a locket.

He places the locket carefully in my hands and my thumbs graze the pictures. On one side is my mother and Prim, a rare photo that I captured one day on my father's old camera. And on the other Gale, my pretend cousin. The picture is also one I took, and Gale is smiling softly.

My chest constricts, and I blame myself for thinking that Peeta would ever go along with my plan, for thinking that Peeta. Kind, generous, loving Peeta, would never not sacrifice himself for one second.

“Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says, and the small mournful smile on his face is what makes me tear up.

He taps the photo of Gale one last time, and I know exactly what he is trying to say. Pick Gale, marry Gale. He can be your family, your future one day. I imagine my life, sharing my life with Gale and all of his fury, but it doesn’t feel right.

“No one really needs me,” Peeta says, and there is no self-pity in his voice. No indication of any bitterness, and I know that Peeta means this — which is what makes it hurt all the more.

I try to imagine my life without Peeta, without him a couple of houses down from mine. I try to picture returning home without him. I imagine living in Victor's Village without him.

A life without Peeta is one without laughter, without cheese buns and paintings. Without safety and solace.

Nobody else knows me as well as he does, I realise.

I watch him as he watches me, how could he think like this? How dare he think that nobody needs him? I need him. I need his arms and his kisses and everything else. I need him to make fun of Haymitch with me. I need him to give my little sister flowers he’s picked from his garden. I need his bread, and his warmth, and his kindness.

I realise how broken I will be if I live without Peeta, and I need him to know this.

“I do,” I say with a sudden seriousness, “I need you.”

Peeta sighs and looks down at the sand, his eyes are welling with tears and I reach out and brush a curl from his face.

“I need you Peeta, more than you could ever know. And I’m sorry I’ve never said that before,” I add, unable to keep myself from doing so. He needs to know before he does something ridiculous like sacrificing himself for me.

The look in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve seen before as he looks up at me. The blue of them has darkened slightly, and as my hand cups his check, he raises his own hand and places it over mine, sighing as he closes his eyes and leans against my touch.

“I love you Katniss. Please let me do this,” he begs, opening his eyes. Love. That's what I see tucked away in his blue iris’.

I have no idea how to reply, I wish that I could express myself as easily as Peeta does, but all I can do is just lean forward and capture my lips with his. I want to show him with my kiss how much I truly care for him.

In last year's Games, the kisses I gave Peeta had been shy and close-mouthed, merely just a duty I was fulfilling to survive. But now, as Peeta sighs against my lips, and his big hands find their way into my hair, undoing my braid to allow my dark hair to cascade down my back, I know that this is different.

Some part of me knows that my mother and Prim must be watching and that I have to rein myself in. But another part of me wants this, I’ve missed our nights together, tangled up between Capitol bedsheets.

I deepen the kiss almost instantly, my tongue winding around Peetas with practice and precision. He groans softly against my lips, and I can’t stop my hands from tugging at his hair, the curls are still so delightfully soft.

I try to compare the way I feel with Peeta with anything else, but I fall short. Nobody has made me feel this way before, no kiss has ever compared. Gale’s kiss in the woods was short, but nothing compared to Peeta’s. He had demanded a kiss from me, whereas Peeta always allowed me to take the lead, and I always showed him with my tongue where exactly I wanted him to be.

“Katniss,” Peeta groans against my lips, and I pull away, just enough so that I can rest my forehead on his. I’m shamefully wet, and the familiar throb of arousal has reared its unwelcome head again.

I gasp as his hands skim my sides, running his fingers up and down the sensitive skin. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s hard, and I’m glad that he’s positioned himself so that I’m the only one who can see.

“If we were alone, I would take you in my mouth,” I whisper in his ear, quiet enough that nobody, including those fucking cameras, can hear me.

“Kat…” Peeta sighs, and I watch him twitch under the thin fabric of his wetsuit.

“I wouldn’t let you come though, you could only do that once you're inside me,” I continue, the cloud of arousal is making me dizzy. This is crazy, what I’m doing is insane.

“Katniss you’re going to kill me,” Peeta whines as I lick the shell of his ear, unable to stop myself.

“You make me so hard Katniss,” Peeta whispers back, his hands gripping my waist possessively as I pull my mouth away from his ear. I grin and kiss his lips innocently, my hands thrown around his neck.

We spend some more time kissing, and Peeta's hands keep roaming across my back. We both ache for him to be able to grasp my breasts. I moan as I push my hard nipples into his chest. I’ve somehow ended up in his lap, my hands back in his hair as he kisses me.

