#gale hawthorne fanfiction

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

bigger than the whole sky - g.h

midnights masterlist | the great war | paris

summary: the one where you admit your feelings for Gale and then the world falls apart

wordcount: 4.0k

warnings: mass bombings, death, mass murder, the bombing of District 12 was similar to a genocide so beware of that

“Can I ask you a question?” You looked up at him, lifting your head up from his shoulder. 

He nodded and you were silent. How did you ask him if he still loved Katniss even if she was in the games again? How do you find out if he loves you back? You wished you could put up more of a fight, ask him the truth but you couldn’t do it. 

“Do you still wish you could-“ you stopped yourself, rewording again in your head. You couldn’t just ask him if he still loved her like that, “Do you think Katniss could make it out?” 

He nodded, “I do,” there was silence after that and to you, that answered both of your questions. 

If you could, you would spend your whole life sitting on that hill with Gale, watching the sun set across the meadows. He had asked you to run away with him only a year earlier and this part of you wished that you had gone with him when he asked. 

You never liked Gale. Throughout your entire time at school, he was the most annoying person to you and you only ever talked to him when Katnis did. 

She was your best friend, the other half of you and you two would go out into these woods whenever you could. She was good at hunting and you were relatively good at the dressing and then selling it. 

Around three years ago, she had invited Gale out into the woods with you and since the moment that he caught you from falling into the river, you had become inseparable; you’d learnt that he wasnt as annoying as you had always assumed. 

Before the 74th Hunger Games, you had realised your crush on Gale. You had ignored it, buried it down into your chest so that nobody else would know. You knew he had feelings for Katniss and so you left it alone. 

When she went into the games the first time, you had become inseparable with Gale, more so than ever before. Now, as she was in it again, you leant on one another. You don’t remember who you were before him. 

“We should go,” you said, stopping your reminicising as you looked at him. You were getting lost in situations and circumstances and the small chance that maybe he had feelings for you to. You couldn’t allow yourself to think like that. 

Since Katniss went into the 75th games, the peacekeeper prescience had increased and neither of you felt safe on the hill anymore. 

He nodded, standing up and offering his hand for you. He pulled you up and you stumbled a little bit, bracing yourself on his chest. 

You looked at him, eyes slightly wide. You were so close you could kiss him here, kiss him in the isolation of the meadow. A part of you wondered whether his eyes actually did just flick between your lips and your eyes or if your love was blinding you. 

You muttered a thank you before pulling yourself away. You knew where he stood, you knew he loved Katniss and you knew he wouldnt kiss you back if you did it. 

So instead, you looked away, tears burning behind your eyes as you thought of it. 

The walk back to the square was slow. The entirety of District Twelve were feeling the effects of the games. There were peacekeepers everywhere, they were blocking the black markets and people were starting to starve. 

You spotted Gales family in the crowd and the two of you walked over, his arm wrapped round you to keep you close - he knew how much you hated the crowds. 

Hazelle, his mother, gave you a warm smile as the two of you joined the crowds that were watching the games. It was mandatory at this point, to watch the games as it came to its end. The sun was setting over Twelve but within the games, it was pitch black. 

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the games unfold. Katniss had just been presumably attacked by Johanna in the woods and you gasped alongside all of the other members of Twelve. 

You looked up at Gale and you could see the fear in his eyes. You could feel your stomach sink; you hated the way that he looked at her. 

It was sick. You knew that it was wrong. You shouldn’t envy a girl who had been put into the games twice within two years but you wished he would look at you that way, with that adoration in his eyes. 

You reached down, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He squeezed it back, a signal that you two had developed over the years to make sure that each other were okay when silence was mandatory. 

There was silence over District Twelve as they all watched the games on the big screen. The only noise that could be heard was the commotion of the games and the sound of Peacekeepers clicking their guns into place. 

It was silent as you all watched Katniss wrap the coil around her arrow and aim it at the sky. You could hear Gales breath hitch in his chest as she shot the arrow into the force field that surrounded the games. 

The lights cut out. 

Everyone looked at one another as they wondered why the feed in the games had cut out? What was going on? Why did Katniss do that? What was going to happen next? Every single thing she touched turned into ashes, it all fell apart in her hands and now she had taken control. If this was an act of rebellion, you would be proud of her. 

Everyone was asking themselves the same questions about the commotion in the games and so were the Peacekeepers as they looked at one another, all of them listening to some sort of comms message in their headsets.

Hazelle grabbed the boys tight, Rory was about thirteen and Vick ten but it didnt stop her from being worried about them. She looked over at the two of you, wondering if there was some plan that you knew about and she didn’t.

gale just shook his head. None of them knew what was going on.

Posy, his five year old sister, tugged onto his trouser leg and he looked down at her. She was so young to have to watch this all unfold and now something was really wrong, he didnt want her getting caught up in anything. He picked her up, holding her against his chest, her head tucked into his shoulder. 

You reached over, brushing a hand over her hair and she looked at you with a smile. She had no clue what was going on, only that something was clearly wrong. 

“What are we going to do?” You said quietly as you leaned over, looking up at him. 

He shrugged. Gale was so confused, “She’s rebelled, we’re all in trouble,” he replied, pursing his lips when he saw a Peacekeeper walk past. 

The commotion was starting to turn to chaos. The members of District twelve were beginning to yell and ask for answers, wondering why their heroic Katniss would do something like this. They needed answers or this would soon become a mob.

Thats when he walked on stage, Head Peacekeeper Thread. 

You could see Gale visibly tense up at the sight of him. You would never be able to remove the image of him tied up to that post, getting whipped over and over again out of your head. It was the worst thing you had ever seen and it had happened to the man you loved. Now the man responsible for it was parading around town, destroying the soul of your beloved district. 

He tapped the microphone before speaking into it with his gruff and unkind voice, “Everyone back to your house!” He yelled out.

The crowd went silent at the mans demand. This was proof that something had gone wrong in the arena and everyone had a guess what it was; an uprising. 

”Now” he commanded and everyone started to disperse. 

You followed Gale and his family home, Hazelle didn't want you to be alone in that hostel you were staying at with all of those people in the dodgy side of town. 

Everyone was silent as they walked towards their houses. There was an air of something and you could tell that there was a tension. Nobody had any answers and the Peacekeepers basically locking them in their houses made people anxious. 

She sat in the living room of Gales house, unable to sit down. Your best friend was in that arena and nobody had any clue what was going on and it made you sick to the stomach. Then the thought of Gale worrying about her made her ill too and she grabbed onto the mantelpiece, looking at the only ever picture of their full family before the mining accident. 

“You okay darling?” Hazelle asked and you turned around, putting on a smile. 

“Just stressed, but everyone is,” you shrugged, trying to seem positive. 

