My baby, my baby
You're my baby, say it to me.
Sharing a room with Johanna Mason is harder than I thought it would be.
At least in District Two there had been the chance for some fresh air and hunting, but being back in Thirteen has been nothing but confusing.
Training with Johanna and being outside is a chance at fresh air but a hard-fought one. Plus, rooming with her is getting to be more irritating than helpful at this point.
Like now, as she lies awake, humming a tune so incessant that I can't even think — let alone sleep.
"Do youhaveto do that?" I snap, finally losing my patience.
Johanna smirks and the orange glow from the lamp that separates our beds illuminates her gaunt features. "It's the national anthem for Panem dearBrainless, I have to show my patriotism wherever I can."
I growl and try to scooch down in my rickety bed, burrowing my head under the thin blanket to try and block out the sound. To my dismay, Johanna has found amusement in my reaction, and as a result she starts to sing the words of the song aloud.
"Gem of Panem, mighty city, through the ages you shine anew-w-w-w!" Johanna sings, her scratchy, off-key version of the cursed song seeps into my ears, and I snap.
"I can't do this, I'm going for a walk," I say, throwing the duvet off my body and slipping on my hunting boots. I must look quite the sight in my long grey nightgown and big boots, but I could care less.
"Just don't get caught Brainless!" Johanna calls after me as I slam our room door shut, huffing as I do so.
My rage brought me to the end of the hallway. It was lit with the same dim orange lights that were present in our room, giving the place an creepy atmosphere.
The sounds of me stomping down the hall and the whirring of some sort of machinery in the walls were all that filled my ears, and I swore internally at District Thirteen and all of its fucking practicality.
I march for a minute or two longer, holding my arms crossed to avoid the chill in the air. I haven't even spared a thought about the night guards that were posted around the place, making sure the District was safe at night.
District Thirteen heavily frowns upon anyone wandering about at such an hour, so I presume that the guards are more to keep us in rather than to keep the Capitol out.
Before I can even register what I'm doing, I find myself at the hospital ward. The shiny metal reflecting from the sign snaps me out of my grumpy stupor.
Why have I brought myself to the hospital? I hate it here. After waking up from my sleep-syrup Morphling fever dream where I thought, idiotically, that Peeta was holding me, I haven't been back here. I even made my mother dress my gunshot wound in my bedroom.
But I knew why I was here, why my legs had subconsciously walked me .
I wrinkled my nose at the sight of the entrance doors, the antiseptic smell was overwhelming. I haven't even seen Peeta since he'd told me that he remembered about that night with the bread, and again, called me ugly and plain.
I was still staring nonsensically at the doors to the hospital when I heard an echoey laugh. A low male one at that. Footsteps followed and quiet night guards,I realised, and my heart immediately started racing.
I did not need any more shit from Coin, or Haymitch or even fucking Plutarch, so as I saw the light of their flashlights I thought fast, and scurried through the hospital doors and into the ward, hiding behind the first corner I could find.
My bare arms were covered with goosebumps as I heard the voices get louder, the two men approaching where I was standing.
"Did you see that door close?" one of them asked, his voice reflecting a familiar District Twelve twang.
"It's probably just Mellark again, Heavensbee told us to just leave him alone when he's wandering about — could be dangerous."
My breathing is laboured as I listen, Peeta? Are they talking about Peeta wandering around the District at night?
"Yeah, yeah, he's probably just off to the Everdeen's floor again, let's leave it," the District Twelve one affirmed, and the two men turned around, talking about something so boring I don't even care to listen.
Everdeen's floor? Not only is Peeta allowed out of his room at night but he… Comes up to my floor? God, what is Plutarch thinking letting him do that?
"You're lucky they didn't see you. Those two would sell their soul for some entertainment at night."
I freeze as I hear the voice, the familiar voice of a boy who I used to know filling the quiet of the night.
I stopped breathing as I burrowed more into my corner, trying to see in the dark where he could possibly be.