Without warning, the crack of the lightning storm stops our wandering hands. We both jump as we watch the bolt hit the tree, and I jerk out of Peeta's lap suddenly. He shifts uncomfortably in the sand as he tries to hide his erection, and I am thankful that my own hunger is not as visible as Peeta's.

The lightning wakes Finnick up from his fitful sleep, and he jolts awake with a sharp gasp. Peeta slowly removes his hands from me as Finnick gets up and approaches us.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” he says, his nose scrunched as he watches the water. “One of you should rest.”

My hands are still gripping Peeta’s neck, and Finnick notices this with a small victorious grin. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.”

I wish for the luxury of being able to sleep in Peeta’s arms, but I know that he will not accept this. “It’s too dangerous,” Peeta insists, and I let go of him, snapping out of the dreamlike state the arousal has taken me to.

“I’m not tired. You lie down Katniss,” Peeta says, sitting up stiffly on his prosthetic and grabbing my hand, leading me over to the area where the others are sleeping.

He has the locket in his hand and he wraps it around my neck, patting it down with a determined look. A look that tells me that he hasn’t changed his mind.

I sit down on the makeshift bed and watch as Peeta hovers over me, planting a kiss on my hair and placing a hand on my stomach. I remember then that I’m supposed to be pregnant, and I try to make my face react as he does this.

“You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says and he kisses me. I watch him walk back over and sit with Finnick. And I allow myself to dream of a place where there are no Games, where I can tell Peeta that I love him.

A place where his baby can grow and love and learn without fear.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

The crowds cheer. The sounds of their screaming remind me of being in a fire chariot, of grasping onto Peeta’s hand and holding on for dear life. However, the crowds don’t cheer for me anymore, they cheer for my bow. They cheer for Snow’s death.

I’m numb as I walk the path, my Mockingjay outfit is loose on my skinny frame. My body is woefully out of practice. Prim has been dead for weeks, and I feel like a part of me has died alongside her.

I reach the mark on the ground that indicates where I am supposed to stand, and I receive another cheer as I reach into my quiver and retrieve the single arrow that rests there.

My grip on the arrow loosens as they bring out the former President Snow, and the voices shriek and wail as he’s tied to a post. His frail, old body is manoeuvred roughly by the guards, and I stand and observe him for a moment. How could a man so small cause so much pain and suffering?

He’s a mere ten yards away from me, and Coin speaks on the platform above, her hair is shiny, and her uniform is pressed neatly. I feel ill as I reminisce on Snow’s words to me earlier.

“Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

Bile rises in my throat as I secure the arrow. I’ve done this exact motion so many times that my arms are carried by pure muscle memory. My eyes are sharp as I stare defiantly into the President's eyes, the dried blood around his mouth frames his smirking lips. He knows.

He always knows, and I have no idea how exactly he knows what I plan to do. I think of my mission ever since I lost Peeta in the Quell. Kill Snow, take back the pain.

As I stretch the bow, I feel the skin grafts from my burns stretch unnaturally on my shoulders, the permanent reminders of the fire that took away Prim. That turned me into this Fire Mutt.

Snow laughs, and I wish I could hear it, but the cheers and excited roars of the crowd overpower it.

I stretch further and shift my arrow upwards, to the direct path to President Coin’s heart, and I release the string. I blink and the arrow is lodged into her skin, and she collapses from the platform, lifeless and dead.

I breathe out for the first time in seventeen years.

Snow’s laughter reaches my ears then, it’s loud and crackly and I stand stunned as spurts of blood escape his mouth. The crowds stream into the area, blocking the bloody President from my view and leaving me with the harsh reality of what I’ve just done.

I breathe shakily and mentally check off step one of my plan. Grey uniformed guards approach me and I think of what's to come. Trials and executions, the sight of my mother, alone without me or Prim.

I see the guards getting closer and I drop my bow, determined to make the second part of my plan come to fruition.

“Good night,” I whisper into the screams, and I suddenly wish that there was someone around to hear me.

I raise my left arm, determined to rip that little pill of death from my sleeve. I won’t even know I’m gone before it passes my lips. I won’t know any more pain or love or loss. Only nothing. As my mouth travels to the pill I am startled to find that my teeth sink into soft flesh. I throw my head back and my eyes meet blue. So impossibly blue.

Peeta looks betrayed, and his hand, which is bloody from my mark — is firmly positioned over the night lock pill. Unmoving.

“Let me go!” I snarl, attempting to wrestle from out of his grasp, but Peeta is strong. He always has been, and not just physically.

“I can’t,” he says desperately, securing his fingers even tighter against me. I thrash and scream until the guards come over and take me away.