She nodded, “This is bad, isn’t it?” You could hear the fear in her voice and you wished that there was something that you could say to calm her nerves but this was really bad. 

With hesitance, you nodded your head, “Let’s just wait, we dont need to jump to conclusions,” you said before excusing yourself. 

You walked into Gales room and sat down on his bed. A smile came to your face as you looked at the picture that rested on his bedside table. It was the only picture that the two of you shared and it was from the party thrown for all nineteen year olds when they aged out of the games. You both had the widest grins on your faces. 

“Thats my favourite picture in the world,” he stated. 

A bitter feeling soaked through your chest as you put it back, eyes landing of the one of him and Katniss and Prim, “I thought that was,”

Gale didnt seem to get the hint because he just shrugged it off, sitting down nect to you, “Nah, you’re too pretty in that one,” he teased. 

“Gale,” you chastised. He knew that you hated it when he complimented you but he always did it anyway. 

He always assumed that you must have been self conscious and didnt like the compliments for that reason. It was actually because it hurt too much when he would compliment you, like the words burnt a hole in your chest because you knew that he didnt love you like you wanted him to. 

It was wrong to be thinking about that, to be jealous of your best friend just because of some guy, especially in the situation you were in right now but you couldn’t help the way it bubbled up in your chest. He made it worse as he placed his hand on your shoulder, trying to reassure you it was okay.

“If she rebelled-“ you started to say. 

He cut you off nearly immediately, “She did, she finally rebelled,” there was a sense of pride in his words and there it came again, that wave of bile in your throat.

”Fine,” you spat the words out and he instantly noticed how cold you were being, “This is bad Gale. She’s got us in trouble. They might kill us for knowing her,” 

Like any best friend would, he sensed your worry and reached down, grabbing your hand and squeezing it once just like he had when you were watching the attack. It would normally calm you down but all of your emotions were heightened and you didnt even realise what you were doing before you tugged your hand away. 

He muttered your name and you stood up, hands covering your stomach like you were trying to fight away the sickening feeling. 

“What’s going on?” He asked. 

You shrugged, turning away from him. You couldn’t even look at him. There was some part of you that could see the end coming and it was trying to tell him how you felt. You had to use all of your strength to push those words down. 

You shook your head, “I’m scared,”

You couldn’t see him but you knew that he had stood up because there was a loud noise of a spring creaking that always came from standing up off of his old bed. 

“What’s going on?” He repeated the question, this time more forcefully. 

The tension was rising in the room and you could feel your head pounding. You couldnt bring yourself to turn around and look at him, have a normal conversation like a civilised human. You knew that if you turned around and looked into his gorgeous eyes that you would fall apart, spewing out all of the feelings that you had been burying in the last year. 

“Leave it Gale, its not worth it,” your voice was less aggressive now, just quiet. You had a lot to pine about, all of these years you pined over him and now knowing you could tell him was breaking your heart. 

“If we’re gonna die then you might as well tell me,” he stated. 

He was right and you hated that. This might be your last time to ever tell him and even then you couldnt bring yourself to say it. You felt the shame of cowardice bubbling up in your chest. 

You could live without saying those words. You’ve got a lot that you’ve lived without over the years but something in you told you that you should say it. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life, however short it is, wondering what should’ve been. And if it’s not meant to be, then it’ll be over anyway, 

“Don’t make me do it,”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, “Just tell me,” he spun you around and you squeezed your eyes shut so you didn’t have to look at him. 

He could see the tear that had slipped down your cheek and he knew that this was big. He muttered a please, soft and begging compared to your argument. You could only imagine what his family was thinking as you yelled - you two always argued but never yelled. 

You opened your eyes hesitantly, watching as his eyes softened, “I love you,” you whispered, so only he could hear. 

The Peacekeepers may be planning the end for them. They may be planning to round everyone up and shoot them, you didn't know. But at least you would die knowing that he knew how you truly felt. 

His hand recoiled, and his eyes went wide. Horror washed over you. He didn't feel the same. This is what you had been fearing this whole time, that you would tell him how you felt, and he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings. 

There was silence in the village, no sound of children crying, couples arguing. Silence. All that you could hear was the blood rushing to your head as you realised what mistake you’d made. 

You closed your eyes shut, arms wrapping around yourself as you tried to hide away from his gaze as he worked out what to say next. 

“Say it again,” he asked. 

Your eyes fluttered open, confused. When you looked at him, he had a smile on his face, and you were confused. 

With a shake of your head, you looked down at your feet, blinking back tears, “Don’t mock me,” 

you had never been so vulnerable in front of anyone in your life. Your heart was shattering at the idea that you might die and this would be the last thing that had ever happened to you. 

He walked over and you could see his feet appear in your vision. His hand came out, two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up so that you were looking at him. His eyes softened when he saw the tears spill down your cheeks. 

He repeated the sentiment again, “Say it again,” 

“I love you,” you whispered, even more quiet than before. 

There was silence in the room and he broke it with a laugh, “I love you,” he replied before you could scolded him for laughing, “Thats what you were so scared of saying?” He laughed again, “I thought it was obvious that I was madly in love with you,” 

Your eyes widened and you hit his chest, hand staying there, “Obvious? No, I thought you loved Katniss?” 

He shook his head, “Back then. But she’s got Peeta, and she doesnt love me. Never will. You’re not my second choice, I just didnt see it back then. You’re all Ive ever wanted,”

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning up and smashing your lips against his. His hands moved to your back, holding you close against his. One hand trailed up your spine, nestling in the back of your head as he manoeuvred your head slightly so that the kiss could be deepened. 

For a second, you forgot all about the awful things that might happen and the fears for the rest of your life now that Katniss had destroyed the Games. You just stayed in this moment, allowing yourself to hold him tight. 

You pulled away from him, the moment having been interrupted by the loud noise that ricocheted throughout the village as all of the engines pulled out at once. The sound of the truck engines all igniting at the same time made you both look at one another in panic. 

There was a sinking feeling in your gut that had been getting progressively worse throughout the evening and now, as you rushed to the window and drew back the curtain to see the armoured trucks vanishing into the distance, it got worse. 

The fear for your best friend was still echoing in the back of your mind but now, as you realised that they were all leaving, the panic set in. 

You and Gale shared a worried look, “They’re leaving,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. 

He nodded. There was a silence in the room as you both stood by the window. You both knew what was going on and what this all meant and the adrenaline started to pump through your body. 

Gale leaned over, pressing one more kiss against your lips like it would be the last time that he would ever get to do it. 

 “We have to go, now,” he said and you agreed. You both knew what was gong to happen. 

You rushed into his little sisters room, shaking Posey awake, “What’s wrong?” She asked, mumbling through sleep. 

You didnt know how to explain it to her, “We’re just going on a little walk, grab your favourite teddy,” you said and she nodded, picking up the little teddy bear her father had given her.