"No point in hiding Mutt, I've already seen you. Now come out," Peeta says, his voice thick and more demanding than I've ever known him to be. I curse myself as my cheeks break out in a hot flush.
He's getting better — physically at least, he sounds stronger. I haven't seen him in quite a few weeks. He's clearly still brainwashed though,myPeeta would never demand anything of me, ever.
Frustratingly, I find myself peering around the corner of where I am hiding, and I see him — dressed in sleep shorts and a grey District Thirteen t-shirt. He's sitting on a hard plastic chair, and the glow of the orange cancels out the bruises on his face.
His leg is stretched out, the titanium shining. He's leaning forward like he'd had his head in his hands before I'd come in. He looks a lot healthier, and more like my version of Peeta. How I didn't notice him sitting there before was beyond me.
"I won't attack you Mutt," he adds, leaning back, his head back on the concrete of the wall. He's sitting outside of his room, and I wonder if he's as cold as I am.
Slowly I creep from my corner, standing cautiously three metres from him — as if the doctor with the clipboard was standing near us, instructing me what to do.
"I don't sleep anymore, and apparently walking is good for me… so they turn a blind eye to my night-time adventures."
I shift from foot to foot, the leather of my boots is rubbing against my heel, and I'm sure I'll have a blister by morning.
"I can't sleep either," I mumble, I hate how much of a pull I still feel to him, how much I still feel the urge to wrap my arms around him, tug my fingers in his cropped blonde hair.
"Dreaming of Hawthorne, no doubt," he chides, looking up at me, those dark eyes scanning me from my oversized boots to my messy braid. I blush even more.
"Don't worry Mutt, I've still got these pretty bracelets, I couldn't even hurt you if I wanted to."
"Do you?" I test, "Want to hurt me?"
He puzzles at me, and his hands are rubbing his thighs as he scans my face.
"I don't know," he finally says, it's less cocky and more shy. A tone more familiar.
I look down at the linoleum floor, I pine for him even now. The sound of him was so close to what it used to be I could almost imagine him breaking out into a toe-curling smile.
"I keep on painting you," he sighs and tugs a hand through his short hair. I catch the action in my peripheral and again, it's so familiar that it hurts.
"I paint you like you are in my dreams, evil and seducing and wanting me dead," he elaborates, and I lift my head, only to see that his eyes are screwed shut.
"I paint you naked, laying across the picnic blanket after that day on the rooftop," another long sigh, "I paint you in the Games, wild and afraid."
I swallow, my throat dry and forming a lump.
"I paint you, and I can only paintyou," he sighs, and his eyes meet mine. I step forward, watching as his eyes widen. He reminds me of a deer in the District Twelve woods, the ones so afraid to die, not like the unbothered ones of Thirteen.
I don't know what to do, I feel like I'm grieving. Grieving for my boy, grieving for the damaged one that sits before me now.
"W-when you go to bed tonight, take off your leg, you'll sleep better," I blurt out, my gaze fixated on the latches that separate his real thigh from the metal of the prosthetic.
Peeta furrows his brows, looking down at the leg like he never even realised he could do that.
"How do I even…" he asks, and I breathe in, stepping slowly towards him. I look at his cuffs, and his wrists around them are red and inflamed. He must be digging them into his flesh on purpose.
I'm closer than I've been to him for weeks, close enough that when I kneel in front of his leg I can smell his familiar scent, a scent so uniquely Peeta that it dazes me for a moment.
He looks down at me expectantly and I gesture over the latch on the left side, cautious not to touch him and push my luck.
"You just pull the latch on each side and pull it off gently. You have to do it when you're already in bed though, because you can't walk once it's off," I explain, pointing to the latches on either side of the leg. His eyes are following me, his lips slightly parted.
"How do you know this?" he asks, his hands tracing the latches gently. His voice is shy again, and he sounds younger than he is.
"I've done it — before. For you," I say, blushing again as I remember the circumstances of doing this for him.
