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adsosfraser · 8 months

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always

everlark; post mockingjay; jealous katniss

The roof is leaking.

The tin bucket rings with the tap tap tap of the evenly spaced droplets.

The deluge of rain hit hard last night and it has me humming happily, excitement in my chest.

I’ve always loved thunder. The way it rolls deep within my chest and echoes in the deep old bones of the mountains around us. I would squeal with each clap and reach up to catch it in our Seam home as my daddy smiled from his chipped armchair. We’d play a game of hopping from spot to spot on the floor at each rumble and though his eyes hung in deep dark circles from his shifts in the mines, my father never tired. Then, Prim was born and she was terrified of thunderstorms for a time.

It’s just one leak in our shiny and spiffy Capitol made home that’s been standing for almost a century now though. Thom and his builders have much more important things on their minds than a tiny leak in our roof.

Some people still don’t even have roofs. The make-shift canvas of the sturdy tents lining the district hardly constitute roofs.

When the war began, the Capitol wasn’t quite as invested in the architecture in their dear sweet Victors’ homes. They couldn’t keep up their perfect veneer in District 12 when they obliterated it into the ground. The poor things.

And besides, a little water didn’t hurt that much. In my father’s home, we had at least ten designated containers to catch the drip of rainfall.

When I step outside into the morning, the sun is bright and clear in the sky. No trace of the ominous grey and green puffs above remains. The grass is wet and smells of rain. A small trickle of a stream has formed on the gravelly road, opposite our home. At least the geese have been subdued into some semblance of peace because of the storm.

Peeta had left this morning before the sun even stretched out into the sky. Usually I would already be out in the woods too, or by his side watching him knead dough or wipe sweat off his brow.

But, I couldn’t settle last night. Even in Peeta’s arms I was restless. And when my eyes finally drooped shut, a nightmare had found me. The giant crash of thunder that split the sky in two in the middle of the night woke me up. In my dreams all I heard were bombs and gunfire. It had reminded me of-

Peeta let me rest in this morning when he heard my grumpy grunt as I shoved my face under the pillows to hide from the sunlight. Not that he let me do anything. But he had gently tucked me back in and left a muffin on my nightstand for when I was ready.

Part of me wanted to pull him back in by the shirt of his buttoned collar and waste away the day. But even my arms wouldn’t listen to my demands. The bed was so nice and I fell deep into the mattress covered in one of the sheets as Peeta left the fan to run for me. The cinnamon and dill buried deep within the fabric of his side made me feel like I was rocking on a boat, in a lake with gentle rolling waves in my head.

Besides, we haven't even kissed since he returned to me almost four months ago. At first the chaos of finishing the important parts of the bakery and going through the final touches to get it up and running had us distracted. Now I’m not so sure he wants to kiss me.

I kick the loose rocks littering my path to the bakery. They skip and hop and fling themselves in the air. One hits another rock and angles itself to launch at someone passing me clear across the street but their back is turned and they don’t even feel it ping off the heel of their boot. I mumble an apology to myself though, and feel the heat of shame caving in on me from every inch of air around me.

Before I know it, I’m in front of the bakery. It was one of the first buildings up in Twelve. Everytime I see it my heart swells with pride for Peeta. Even though it’s just the bare bones now, I can see its future clear across every brick. The sign hangs proudly over the front. The ‘s’ in Mellark’s is slightly crooked and splotchy because of my shaky hands, but when Peeta began painting it with such excited and reverent hands, he insisted I contribute to at least one part of it.

Normally, I never enter through the front door of the bakery. The back door has always been home to me in a way. The first time I ever came to the back doorstep, I was sitting tall on my father’s shoulders and happily babbling along to a tune he was singing. He and Mr. Mellark quickly exchanged two squirrels with a respectful nod and I mimicked them which put the trace of a laugh onto the baker’s weathered face.

Now, I want to surprise Peeta as one of his customers. The bell of the door jingles as I walk through the door. No one mans the front counter so he must be in the back.

“I’ll be with you shortly.”

His voice carries through the opening to the room with the ovens and prep tables and my shoulders relax at his calm but steady voice. The way the bakery was built and rebuilt, it’s easy for him to call out to customers without having to yell. My lip twitches up into a soft smile and I pull out one of the chairs dotting the tables around the room.

His clomping footsteps and another ring of the bell clash together in my mind. I look up to see the new customer, expecting someone from Thom’s crew but I instantly tense up at the sight.

Her hair is coiled perfectly into ringlets around her face and a big fur coat rests on her shoulders. Her chest is unnaturally large and her bottom even more so. But she’s perfect, right down to her nails. Not a blemish in sight and her blonde hair shines with health and lustre.

She’s big and pretty.

“Artementia!”

Peeta’s shout pulls me from my scrutiny of the clearly Capitol woman. His steps are quick as he approaches her and wipes the flour off of his hands onto his apron.

My head jerks back when he reaches for her across the counter and they embrace. His smile is brilliant and he doesn’t even notice me lurking in the corner.

“Oh my dear.” They pull back from their hug and that woman kisses both of his cheeks, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “It’s been far too long.”

“It really has Artie.” He squeezes her hand. “How have things been for you?”

“Well why don’t we go and have lunch together? I’m sure you’ll be having your break soon anyway.”

“It’s just me today, I’m not sure I can just close up shop for my lunch break.”

“They can survive without you for an hour I’m sure. Just flip your little sign over and we can go to the opening of that restaurant down the street.”

Peeta’s head turns to the back, searching a long moment for something. When he turns around, it seems he’s already made up his mind. He lets out a sigh before plastering his smile back on for the woman.

“Well alright,” His hands work swiftly to unknot the apron around his waist and place it on the counter. “Sure wouldn’t want anyone else to give you the grand tour of our pristine district.”

She places a hand over her chest and lets out a soft laugh and Peeta’s chest rumbles with a short chuckle.

They walk over to the door, not even glancing my way as Peeta flips the sign on the door over to ‘closed’ and locks the door. Before the door smacks shut behind them, I shove it open and storm past them in the opposite direction. To the woods.

The rock in my hand scatters to the ground.

It was pretty and I thought Peeta would’ve enjoyed its smooth surface and swirling brown rings.

But maybe now it’s not enough to preoccupy his mind with the pretty blood and flesh woman beside him.

His head whips back to the loud sound of the slamming door and ping of the rock and I quickly turn my face away from his line of vision.

“Katniss?” His hopeful voice calls out. But I’m already pushing to round the corner of the rebuilt merchant businesses. “Katniss!”

He can have fun with his gorgeous Capitol woman on his arm. I don’t care.

I save the grumbling for later though, my mind focuses on the ground below me as my legs carry me in a spring towards the fence. I duck under my spot in the chain-link and snatch up my bow and arrows.

After the fifth poor squirrel participates in my very important exercise of letting my feeling’s flow for the day, I climb up a strong and tall tree. I lean into the familiarity of pulling myself up its sprawling branches and swinging my body up and up. Reaching for the sky just as its leaves are.

Have I really lost my dandelion in the spring already?

Did the hungry storms of last night, and the contrast of the harsh summer sun this morning already wilt it?

He so easily welcomed that woman’s touch. Someone from the Capitol no less. And he’s barely touched me in months. Save our desperate grip on each other as the terrors of the night take over.

I will not be sharing a town with the woman Peeta so readily shares himself with.

Instead of rough bark behind my back, I feel the hard arm of a rocking chair digging into my spine. The room is cosy and safe, like Peeta. I feel the sway of my body with the branches of the tree and hug my knees tight to my chest.

“This baby takes nothing from you Kitty, my heart just has to grow some more. Like my tummy. That’s all.”

