The Trouble With Us, a hunger games fanfic

My name is Katniss Everdeen.

"Katniss…"

I am eighteen years old.

"Katniss… can you hear me?"

My home is District 12.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me…"

I was in the Hunger Games.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me…"

I escaped.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me. I need you here with me…"

There was a rebellion.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me. I need you here with me. Katniss, it's Peeta…"

The rebellion is over.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me. I need you here with me. Katniss, it's Peeta. Can you open you eyes?"

The Hunger Games are over.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me. I need you here with me. Katniss, it's Peeta. Can you open you eyes? I'd like to see your eyes…"

I am safe.

"Katniss… can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Please don't leave me. I need you here with me. Katniss, it's Peeta. Can you open you eyes? I'd like to see your eyes. I'd like to know you're okay…"

Peeta is safe.

Peeta loves me.

"I love you."

I love him.

My breathing slows and my body relaxes. I feel my hands being removed from where they were clasped behind my neck and then dropped back into my lap. I grope forward blindly, still unwilling or unable to open my eyes, but knowing Peeta's in front of me. I grab a fistful of his shirt and and slide my trembling hands up his chest, neck, face, until I find purchase in his unruly curls.

He's kneeling over me, I know by his breaths hitting my head and the hight of him in front of me and by practice and repetition alone. He sinks a little, pressing his cool forehead to my sweaty one. My eyes pop open and I'm swimming in blue.

We're so close, it's all I can see. His blue eyes, unblinking as mine are. And it's all I need to hold on to reality. This is what's real right now, not the Games or the war or the horrors in my head, my house and the crisp scent of fall wafting through the open windows and Buttercup's soft mewls and Peeta's blue eyes that drown me but also keep me afloat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peeta asks.

"No, it's okay. I'm better. I'm okay."

He doesn't push it. He knows this happens sometimes, this horrifying sense of panic that overwhelms my body and makes me lose my place in space and time. I honestly don't know how long it would take for me to find it again if it weren't for Peeta. Well, that's not entirely true.

Before he came home, it would take hours, days, weeks. Now, he can draw me back into reality in minutes. Sometimes I still get scared to think about how little time it took me to let him back into my life. The day he came home and planted the primroses in my garden, I made up my mind that I couldn't have him, didn't want him, didn't need him.

But he was persistent in showing up at my house when I wouldn't leave, baking for me when I wouldn't eat, sharing my space when I wouldn't speak to him, and he rooted himself back in my life at an alarming rate in typical Peeta fashion. I know my romantic track record is lousy, but I'm not stupid. I knew what I felt, feel, for Peeta. But knowing it and admitting it were two completely different things.

Sometimes, I still have trouble saying those words, telling him that I love him, because I know how quickly it can be taken from us. He knows. We've been there. But he isn't scared like I am. I prefer to show my affection towards him in a more… physical way.

That's a different story entirely. He still has trouble touching me in intimate ways without having a flashback. But I need him in that way. I need his touch, his kiss, all of him, whenever I can have him, because I still think he's going to be taken from me again. And that's why I lost it this time.

Recently, he's been the cause of almost all of my mental breakdowns, but I'm resistant to telling him. I'm not scared of him, like he sometimes thinks I should be. I'm scared of losing him. Terrified, actually. And I'm too far gone to protect myself. If anything were to happen to him, I would die. It's as simple as that. But for now, I'm okay once I realize he's here. So I close the little space remaining between our faces and kiss him.

"Katniss," he moans my name in protest, not in pleasure.

I know what he wants. He wants to talk about it, maybe do some light cuddling. But I want to get fucked. That's what I need right now. I need him with me physically, on me, under me, in me. I need him to make me come. And he will.

He's great with his mouth. At first, his experience made me uncomfortable. I don't like to think about him with other girls. He's mine. I don't push it, though. He can hardly remember any of those experiences, a side affect of the hijacking, and he insists that he doesn't want to remember anyone but me, that he knew he wasn't ever thinking about anyone but me.