I expect him to reply with some sort of quip, maybe a harsh comment about me being a common Seam slut, or that I was the spawn of Satan, hellbent on destroying him.
"Thanks Kat," he whispers, and my head snaps up. His eyes are blue, and his hand is trembling. It's like he's come up to the surface, and I hold my breath, watching as his eyes darken once again, and he disappears again.
We're both quiet for a moment as I stand up, stepping back as I watch his expression change. He starts to shake, and his legs are spasming. I think he's beginning to have an episode.
"Get. Out." he spits suddenly, holding his head in his hands.
"Peeta—" I say, quiet and desperate.
"Get out!" he screams, loud enough for anyone around to hear.
I scramble back, determined to leave now. Peeta digs his wrists into the cuffs and groans. Everything in my body is telling me not to leave but I have to, he's warning me. About himself, so I sneak one last tortured look at him and escape from the hospital ward, sneaking back to my room as fast as I can.
Thankfully Johanna is sound asleep as I slip back into the room, removing my boots and tucking myself up in bed, willing myself not to cry as I shut my eyes and think only of Peeta.
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。
"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says, and my stomach flips in that familiar, welcome way.
I'm blushing, and wishing that I could have the luxury of telling him that we'll live together forever. But instead of spouting such deceiving, naive promises, I just settle on a simple; "Okay."
"Then you'll allow it?"
"I'll allow it," I say, and I kiss his hand, the one that's wrapped around me. His eyes are so blue, and I take my time as I stare into them. When I'm about to die in that Arena, the last thing I want to remember is the colour of his eyes, and how a small ring of yellow wraps the blue iris'. Quite like how the sun reflects on the ocean during the sunset.
"What?" he asks as he notices me staring, dragging a hand through my hair, the gesture is so soothing, and I don't regret for one second for letting him mess my hair up.
"Just thinking…" I say, adopting my best effort at a teasing tone. "About last night."
His pale, freckled Merchant skin bursts into a wonderful, decadent blush. I smile and settle my head further into his lap, dragging a finger from his bicep to his hand.
The night before we had shared my bed yet again, despite the many protests from Effie about 'etiquette' and 'saving ourselves'.
It had been at dinner when Peeta had scoffed in Effie's face, telling her that it was too late for that. I cringe as I remember how Haymitch had spat out his wine, and Effie's jaw had practically dropped to the floor.
That had silenced Effie as I followed Peeta to my room, making sure that the door was locked before I got down on my knees, taking his length in my mouth for the first time.
"Do you remember what I promised you?" Peeta asked, his hand moving from my hair to my cheek, bringing me back to the present, back to the rooftop.
I nodded, remembering how he'd looked after he'd come, his shy smile and his promise of returning the favour for me.
"Maybe," I answered, squeezing my legs together slightly as I imagined Peeta between my legs.
I could feel Peeta hardening underneath my head — it seemed like I wasn't the only one imagining that.
"Peeta… I don't think we can do this up here," I breathed out as I sat up, shifting to sit in his lap. I had no idea how little or many cameras were up in this place.
Peeta grinned and leaned forward, stealing a kiss from me. "I don't care Kat. I'm going to be dead in a matter of days. And I want to die having been a man who has tasted you."
My gasp is audible, and I can't help myself as I cup his face, pulling him towards me and kissing him with such a ferocity that I hadn't before. I couldn't handle him and his words. I wanted to scream thatI'llbe the one to die in a few days, not him. But this was futile, and his lips tasted too good to pull away.
His hands twisted around my waist, and I extracted a low moan from him as I flicked my tongue along his bottom lip, tasting the inside of his mouth. My hands ended up in his hair, as they always did, and I tugged at the strands, wanting to hear him make those soft sounds again and again until the day I die.
His hands became bolder, skimming the hem of my top and escaping up the fabric. His big hands felt so good on my back as he explored all of my skin like it was the first time he'd done it.
I couldn't stop myself as I ground into his jean-covered hardness, my clit throbbing for attention as he cupped my breast, his big hand covering it over my thin bra, eliciting my own moans from my lips.