I relax into her arms, feeling the steady beat of her heart where my head lays. Her stomach is fat, nice and cushy. As fat as anyone in the Seam could ever get. She smells pretty. Like the dirt and plants Daddy lets me dig my grubby little fingers into. I feel the song rattle through my chest as she hums to me. My head gets droopy and I curl further into her. Her hands run through my hair and as she rocks our bodies together on the chair, my head clouds with dreams that I can’t touch yet. But I know they’re there. Happy and warm.

“I’ll always be right here with you baby.”

Shivering in the downpour I’ve been caught in, I hum the same tune she soothed me to. Without thinking, my body rocks back and forth on the soaked moss and lichen on the limb closest to the ground. If I let my hand hang limp from my side I could probably brush the tops of the chives sticking out near the base with my fingertips. I don’t remember my journey down from the top of the tree, but it must’ve happened somehow.

I could be crying. I don’t know. The fat raindrops on my face disguise any that may come.

But it would be hard to disguise the snot squirming its way out of me. I rub my bare forearm under my nose.

I do what I do best.

I run. I hide away. And I sulk.

It doesn’t matter.

They all leave.

Even if they don’t want to, they always do. My father and Prim's choice was made for them. I don’t know what’s worse. To have Peeta’s choice made for him or for him to actively choose that I no longer fit into his life.

Either way, it’s all unbearable to think about. I gasp in sharp breaths and my chest is tight with the pain and fatigue of it all. I feel like I’ve just run the worst marathon of my life, and I’ve never even gone over five miles when training for the Quell put a stick up Peeta’s ass.

His clomping footsteps alert me to his presence long before I can see his form through the sheets of rain obscuring my vision. Maybe if I tuck further into myself he won’t notice me sitting on the lowest branch of the tree.

I was never a lucky person though.

He approaches me slowly, like I would a skittish animal. I tuck my chin into the safety of my knees. Surely he’ll go away if I ignore him hard enough.

I feel the air move around me as he swings a leg up and over and brings his body to rest on the same branch as me. It’s not without difficulty though, I know his leg still bothers him and can be cumbersome at times. After a quiet moment of him gathering his balance again, he lifts my chin up with his finger.

I can feel the tear tracks, dry and crusty against my cheeks and I know I look like a drowned rat, or rather a drowned Buttercup from my little pity party under the torrential rain.

“Oh, Katniss.” Warmth floods through me, all-consuming and relieving as his thumb traces the skin under my eye. “What’s wrong baby?”

My nose stings again as a fresh wave of fat tears fall from my eyes at the nickname. My lip wobbles and I can’t breathe. I try to answer, but everything comes out as a choked sob. Peeta reaches around to wrap his arm around me, rubbing my back in comforting circles. When I finally get the words out, they’re incomprehensible with my stuttering breath, throat full of tears, and snot muffling everything. To anyone but Peeta, who knows me so well, past the need for language.

“Why doesn’t she want me anymore?”

“What brought all of this on sweet girl?”

“You’re leaving me.”

“Not real.”

“Maybe not your arms. But you are. Your heart.”

“Never Katniss.”

Fat rain drops fall from his delicate eyelashes, leaving behind them a darker shade of blond from the moisture.

“You’re right here Katniss.” His steady and warm hands take my hand that’s shivering from the cold. He guides it straight over his chest and the comforting thump of his heart beneath warms me more than his coat he wrapped tightly around me does. I blink at his motions, my mind puzzling and patching them together into an attempt at coherency.

His other hand reaches towards me and he watches me closely for any sign of apprehension in my eyes. I can’t manage any to bubble up in me at the moment. Tentatively, he presses the pads of his fingers against my own chest, speeding up the beat of my own heart along with his under the firm press the palm of my hand has against it. His fingers straighten until the heel of his own hand is flush against my heart. The soaked fabric of my shirt clings to us both from the water of the rain.

“And I’m right here.” The pitch of his voice sounds at the edge of a question and a statement.

It’s not fair to him to be stuck with me though, just because he knows I wouldn’t be able to handle it. He deserves someone good and beautiful. Just like him.

Not a girl scarred from the fire she wore for pageantry and glory.

“I’m not pretty enough for you. I’m not big enough.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t enough.”

“Katniss.” My name breaks on his tongue; he physically can’t even force the muscles to move again, as if the ache in his chest is agonisingly painful from the blow of my words. I understand now. His heart is broken. Like I shot an arrow through him instead of the truth. Maybe I did, the day I sang to the birds in kindergarten and we’re forever tethered now from the invisible line of bow string to arrowhead.

“I love you.”

His beautifully made eyes well with tears, glossing the blue over with his pain. My eyes begin to water again, even after I’ve exhausted myself of the hydration required to sustain them. It’s not hard to feel what a man like Peeta feels for yourself, deep in your bones.

“I came back for you. Back to twelve. Back to myself.”

“It kills me that you think you’re not enough. I’m so sorry I said those words in 13 to you. I know I’ll never be able to take them back. Or the-” He stares at my throat, where his hands once wove together into a nest of fear and pure hatred and I swallow under his gaze. “But I promise Katniss. I will remind you how beautiful and smart and brave and loving you are every single day. You are perfect for me.”

“But you don’t want me.”

“I’ve wanted you that way ever since I’ve understood what it meant.”

But that doesn’t make sense. His constant distance and the sincerity behind his words clash within my mind. My brow furrows and my face deepens into a scowl.

“Show me.”

His eyes drag from their connection with mine, down to my lips. He looks back to me and his eyes widen with an emotion I’m all too familiar with.

“I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid I won’t stop Katniss. They changed me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So don’t stop. You’re my Peeta. No matter what.”

The kiss is gentle and sweet and I pull my body back against the rough bark, forcing him to lean into me even more. I cradle him between my thighs and smile against his lips. They taste like a fresh burst of blueberries on my tongue and my smile widens at the thought of him sneaking his own fresh muffin from the bakery’s supplies. The way his lips slide against mine, slick with the torrent of rain that assaults us is new and exciting. To consume the very rain itself off of his lip makes my chest flutter at the fact that not even the rain will get the chance to touch him that way so long as I remain in this embrace.

He shifts slightly against me and I immediately panic at the feel of him in that way. My body stiffens straight under him and he pulls back from my lips with a sheepish grin.

There’s an apology in his clear eyes but I won’t have that. I speak before his mouth can form the words.

I blurt out in a pant. “I like kissing you.”

I tuck my head into his shoulder to hide the blush that crosses my cheeks. But it’s too late. He’s already seen it if the dopey smile on his face is any indication.

“I like kissing you too.” His lips find the small space of skin by my hairline that isn’t hidden.

I scoot closer to him and burrow into his chest.

And that motion was a big mistake. Or maybe the best mistake I’ve made today.

We both carreen down into the cushion of soft grass below us when I push Peeta off-balance. A giggle bursts from my mouth unbidden as I land mostly on top of him. His body bears the brunt of the fall but he seems completely fine and a goofy grin crosses his face. He leans up to me and my heart flutters when he pulls me in for another short, sweet kiss. I nestle my knees around his hips and pull back from him with a smile.

I reach my hand to his ear and tuck a wisp of blond back behind his ear. The kisses and our proximity have made me bolder. Bold enough to interrogate him. “What is your little blonde girlfriend going to think about this?”

He sits up to bring his upper body off the damp ground and my body follows him.

“Who?”

I roll my eyes at him. I hold a hand to my chest and bat my eyelashes at him. “Oh Peeta it’s been far too long.”

“So that’s what this was all about. You were jealous?”

“No.” I scowl, crossing my arms tight over my chest.

“Katniss, she’s old enough to be our mother. Maybe even our grandmother.”

“Hmm.” My eyebrow twitches. “Maybe you’re into that sort of thing.”