Me, who's sloppy and inexperienced in bed. But Peeta is patient. He's my first and my last, which is okay. I doubt anyone else would be able to make me come at all. Usually, it's thoughts of him that finally send me over the edge when the physical pleasure isn't enough.

There's something impossibly intimate about the nature of our relationship. The things we've been through together… they've brought us about as close as two people can be. He knows what's wrong without me having to communicate it. He just knows. He was there. And he understands, might be the only person who can understand, what it's like inside my head. What it's like to be me. What it's like to have a hard upbringing, to be reaped for the Hunger Games two years in a row, to lose your family, to be in the Capitol the day it was brought down, to go up in flames and come back to life. We aren't the only star-crossed lovers, not the only victors, not the only survivors of war, not the only tragedies, but we are the only us. The only two who've gone through such a specific set of circumstances together that it's impossible to ignore the ways in which we know each other. He knows me, but he still loves me, and if that's not a turn on, I don't know what is.

I grab the hem of his cotton shit, trying to pull it over his head, but he's still resistant.

"Katniss, we can't. You're not okay right now. Neither am I. This isn't safe."

"It shouldn't be safe, Peeta. I don't want it to be."

This boy is a saint, but he's not golden enough to fight it when I start grinding my hips into his. I straddle his lap right here on the floor, riding him through the annoying layers of our pants, forcing his hands to my breasts.

"Please, Katniss, I can't."

"I trust you," I whisper, and I feel him growing hard under me.

The combination of both physical and emotion intimacy catches him off guard for a second, and he starts to return my gestures, kneading my breasts, moving his hips in time with mine. I finally get his shirt off and I hear him moan again, a smaller noise that reveals how much he wants this.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

Not that afraid, he isn't pushing me off, and he has before.

"Peeta, you will not hurt me. You love me. I love you."

That pretty much does it. He seals his lips to mine, silencing us, and only pauses to hastily remove my shirt and bra. At the feeling of my bare skin on his, I feel my orgasm start to build, and I feel alright. I will be okay. I am okay. Because I have this small feeling of bliss and I have the blessing of a man named Peeta Mellark who is currently dry humping me with so much intensity that I'm starting to get wet before he even has me naked. I need to remedy this situation.

"Take your pants off."

"We shouldn't."

His hands still, he's hesitant to put them on me at all, just allowing them to rest awkwardly on my hips, but he let's me fumble with his zipper as he sucks my left nipple into his mouth, making my head fall to the right. He kicks his pants off and I remove my own in one swift motion before he has time to protest.

His lips leave my skin and I growl at the loss of contact. He's not touching me anymore. He's actually stood up and taken a few steps backwards, leaving me naked on the floor. How dare he.

"I need you to touch me, Peeta. Fuck me. Make me come."

His dick swells.

"I can't."

I'm starting to get fed up with his nobel act. I rise myself and cross to him, pushing him down to the couch where I climb back on to his lap, ready for him to take the final step. He will. He usually does. But then he starts to tremble lightly, and I feel him start to soften against my leg. So he isn't being overly cautious. It's real this time. He's close to the edge, and I've been pushing him.

"Okay," I relent. "Okay, it's o—"

He sits up violently, unintentionally tossing me to the floor, fisting his hair.

"Peeta, no. No no no. You can fight this! You're so strong!"

He makes a strangled noise as he fights the venom, and I realized that he's not fully gone, doesn't need coaching, needs comforting. I move to the coach and he slides away, but I corner him against the armrest, grabbing his hands from his hair.

"You're so strong. My beautiful, strong Peeta. You can beat this. You will beat this. I love you. Don't let them take you from me."

He starts breathing hard, almost gone.

"Look at me, Peeta. Look at me."

He opens his eyes. Blue.

"There you go. Keep your eyes on me."

He does, and we stare at each other until the venom recedes. I try to scoot into his lap, not to fuck, but he still denies me.

"Peeta, it's okay. You're okay. We don't have to have sex. I know you don't want that right now. I shouldn't have pushed."