"Peeta I w-want," I moan embarrassingly loudly, grinding down on him once more, feeling his erection hot and heavy between my legs.
"What do you want?" He asks as he pulls my shirt up, and I raise my arms so that the now offensive garment can be removed. I'm uncaring of the chill in the air, or of how feral I must look, half-naked and begging for more.
As Peeta pulls away, admiring me in my shabby District Twelve bra that I had chosen to wear today instead of the Capitol contraptions. I squirm under his gaze, suddenly embarrassed over how plain I must look to him.
"No, none of that," Peeta says, picking up my chin and forcing me to look at him, "you're so beautiful Katniss. My imagination did not do you justice." He's grinning, and he leans forward to kiss my erect nipples, and I giggle from the pleasant sensation.
"Now ask me what you want me to do to you. And I will do it."
I bite my lip and huff. I'm not used to asking anybody for anything, but Peeta has always made me break all of the rules that I made for myself.
"Can you…taste me?" I ask, mimicking what he'd said to me moments before.
Peeta practically growled as he grabbed me, whipping off my bra and his own shirt, kissing me with a newfound passion. I giggle again as he lays me gently down on my back, kissing down my neck and breasts.
"No marks remember. I do not need my prep team asking questions," I say as he sucks on a spot that connects my neck to my shoulder. He'd discovered just how much I liked being kissed here a couple of nights ago, and he hadn't left it alone since.
"You're no fun," he huffed, pulling his lips away and focusing on my breasts, suckling and nipping at them wonderfully. He seemed to be obsessed with them, and I remember the look of pure awe he had given me when I had taken my top off for him for the first time.
I moaned and squirmed as I felt my clit throb, it was begging to be touched. I could feel just how wet I was as I pressed my legs together, hoping that Peeta would get the hint of where exactly I needed him to be.
"Shush baby, I'll get there," Peeta says as he looks up at me. He's slotted perfectly between my legs and I flush at him returning the nickname I can only call him in our most intimate moments.
I whimper once more and unbutton my pants, deciding to take action some myself. Peeta tuts disapprovingly as he pulls his lips from my chest, but he helps me peel off the pants from my legs, his hand running up the smooth, hairless legs that the prep team have insisted on me having.
I'm left in my underwear, and again it is my usual, plain District Twelve attire, and I cringe as Peeta's finger swipes the outside of the material, where he can surely feel just how much he has affected me.
Peeta smiles in wonder as he cups my mound, making me wriggle to try and gain some much-needed friction.
"I'll never get used to how wet you are," Peeta whispers, leaning down and breathing a deep, hot breath over my underwear-covered pussy.
"Peeta," I whine, unashamed and getting more desperate as each moment passes.
Peeta just kisses my inner thighs, the soft untouched skin is sensitive and I find it hard to keep my legs open.
"Peeta," I moan again, and Peeta looks up at me, his hair messy, his eyes wild.
"Ask me Katniss. Ask me what you want," Peeta says as he kisses my inner thigh once more — and I'm so desperate I don't even hesitate in begging.
"Please Peeta just taste me already," I beg, and Peeta closes his eyes as I speak, soaking up my words.
I hesitate for a moment as he stops, a small beautiful smile plastered on his face. After this quiet lull, Peeta reaches for the band of my underwear and tugs them down, revealing my centre and the small thatch of hair that the prep team let me keep.
I watch so closely that I fear that if I look away from Peeta I will wake up, and it will just be another one of my dirty dreams. But as Peeta groans, leaning down and literallybreathingthe scent of my sex in, I can't help but moan and close my eyes in pleasure.
"Katniss you are truly unreal," Peeta moans, and I don't even have a moment to mentally debate this before his tongue is on my clit.
I moan loudly, way too loudly by anyone's standards, as Peeta attacks my clit. He suckles and licks and evenbitesmy small bundle of nerves. I am so tightly coiled that I feel like sobbing as my orgasm builds.