He wraps his arms tighter around my waist, deliberately lower than where they were last time. He looks into my eyes for any sign that he’s gone too far but I won’t give him any. With a light pressure, he squeezes my backside tentatively with a wolfish grin, as if he’s just gotten away with stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar.

“What I’m into is what I have my hands full of right now.”

“But seriously Katniss, she saved us from the bombing in the Capitol after I tried to drag you away. She visited us both but I was the only one awake when she did.” His eyes are tender as he brushes a sopping wet piece of hair off of my collarbone. “It’s only ever been you my darling girl.”

“And it only ever will be?”

“Always.”

#everlark #one shot #adsofraser writing #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #jealous katniss #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #post mockingjay

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vasilissadragomir · 3 months

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Everlark Fic Drop: Us Among the Living

hi y'all! it's been a longgg time coming but i'm so excited to share my first fic in over 10 years (and my first thg fic ever)!

Us Among the Living is a canon-compliant, pre-epilogue growing together fic exploring Katniss and Peeta's relationship as well as their lives in District 12 in the months following the second rebellion. it's gonna be long, it's gonna be a slow burn, and according to @everdares and @belikov, it's gonna cause tears.

i plan to update every friday, and i've already written the first several chapters. i hope y'all enjoy <3

12 chapters out now posted on a03!

#the hunger games #thg #everlark #katniss everdeen #katniss #peeta mellark #peeta #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #everlark fanfiction #everlark fic #thg fic #growing together #grow together #post mockingjay #mockingjay #hunger games #us among the living

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oolhan · 3 months

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our little games

Wordcount: 1.7k

| Post-mockingjay. Peeta and Katniss making up their own guessing game with pastries that he brings home every night from the bakery |

No warnings! It’s literally a fluff fest following my realization about what Peeta and Katniss smells here and @mollywog’s replies conceiving a sudden birth of this prompt. Lol. This is my first time writing for everlark and I kid you not I oiled up my rusty writing skills from lit classes. Thanks also for @distractionsfromthefood for your support! Unbeta-ed, but enjoy!

It started when I came home early from the bakery, surprised to find Katniss curled on the couch covered with her oversized hunting jacket. She looked up from the arm rest and her cheeks were red and dry with tears. Nothing surprising, honestly, it’s just one of those days. I automatically walked up and knelt on her side, forgetting to take my shoes off in the foyer.

“Who is it this time?” I hushed, giving attention to her black strands clinging dry on her cheeks, softly flinging them aside while her head rested on the arm rest.

“Dad…”

“In the woods?” I glanced at her father’s hunting jacket she used as a blanket and carefully move it to wipe her tears, tucking its collar under her chin.

“No, couldn’t get past the door…”

“Okay, do you want to stand up now?”

“No…” A silence.

“Stay with me though?” Ah. There it is. Yeah, alright. Always.

She scooted on the couch to give me space and I obliged, lying down cramped with my shoes still on, faces inches from one another.

“What do you want for dinner?” I whispered, caressing her brow with my thumb. I’ll never get tired brushing her face this way.

She scoffed a smile. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” my eyebrows shot up. Pancakes for dinner?

“Yeah, you smell like maple,” she chuckled, her eye wrinkles right under my thumb.

“Probably because of the maple butterscotch brownies I made for Sae’s granddaughter today,” I murmured, tracing lines on her nose. “She said she didn’t know what maple tastes like,”

“That’s so Peeta of you to do,” she grumbled, mustering all seriousness with her brows. That made me snort.

“Yeah, well.”

“I want those butterscotch stuff now.”

My smile got wider.

----

The next day, I set aside some of the cupcakes I frosted for the seamstress’s kid’s birthday to bring home for Katniss. I never got to take my shoes off when she wrapped her arms around my neck, her face on my chest, the boxed sweets held on my free arm as I put the other over her.

“Hello, again,” I say, giving her a kiss after leaning back. “I’ve got you something,”

I hid the blue box behind me, smirking at her head tilting in curiosity. “You have to guess it first!” I played.

“Is it food?”

“Mhm.”

“Cheese buns?”

“No, I just made those for you two days ago.” I chimed. Her and her obsession with cheese buns.

“Those butterscotch brownies?”

“Unfortunately sold out,”

“Wait,” She reached for the front of my jacket, sniffing it. Then she’s whiffing off my undershirt, my hands, my chest, my neck. I tried not to shiver when her nose pressed under my earlobe.

“Buttercream…”

I tried not to grin.

“Cupcakes?” She eagerly tugged on my jacket.

“Oh, Katniss,” I chuckled, presenting the box wrapped with a simple red bow. She unties it and quickly picks the one with green frosting.

“This would be dessert after venison!”

----

After that, I practically came home everyday bearing random pastries for her to guess. I never get my shoes off in the foyer when she hauls herself on me and give my daily hugs.

“Ooh, something creamy today,” she quipped, leaning back from my undershirt. “Is it a cake?”

“Not even close.”

“Tarts?”

I shake my head.

“Something with custard?”

“Probably.”

“Custard pie?”

“Warmer,”

“Egg pie?”

“Warmerrr,”

“Ice cream? Vanilla cake with cream frosting?” She tugs on my jacket repeatedly, almost shaking me to give up my answer.

“Sweetheart, you’re cold again.” I tried not to laugh at her growing impatience when strands from her braid fell on her face, the box still unreachable behind me, and my free arm curling those anrgy locks between my fingers. Her eyebrows are beginning to crease the way they do when she gets close enough to Haymitch’s geese.

“What is it, Mellark?” Oh, I love nothing more than seeing her scowl.

“Guess, Everdeen. Or I’ll eat this alone after din—” She cut off with a grasp on my head and a kiss on tiptoes.

“Tell me now, Mellark!”

“That’s coercion!” I teased. She leaned up for more pecks, but I backed away chuckling.

“Peeta!”

“Alright, let’s make a deal. Guess this right with three tries, or give me a kiss every time you bite to it.” I challenged, plastering an impish grin.

“How am I supposed to guess it? All pastries have cream!” Her eyebrows are close to meeting now.

“Oh yes, minced meat pie is creamy.”

“Is it minced meat pie?”

“No, it’s not savory.” I clued in, getting impatient myself. I didn’t even take my shoes and jacket off and we’ve been playing this guessing game for minutes now.

Just pick the latter and let me kiss you.

She crossed her arms playfully, “Screw you, Mellark. I’ll take the second option just because dinner is getting cold. Now give it.”

“Groundbreaking choice.” I thumbed her annoyed forehead and unraveled her angry arms, revealing the box from behind and untying the red ribbon.

Her creases came back when she saw the hidden pastry.

“How is bread pudding close to a pie?!” She exclaimed, all angry tone and yet she’s pinching off a piece from the pudding. I made some batches up from the stale ones.

She bites through the pinched bread. I took the first peck.

----

It became a routine. Coming home at dusk. Stomping my shoes on the foyer. Her arms clinging briefly, nose sniffing, her guessing every item right, a peck on the lips, a dinner and a dessert.

“You smell dill and garlic today,”

“Did it cling that strong?”

“Doesn’t matter. I like it, it’s soft, like a little savory treat.” She murmured in my ear, rendering me still when she softly nipped my earlobe.

She never does that.

Her arm swooped under my elbow, taking the blue box from my hands and revealing a bed of focaccia sprinkled with dills. “Hmmm,” she moaned through her bites and I fought the urge to kiss that crumb off on the side of her mouth.

Is she trying to kill me?

I coughed, brushing off her innuendos and finally taking my shoes off.

----

Assuming her favorite days were cinnamon and buttercream, she does more than just short kisses whenever those days come. The soft bites on my neck and earlobes happens only when I come home smelling like it. That’s the time I sink down my fingers in her hair a little deeper or my hands grip her hips a little tighter.

