Chapter 9

A.N. end !

I stood frozen, holding my breath as if it might make me invisible. What do I even say? She's standing there, probably watching me walk the perimeter like an idiot before I came inside. Why didn't she just go in? No, that's not fair—this is her neighborhood. Why am I here?

The internal battle rages far too long, and panic sets in. I blurt out the first stupid thing that comes to mind.

Turning around, I avoid her gaze, waving my hand vaguely in the direction of Haymitch's house. "I, uh, I was actually just going to visit Haymitch. Haven't seen him in a few days," I say, forcing a laugh, as if this is something I do all the time. My voice sounds too casual, my arm too stiff. The problem is, I know Haymitch isn't even here—he's in the Capitol for some rebellion anniversary thing. Katniss wasn't allowed to leave the District yet, something that wouldn't be up for debate for another six or seven years at her parole hearing.

Her brows knit together, eyes flicking sideways toward Haymitch's house, her lips pursing as she took in the sight of the completely dark and empty home. "Haymi–" she started, her voice tight with frustration. Why was she upset?

Because I made it seem like I was casually passing by her house after ignoring her for days.

She shakes her head, blinking rapidly, like she's trying to make sense of my excuse. "He's not here. He went to the Capitol. He won't be back for at least another week, unless they ask him to stay longer."

I know that. The guilt coils tighter inside me, suffocating any hope I had of pretending otherwise.

She stands there, dark and looming against the night, her presence unexpectedly intimidating. Her hair is down, cascading over her shoulders, stray wisps dancing in the soft summer breeze. Her eyes burn into mine, and I force myself to glance away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. She feels like a living Medusa, and the longer I stare, the more I feel trapped—like I'm actually turning to stone due to her bold stare.

She tugs her robe tighter around her body, the wind picking up, sending a chill through the air that feels out of place for summer. My gaze drops to her bare feet again, like they always seem to be, connected to the earth in a way that feels so... Katniss. I start to understand that her being barefoot might be her way of staying grounded, her way of feeling something real beneath her.

The urge to step closer, to bridge the gap between us, overwhelms me for a moment. But I can't. I refuse to let myself cross that line, not after everything. Not until I can find the right words—if there are even any left.

"Oh, damn," I blurt out, far too enthusiastic for the moment. I back up slightly, signaling the end of this conversation as if it were my escape route.

"Well, he doesn't tell me that sort of stuff anyway, no worries." My voice comes out a little too smooth.

Katniss stands there, her eyes scanning me up and down, like she's weighing her options or having an internal debate. She looks almost hesitant, vulnerable in a way I've seen more frequently lately. "Would... would you like to come in?" she finally asks, her voice softer than before. "I mean, it is getting late, but if you'd rather go home, that's fine too. I'm sure you've had a long day." Her eyes flick down to my scrubs, like she's acknowledging the toll it must have taken on me.

I had wanted her to make the decision for me, to tell me outright whether I should come in or leave. It would've been easier if she just told me to get lost. But now, she's handed the choice back to me, and the weight of it presses down on me. I can already feel my feet moving, betraying my indecision as I step closer to her.

With a sigh, I give in, my resolve crumbling as I walk toward her house. As I climb the stairs to her porch, she turns and heads inside, holding the door open for me like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we did this all the time – old friends.

"Sorry, I probably smell like death right now," I mutter as I walk past her, the word itself clinging to me like a shadow after this week. Too many codes, too many close calls. I wince internally at how true it probably is. She just shakes her head, offering a soft smile like it doesn't matter.

We make our way to the couch, and I practically collapse into it, feeling my back and leg relax with a painful kind of relief. The exhaustion hits me harder now that I'm finally sitting down. I start rubbing my leg through my pants, the dull ache reminding me of how physically brutal the last few shifts have been. Katniss hands me a cup of tea, and I can barely muster a smile.

"Oh, thanks," I groan, waving vaguely toward the table. "Could you put it right there? Yeah, thank you." My leg has been killing me lately, a sharp reminder that I've been pushing it too hard—too much running, chest compressions, restraining people, pulling, tugging, pushing. By the end of the day, I'm too tired to do what I should be doing, massaging the stump to ease the tension. Instead, I just fall into bed halfway through a dream.

As the pain starts to fade, I sink back into the couch, finally grabbing the tea. I look to her as she tucked herself into her plush rocking chair, bringing her legs up underneath and tugging a blanket over her. I peer into the cup and notice a light dusting of brown powder along the rim. Cinnamon. The faint sweetness hits my tongue when I take a sip, a small comfort in the middle of everything.