“I’m sleepy,” she mumbled, holding her arms out. You couldn’t deny her and so you picked her up, hauling her into your arms. 

When you walked out into the kitchen, you could see Hazelle packing some backpacks full of all of the food that they owned with canisters of water attached. The boys were helping; they were at the age where they could realise what was going on in the world, and they knew what would happen if they weren't fast. 

“Where’s Gale?” You questioned, looking around. 

“Him and some of the other men are trying to pull everyone out of bed and to the forest,” she explained, walking over and pressing a kiss to Poseys head, “You should help him,”

You nodded your head in agreement, settling the little girl down onto the sofa before promising to come back. You started to rush through the village, knocking on all of the doors that werent closed. 

A lot of them had already started packing, but there were a few who weren't. She could see Mr and Mrs Wentworth closing their door, telling one of Gales friends from the mines that he did not want to go. 

You looked around and noticed just how many people were refusing to leave, and that’s when you realised that if everyone did not get out soon and start heading to the forest, then there would be nobody left. 

In the far corner of the village, she could see Gale arguing with a young woman with a baby. You rushed over, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Please tell this man that I will not leave. The Capitol will not kill us, hes crazy,” she demanded, her baby screaming now. 

“Miss, we have to leave, they will kill us,” you tried to reason. 

She scoffed before turning around and shutting the door to her house. 

You looked up at Gale and checked your watch. It had been 5 minutes since the trucks pulled out, “We need to go,”

he nodded. You both knew that this was going to be bad if they stayed for too long. The other men from the mines were rounding up as many people as they could but some didn’t believe and some were too scared of the forest to go with them there. 

“I’ll go grab the last group over there, and I’ll meet you out there at our spot,” he promised. 

You shook your head, “We’re not splitting up,” 

”We have to,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “I love you,” he rushed off into the distance, and you knew this was it. You had to go now. 

You spotted Katniss’ mother and Prim in the distance and you rushed over to them, “Let’s go,” you said. 

“Will they really bomb us?” Prim asked. 

“I think so, kid,” you replied. 

You watched as Gales family came out of their house with some supplies, and then you knew you had everyone you needed. You stood up on a box and looked out at the group. 

“Everyone, please follow me to the forest. Don’t be scared, we will be safe out there,” you called out and as you walked, you looked behind you. 

You were disappointed at the lack of people there, maybe only four hundred or so. There were so many people in Dsitrict Twelve that werent coming. 

It was chaos. Your group were heading towards the forest and everyone else to the main road, thinking they could find help there. You knew the Captiol would let everyone die. There would be no survivors if they got caught. 

You and your group reached the border, and that’s when you saw the bombers flying over. You escorted everyone out, helping the young girl and her baby sister through the cracks through, lending a hand to the elderly couple.

the group walked up to the hill, and your heart was pounding as you watched them start to bomb the Distirct. Then you looked around. 

Gale was missing. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you realised that he was gone. He was gone, and you didn't know where he was. He might still be in there. 

You were about to start panicking when you saw another group head up the hill, and you ran into his arms, holding him tight. You flinched at the sound of the bombs, but it was safe here, they didnt know they were here. 

“I thought you were dead,” you muttered, helping him up the hill to his family. 

He chuckled, “Coudnt get rid of me that easily,” he joked. 

You shook your head, grabbing his hand and holdng it as you stood at the top of the hill. He squeezed it when he felt you tense up at the sound of the bombs. 

Everyone watched as the bombers circled around, bombing down the main road at those that were trying to run to safety. 

A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them all die in the explosions. None of you could have done anything to help them and bring them back. You looked up at Gale, and he pulled you into his side. You watched a tear slip down his cheek at the sight of all of those who died. There were no words in the aftermath of the bombing. The knowledge that everyone had died weighed heavy on their hearts. 

915 from District Twelve. You were the only ones who made it out alive. The war had just begun. 

[iavender-haze]

"if it weren't for the baby"

one thousand followers special

bonus:

[mariigoldzz]

Haymitch and Hazelle Hawthorne embarrassing the kids

Silly doodle for Something Of Our Own by @districtunrest

[cece693]

My Safe Place (Finnick Odair x M! Reader)

Going back to my Hunger Games phase and not enough fics for male/gender neutral readers can be found for him. So, I aim to fix it :) Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Finnick was known for his conquests whenever he traveled to the Capital, however, you were his main client—a man who didn't exactly act like the rest of the Capital society.

tags: mention of sex working, Finnick deserves better, reader is a safe place for him, President Snow being a dick, reader is different, Annie (unfortunately) is dead

The arrangement between you and Finnick was dangerous, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was giving him some semblance of safety, a fleeting escape from the nightmare President Snow had trapped him in. You never liked interacting with people, much less in the manner Finnick’s arrangement with the Capitol required. But when the murmurs began—stories of the young victor's so-called "conquests" echoing in the opulent halls—you couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest.

You weren’t foolish. You knew how Snow operated. Finnick’s dazzling smile was just another weapon in the Capitol's arsenal, a weapon honed through coercion and manipulation. Then you overheard a conversation at a party: a woman bragging about "paying" to spend time with him. Her words were dripping with self-satisfaction, as though exploiting someone so clearly tormented was a badge of honor. It made your stomach churn.

It was easy to connect the dots. Too easy.

The first time you reached out to Finnick, it had been awkward. Not for him—he was all smooth confidence, his charm slipping into place like a second skin. But you? You couldn’t keep still, looking around the suite for cameras or hidden microphones. You didn’t trust the Capitol, and Finnick was bound to be under constant surveillance, his every move scrutinized.

Sensing your nervousness, Finnick took control of the situation, his practiced mask of seduction sliding into place. He began unbuttoning his shirt, moving toward you with a deliberate air. After all, wasn’t this why you’d invited him here? Another Capitol indulgence, another client eager to own a piece of him.

“No!” Your voice cut through the tension as you stepped back, your hand flying up to stop him. The disgust on your face was immediate and unfiltered.

Finnick froze, his hands mid-motion, and for a moment, genuine confusion flickered across his face. “Then what do you want?” he asked, clutching the throw you’d hastily handed him.

It had taken everything in you to hold his gaze. "A safe place. For you. No strings attached."

For a long, tense moment, Finnick didn’t respond. He studied you, his sea-green eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to find the trap in your words. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that didn’t suit him at all.

"Safe places don’t exist in the Capitol."

"Maybe not," you admitted. "But I can try."

From then on, it became a routine. You’d send the payment—an obscene amount, just enough to satisfy the Capitol’s watchful eye—and Finnick would arrive at your apartment late at night. He always used the private entrance to avoid prying eyes. At first, neither of you talked much. Finnick would sit stiffly on the edge of your luxurious couch, his shoulders tense, his hands fidgeting with the sea-green pendant around his neck.