Today, I grasp her braid a little stronger, my arm roping around her backside, giving her neck some nips of my own. I breathed her in, taking a whiff of her own scent—woods, sweat, something feminine, and entirely Katniss—wishing I could store away some of her in this manner, freezing this moment. I let her lift my head and kiss me senseless, mouths meeting, tongues twirling.

“I, uh, frosted someone’s wedding cake today,” Taking a peck on her nose, I tried to catch my breath when we break away.

“requested something with cinnamon and buttercream frosting,” I sighed, brushing off her brow, noticing her now diluted eyes. I failed to bring anything home because of those three tiers.

“Good for them,” she breathed.

“Couldn’t bring home anything,”

“Good for me,” She gulped and collided our mouths again. She took my shoes off along with my jacket. Dinner got cold that night.

---

Fall had a slow welcome. It was a seasonably cold day when she doesn’t push herself to me after I opened the front door. Disappointed, I took off my shoes and head to the living room, finding her standing up from near the fireplace when she noticed me. Our memory book laying on the carpet along with some papers.

“Hey you,” her cold form wraps around mine and I tried not to ask her what’s wrong too quickly.

“Guess?” I quipped, pecking her red cheeks. Did she just come back from outside?

“Butter cookies?” even with her wavering tone, she was right. Although I don’t point out the way she hid a small choke when she hugged me.

“You okay?” I let out warm breath on my palms, placing them on either side of her face and this time I felt her visibly holding her breath, her nose scrunching. “What’s wrong? Who is it this time?”

“No, no episodes. I just… I was nauseous the whole afternoon and tried to walk it out. I think I just miss them,”

“Hm. Come here, let’s warm up,” I led her to the fireplace and sat down together, the memory book lay open in front of us.

“Actually Peeta, I think I’ll prepare dinner.” She suddenly stood up, giving me a kiss on the forehead before heading to the kitchen. That was uncharacteristic of her.

But I didn’t question it. Not yet.

I started to wonder when she doesn’t meet me in the foyer anymore. Our guessing game slowly turned from minute hugs to silent smiles. It was when I brought home some seasonal apple pie that she couldn’t hold back a gag when she tried to hug me.

Doesn't she like apples? Can’t I recall if she hated apples?

“God I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gag at all. I just, I don’t know, it just smells sour.”

“I baked them fresh this morning so they’re likely not foul. But yeah, okay, I’ll just drop these off to Haymitch—”

“No, Peeta, your hands. They smell so apple-y.” Her expression was a twist of scowling and being disgusted. I sliced dozens of apples today so the scent clung too much even when I washed off with some soap.

“Sweetheart, we chopped all day at the bakery, the smell will last for some hours I think,”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why, I always liked apples,”

“It’s okay, let me give these to Haymitch and then I’ll scrub off in the shower.”

----

The next day I brought home some of the extra orange cake slices, dreading she’ll also hate these.

They were never put down on the table.

She devoured three slices in minutes.

Also gobbled my orange scented fingers.

----

Still mildly unhappy we didn’t return to our guessing games after a week, I didn’t bring anything with me today. I was taking my shoes off when I saw her beaming by the couch, her face tinted red with anticipation and she looks like she’s about to cry.

“What? What is it?” I rushed to her in my loose shoes and jacket still on.

“Peeta, I think I know why.”

Eyebrows crinkled. My hands on her elbows.

"You know I always love what you make but...

Her fingers fidgeting. Her blushing cheeks and silver stare the only things registering in my mind.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

She guessed right.

#everlark #post mockingjay #everlark drabble #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #everlark fic

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katnissmellarkkk · 25 days

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Yall I did it!!! I actually finished the chapter! Okay so now I was thinking seriously of splitting this chapter in two parts but in the end, I couldn’t find a good, satisfying place to break them in half so… here’s a really long chapter! Hopefully you guys don’t mind 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Okay well anyways, God bless all of you and thank you so much for continuing to read my stuff, following my page here, giving me kudos and especially all the really nice, wonderful comments! Those are like instant serotonin to my brain 🤍.

Anyways hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t take long for Peeta to arrive home. After our call ended, with me tearfully proclaiming I need you, all I could manage to do was stare at the clock. Stare at it and count the minutes until my husband was here with me and not lingering in town, vulnerable and unaware of the most recent turn of events.

Not lingering in town, where Vulcan could find him and follow through with his threat to take Peeta’s life.

I almost choke as the possibility dawns on me. For some reason, in the hours since I awoke, the prospect of Vulcan the Stalker harming Peeta had yet to even cross my mind.

And my head wound throbs and my side aches something awful as the image fills my mind. The image of the person I love most in the world, lying in a pool of his own blood, slowly dying from a wound inflicted by a monster, who for some deranged reason chose me to be the object of his affection. My chest hurts at the very concept that Peeta could be gravely injured and I would be none the wiser. The mere idea quite literally takes my breath away.

The mere idea that what happened to me could happen to Peeta makes my eyes fill up, and I wonder if I begin to hyperventilate how much it’ll damage the stitches in my side. How much can I move before I damage the seams holding my hip together and keeping me from bleeding out all over the bed.

But — thankfully — I don’t have time to find out. Because before I can have a full meltdown, much like the one I already had upon waking up and finding myself stitched together like one of Prim’s old rag dolls, my husband’s stomp booms as he comes up the stairs, apparently taking them three at a time.

And I’ve never been so grateful for his gait. I’ve never been so grateful that he’s as loud as a bear on a wild chase.

I only wish we could be alone. I wish we could just have a moment to ourselves. But there’s still Enforcers in our hall, conferring quietly among themselves, with no end to their visit in sight. Actually, it’s not just the hall. There is still Enforcers everywhere on our property.

On our lawn, in our kitchen, on the porch, in the living room, the office, the backyard, down the road.

And especially in the spare room where I painted the floor scarlet with my blood. They’ve all been taking turns rotating in and out of that room for as long as I’ve been coherent.

One of the Enforcers — a younger male, who I haven’t had to personally speak to — attempts to stop Peeta as he rushes to get to me, his eyes dark and wild and intense.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the young lawman says, his tone all business and detached. Like my near death experience is nothing but a bore to him. “This whole house is a crime scene. You can’t be in here-”

“She’s my wife,” Peeta simply states, as if that changes everything.

Because it does. To me and to him.

Because for as long as that handcrafted ring is on my finger, wherever I am, he belongs too. There’s nowhere I could be that Peeta wouldn’t follow. There’s nothing that could keep me away from him.

Read The Rest On AO3

#everlark #thg #hunger games #Katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #hunger games fic #everlark fic #my writing #every breath you take 👁✉️❤️‍🔥👀🦋📸👁

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itcanbegoodagain · 4 months

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Pregnancy Cravings

Word Count: 1288

Rating: N/A

Inspired by this video.

"There's no rules, baby," Peeta says softly, the corner of his lip quirking up in amusement at my frustration. "Do what your instinct tells you to."

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then, carefully, I dip the brush into the light pink I made, swirling together white and red. I bring it to the canvas and begin to fill in the gentle lines Peeta drew for me. I start at the edges of the petals, bringing the color down in quick strokes. I've learned that if I think too much about how I move the brush, the more I mess up.

A few minutes of silence pass by before Peeta murmurs that I'm doing well, and the primroses look beautiful. I smile, not taking my eyes off the painting in front of me. "Eyes on your own work, Mellark."

He laughs next to me, and I hear him shift before putting his palette down. He holds my head steady, pressing a kiss to the side of it. "What can I get you to eat? I'm going to the kitchen."

"I'm okay," I reply.