"How did you know I put cinnamon in my tea?" I asked, glancing into the cup before shifting my eyes to her. Her face paled, and she swallowed a sip quickly, like she'd been caught.

"I, uh, I heard you talking about it one day outside my door. And every time you came in and talked to me, you smelled like cinnamon," she confessed, looking down at her cup. "I started doing the same thing. It really does make a difference."

I smiled shyly, feeling a flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the tea. She had no idea what cinnamon in my tea meant to me—how it reminded me of my dad, of the life we had before. Those early mornings, just the two of us at the bakery, working in quiet harmony at 3 a.m. It was a small comfort, a piece of the past I'd held onto.

We drank our tea in silence for a while, the room filled only with the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional sigh as one of us glanced at the other. Light conversation floated between us—new shops popping up in town, Delly's brother reopening their family's shoe store, Katniss thinking about getting her boots patched up, and the forced talk of the weather. She was terrible at small talk, barely stringing together phrases, her words more like scattered thoughts than actual conversations.

I finally realized she was avoiding the real topic, dancing around it as much as I had been. She wasn't going to bring it up. So, I knew I had to.

I placed my cup on the table and sat upright, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs, hands folded between my knees. "Listen, Katniss…"

She raised a hand, cutting me off before I could say more. I frowned, confused, but she shook her head.

"I want to apologize for acting so… bold last week," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "That wasn't what I was trying to do when I asked you to dinner. Honestly, I don't even know why I did it. Loneliness, maybe? Haymitch is about as comforting as the flu. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you... in a normal way."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that I didn't mind—that I almost wanted it to continue. But I couldn't. The thought of her frail, injured body had made me recoil, filled with self-loathing. And I definitely couldn't tell her how my mind had wandered, wondering what might have happened if we hadn't stopped.

"Katniss, you don't have to apologize for anything. I promise. We both just got… carried away," I said, understanding all too well the pull of loneliness. She nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Maybe this was it, a chance for a fresh start.

"Friends?" I leaned in a little, holding out my hand.

She bit her lip and mirrored my position, gripping my hand and shaking it. The moment her skin touched mine, I wanted to groan. There was something electric in the contact, her hands soft and delicate despite the things they had done. "Friends," she agreed, but she didn't let go right away.

When I gently tried to pull my hand back, I felt her grip tighten for just a second before she released me. We turned back toward the fire, sitting in a comfortable silence for a while before slipping into an easy chat about Haymitch's geese.

Katniss was telling me about the day Haymitch had gotten his geese, and how angry he'd been when he realized they weren't ducks. "When he told me their names were Duck and Quack, I couldn't stop laughing. He said they were like his children, always following him around. I told him they looked just like him," she snorted, barely able to finish the story through her own laughter.

I doubled over, grabbing my stomach as I laughed with her. It felt good—really good—to laugh after the kind of days I'd been having. Katniss wiped under her eye, still chuckling quietly to herself as she looked down at her second cup of tea, now nearly empty. I'd finished mine earlier and set the cup on the table.

The couch, though, had grown uncomfortable after an hour, so I'd slid down to the floor, leaning against it with my legs stretched out under the table. Katniss hadn't moved from her chair, her perch. Fancy things, like the recliner she sat on, seemed like a rare luxury in her life that she actually enjoyed.

I glanced at the clock on the mantle, and she followed my gaze before looking back down. It was well past 2 a.m. I was still in my scrubs—and still here.

"I think I should probably head home. I don't want to overstay my welcome," I said, stretching out, and immediately feeling the tension seep back into my muscles. As I shifted, I remembered the bread I'd brought over.

"Did you like the other bread I left?" I asked, mostly out of politeness, though part of me was genuinely curious.

Katniss looked up at me, then back down, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I did. Something about it tasted… familiar. I've been having it for breakfast the last few days. There are actually a couple of pieces left. Want some before you go?" she offered, gesturing toward the kitchen.

I nodded, and as she stood up from the chair and dropped the blanket, her robe fell open slightly. I caught a brief glimpse—just a glance, but enough to notice she was only in her underwear underneath.

I didn't stare, but I'd seen enough. My body reacted before my brain had the chance to catch up, heat rising in my face as I shifted uncomfortably. As she walked away, I leaned my head back and tried not to groan, feeling the pressure building in the most inconvenient way possible. I glanced down at my lap, cursing inwardly, and quickly grabbed a nearby pillow, placing it over my lap under the guise of getting comfortable.