You ignored his discomfort, going about your nightly routine as though he wasn’t there. You’d clean the dishes left on the counter, read a book with a steaming cup of tea, or sometimes sit at your piano and let your fingers wander across the keys. You never pressed him to talk, never demanded his attention. You simply let him exist in the quiet safety of your home.

When the time was up, Finnick would stand, his expression often a mix of confusion and gratitude, before slipping out the same way he came.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Months into the arrangement, Finnick began to open up. At first, he stuck to safe topics: the ocean breeze in District 4, the salty tang of the air, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore. His words painted a vivid picture of home, a place you could tell he missed deeply.

You didn’t press him for more, content to let him share whatever pieces of himself he felt comfortable giving. But then, one evening, as you were reading, Finnick spoke a name that hung heavy in the air. “Annie.” The sound of her name made him freeze for a moment, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. You looked up from your book, startled by the weight in his tone but careful not to push. You simply set the book down and waited.

Finnick’s gaze fell to the pendant he always wore, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the shell. “She was my first love,” he said quietly. “She was different from everyone else. Quiet, kind, but strong in a way most people didn’t see. She didn’t care about the Games or the Capitol. She only cared about people.”

The smile faded from his lips, replaced by a shadow of grief. “But Snow couldn’t allow that, could he? He couldn’t let me have something that made me resist.”

Finnick’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the pendant, his entire frame trembling with suppressed rage and sorrow. “He killed her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t painless. He made sure I knew every detail, made sure I understood that her death was my fault."

You watched as his grief and anger boiled over. With a sharp, guttural sound of frustration, Finnick stood abruptly, grabbing a vase from a nearby table. Without hesitation, he flung it at the wall, the porcelain shattering into a million jagged pieces. The crash echoed through the room, but you didn’t flinch.

Finnick’s chest heaved as he stood there amidst the broken shards, his tear-streaked face turned toward you. The raw vulnerability in his sea-green eyes was almost too much to bear. His lip quivered as though he was fighting a battle within himself, one final attempt to keep the walls he’d built intact.

But then, those walls crumbled.

Without warning, Finnick took a shaky step forward and collapsed to his knees before you. His head fell into your lap, his arms wrapping loosely around your legs as though anchoring himself to something—anything—real. The dam inside him burst, and his sobs came in great, shuddering waves, his entire body trembling with the force of his anguish.

You froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of his collapse, but quickly recovered. Gently, you rested a hand on his head, your fingers threading through his golden tousled hair in slow, soothing motions. Your other hand settled lightly on his back, offering a steady, grounding presence.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “Let it out, Finnick. You’re safe here.”

His sobs grew louder, his pain pouring out in every ragged breath, every muffled cry against your knees. His tears soaked through the fabric of your pants, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was being there for him, letting him release the emotions he’d kept locked away for so long.

“I couldn’t save her,” he choked out, his voice muffled against you. “I couldn’t…I wasn’t enough.”

“Finnick, stop,” you said gently, your voice breaking with emotion. “You were enough. You loved her, and that was more than enough. What happened to Annie wasn’t your fault. Snow…Snow took her because he’s a monster, not because of anything you did.”

He didn’t respond, but his grip on your legs tightened, his trembling body pressing closer against you. You continued to stroke his hair, murmuring soft reassurances, letting him pour his heart out in the safety of your presence. As the minutes passed, his sobs began to subside, the storm of emotions giving way to quiet, exhausted tears. His breathing slowed, though his face remained buried against your knees, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely, the words barely audible, yet they carried the weight of his gratitude and trust.

From that moment, something fragile yet beautiful began to bloom between you. Finnick grew comfortable in your space, his presence no longer guarded or wary. He started accepting small gestures of care—a cup of tea, a plate of fresh fruit—with a smile that wasn’t the polished charm he wore in public, but something tender and genuine.

His smiles were rare but transformative, softening his features in a way that felt almost sacred. It wasn’t the grin of a Capitol heartthrob or a victor playing his part. It was Finnick. The real Finnick. And it was in those moments you saw him as the man he was, not the mask he was forced to wear.

Finnick’s feelings for you deepened with every visit. At first, it was subtle: the way his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, the way his laughter grew warmer and more frequent when you were around. But over time, it became undeniable.

He found excuses to stay longer, to ask you questions about yourself—your favorite books, your childhood memories, your thoughts on the world beyond the Capitol. His curiosity was genuine, his attention focused solely on you, as though you were the one piece of sanity in his life.

And you noticed. Of course, you noticed. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze softened when it met yours, the way his voice grew quieter when he spoke your name. You weren’t stupid—you knew what it meant.

But you didn’t give in.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel the same way. You did. Finnick had become more than a presence in your life; he had become someone you cared about deeply, someone you wanted to protect, someone whose laughter felt like sunlight breaking through a storm. But you didn’t want him to think that was all you were after. You didn’t want him to believe, even for a moment, that your care for him was tied to his charm or his body or any of the things the Capitol exploited. Finnick deserved better than that.

So you kept your distance, at least emotionally. You treated him as you always had—with quiet kindness and unwavering respect. Even as your heart ached to reach out, to tell him how much he mattered to you, you held back. Because Finnick’s worth was so much more than he realized, and you refused to let him think otherwise.

And then the 75th Hunger Games was announced.

The moment the words left President Snow’s lips—this year, the tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors—you felt your chest tighten. You knew what it meant. Finnick would be going back into the arena.

When his name was called at the reaping, you watched from your apartment, your hands trembling as you gripped the armrest of your chair. Finnick’s face was calm, but you knew the storm that raged beneath the surface. You knew him too well to be fooled by the mask.

Days later, during the interviews, you sat in the same chair, your eyes glued to the television. The Capitol was abuzz with excitement, the crowd roaring with approval as Caesar Flickerman welcomed the victors one by one. And then it was Finnick’s turn. He stepped onto the stage, his signature charm firmly in place. The audience adored him, their cheers deafening as he waved and smiled. But when Caesar asked him the question that had been on everyone’s lips—is there someone special he's fighting for?—something shifted.

Finnick’s expression softened, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the man beneath. “There is,” he said simply, his voice steady but filled with emotion. The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs, looking at each other as if he was speaking about one of them, but Finnick ignored them. "And I would like to tell them something, if you don't mind."

Caesar, ever the showman, gestured grandly for him to proceed but not before hushing the crowd.

"Though I cannot promise forever, Though the storms still rage around me, I leave my heart to you, And hope you’ll remember me kindly."

No one else knew who the poem was for. But you did.

And in that moment, it was both everything and not nearly enough.

[impossiblesuitcase]

This You I Choose - part i.

Peeta is rescued from the Capitol, tortured but not hijacked, and 'this would've happened anyway' happens earlier.