"Yeah, sure, the noises coming from your stomach totally mean you're not hungry," he says with an eye roll I can hear.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, clearly admitting he's right. "Do we have any leftover cinnamon rolls from yesterday? I could probably eat a whole baker's dozen in three seconds."

"Lemme check." Then he's out the door, taking the warmth of his hands on my head with him.

Cabinets open, then he yells back. "No cinnamon rolls."

Immediately, tears spring into my eyes. They blur my vision slightly, but I focus on the flowers and holding the brush correctly. Slowly, one drips down my face. Down the drain that hope goes.

He walks back into the room, holding a small plate of date bread he made today. "I brought the bread from this morning to hold you over until-" he breaks off. Peeta sets the plate down with a quiet sigh. He nears, frees my hands, then kneels in front of me. He holds my hands to his chest and looks up at me. "What's up, Katniss?"

I sniff, feeling ridiculous, and say, "I just... cinnamon rolls sound really good right now. I wasn't lying when I said I could eat a lot of them."

He laughs quietly. "I know -- you can always eat a lot, even when there isn't a baby asking for more." He brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you make some?" I ask hopefully.

"I don't have everything here," he says, protesting when my face breaks again. "But hey, hey, there is some dough at the bakery that I've had proving since last night. I can go get it and make you some fresh rolls in less than an hour."

"No, Peeta, I don't want you to go all the way there for me."

He smiles, shaking his head a little. "What, like that's the most taxing thing I've ever done for you?"

"Peeta, I'm serious," I cry.

He pulls me into a hug. "Me too, Katniss, okay? I love you and our baby you're carrying, and if you both want some cinnamon rolls, who am I to deny you?"

I brush my hands over my face, wiping away the tears. I look at him, and my heart feels so close to bursting it's hard to breathe. "Are you sure?" I ask quietly.

"There is nothing else I want to do right now," he replies. My stomach does a little flip at his words.

"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."

He grins at me, leaning forward to press a kiss to my lips. I hold him there for a moment, relishing in his warmth and comfort and love.

"I'll be back soon. Get comfy, or keep painting, and there will be cinnamon rolls before you know it." He presses one more kiss to my lips before walking to the doorway. Once there, he pauses for a moment, leaning against the doorway to watch me compose myself. When I start painting again, he taps the wood with his hand a couple times and he's gone.

I'm in the living room when I hear the timer go off for the oven. I'm curled up on the couch with a blanket, stroking Buttercup's fur.

Soon, Peeta exits the kitchen with a large plate in hand, a knife and napkins in the other. He sits beside me, setting the plate on the small table before us. "There, fresh and warm. All for you," he tells me, laying an arm across the back of the couch.

I reach forward and grab one with my fingers, ignoring the knife completely. As I bring it close, I get a close whiff of its smell, and my stomach turns. My mouth closes, my face turning away from it and Peeta.

"Katniss?" he asks. "What is it?"

I break down into tears again, putting the roll back on the plate. I cover my face, getting a little bit of frosting on my forehead with the movement.

I cry and laugh simultaneously, not believing the state I'm in right now. This is absolutely stupid. "I..." I begin. I feel his hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles, and I cry harder.

"Katniss," Peeta says again, real concern pushing through.

I drop my hands and look at him, tears running down my cheeks. "I know I said that cinnamon rolls sounded good, but... But they don't anymore. And you went all the way to the bakery to get the dough and make them for me, and I don't even want them anymore, and I'm so picky and ungrateful-"

"Woah, hey," he says, cutting me off. "First of all, you are not picky. You would eat food off the floor. Second, you are not ungrateful, Katniss, okay?" His hands move to my face, brushing away the hair there so he can get a good look at my tear-stained cheeks. "You thank me all the time even though you don't need to. We're married, so you never have to feel bad or thank me for taking care of you. It's the pride of my life."

Without conscious thought, I crawl into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms circle me, pulling me close. Slowly, he rocks us back and forth, and my slight hiccuping sobs grow smaller before they fade away entirely. He presses kisses to the side of my head the whole time, whispering little things about his love for me in my ear.

"Okay?" he asks, minutes later.

I take in a shaky breath. "I'm okay," I tell him quietly. "And I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he replies. "You're doing something incredible, giving over your body for months for something we both get to enjoy for the rest of our lives. I don't have to feel what you do. I want to take care of you, no matter what that looks like."

He pulls my head from his neck. "I love you, Katniss, and the baby you're growing in your stomach. If I wasn't in it for the ups and downs, for the long haul, I wouldn't have married you. But I am, so I did."

"I love you, too," I say, leaning forward to kiss him. It's a little snotty, a little teary, but that's okay. "You make me feel so safe. I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

Peeta hugs me close for a few minutes more. "Katniss," he says quietly, "I can literally feel your stomach growling. What sounds good?"

#the hunger games #everlark fic #idk how long buttercup should live but pretend he's fine in this timeline okay #pregnant!katniss #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark is superior in every way always #pregnancy cravings #peeta loves katniss duh #suzanne collins #post mockingjay

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lesbianlarks · 1 year

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I love Everlark AUs so much cause it’s like. Are they awkward acquaintances? Yep that works. Are they best friends? Well yea. Do they hate each other’s guts? That’s also canon. Unrequited? Partially requited? Secretly mutually requited but they’re just stupid? Yes. Like don’t get me wrong, there are some characterizations that can make me nope out of a fic and I do understand that all ships can be interpreted in different ways (that’s the point of AUs, etc etc.)

BUT THEY REALLY HAVE THE RANGE.

#things that make me nope out are like.#when Katniss is just some girl.#or when Peeta has no flaws / is generic perfect man #the hunger games #thg #Katniss x peeta #everlark #everlark fic

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littlerosette · 2 months

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a family affair

chapter one: a private joke

katniss everdeen x peeta mellark | rated e

When he looks at her again, however, Katniss hurriedly readjusts the smile on her face, wiping away all traces of irritation. He gestures towards the chair beside her. “Can I introduce you to my son?”

“Yes,” she breathes. An embarrassed flush warms her cheeks at the fact that she completely missed him, preoccupied with Bannock as she was. She turns, reaching down to shake his hand, only to freeze at the face that stares back up at her, slack with dread. A rush of panic runs through her, like a shot to the veins, and she falters, her knees suddenly knocking.

She could faint.

It’s the same blue eyes. The same broad shoulders. If she bent down and tucked her nose against his collar, she’s sure she’d still smell the cigarette she shared with him earlier, warm on his skin. Irrationally, she wants to rage at her mother for ruining yet another good thing for her, even if all it would have amounted to was a one-night stand.

#the hunger games #everlark #katniss x peeta #everlark fic #my fics #my writing #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss #peeta

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capric0rnie · 6 months

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6000+ words into my practical magic everlark fic and peeta still hasn’t shown up!!!! even i’m like girl get to the point

#everlark fic #peeta where art thou #heavy on the ever part of everlark i guess #don’t worry peeta has plenty of face time it’s just gonna have to be a long ass one chapter story

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carnationhes · 2 months

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find a place where there’s room to grow

Katniss gives herself a haircut

#thg #thg fic #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #everlark #everlark fic #thg fic rec #everlark fic rec #peeta mellark #katniss Everdeen #my fic

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everlarkism · 4 months

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Fool Me Twice

A modern-day supernatural Everlark fanfic, full of surprises and angst. Who knew you could fall in love with the enemy?

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Concept: Vampire & Vampire Hunter

Summary: Humans and vampires have been enemies for decades. Katniss Everdeen wanted the infamous vampire hunter in her hometown dead and she would do anything it takes. Her plan backfired and had to flee. Years later, Peeta Mellark is now the one out for blood… But what if he finds out maybe she’s not so evil after all?