She was just being nice, I reminded myself. Nothing more. But my body wasn't listening.

Katniss returned with two pieces of the bread I'd made for her, wrapped in a paper towel. She glanced at the pillow on my lap with a quizzical look but said nothing about it. Leaning down, she handed me a piece, holding her own in her mouth. I took it from her, the familiar texture and aroma of the bread bringing back memories of that day.

I stared at the bread in my hand, contemplating whether I should ask her. I hesitated, rolling the piece between my fingers, feeling its staleness but still catching the scent of raisins and nuts. The bread had been made with care, and I wanted to confirm something with her, but the words were stuck in my throat.

"Hey, Katniss, can I ask you something?" I said, focusing on the piece of bread, avoiding her gaze.

She perked up, her curiosity piqued. "Yes, of course."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Do you know which bread this is?"

She examined her slice, considering it. "Hmm, I'd say maybe raisin nut bread?" she answered with a cheeky smile before taking another bite.

I gave her a soft smile in return, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I couldn't hold her gaze, and my smile slowly faded as I focused on her eyes. I could tell she noticed my change in demeanor; she squinted slightly, clearly puzzled. I looked away, once again studying the piece of bread in my hand.

"I should have gone out to you," I said quietly, almost a whisper.

Katniss stopped chewing, setting her bread down into her lap. The weight of the silence between us was palpable, and I could see the realization dawning in her eyes.

"Peeta," she whispered, her voice catching as she looked at me with glassy eyes.

Her reaction told me everything I needed to know. She remembered.

"I should have. I should have come out into the rain. I tossed it to you, and it was dirty, like the burnt pieces I'd throw to the pigs. I should have helped you up and given you the bread properly." My voice cracked as I spoke, my feelings of regret and hopelessness growing stronger. I would never admit this as a kid, but I was terrified of my mother. I had always done everything I could to keep myself far away from her strikes. Throwing that bread to Katniss was a turning point for me – that I couldn't be scared, I had to be brave. I had to keep the ones I loved safe. I felt tears welling up, but I fought to keep them at bay, fearing that if I looked at her, I'd see the disgust in her eyes.

Katniss sat on the floor next to me, pulling her knees to her chest and turning her gaze away. I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes; I was too afraid of what I might see.

"Peeta, we were just kids," she said softly. Her voice trembled with emotion. "I saw your mother hit you. My parents would never even raise their voices at me or Prim. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you growing up. And you risked a beating just to give me that bread. I've never forgotten it. I've always felt like I owed you something, but I've never known how to make up for it."

She paused, then reached out to gently turn my face toward hers. "That bread saved me. It saved my sister, my mother. My mother… she was so lost to us for so long. Sitting in a bubble as her children starved to death. I was able to get her to sit at the table with us, eat, and drink. We had it for days, each day my mother getting quicker to the table, eventually being the one to tell us to sit and eat. It was so much better than the sour berries and mint leaves we'd been eating. For the first time in a long time, I was able to sleep without hearing my sister's stomach growl. It was finally…quiet."

She closes her eyes, I imagine that she was thinking of the peaceful silence from her sister after not eating enough, comparing it now to the same silence her sister would forever give her. "I wanted to thank you, but then I saw how badly you'd been hurt. She hit you again when you got inside, didn't she?"

I continued to stare at her lap, unable to meet her eyes. She understood the unspoken truth. That night, my mother had come into my room and struck me with a rolling pin. We told our friends it was an accident during practice, but the reality was far more painful.

Katniss bit her lip, the words clearly weighing on her. She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself before continuing.

"After school, Prim and I walked home. I noticed a patch of dandelions by the fence surrounding the school. Did you know you can eat an entire dandelion? We filled our bags with them, and just as I picked the last one, I saw you leaving with your brothers. I remember how we looked at each other. You were alone, like that last dandelion, before you turned and went home. From then on, you were my dandelion in the spring—the bright spot that made me believe things would get better."

She paused, a wistful smile on her lips. "Spring came, and I started going into the woods by myself. I had never done that before. I managed to get a whole turkey across the fence and back home. We ate it for a week. Prim's face stopped looking so hollow, and I could feel myself getting stronger. You gave me that confidence. All of this, it means so much more to me than what the difference between tossing it or giving it to me was."

She looked up at me, her eyes searching for some sign of understanding. I met her gaze, tears streaming down my face, overwhelmed by the weight of her words and the relief of finally sharing this moment.