When Peeta and I do reunite, he doesn’t kiss me like I’d expected him to. He’s in a stupor, vague and bleary-eyed and can only weakly mouth my name in disbelief. His limbs are rubber as I crash into him yet he wraps them around me all the same. I’m the one to cup his face in my hands, sobbing and angry and so relieved it electrifies every nerve in my body.

The doctors prod at him for what feels like the length of a whole Hunger Games, and I’m waiting for them to leave so I can cry and hold him and I need them to just leave. Leave. 

They don’t. So I pretend they aren’t there.

Peeta doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t grin or tease like he did without fail in the arena, no matter how dire the situation. He strokes my hair, face slack with awe. He repeats my name, again and again and again like a mockingjay. My questions—interrupted by sobs—go unanswered. Are you okay? What did they do to you? Where did they hurt you? 

So as the doctors are grabbing his arm far too roughly for my liking and forcing a needle into his vein, he squirms something awful.

And I kiss him.

Once, twice, again and again. It’s kiss five that he registers and kisses me back, and then this lasts for a long time but never long enough. Haymitch comes to collect me, tears me from Peeta’s arms so the doctors can experiment on him some more. I thrash, I scream. Peeta does too.

I’m not allowed back in the hospital until the next morning. With no doctors closely lingering, I crawl under the thin hospital blanket and envelop him in my arms. I trace his scars, monitor his crackling breaths and sponge kisses to his lips and pulse points. When I stop, he comes in for more, and I know that we are both administering pain medication this way.

The morphling relaxes him, but I think my touch is much longer lasting.

———

Over the next days I am consumed by Peeta. He is constantly on edge, distrusting everybody except a handful. Me, Prim, occasionally my mother. Even Haymitch is a bad taste in his mouth, and for how little he speaks, we’re all shocked when he summons the lung capacity to scream at him for lying to us in the Quarter Quell.

It ends in whimpering sobs, which only abate as I cradle his head into the wee hours of the morning.

I can’t stand to be parted from him, convinced Snow will turn the corner, laugh at me balefully and taunt from those puffy lips, “Oh, Miss Everdeen, you didn’t truly think I’d let you keep him?” When those nightmares awaken me at night, I do my best to stifle my gasps. I can’t disturb Peeta’s precious few hours of sleep.

Something different now is how often I kiss him. It’s for his sake, I think at first, but I begin to seriously doubt that. When I’m forced to leave his side for meals I swear I feel myself growing weaker if I go too long without my source.

Haymitch relays to me updates on the resistance, their efforts, Coin and Plutarch’s latest strategies. He more than once reminds me that Coin is looking for a Mockingjay, not the star-crossed lovers, and I’m expected to eventually show up to strategy meetings. I ignore him.

Once, when I’m barred from his room by the doctors—citing a medical procedure that cannot be interfered with—I return to my own quarters. Prim is there, stroking that mangy cat, and looks surprised to see me.

“You’re back?”

“Not for long. Just until they let me back into the hospital,” I grumble.

Prim stands and heaves Buttercup up to her chest, who hisses at me as though I’m the one who disturbed his rest. She opens the drawer where my belongings lie; the locket, the stopwatch, the pearl.

“I thought you might want to take this.” She picks up the pearl and folds it into my palm.

I run it around my knuckles. “Why?”

“Haymitch suggested that you ‘give it to the boyfriend,’” she explains. “We thought it might settle him a bit.”

I scoff at Haymitch’s choice of words and look at Prim, expecting a glint of teasing in her eyes. She of all people knows the love story was for show. To protect her, in fact. A byproduct of protecting my sister’s childhood for all these years is that she has the gall of a teenager. She makes jabs at me often but her giggles and grins always give it away. I wait for this now, but her face is as sound as ever.

“What?” 

She looks at me, innocent and unblinking. “You know, to remind him of how things were before he was in the Capitol.”

“You think he’s my boyfriend?” I spit out.

She smiles. “A lot of people think that. I’ve seen you together since he was rescued. Seemed a little more than friendly.”

“That’s no different to how we were in the Games,” I argue.

“Yes it is. No one’s forcing you to do any of it anymore.” Buttercup is glaring at me condescendingly, and I hate the idea that this stupid cat thinks it understands emotions better than I can. “You’re a bad actress, Katniss,” Prim continues, laughing a little. “And you hate being lovey-dovey. Could you have played out that romance thing with anyone else?”

No. But maybe—Gale…and then, I don’t think either of us would’ve thought to play the romance card. We would’ve treated it as one of our hunts, except some of our prey spoke like us. I try to imagine if I’d like the strategy better and I’m struck by a realisation. Gale would have killed. Not just defensively. I remember—just before I was taken to the Capitol for the first Games—he told me that the other tributes were just like animals. Would he have set up snares and traps, sized to fit a child rather than a rabbit? Would he have sought to eliminate our competition? Peeta wasn’t just trying to protect us with the love angle. It prevented us from having to kill.

Would I have been horrified by Gale by the end of the Games?

“Maybe it was for the Games, but I don’t think you could’ve done it if you hadn’t at least liked the person to begin with,” Prim observes.

I gape at my sister and her unabashedness and how she’s right. I think about my own mother; how I reject her every advance and brush of affection. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to kiss and feign endearment for some random boy that I met in the Games, even with survival on the line. I would’ve recoiled instantly and Haymitch would’ve groaned as the sponsors dried up and I’d be dead.

But I hadn’t really known Peeta before the Games. Not properly. How did he make it so easy?

I snatch up the locket, tuck the pearl in the pocket of my uniform. “I’m going to lunch,” I say, despite the hollowness in my stomach having nothing to do with food. Prim bids me goodbye, unfazed by my flightiness. 

After a lacklustre meal of some grey mush, I check the schedule on my arm and finally follow it.

———

“Hey, Catnip.”

I jump back, startled. Even with the telltale nickname, it doesn’t immediately register to me that the newcomer is Gale. As I turn to face him, taking in the amusement in his seam-grey eyes, I scold myself. This is Gale. Whom I’ve been spending almost all of my time with since coming to 13.

It’s only in realising this that I also realise I haven’t seen him since Peeta’s return. 

“Hey,” I say.

“Feeling better?”

I cock my head to the side. “Better?”

“Now that Peeta’s back,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Do you feel like yourself again?”

I’ve been incomplete since he was kidnapped, and I try to determine if I’m whole now that he’s been returned. Almost. He isn’t quite the Peeta that I lost anymore; still, I am not his Katniss from the Seam.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He gazes at me expectantly. I quirk an eyebrow. 

A chortle rocks his chest. “You’re not going to ask if I’m okay? After rescuing his life?”

Right. Prim, Gale, Peeta. The three people I protect in every universe. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted lately,” I confess sheepishly, scratching my forearm. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Seeing him again makes me feel steadier. A little more like that girl from the woods. “What are you doing here?”