Read Here on AO3

#wrote this at 3am #sorry if it sucks #first chapter is eh (sorry)#everlark fanfic #everlark fic #vampire au #vampire!katniss #vampire hunter!peeta #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #thg fic #ao3

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lemonluvgirl · 9 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

oh so fun! Thanks for including me!

The Both of Us -obviously because it's the most popular of my stories and is a fix-it fic. This one is super self-indulgent and as close to canon as I can get while giving Everlark their happy ending sans hijacking. They are so married in this it's ridiculous.

2. Some Loves Bloom Like Flowers, Ours Burns Like the Stars -incredibly romantic and angsty! This is the soulmates/soul marks Everlark canon divergent AU that nobody asked for but that ended up being pretty sweet if I do say so myself.

3. So Pure -A little pre-Quarter Quell Everlark smut. It starts because of the infamous elevator scene and heats up quickly. The ending is bittersweet but in line with THG canon.

4. Make Me a fun little Modern AU drabble that I still like to revisit every now and then! I still need to add a part three so that K + P can finish their smutty fun ;)

5. The Holiday Stand-In -More modern au fun! There's plenty of crack and sexual tension plus a recreation of the 74th hunger games, except with snowballs. Read for a good time!

And there they are! My 5 favorite fics! They are all rated M or above so read with caution. Ya'll know how Ms. Lemon loves her lemony scenes ;)

#lemonluvanswers #lemonluvwrites #top 5 fics #thg #everlark #thg fanfiction #everlark fanfiction #everlark fic #fanfiction #the hunger games

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adsosfraser · 8 months

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turn into dust

everlark one shot, set between the hunger games and catching fire

peeta helps take care of katniss when she arrives at his door one afternoon

wc: 1766

My hands roughly knead the dough on my kitchen island. I can’t stop the shaking in my arms as I repeat the motions that are etched into the very memory of my muscles. Each thwack I aim towards the pliable dough fails to banish the images echoing through my mind. They’ve been sitting there, waiting with a grin to see the final moment I’ll be sent over the edge.

Her grey eyes pierce straight through my chest, like the deadly sharp edges of one of her arrows. Just as my hands are an extension of myself, her bow is part of her very spirit as well. But her fierce eyes drown in the mist surrounding her; it’s choking her essence and scattering it into nothing. Cato grins madly as his hands turn her into crumbling dust the same colour of her eyes. My hands reach for her, desperate beyond belief. Life without my songbird is unthinkable. I punch the dough hard, and watch as my hand flies straight through the boy from District 2. I gasp, ridding myself of the nightmare that still crawls beneath my skin, demanding my undivided attention.

At the knock at the door, my head whips from my abused and sad-looking dough to the front of my house. I can’t see anything through the thick half-circle set in the sturdy oak door except for the slight shadow of movement. My brows pull together in confusion as I grab the hand towel strung up by the oven and wipe down the sweat from my forehead and flake off pieces of dough into the sink. The pieces rooted deep underneath the beds of my fingernails are a lost cause and I don’t bother as the knocking becomes more insistent.

I never get visitors. And none nearly this frantic in demanding I show my presence.

Well, except Prim. But I know she and her mother will be gone for a long while attending a birth in the Seam. They’ll be back if at least not late at night tonight, then early tomorrow morning.

I pull the door open with a polite smile I force on my face and a pleasant “hello” on my lips. I’m sure none of these niceties matter with the state I’m in. Crazed eyes with deep purple skin sagging under them and nails chewed to the quick and sometimes even further than that from nerves and nightmares.

My heart drops at the girl in front of me. I take a gulp and stab my fingers into the flesh of my palms to determine if the sight is real or the start of another dream.

Is it really already noon? The sun high in the sky tells me yes. And she’s always back by now on Sundays after hunting with Gale.

Her grey eyes dart to every single inch of the inside of my house they can see. They land on the vase full of dandelions on a side table near the entrance, then the towel flung across my shoulder, my hands, the clock above my head, and the rug under my bare feet. Foot.

She chews her lip, which already seems to have bled from the habit.

Finally, her eyes dart to mine and hold steady. I let out a sharp breath as my heart thuds faster and faster, like the wheels of the train as it began the start of its journey.

“Hi Katniss.” They’re the first words I’ve spoken to her in a month and three days.

Her eyes break our stare and dart back to my shoulder. Safe.

A dark shade of rose paints her cheeks and she worries her lip even more, pulling a successful strip of skin away.

“Um,” she pauses. “Hi.”

“Did you need anything Katniss?”

Her hands reach towards where her braid normally rests but pull away at its absence. The usual braid is unbound and wound up on top of her head into a clean towel. She’s in a fresh pair of her grey sleep shorts that reach midthigh and in a rich green tank top she normally uses as an undershirt. I’m surprised to even see the white sandals hugging her feet, somehow imagining her as a beautiful creature of the woods, barefoot with grass and flowers growing up underneath her. Reaching into the small pockets of the stretchy fabric of her shorts, she brings out a piece of metal smaller than her finger.

“Yes. Sorry Peeta.”

Her eyes are clear as they look back into mine. I push the hope that swells in my chest that she’s speaking about more than just the current situation, but her eyes express more.

“No need to apologise Katniss. I’m always happy to help.” You.

I grab the tweezers from her hand and move aside to let her into my house for the first time. Her wide eyes take in the foyer and the sturdy oak bones of the house. I guide her into the kitchen and brush her shoulder so she sits down on one of the stools at the counter.

She turns her back to me and shoves the tails of the towel from her back over her right shoulder. She tugs the back of her tank top down further to expose more of the skin on her back. I see it immediately and frown.

I want to burn it alive for harming even a hair on her body.

“It didn’t come off in the shower. Can you get it? I can’t reach it.”

The tick is embedded in the centre of her back between the bottom of her shoulder blades. I look closer. It doesn’t appear to have sunk onto her for long to be engorged by blood, but long enough that it clings to her. Maybe since she headed out into the woods this morning.

“Did Gale not want to help you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.” She looks back at me; a sad look passes across her eyes. Now I feel bad bringing him up. She probably misses him and he just had other things to do today to provide for his family. They only truly have one day to be together. “Do you not want to?”

“Of course I do. I just thought your boyfriend would be your first choice to do this instead of walking all twenty yards to a different house.”

“He’s my friend.”

A silence fills the room, heavy with all that’s unsaid between us.

“Hold on just a moment.”

I limp with heavy footsteps to the bathroom on the first floor of the house. The prosthetic is helpful, but it still feels like hell to have the tender and still healing part of the end of my leg constantly pressing down and rubbing against it, and to be reminded of what I’ll never have again.

I putter around in the bathroom cabinets until I finally find where the first-aid bin is shoved into a far corner. I come back to Katniss looking at the small lump of dough on the counter, her fingers inches away from it. I smile at the thought of her being tempted to touch the soft and squishy piece of dough to feel what bread is like before it's touched by fire.

She doesn’t startle when I come up close to her back again. I know my clomping footsteps are like land mines to her, the girl who sprung from the forest. I reach around her shoulder to set the bin of first aid supplies on the counter and place the small bandage, antibiotic ointment, and alcohol wipes near it so they’re ready to use.

With the slow and steady hand that I reserve for painting the delicate details of the cakes at the bakery, I lean forward with the tweezers and squat so I’m eye level with the bastard that stuck itself to Katniss. In under five seconds, I have it squirming between the tweezers and plop it into a small empty jar. Some skin pulled off with it as well and I restrain myself from kissing the spot on her back.

I quickly disinfect the area with the alcohol and put a little dash of ointment on it, smearing it with my finger.

She sighs at my light touch. I feel her tremble but continue on with my task.

Next, I peel back the layers of the bandage and stick it to her skin as straight as possible so it doesn’t clump up and fall.