"You think I don't want to!? Of course I want to have sex with you, Katniss! Ever since puberty, all I've wanted to do was have sex with you! Every time I've jerked off, ever since I was a fucking child, I've pictured your face, your body, your braid. And now you're here, and you're naked, and I'm naked, and I can't fucking do it without… without…"

"You would never hurt me, Peeta."

My voice comes out softer than expected.

"Katniss! I already have! I've attacked you more than once! And having you this close, this vulnerable, it makes me react in more than just a sexual way. I want you, and I fucking love you, but when you're on top of me, riding me, and the venom starts to build, my hands twitch for your fucking throat, Katniss."

"You won't hurt me. I know you won't."

I'm louder, more firm this time.

"You can't know."

"Fine, I can't know, but I trust you."

"I don't."

I ache for him, for us, for our inability to have uncomplicated, normal sex. I trust him so much. I need to show him. I need to show him what I want. I stand and step towards him, pressing our bodies together. He just stares at me. I wind my hands around his neck and kiss him firmly. Then, I bring his hands to my throat, placing them in a choke hold, tracing the area that was still marked from his fingers before the fire that killed my sister.

He's stunned into temporary immobility, but he regains control over his body and quickly removes his hands from my neck.

"You're insane," he whispers.

I grab for his hands again, but he snatches them away.

"Come with me," I say.

I pull him upstairs to my bedroom where I fall onto my bed. He lingers by the door.

"Come here," I say again. "Please."

"I can't touch you."

"You can. You can touch me wherever you want. Absolutely anywhere. I am yours, Peeta, and you are mine. I have complete faith in you and your recovery. You will not hurt me. Now get over here, I'm begging you. I need you right now, Peeta, and you aren't here. Where are you? Come back to me."

Maybe it was the actual begging, but something I've said convinces him to climb on top of me and resume the kissing. I trust him. I'll prove it. He's using his hands for support, but I take them, one by one, and place them back on my neck. His lips still, and he leans back onto his knees slightly, but he's still pressing on my neck. Not enough to effect my air flow, but enough so that he's on top of me, looking into my eyes, with his hands wrapped around my throat. We've been here before.

"I trust you," I whisper for the third time.

"Katniss… do you… like this?"

I nod ever so slightly. I do. It's erotic.

"Is that… what does that mean?"

"Don't worry about what it means, Peeta. I don't even know myself. But I know I want you to touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. Aggressively…"

"And… you trust me enough to want me to do… this?"

He applies a little more pressure to my throat, glancing down at his hands.

"Yes. I trust you enough to choke me during sex. I want you to."

"I… alright. Let's do this, then. We can do this."

"We can do this," I repeat.

"This is normal. People do this."

"This is normal. People do this," I echo.

He resumes kissing me, taking his hands off my throat, but I don't force them back again. Hopefully, he'll do it on his own later. He does use his hands more freely, however. Running them up and down my legs, my hips, my chest. Sucking on my neck. I moan as he nips at the tender spot above my collar bone, but it isn't enough, it's not what I want.

"Harder, Peeta. More."

"It'll leave a mark."

"I actually don't give a single fuck."

This time, he's the one who moans. He loves when I curse during sex, and he gives me what I want, sucking more hungrily at my neck, pulling on my earlobe with his teeth. The sensations shoot down between my thighs, and I crave friction there.

"Touch me," I command.

He complies, encouraging me to keep talking, to keep telling him what I want.

He cups my center, rubbing, teasing. He knows what this does to me, knows I hate it.

"Peeta," I growl.

"Mhh."

"Don't play this game. No foreplay. Just fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me."

He scoops me up, cradling my ass, and pins me against the wall. My feet find purchase on the ground and I reach for his dick, pumping it fast in my hand. He bucks his hips.

"You have to slow down, babe."

"No. Fuck me or I'll make you come right now."

His eyes harden, and it's so impossibly sexy, I relent first, letting him win the staring contest for now.

He slips a finger inside of me, curling it just the way he knows I like, and then adds a second. He's in me up to his knuckles, fucking me ferociously with his hand, but it's still not enough to match my needs right now. I'm trying to think of some line, something witty to say to get him to speed things up, when he pulls out of me, kissing my lips before I can protest. Then, his hands are on my neck, pinning me to the wall.