He taps the tattoo on his arm. “I’m rostered to be here. As are you.”

Weapons training. Trainee soldiers are scattered around the range, some aiming at targets and others being taught the anatomy of a gun by a soldier. No one is shooting yet. With how skittish I become at loud sounds these days, I’ll probably leave when that starts. Gale unstraps a gun from his holster and hands it to me. I fiddle with its mechanisms, trying to recall any of the training on its assembly.

Gale watches for a while and decides to pity me. “Here, let me show you.”

He comes up behind me, my back to his chest. His arms weave around my waist and lay over my hands. Then he manoeuvres them around the parts, removing the magazine and the other pieces I don’t know the name of and leads my hands in a rehearsed dance of reassembling them.

This closeness is nice and familiar. I haven’t embraced him for a while now, but his strong heartbeat reflected against my back reminds me that—even in these dismal bunkers of 13—I can have a piece of home.

With the weapon readied, I graze the trigger and have a sudden vision of it firing against my will. A shudder courses through me. His hands still.

“What’s wrong?”

My head shakes on its own. “Nothing.” But knowing he won’t believe that, I shakily amend, “It’s…this whole thing. We can’t live in this bunker forever. But 12 is gone. I feel like I’m just waiting for this stint to be over”—and to kill Snow, I don’t say—“so we can just go home.”

“Me too.”

“No. I can’t want that.” I extricate myself from him, turning to face him instead. His face is set with hardness as always but his eyes droop with sympathy. “I’m alive. So is Prim and my mother and you. And Peeta was taken from me but he’s back. I have better things to fret over.”

Gale cups my face with one hand and I lean into the touch. “It was home, Katniss. Of course you miss it.”

“I don’t deserve to.” And then I whisper what’s been underlying, plaguing me for weeks with nowhere for the thought to go. “Not when it’s my fault.”

He looks displeased. “Did you drop the bomb?”

I’m starting to think that that doesn’t matter much anymore. That whether you’re at the scene of the crime or being lifted from a broken arena by hovercraft, every thread eventually leads back to the spool. The larking Mockingjay.

“I did, in a way, didn’t I? Doesn’t matter if I was there or not. I practically devised it with every move I made against Snow.”

“Things happen in war, Katniss.” Perhaps I would agree with him, but the roiling in my stomach can’t easily digest this simplification. “You can’t keep hurting yourself. You have to forgive yourself.”

I toss the gun to the floor, loathing the sight of it and distancing myself from him because he’s wrong when his hands still me. His eyes are deep with intent. Then he’s leaning in and I have ample time to know what’s coming. I allow him.

The second his lips touch mine, I flinch. It’s instinct. I have no control over the action.

He pulls away. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” I trail off, unable to find the words. I don’t know what’s wrong.

He considers me for a long moment, then shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I see.”

“What? What do you see?”

He shakes his head, voice acerbic. “No, no, I knew. But I ignored it. Can’t anymore though, can we?”

“Tell me,” I order, because he’s being cryptic and irritable and I am unable to draw the conclusion he has. It frustrates me just how well he can read my own emotions when I can’t even decipher them myself. I thought it was bad enough from Buttercup, but this is exponentially worse.

“You love him. Peeta.”

The instinct to refute him shrivels up in my chest. It doesn’t ring false. Yes, I do care about Peeta. He’s a friend. An ally. A partner.

“I care about him,” I agree. “But I care about you too.”

“How?” he challenges.

“The same as him. You’re my friends. My allies.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “But that isn’t all.”

I think of when Gale was whipped, laying beneath the cover of ice, and I chose him. Then, as soon as I’d been called for the Quarter Quell, I had been all too comfortable seeking another pair of arms to warm me. Because I was lonely, a voice scolds. Because I’m selfish. 

Am I still lonely now? Yes. Am I clinging to Peeta merely because I need company? Is that why I would have done anything to get him back?

I would’ve killed Snow. And Coin. And if Gale stood in my way….

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Don’t you?” he says bitingly. “Isn’t that the reason you’ve been glued to his hip since the moment he came back?”

“And what’s it to you?” I snap. 

“You know what.”

Because I owe him. As a friend. As I had personally appointed myself to be Gale’s lover. Even if ‘lover’ never came to fruition. Even if he never knew it.

Peeta. Friend. Ally. Partner. There’s something unsaid. For Peeta, partner feels…insufficient. Something is missing.

The hunger coursing through my body. The desperation I felt without him.

“No. That’s not all. Not for him,” I admit.

Gale chuckles ruefully. He reaches out and tucks hair behind my ear. There’s a coldness on his face with the action. “I knew. Since I saw you kissing him on that beach, I knew—it was a foregone conclusion. You’ve chosen him.”

“That’s not—”

“When you were kissing him in the arena, were you thinking about me?” he interrupts.

My mouth opens and closes a few times. “Sometimes. I’d feel guilty about kissing him. Because of you.” 

“Because you wanted to be kissing me? Or because you thought I’d be hurt by it?”

His words—plain, but cutting—stun me. I hadn’t allowed myself to consider it, but isn’t it true? Did I want him in my arms, rocking me to sleep, kissing me and me kissing him? No, I wasn’t thinking of that at all. I felt guilty. It felt like I was being unfaithful to him.

I can recognise that feeling because at this moment he has stolen the kiss from my mouth that is reserved for Peeta’s lips.

All the moments I’ve shared with this boy run past my thoughts and away into oblivion. I think about how I spent years with him, alone in the woods. How at any point my feelings should have developed and appeared. How only now, in war and Games and death, do I feel a longing for him.

If this is over, do I see myself in his arms? When things are good? Do I crave his kisses? His comfort?

Gale leans in and kisses me on the cheek. It’s familial and stirs nothing beneath my sternum. “Told ya. I won’t stand in your way, Catnip.” 

Then he leaves. I have no desire to chase after him though I feel I should. It’s the nice thing to do, the friendly thing. But after this interrogation, I wonder if that’s why I do anything for Gale. Because I fear that if I don’t he will leave me and I can’t bear to lose anyone else.

I listen to his retreating footsteps until the guns begin to fire. I touch my hand to my cheek.

———

I spend a good hour meandering down the halls of 13’s gloomy bunker. My thoughts tick over on repeat, again and again and again. Peeta will be waiting for me and that’s louder than most of my other ruminations.

You’ve chosen him, Gale said, but that tastes like a lie in my mouth. That implies that I have committed to a relationship, and in turn a future, a marriage, children. Anyone who knows me knows I haven’t committed to that, ever. So there’s no choice to make.

Some choices I have made were never choices in the first place. To volunteer for Prim. To ally with Rue. To save Peeta in the Quarter Quell over myself. Those were never something I decided. I would not be Katniss Everdeen if I had chosen otherwise.