“Can I look through your hair for any more?”

She nods.

“Mmhmm.” Her voice shakes.

I wonder when the last time was when anyone showed her this kind of care.

She pulls apart the contraption on her head and lets her damp waves fall against her back. I carefully bring my hands up to comb through them. It’s silky and smooth with the trace of conditioner still in her hair. It calms me in a way and I can tell she also enjoys the way I lightly scrape through her scalp with the pads of my fingers when her head tilts back closer to me with relaxed eyes.

“If you want, I can bring over some of the cheese buns I’m making. I saw you looking at the dough earlier.”

Her eyes open to look back at me upside down. I continue to look at her hairline and move strands of hair this way and that to get a better view.

“Cheese buns?”

“Yeah, they’re delicious. I’m sure you’ll love them too.”

“Okay.” She nods, closing her eyes again so I can continue.

A soft moan escapes her and my hands softly brush back the hair by her right ear to check for any ticks behind it. It doesn’t mean anything. She just needs a human touch. A friend. After everything she’s been through. And I was the closest warm body she could think of who wouldn’t deny her. I never would.

I lightly push her head forehead so I can check behind her neck as well and I’m glad that I see none. She frowns when I pull away. Sitting up straight, she clears her throat and brushes off her legs.

“You’re all good.”

Her eyes are watery as she squeezes my hand. “Thank you Peeta.”

With the lingering heat of her body and the smell of strawberries, vanilla, and sunshine from her soap, I light a match in the loneliness of my kitchen, her presence lingering long after she slipped away uncertainly back to her house. I watch the tick writhe and struggle under the heat to turn into dust.

#everlark #one shot #the hunger games #thg #peeta helps katniss with a hitchhiker she found in the woods #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #catching fire #peeta taking care of katniss #everlark fic #adsofraser writing #I’m not good at titles but it’s good enough right

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vasilissadragomir · 6 days

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Neighbors — New Everlark One-Shot

fluffy little modern au one-shot about katniss and peeta meeting at a sandcastle competition on the lakeshore where katniss' parents fell in love <3

if you like everlark on the beach this is for you!!

i wrote this in one sitting in a matter of hours this morning lol hope y'all enjoy :)

#the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #thg fic #thg fanfic #thg fanfiction #thg au #hunger games au #everlark fic #everlark fanfic #everlark fanfiction #everlark au #beach everlark

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katnissmellarkkk · 1 year

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Hiiii! I wanted to write a little something simple for Everlark and decided to lowkey mix two requests! “A kiss on the chest” and “Katniss learning what they did to Peeta in MJ and kissing his scars”. It was supposed to be set Post-Mockingjay but I instead made it a sequel to my “Peeta wasn’t hijacked in MJ reunion oneshot AU”. If you haven’t read it, it’s fine, the title right there tells you everything necessary to know 😂.

I hope everyone who reads this likes it! I loved writing it and I would really appreciate anyone who enjoyed this to like/reblog! It makes me so so so happy 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹. Also thank you to all my constant encouragers, you guys make my day with all your sweetness 🥹🥹🥹🥹.

Summary : Katniss learns more about what they did to Peeta in the Capitol and sets out to try and make him better. [Non - Hijacked Peeta Mockingjay AU].

Burned. Check mark.

Whipped. Check mark.

Starved. Check mark.

Shocked. Check mark.

Tortured (with water and [redacted][redacted]). Check mark.

I toss the file back onto the table where it was left by Peeta’s doctors, unable to stare at it any longer. Unable to stomach reading every which way Peeta was harmed while held prisoner in the Capitol. Again. I’ve already read it upwards of ten times tonight.

It never gets easier. Reading the extensive list of his injuries, reading the details they managed to pry out of him, visualizing what horrible acts were done to to him, listening to his doctors confer among themselves in sympathy and disgust, they themselves deeply disturbed by what he experienced at the hand of the president himself.

“Sweetheart, would you make up your mind?” Haymitch snaps. He’s in the worst mood he’s been in a while.

“Huh?” I furrow my brow and glare up at him.

“Either read that thing or stop messing with it.” He indicates toward Peeta’s file. “I’ve sat here and watched you throw it down and pick it back up a dozen times already. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re pathetic, Haymitch,” I say back but there’s little bite in my tone. I’m too preoccupied with the image of Peeta trapped in a freezing cold cell, naked and bloody and alone and terrified, and it’s driving me absolutely insane. It’s suffocating me, from the inside out. It’s taking up all of the space in my head, leaving no room for even bickering with Haymitch.

And Haymitch knows it too.

Of course, he of all people should be able to read me. After all, the same stupid file — and his crippling remorse — is undoubtedly what’s put Haymitch in such an awful mood in the first place.

“Just go see him, Katniss,” he murmurs, giving me a pointed look. “Go. You’re of no use to him just sitting out here, reading about what’s already been done. Get up and go see him.”

He’s right and I know it. As much as I hate to admit it, I know Haymitch has me there.

But still, I stall. It’s not that I don’t want to see Peeta. The opposite, in fact. Since his rescue thirty-seven days ago — not that I’m counting exactly — I’ve spent copious amounts of time with him. I’ve spent every waking moment that I could in his presence and as many of my sleeping ones that I’m allowed.

The doctors aren’t really thrilled about our arrangement there. They want to keep watch on Peeta as he sleeps, to watch and study and take notes and examine him further, but evidently it’s rather hard to analyze his nightmares with me wrapped around his torso all night, like a protective pretzel.

It’s not that I don’t want to see Peeta right now. It’s the fact that I don’t think I can look him in the eye, after reading exactly what those monsters Snow hired did to him, and pretend it isn’t all my fault.

“I don’t think the doctors are done with him…” I mumble, avoiding Haymitch’s eyes now.

“Cut the crap, Sweetheart.”

“Go away, Haymitch.”

“Go see the boy or I’ll find a way for you to spend tomorrow filming a propo.”

I glare at him again. “Would you stop?”

“Coin is getting hungry for some new ones.”

“Okay, fine, you win!” I exclaim, springing up out of my chair. “Congratulations, Haymitch. You blackmailed me into going to see my own boyfriend. Happy?” I hiss, kicking him in the shin as I walk past his chair.

Not hard enough to hurt him apparently. Not even hard enough for him to care. Instead he picks apart my wording with a smirk. “Your boyfriend? How darn cute.”

“Shut up,” I call as I exit the room.

The last thing I hear is him making loud, obnoxious kissing sounds in my wake.

I slip past the doctors, both the head and the medical, and beyond the nurses and supply carts and trays of food, into the room where I’ve spent more hours in the last month than I can count on two hands.

“Hi,” Peeta whispers softly as I close the door behind me. He’s shirtless, in bed and seemingly half-asleep already, laying on his side beneath the sheets. Waiting for me.

He looks so much better than he did the night of his rescue. His bruises are healing nicely, he’s gaining weight and muscle back, his hair is clean and curly again — thanks to me and Thirteen’s strong, medicinal shampoo — and his skin is starting to lose that scary, pale, translucent look.

But he’s still so hurt. He’s still injured — internally far more than externally — and I swear, I can feel my heart swell up and break into pieces just looking at him too long.

“Hi, baby,” I murmur softly, crawling beneath the blankets and folding him into my arms. Even with all the weight lost, he’s much too large for me to hold completely, so I make due wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist and stroking the back of his head tenderly.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, burying his face where my neck and shoulder meet.

A wave of guilt ripples through me. “Sorry I took so long.”

But he shakes his head, still having no room for spite in his body. Even after everything he’s been through, he’s still so sweet. He’s still so warm and kind and generous.