I had thought for years that she was angry with me—angry, but grateful. I would sneak her treats, only to find that she would always pass them on to Prim. I assumed it was her way of rejecting my help, showing that she could never accept anything from me. It wasn't until later that I understood: she just wanted to see her sister happy. So I started bringing double the treats, but hearing her story, realizing how she saw me as a beacon of hope, my heart pounded heavily in my chest.

Katniss held my face gently in her hands, her thumbs wiping away the tears on my cheeks. She shushed me softly, and in that moment, I felt something stir deep inside me. I had spent so long taking care of others and neglecting myself. But here she was, pulling me from the shadows and making me feel alive again.

"Peeta," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You were the light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. You gave not just me, but my entire family hope when there seemed to be none. I don't know how to thank you for that."

I smiled, my eyes lazy and drunk with adoration for this woman. "I'll let you know when I figure it out." I breathed.

She pressed her forehead to mine, her breath mingling with mine. I reached up, my hand finding the back of her neck, and I guided her closer. Our lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was brief, neither of us moving to deepen it, but the connection was undeniable. When we finally pulled back, Katniss's eyes were wide, filled with surprise and something else—something tender. I let my hand fall from her neck, both of us silently processing the new, shared intimacy between us.

"I'm so sorry," I said, trying to rise from the floor, but my prosthetic was giving me trouble. I was also struggling to hide my growing arousal.

Katniss's grip on my wrist stopped me from moving. I didn't want to push her away, and I certainly didn't want to feel like she was kissing me out of a sense of duty. I looked at her hand on my wrist, trying to gauge what she wanted.

Before I could fully understand her expression, she slid into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. Without a pillow to cover my lap, she would definitely feel my reaction. Her gaze locked with mine, and she leaned in, pressing her lips softly against mine. This time, I was the one with wide eyes, unsure of where to place my hands. I wanted this to continue, but my mind was racing. Hadn't we just agreed to be friends? I didn't want to take advantage of her feelings.

I was on the verge of telling her that we couldn't do this as friends, but just as the words were about to leave my mouth, Katniss shifted in my lap, grinding against me. The unexpected movement stole my breath and my ability to think clearly. My hands instinctively went to her hips, and a low moan escaped me as she kissed me deeply.

Her lips moved with increasing urgency against mine. I traced her bottom lip with my tongue, and she responded by parting her lips, allowing her tongue to meet mine. Our tongues danced together, each vying for dominance as I heard her breath quicken. I held her firmly by the hips, pulling her gently closer, aligning our centers.

A sudden, sharp moan from her caught us both off guard. The sound seemed to ignite something within her, and her hands found their way to my chest, tugging at my shirt, inching it upward.

Screw it.

I sit up, pulling it up and off me and grab her face kissing her roughly. I open my mouth wider to let her tongue attack mine and I can still taste the cinnamon from our tea in the mix. Her hands press against my chest and her hips slowly start to rock back and forth right on top of me, creating a sensual wave like motion. Her head then hangs back as she moans and I press my lips onto her throat, and kiss it along to the side, starting to suck a little bit on the pressure points of her throat. I bite her neck slightly which grants me a hard grind right on my dick.

I cant think straight. I don't want to think straight. I just want to know what my name sounds like dripping from her lips. I want to know what her face looks like when its screwed up in absolute pleasure. I want to know what the robe is hiding from me. I start to lean back a little to take in what she looks like grinding me and I am not disappointed. The robe she's wearing is starting to fall off her shoulders a bit and I can just see the tops of her breasts, and the bottom is completely pulled open so I could see her stomach and her red panties soaked with arousal, which inevitably caused a wet spot on my scrub pants. The idea of washing these and washing away her arousal made me almost sad.

"Oh, my god," she says, throwing her head back and pushing her grind down a little bit more. I start to get the want to thrust upwards, like in my erotica daydreams at home, and I start to push my hips up to meet her grinding hips.

"Yes, like tha- Oh, God right there!" Her mouth drops open at this and her hands once again find my chest and she starts to move faster, rubbing herself on my rock hard bulge.

"Oh shit, Katniss, please don't stop," I beg, moaning out loud and putting my head back into the couch seat. My hands have started to guide her pace and served as leverage to continue thrusting upwards into her. As I start to feel bolder, I reach between us and press hard into the wet spot on her panties, allowing her to grind onto my fingers. Her eyes shoot open before rolling back into her skull.

"Peeta!" She yells, gasping and panting as she rubs harder and harder on me. The wet spot pouring out arousal and causing my scrub pants to become soaked. She squeezes my shoulders to the point of almost drawing blood and she starts to give a slight bounce. The combination of her moaning, moving and now screaming my name sends me over the edge and I grip her hips while she continues to move. I feel my orgasm race through my body and out my dick and into my scrub pants.