I reach the hospital. My feet brought me here unbidden, drawn by the magnetism lying inside. Peeta. I linger by his doorway, listening for his slow breathing. If he’s asleep, I’ll go in. That way I can just look at him. To understand. To decide if Gale is right.

“Katniss?” I hear him call softly.

I enter. He’s smiling wearily, tired but content. “How did you know I was there?” I ask.

“I didn’t. I heard footsteps. I was hoping it was you.”

My arms are crossed over my chest, my stance defensive.

His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I resist.

“Well, then come here.” He holds out his arms.

“What?”

“The most effective treatment for ‘nothing’ is burying yourself in hugs. Shouldn’t you know that—healer’s daughter?”

He must be picking up a bit if he’s teasing me like this, so I go over. I cuddle up in his arms and my skin is electric with his touch. It’s never felt this way before. Not even on the beach. That was hunger. This is safety, my soul fitting back into my body exactly as it should. I have embraced him every day and night since his return, but this ailment is symptomatic only now that I know about it.

I can never leave his arms. I kiss him, just to double-check, and I sigh as I have my confirmation.

I never chose Peeta. Just like I never chose Prim or Rue. It is, what did Gale call it? A foregone conclusion.

It would be against my very being to not need him.

I pull away and he whines, gently. “Hey, I was enjoying that.”

“You can have more.”

He gives me a tired grin. “When?”

I lay my head on his chest and settle in for the night. My mother won’t be expecting me anyway. She’s given up trying to keep me from him. In fact, only two days past Finnick had teased that Plutarch’s query as to my whereabouts was stupid, because I had a new residence in the Mellark room in the hospital. When Prim relayed the story to me I’d been ambivalent about to react. Now, I want to scoff alongside Finnick. Yes, what a stupid question. Where else would I be?

“Whenever you want.” 

Notes

Part two

@gingerale2017 i know you love everlark ;)

[slaymitchabernathy]

notice how gales family wasn’t mentioned ONCE in the new book? yeah, yeah, irrelevant as he should be.

[drfleetflower]

HG Scenario: How they would confess their feelings.

~Requested~

Pairings: Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, Finnick Odair x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 2.3k

Credit to Delaney Bailey - Love Letter From the Sea to the Shore

Peeta Mellark:

Peeta is quite the nervous wreck. He has his moments of confidence, sure, but when it comes to you… Well, confident is definitely not what he would describe himself. 

If he knew you felt the same way, things would be different, but it’s so hard to tell how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to ruin everything by showing his interest. He was certain you would never speak to him again if you didn’t feel the same. Once he confessed his feelings, there was no going back. And, these thoughts were completely rational. Absolutely. Haymitch was wrong when he said you would still be his friend. Who in their right mind would be friends with him after they knew all he thought about was spending the rest of his life with them? When they knew his hand itched to hold theirs everytime they were near. And don’t get him started on the thought of kissing you.

He shook the thought away once he stepped up to your door. This was it. The end or the beginning. 

He lifted his hand to knock on your door but before he could, you opened it. “Oh! Hi Peeta!” You smiled, slightly startled but still happy to see him.

Peeta fumbled to reply. This was immediately not going as he planned. “Hi.” He finally choked out after several seconds of what he felt to be awkwardness. 

“I was just going to head to the Hob, did you need something?” You asked, not moving to leave just yet.

“Yes…” He paused, pondering on how to proceed. “What are you getting at the Hob?”

“Just soap. There’s a new shop that makes some.” You answered, cool as a cucumber. He envied your poise right now. Though, you weren’t the one about to bear your soul out.

“I’ll come with you.” He decides.

You agree and as the two of you walk to the Hob, Peeta’s pulse is racing. You walk in silence, with Peeta repeatedly looking over at you, his palms getting damp. 

Once you purchase your soap, he has worked up the courage to speak. “Do you want to go to the meadow?” He asked, “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” You said after a moment, suddenly feeling nervous yourself.

There. Step one was done. 

Then, step two.

The two of you took a seat in the tall, dandelion filled, grass. Peeta twirled a strand of grass around his finger, procrastinating. 

“What did you want to tell me?” You urged gently.

He sighed, picking up a dandelion and blowing the little wisps out into the air. He decided to just come right out and say it. “I love you. More than anyone. I think about you all the time and I can’t keep it to myself anymore. If you don’t feel the same, I understand if you never want to see me again.”

You stare at him stunned. “What? Why would I never want to see you again?”

Peeta looked right into your soul. “Y/n. Please just answer.” His voice was pleading.

“I love you too.” 

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Really?”

“Do you think I would joke about that?” You chuckled, pretending to be offended.

He shook his head, staring at you like you were water in a desert. You smiled at him and his eyes were drawn to your lips. He couldn’t help himself, his body was now magnetized to yours. He leaned in. 

But you put your finger against his lips. “Don’t you want to buy me dinner first?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“If you want.”

You looked at him like he was the sweetest, craziest guy you’d ever met. “I wasn’t ready so I made a stupid joke. I’m ready now. Did I ruin the moment?” You suddenly feel guilty.

“Moment? I don’t just love you for the moment. I love you. Always. That could never be ruined. I will kiss you whenever you let me.” He assured.

“Then kiss me.” You answered.

His lips met yours quickly, it wasn’t the world’s most intimate kiss, it was a lot like a starved man eating. But, it was certainly passionate and that was all you needed right now. You kissed him back with the same fervor and the same gentleness that he still gave you, even when he really was starved. Who knew how long he had been wanting to kiss you?

When he tore himself away from you, all he could do was stare at you like you were the greatest treasure ever discovered and mumble, “Wow…”

Gale Hawthorne:

Gale let his feelings for you fester inside him for far too long and he beat himself up for never having the courage to just shout that he was falling for you. 

There would be moments when conversation between you would pause. You would stare at each other for a long moment, no longer needed words to converse, and his mind would scream at him to do something. He felt like his whole body was on fire, like there were a million ants crawling on his skin, like he was being zapped by one hundred volts of electricity. But he would never show it. And, he hated himself for it. Instead, he would turn his head and take a deep breath of the woods air, pretending to be perfectly content. 

His control was beginning to crack, though. One wrong step on thin ice away from confessing every thought he’s ever had about you. So, he had to do it now before he did something he would absolutely regret. 

Earlier in the day he invited you to the woods, as he often did, to set snares. Something you were terrible at. It gave him the excuse to help you. And, you would be distracted without the slightest suspicion that he was going to set his heart on a silver platter in front of you. 

Gale waited for your arrival, leaning against a tree. He was almost precisely where the electric fence that separated the Seam from the woods used to be. He twisted some of its old wire around a stick, preparing traps for the day. Just a few. 