Peeta and I watch as the little violet pill flies free from my pocket, getting crushed underneath the boot of one of the grey guards. I’m suddenly quiet as I watch the powder dissipate, and watch the relief fill Peeta's eyes.

I can’t.

It rings over and over again in my ears. I never even considered Peeta. He surely would’ve been better off without me. He doesn’t need me anymore. He doesn’t love me as he once did.

As I thrash and kick and bite I realise I am being sedated by a large needle. As the world fades to black I am overcome with memories of blue eyes and dead children. Of fire and my little sister’s last word.

Katniss…

………

“Katniss?”

I’m awake. Drenched in sweat and kicking off cotton bedsheets.

“Katniss, it was just a nightmare, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Peeta soothes, and his arms are around me again, his fingers smoothing my drenched brow. We’re in our bed, and once I realise this I calm down. I stop thrashing and I stop biting.

“S-sorry,” I say, my throat is scratchy from screaming. Peeta shushes my apologies, and I lean against his chest, revelling in the bare skin that meets my cheek. He’s only just allowed himself to sleep shirtless, and every time I remember it my cheeks heat wonderfully.

“Which one was it?” He asks, his hands curl around my sides, his thumb running over the burn on my arm.

“Coin’s assassination,” I answer, shuddering as I remember my dream of reliving that cursed day. The day when I finally ended the Hunger Games. It has been over four years since that day yet it is still as fresh in my memory as ever.

Peeta kisses the top of my head and hums in response. My heart is still thumping, I can practically feel the taste of his blood on my tongue from where I bit him that day.

I grasp his hand and hold it in front of me. Peeta’s hands are so much bigger than mine, his long fingers are now used to hold mine. He lets me skim the callouses from years of baking. He lets me trace the burns that roughen his skin.

“I never thanked you,” I whisper, kissing his fingers one by one. “For saving me that day.”

Peeta’s hand stills, and he turns, his eyes meeting mine.

“That’s what we do, Kat. We protect each other,” he answers, leaning forward and capturing his lips with mine.

Our comfort within each other had been hard fought. After that day, the one that repeats in my dreams and haunts my sleep. I was shipped to District Twelve and left to rot. And that I did, for months I rotted as Greasy Sae watched over me, and then one day Peeta was there.

Peeta had come back and had planted a garden.

I didn’t know what to say to him for weeks, but I let Greasy Sae brush and untangle my hair. Let her cut my feral nails and bathe me.

Every morning Peeta would arrive with bread, and every morning I would stare at him, until one morning I spoke, and once I did, I never wanted to stop.

Years later we still have nightmares. Peeta’s episodes are few and far between, and I try my best not to lose myself in the madness.

One day, a simple normal day; we were sitting in the back room of the rebuilt bakery, and I looked at Peeta, and I knew. The boy who tasted like sunsets and looked like home had never disappeared, he had always been there, and he had always loved me.

So I kissed him. Deep and long.

The next night when we had tentatively made love for the first time since before the Quell, he asked. “You love me. Real or not real?”

I didn’t even hesitate as I answered, “Real.”

Now, as we lie together in our bed, in our house. I relish the fact that he can hold me on nights like these.

“I couldn’t let you die that day, not after everything,” Peeta continued once our lips pulled apart.

I leaned my forehead on his and inhaled deeply, somehow expecting to smell blood or roses or the smoke from the fire. Instead, I smelt cinnamon and dill, and the sunset.

“Thank you.”

I kiss Peeta once again, and my fingers wind around the back of his head and into his curls. I know him inside and out. I know that he’s going to groan and buck his hips as I kiss down his neck. I know that he’s going to come in my mouth when he grips my hair and rolls his eyes back.

I know that every night, without fail — he will let me take his prosthesis off, he will let me undo the latches and kiss the stump left behind. I know that the first thing he will do when he wakes up is kiss me.

Most importantly, I know that when he’s ready, and when he asks me to be his wife. When he asks me to toast with him, I know I will say yes.

Because I was wrong, I didn’t bet on the wrong dog. I bet on the man who will love me and plant me a garden when I’m upset.

I bet on Peeta Mellark, the boy with the scars that match mine but a smile that dazzles me every single time I look at it.

I bet on the love of my life.

I'll be there on their side I'm losing by their side.. Will you let me, baby, lose On losing dogs…

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

Please lemme know if you liked this!

Feel free to drop me a message, prompt, request here at any time. And check out my Ao3 (under @/delicatekisses)

Xoxo.

#everlark #fanfiction #thg fanfiction #tbosas #thg katniss #thg series #thg #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 #the hunger games #peeniss #smut

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