"Shit- yes! God, oh yes, Katniss!" I yell to the ceiling, cumming harder than I ever have. She doesn't stop moving and I'm starting to feel incredibly sensitive, so I put my hands on her hips and held her still. My eyes are still closed and my head was still leaning back into the couch, willing the dizziness to stop. Katniss still hasn't gotten off my lap and I'm almost afraid that she's regretting what we just did. It wasn't anything serious as sex, just a couple of horny 20 year olds dry humping one another into ecstasy. I finally pick my head up and Katniss is there waiting for me to look at her. She looks shy and I cant help but smile at it. She starts laughing and then I start, and soon were covering our faces and looking bashfully at one another.

"I got your pants soaking wet! If you want to wash them here you absolutely may," she says getting off of my lap and pulling her robe back on her shoulders. That robe must be made of something at the top because not once did her breasts fall out during this entire thing.

I laugh at the wet spot and rub my face with both hands. "Trust me, that's not all just you." It then dawned on me that I, Peeta Mellark, has just made Katniss Everdeen, cum.

She blushes 4 shades of red and reached her hand out to help me up. My prosthetic now all of a sudden cooperating. I look down at her and feel the desire to kiss her again with our bodies so close to each other, us both drunk off of our orgasms and our hands intertwined. Instead, she launches forward and presses her head into me, giving me a tight hug around my neck. I wrap my arms around her middle I kiss her forehead, and I can feel her smile grow wide against me. I look back at the clock and see its now going on almost 3:30 am and I could feel the euphoria leaving me body as exhaustion creeps in.

"Katniss, I need to get to sleep. Its going on almost 24 hours of me being awake," I say almost sadly. She turns her head to the clock and makes a "oop" noise. I chuckle and kiss her forehead again, but this time my lips lingered there for a bit longer as I closed my eyes and felt us swaying side to side in a sleepy trace. I pull away from her and pick up my shirt from the floor to slip it back on, Katniss looked panicked that I was leaving.

"What?" I ask, now nervous she was going to tell me this was a mistake.

"Stay. Please."

I stare at her face, wondering if I had imagined what she just said. I was going on 24 hours of being awake, so I could be hearing things now. She then reaches her hand out to me and I take it gently, and she pulls me upstairs. She hesitates on the middle step, almost unsure of going up here, and honestly I felt the same. Her house only felt homey downstairs. We turned left down a long hallway and at the end of the hallway it bifurcates into a left and right room. We go into the one on the right and she flicks the light on.

Her bed was made up almost too neatly, as if no one had slept in it for months, which was probably true. I stood between the bed and the doorway while she turned off the lamp and instead lit a very small lantern that only dimly lit the room. It felt more serene. She turns back to me and I take in her room. Theres a window to our left where you could see for miles beyond the fence that used to line our District with a cozy bench attached, behind me was a closet door, and to the right there was the entrance to her bathroom. The only real furniture in here was the bed side tables and dresser across from her bed that held various nick knacks of hers. She closes the door and pulls me closer to her bed. I obey and then slide my scrub pants down, exposing my black boxers. She turns away from me and stands at the side edge of her bed and allows the robe to slip down her body. I look at her from behind, her smooth back, jagged in some areas from burn scars and her red underwear barely covering her ass. I feel myself harden again and this time a yawn is what stops it. She slides into bed covering her chest and turns on her side facing the lamp. I get in next to her, keeping a slight distance between us but enough to wrap my arm around her if I so pleased. I trace patterns in her back and I can hear her breathing start to slow and deepen, indicating her losing battle of fighting sleep. I close my eyes, my fingertips still touching her.

"Always."

So, I posted like 3 or 4 chapters because I messed up the chapter count on MY end and its bothering me - so I'm kinda fixing it right now lol. Anyways. This isn't my most favorite chapter I've written but its definitely up there. My actual most favorite will be posted in a little while. Im still editing and rewriting some of the chapters. I think im on 14 or 15? Something like that. Anyways just to fix myself im posting a lot of them so I can redo it all lol.

I really do think that Katniss would have been a little more "for herself" as she got older and was able to make more decisions about what she wanted, so the boldness in this chapter is for sure what I think would eventually happen in her growth. I just thought that because their teenage years were spent surviving and trying not to die in a bombing, a night like that was earned ;)

Thanks for reading ! plz comment, like, follow the story. It means a lot when I open my notifs and I see a new one 3