My eyes pop open and he's looking at me with such focus it's discerning. He's concentrating, trying so hard not to hurt me, yet determined to give me what I've asked for.

"Help me. Tell me what feels good."

His voice is sweet, not rough, as I expected it to be.

"More. More pressure."

He pushes tighter, not quite on my airway, but enough so that I start to feel his aggression.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not. You won't. This is what I want. Do this for me."

He finally complies fully, using his hands to keep me in place on the wall, pressing on my neck as he assaults my mouth with his lips and tongue. I've never been more turned on in my life. I start to feel wetness dripping down my leg, and I push back against him, managing to get off the wall, thrusting my hips towards him.

"Fuck me like you mean it," I tell him.

"You're not in charge, Everdeen."

Except for I am. And he knows it. Respects it. Puts up with my needs to always be on top, always set the pace, always feel in control. I have to have control. And that's okay with him. The same can't be said for many other men, I assume.

He slams me back against the wall, choking me, teasing me with the tip of his dick. I whine, needing him so badly. I don't think I can take it anymore, take the absence of him inside of me, when he slams into me, making me cry out in pain and pleasure all at once.

His dick is so big, so perfect, and it fills me so completely that I'm never entirely adjusted to it at first. He fucks me fast against the wall, hands still wrapped around my neck.

"Yes, Peeta! Yes!"

He loves when I say his name. It shows, too, because he hoists me up, using the wall to help support my weight, and the new angle allows him to hit that spot deep inside of me, the spot that makes me shake and crumble for him.

"Shit, Peeta!"

His hands have moved to cup my ass again, and I miss the pressure on my neck until he turns and slams me down onto the bed, pressing into me with such force that we both have to pause for a second.

"Are you okay?"

He whispers, it's sweet, changing the mood. I nod, locking eyes with him, somehow falling further in love with this beautiful, powerful boy who has somehow come to be mine. Who was once taken from me. Never again. I roll us over and ride him, pinning him to the bed, knowing that as long as I keep him here, no one can take him away. But I won't last much longer. I slow down, knowing that he prefers it this way, and he's mesmerized as I bounce on top of him, thighs starting to burn. With one touch to my clit, I shatter for him, coming hard, crashing down on his chest. As I ride out my orgasm, I chant his name and nothing else. It spills off my lips without hesitation. I love saying his name as much as he loves hearing it. Peeta. Mine. At the sound of my voice and the contracting of my walls, he follows me over the edge, spewing noises that sound like my name, professing his love for me over and over. I hold him in my arms as he comes undone, and when his breathing slows, I don't roll off of him, don't let go. I rest my chin on his chest, looking up at him.

"Thank you," I breath. "That was amazing."

"I can't believe you trusted me enough for that. You're amazing."

"You know what else would be amazing?"

"What?"

"Some cheese buns."

This gets a laugh out of him. I can't help it, I'm hungry.

"Whatever you want, love," he tells me.

I smile, one of the smiles I reserve for him, and finally climb off of him. He gets up and I follow him downstairs, finding him pulling on his boxers. I grab his shirt and pull it over my head before he can snatch it.

"I kind of need that," he tells me.

"You kind of don't," I retort, pulling on my underpants.

He smirks at me and grabs my pants from where they lie at his feet, flinging them across the room.

"Hey!" I squeal, smacking his arm. His strong, muscular, toned arm. I could go again, right here, right now. He pulls me against his chest and kisses me tenderly before heading to the kitchen in nothing but his boxers. I trail after him and hop up onto the counter, which always annoys him when he bakes.

"Unsanitary," he comments.

"You're unsanitary," I say, sticking out my tongue.

"You don't seem to mind," he says.

I smile as he pulls out ingredients, thinking about how lucky I am. I can be happy. I am happy. I have Peeta, and he's happy, too. At least for now. We both have good days and bad days, but the good days are starting to win out, becoming more numerous, making the bad days more bearable. Yes, it's the good days that remind me I can go on. My life is worth living, because I have him.