I feel Peeta's fingers swipe along my folds, gathering my wetness before entering me. He pushes them in and out of me as he sucks on my clit, and my eyes roll to the back of my head involuntarily — and my head drops down to the picnic blanket.
I focus on the sensations acutely, on the feeling of Peeta so attentively sucking and licking me, on his little words of praise between nuzzling my sex and kissing me. The feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of me over and over again was too much for me to bear.
I'm close, and I know I am, so I moan louder, desperate to crash and achieve that relief that I have been waiting so long for.
"Cum for me Katniss," Peeta says as he pulls himself from my clit, his fingers still unrelenting. The sound of his voice, thick and sexy is what does it, and I finally snap, coming all over Peeta Mellark's face.
I'm instantly boneless, and my hips drop against the picnic blanket. The feeling of pure satisfaction is one I am not used to at all, and I open my eyes to see Peeta hovering over me, a small, loving smile on his face.
"T-thank you." I manage to choke out, throwing my hands around his neck and kissing him, finding it strangely arousing that I could taste myself on his lips.
Peeta kisses me with intent, and he sinks against me, only then do I feel or notice the wet patch at the front of his jeans.
"Peeta did you…" I ask, pulling his lips from his and looking down at his hips. I was fully ready to return the favour to him. And even to an extent, I had been excited to do it again.
Peeta flushed crimson, a shade so dark I was afraid he was going to pass out.
"S-sorry it's just you were so, and I couldn't…" He explained, his voice timid, and I growled, kissing him passionately as I imagined him losing it over merely giving me oral.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, baby," I whisper into his ear, my hand stroking the soft hair at the base of his neck, twirling the small curls with my finger.
Peeta visibly relaxed, kissing me. I let him place a blanket over our mostly naked bodies. And I allowed myself the luxury of burrowing into his arms so that we could watch the sunset together.
I'm glad my back is pressed up against Peeta's chest, meaning that he can't see my eyes tear up as I think of how little sunsets I have left, and how little time I have to spend with my sunshine boy.
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。
The Capitol is somehow colder than District Thirteen. I wrap myself tighter into my thick jacket and hope that the chill I feel will go away as I rub my hands together.
"You don't have to be on watch you know," Boggs reaffirms, staring down at me with a sceptical stare, his eyes flickering from me to Peeta, who was sitting motionless across from me, staring blankly at the sky above us.
"I know," I say, trying my best to force a smile, "But I want to. Get some rest Boggs."
Peeta looks over at me as I say this, his weak eyes are no longer dark, instead now replaced with an inherent sadness. This made it so I couldn't look at him for more than a few seconds at a time without my throat closing up.
"Okay, any issues, any of you — don't be afraid to wake me," Boggs repeats, both to me and Jackson, but he knows that the point is useless now, it's so drilled into us now.
Boggs finally gives up, sighing and returning to his tent, and I watch him flop down onto his sleeping bag. I wonder who he was before all of this, has he always pictured himself as a commander? Or when he was little did he wish to be something or someone else?
Peeta is knotting and unknotting Finnick's rope, and I watch him carefully from the corner of my eye as he starts to get more and more agitated, tugging at the rope like it is a snake that needs to be strangled. He wants to say something, and I let him.
"These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not."
Peeta sighs and drops the rope, looking down at it in his lap for a moment before he continues, "Back and forth. Back and forth."
I have no idea how to reply. I think of our interaction in the hospital ward that night, how he had come back to me for a mere moment, the blue of his eyes unclouded and the darkness disappearing.
"I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me," I answer honestly, and I manage to pry my eyes from my twitching hands, looking up at him, "After that I always thought of you as… an ally."
. I curse myself for my stupidity. What an idiotic word to use. He was so much more than that to me.
I think over Haymitch's sentiment to me,what would Peeta do if our roles were reversed?
I pine for the reality in which the Capitol had picked me up in the Quell. Peeta would've made a much better figurehead. And he would've stayed untouched.