Well, towards me at least. The same can’t be said for his behavior toward Haymitch, who he blames for leaving us both in the dark about the rebellion.

“You were worth the wait,” he whispers. “You’re worth every wait.”

I feel myself blush and cover it swiftly by kissing his cheek. “How was your tests today?” I ask, smoothing his hair back.

He shoots me a sardonic look now and I giggle like a little kid. Every day when his dry humor peaks through the darkness, I get filled with ridiculous, unparalleled — uncharacteristic — delight.

“Still tedious as ever?” I murmur, rubbing his shoulder with my pointer finger.

“Boring as ever,” he mumbles before closing his eyes again. He’s clearly exhausted from all the probing they did today. And I know I should sleep too.

I usually sleep whenever he sleeps, wake only when the doctors make me leave, spend as much time with him as I can before getting sent away. But tonight I just can’t. I can’t make my brain shut off, despite the fact that at least half the compound is in bed, the other not far behind.

And of course, even tired as he is, even with everything going on in his mind, he still notices my distress.

“What is it?” He whispers, not even opening his eyes.

“Hmm?” I feign oblivion.

“Katniss, I can see something’s wrong.” He opens his baby blues, peaking down at me through his long, tangled up lashes. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a boy.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I reassure him, kissing his upper arm because it’s the closest thing within my reach.

“You saw my file?” He’s fully awake and coherent now, his voice much stronger than before. His tone leaves no room for question, even if I could lie straight to his face.

“Yes,” I whisper, feeling suddenly nervous he’ll be angry. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy to read it, I don’t know. The doctors left it out, I just assumed it was okay. “Are you mad?”

“No.” He chuckles lightly before moving his hand down to my hip, tugging me closer if even possible. “No, I don’t care. Read it as much as you want.”

He really means it too. He really doesn’t care if I invade his privacy, dig into his business and overstep my bounds. I don’t know if I’d be so generous if the situation were reversed.

Then again, going by the things I just read, he’s already been tortured and humiliated beyond belief. I doubt he has any concern for privacy left.

“You can ask me anything, you know,” Peeta says after a minute and I cup his cheek in my hand, shaking my head instinctively. I can’t ask him to talk about what they did. That would be cruel.

Instead I lean up and kiss him on the mouth, slowly and softly. Conveying every feeling I have for him, conveying every ounce of affection and gratitude and longing pent up inside me.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Peeta,” I whisper against his lips.

I feel his hand cradle the back of my head, massaging my scalp. “I don’t want to keep anything from you,” he finally says, resting his forehead against mine. “Not anything that you want to know.”

My eyes fall, breaking contact with his. I have questions, yes — understatement if I ever heard one — but I refuse to pry and I’m terrified to ask and I don’t even know where to begin after what I read.

But then something catches my attention. A thick, red, angry line, splayed right in the middle of Peeta’s chest. It stands out vividly against his pale skin and blonde chest hair and I can’t look away from it now.

“What’s this?” I murmur, running my finger lightly across the surface, clocking the way Peeta cringes a little at the contact. “Does that hurt?”

He looks at the wall behind my head for a long moment before nodding. “That’s from a whip.” He meets my gaze again before casting his eyes low. “I don’t remember what I did to earn it.”

“Nothing,” I immediately gasp, my head shaking and brows knitting together. The idea that Peeta earned anything that happened in that mansion blasphemous to my ears. “You did nothing, baby.”

“I know,” he agrees, pressing his lips to my forehead lightly. “I just can’t remember why they whipped me that day.”

That day. Because there’s so many days where he was whipped to choose from. Of course.

My eyes land on another mark, this one dark purple and almost circular, high up on his torso, almost on his shoulder. It’s not a bruise, although at first glance it could be mistaken for one. No, it’s definitely a scar. From what, I can’t tell.

I trace it with my thumb, rubbing it back and forth. It’s raised and rough to the touch, a little jagged even, like it never properly healed.

His hand comes up to touch my arm, almost out of reflex, halting my ministrations. “That’s from the early days,” he explains, with almost a touch of humor in his voice. “They were more creative then… and they had a lot of matches on hand.”

It takes me a beat to figure out what he means by matches. “Fire? Fire matches, Peeta?”

“Yeah.” He nods sheepishly. “Snow had a big supply evidently.”

“I will burn him alive,” I say through gritted teeth before I can think better of it.

“Calm down, firecracker,” Peeta laughs but I’m fuming. I’m fuming mad and ready to fight at a moments notice. I probably could even make a half-decent propo right now, the amount of venom coursing through my veins.

I encourage my own anger, feed it, in fact. Because I want to be angry. I want to feel this rage.

Because if I don’t, I’ll start crying. And that’ll only serve to make Peeta feel even worse. Which I can’t let happen.

I’ve already done that too many times.

I don’t tell him any of what I’m thinking. Nothing good could come from that. Instead I search for a way to mask my anger, protect him from seeing it.

I stretch up and press a kiss against the corner of Peeta’s mouth, traveling to his chin, down the side of his neck and over his collarbone.

He responds by letting out a deep sigh, clearly enjoying the attention.

I journey further down his body until my lips land on his chest, exactly where his scar is.

“What are you doing?” He asks breathlessly, peering down at me now. “You don’t have to-“

“Let me,” I whisper, tracing it again with my finger. He shudders a little at the contact. “Let me make it better.”

I hear him swallow hard. “Okay.” He nods a little, quietly inhaling and exhaling.

I lean in slowly and press my lips to the mark, the whip scar, soft and tender.

I can feel him relax beneath me, deflating almost. I don’t sense any sign of discomfort, so I take that as my cue to continue on, kissing the same spot again and again, moving up and down the length of his wound, creating a circuit and following it repeatedly, waiting until he tells me to stop.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, sounding almost pained, like my name hurts.

“Yeah?“

“Thank you.” His voice is almost inaudible, almost a praise or a plea. Tears leak out the corners of his tired eyes.

I have to fight to keep my lip from trembling, to stop myself from crying too. Instead I crawl up his body, keeping my legs wrapped around his waist and fold my arms loosely around his neck.

“Let me kiss them all,” I say into his skin. My mouth travels across the top of his shoulder, my eyes closed, moving by the touch of my lips alone, not stopping until I land on his burn.

I press kiss after kiss into the bumpy, rough scar, until I feel Peeta’s breathing even out against me. I feel his heart beating against me and his chest rise and fall with mine, and an ember of hope that my method may be working grows stronger.

“Roll over for me,” I urge, keeping my voice as gentle as my touch.

“You don’t have to do them all,” he says but I can tell he’s enjoying this immensely. I can tell this helping him more than any treatment the doctors have recommended.

“I want to, Peeta,” I insist, no question in my tone.

Slowly and lethargically, he complies, rolling over so his back is facing me. I keep my hold on him, both my arms and legs wrapped around him like a baby animal clings to their mother.

He has a plethora of scars and wounds on his back. More than I’ve been able to stomach yet. Not once since his rescue have I been able to truly face the sight before me now.

I begin at the top, resting the palms of my hands on his shoulder blades, pressing my mouth to the center of his spine, to the back of his neck, the back of his ribs, anywhere with a painful mark or dark bruise.

I keep going, never tiring, as if I can kiss him better. As if my kiss can take away everything that’s happened, everything that I unintentionally caused and everything I ache to go back and stop. I kiss him like I can make him whole again. Like I can heal his fractured heart.

Eventually he relaxes underneath me, his breathing evens out again and he goes slack.

Even then, I keep kissing him. Even in his sleep, I refuse to stop trying to heal his hurt.

“I love you, Peeta,” I whisper against his arm, knowing full well that he cannot hear me anymore. “I love you and I’m so sorry that I couldn’t save you from this. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

My lips are still on his back when the doctors order me out of the room.

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