I could've handled whatever they would've thrown at me in the Capitol because I would've known that he was safe, that's all that would've mattered to me.
I think about Peeta and the way he used to have with words. I think about his tongue and how hot it used to be against my skin. Ally? Peeta would've never merely called me an ally.
"Ally," Peeta repeats, his eyes boring into mine. His hair has almost fully grown back, now thick and curly enough that I could've run my fingers through it. Long enough to hold onto.
"Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally." He lists all of the words off with a nervous stammer, and even now he is still better at expressing himself than I have ever been.
"I'll add it to the list of words I use to try and figure you out." He picks up the rope again, his shaking hands slowly winding it into knot after knot. "The problem is,Kat, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."
I look away from him, stealing a glance at Jackson, who I have forgotten is sitting right opposite me. She is watching the scene silently, her hands busy picking at the skin of her thumb.
"Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does." Finnick's voice rises from the shadows, and I freeze, having had no idea that he had been awake this entire time.
I watch as Peeta nods, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. I want to tuck a loose tendril behind his ear, just like I used to do.
"Ask who?" He asks, looking over to Finnick with his sad, pale blue eyes. "Who can I trust?"
I pang once again. A reality where Peeta doesn't trust me is one that I'm not used to living in. Jackson eyes me and Peeta from opposite, stopping her fidgeting as she speaks up. "Well, us for starters. We're your squad."
Peeta's gaze is directed to Jackson, his eyes narrowing as the rope twists in his fingers. "You're my guards." he speaks with a small, unamused scoff.
"That too, but you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It's not the kind of thing we forget," Jackson replies, and her tightlipped smile is the biggest one I have ever seen from her.
I blink in wonder at Jackson, grateful to her for saying this. I had somehow forgotten this myself, how Peeta had saved me, again — even when he wasn't even sure if I was alive or dead in Thirteen.
The group falls into a stagnant silence, the sounds of the snoring from the others and the rustling of the rope filling our ears as I fight an internal battle. All I want to do is hug Peeta, to discover if his arms wrap around me like they used to.
I want to ask him what he remembers from those nights on the train and after. I want to know if he remembers the bliss that was our final day on that rooftop. I want, I want and Iwant.
Peeta suddenly drops the rope again, his nose wrinkling with effort as he turns to me. "Your favourite colour… it's green?"
His voice is so small, so small and so familiar.
"That's right." I can't stop it when my gaze meets his, and I want him to remember so badly. "And yours is orange."
"Orange?"
"Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say, and the memories flood in. Of him and me, sweaty and spent and laying in my bed, his hands drawing shapes in my naked skin. I flush all over and add, "at least that's what you told me once."
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes flicker down, staring at my chest before looking back in my eyes again. And I know that even if it's hazy — he's remembering exactly what I look like with no clothes on.
The tips of his ears turn pink, and he picks up the rope again, focusing on it a bit too closely. "Thank you."
And because I'm an idiot. And I've been a complete idiot this entire time — from the day that I never took the chance to thank him for the bread, to the day where I pretended to be asleep, instead of telling him how much I loved him back.
Because of this, I cannot stop myself as I lean towards him, my voice shaky and quiet, spilling to him exactly what I'm thinking.
"You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. Your skin tastes like the sunset. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
Peeta's eyes widen, and I freeze. Acutely aware of the fact that Jackson, Finnick and probably Gale heard me spill out this frantic confession.
His skin tastes like the sunset? Who have I become to even confess that aloud?
"Y-you…" Peeta begins, dropping his head to his legs, looking so tired and so confused.
"You can't just. You…" His voice is weak and my confidence is shattered, my eyes fill with tears and I ache to lick my wounds in private.
"Goodnight, Soldier Mellark," I say, rising from my seat and diving into my tent, crying those silent, wet tears as I think of my baby. My boy who is so close yet so far away all at the same time.
Baby, my baby
Tell your baby that I'm your baby…