“Look who finally decided to show up.” He teased as he heard you approach. He looked up from his snare and forced a casual smile, even in the most casual of settings you look too good to be true.

“What’s that?” You got close to him, look at what was in his hand. He swore you did it on purpose.

“It’s going to be a snare. Have you learned nothing from hunting with me all the time?” He handed it to you with a slight smile before heading into the woods, if he stayed close to you any longer he’d pass out from holding his breath. 

The two of you spent the day like usual, some talk, mostly silence as you trekked through the woods, placing new snares and checking on old. Gale helped you with every snare you set, you insisted he did. His hands rested over yours and guided you through each one. They were warm and felt natural holding yours. 

He liked helping you, more than he’d ever admit, and he indulged in it often. But, even so, he never kept his hands over yours longer than he had to. He feared if his touch lingered just a second longer, he’d never let go.

As the day came to an end, the two of you rested in a clearing, snacking on some berries and bread. Silence engulfed you and in the silence you got a mischievous idea. As Gale was contemplating how to articulate his emotions, you threw a blueberry at his cheek. 

He was startled, which didn’t happen often. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he was caught off guard like that. No, actually that was a lie. He remembered very clearly the last time he was caught off guard was when Vick had nudged him in the ribs and asked when the wedding between you two was. 

Gale promptly picked the blueberry and threw it back at you. Unfortunately for him, you caught it in your mouth, biting down with a look of victory on your face. And so, this was the challenge now. The two of you threw berry after berry into the air, testing each other with each toss. 

You almost lost with the final blueberry, catching it just at the corner of your mouth, purple staining your lips. And before you could rub your win in his face, his thumb came up to wipe your lip and you both went silent again. This time the silence was loud. 

Gale’s hand didn’t leave your face, nor did his thumb cease rubbing your lip. He couldn’t look you in the eye and you could see how hard he was clenching his jaw. When you leaned ever so slightly closer, he couldn’t take it anymore and his lips met yours. 

You kissed him back, tugging him closer by his shirt. Neither of you let go even as you were panting for air. He only pulled back when he heard the snapping of a twig. 

“I think I messed this up.” Gale said, once he finally looked you in the eyes. 

“Huh?” You breathed.

“I was supposed to tell you I love you first.” His eyes trailed down to your lips again.

“I think I got the hint.” You chuckled.

“Did you?”

“Maybe not.”

So, he kissed you again.

Finnick Odair:

Finnick flirts with everyone. Everyone. And it was no different with you. He liked to let out a low whistle whenever he walked past you, and winked whenever you looked up. He could tell you got jealous when he did this with anyone else, but he would never be so casual with anyone but you. 

He was simply confident and liked attention, whether that was received or given. He liked getting to know people. Especially you. He revelled in learning new things about you, it meant he could show you he cared in all sorts of ways. You like when he picks you up? Expect to never feel your feet touch the ground again. 

It seemed so obvious to him that he liked you that he was surprised when you said he was only flirting with you because he flirted with everyone. Now, that couldn’t be farthest from the truth. He flirts with each person for a reason. Most of the time the reason is it’s fun, but it’s so different with you. When he flirts with you it’s because he wants you to do it back, it’s because he loves when you get flustered because of him. 

And, it’s not like he doesn’t also absolutely dote on you. He doesn’t do that for anyone else. He’s kind, of course. He helps people out in need. He helps you out in want and he helps you out in bare minimum inconvenience. 

Finnick represents all of the love languages but physicality is something he takes very seriously. How could you not notice that you’re one of the only people he lets hug him, or touch him at all really? And vice versa?

And he doesn’t make jewelry for just anyone. Those matching friendship bracelets meant more than friendship to him. 

Clearly, he would have to spell this out for you. 

“Y/n.” Finnick said your name softly, almost like a purr. 

“Finnick.” You answered back.

He smirked and you felt you could die happy from the sight, even though you had seen it a thousand times. Perhaps, it felt different when the two of you were bathed in the soft hues of the sunset. 

He wiped your cheek gently, claiming there to be sand stuck to you. You didn’t see any, but maybe that was because you were staring at him, as you often did. 

“Y/n.” He spoke again, this time it was more of a sigh. 

You tilted your head. “Are you saying my name for fun now?” 

“It is rather nice to say. Rolls of the tongue.” He enunciated purposefully. 

“Mhm.” You hummed, wondering where this was going. Sometimes it felt like Finnick spoke in riddles. 

“I wrote a poem.” He suddenly declared. “A poem for you.” 

You raised a brow but it didn’t stop him from reciting it from memory.

“I think I loved you

In another life

Where I was the sea

And you were the shore”

His voice was silky, the smoothest you had ever heard it, and it made you want to wrap yourself up in it and stay there. You felt like you were in a trance, staring into his eyes as you got closer to each other. 

“Like the tourist comes back to the beach

I come back to you for more and more and more

Because you hold in my tide”

You felt yourself sink back into the sand, Finnick’s hands holding your waist and your head.

“I would die a thousand times

Just to see you in another life”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he finished the poem. “This isn’t funny.” You barely even whisper out.

“Good. I wasn’t trying to be.” He said, gazing into your eyes earnestly, his touch loving. “May I kiss you?”

You nod slowly for a few seconds before giving him a full response. “Yes.”

Finnick takes his time reaching your lips then, he first kisses your cheeks, forehead, nose. And when he does finally kiss your lips, it’s the most tender and meaningful kiss you’ve ever felt. It’s impossible to think of anything but him.

When your lips part, they part slowly, as if he’s trying to make the separation easier on the both of you. 

You really can’t think, only feel. But you do want one thing. “Can you read the poem again?”

He would do anything for you.

[effieotto]

Random Hunger Games headcanon

•Haymitch liked to trace the lines of Effie’s face when they were in bed to keep her in memory, because he loved her features and usually couldn’t see them properly when she was all caked up

•Katniss and Peeta had a hard time deciding which of their last names they would choose for their children. Because even though she knew that hers hold too much weight, for being forever associated with the mockingjay -and she didn’t want their kids to be associated with everything she once meant- It also represented the name shared between her, her Father and Prim, and she didn’t want to erase their memory from such a important thing in her life. So later on, Peeta suggested for them to use both of their names (Mellark-Everdeen) so the kids could decide which they would use when they got older

•When his rage had settled down and the Hummingbird Operation (along with everything else he had done during the war) had finally sink, Gale had a very ugly breakdown, while they waited for Katniss’s trial, and Haymitch was the one to pick him back up. The boy sobbed on Haymitch’s shoulder and he decided to, for once in his life, be the father the boy never had and help him through it all

•Effie Trinket had a bunny (i won’t go further, but she looks like the bunny type. So yeah, after the war she had a white fluffy bunny called Daise)

•Annie knew all those things about Gale when she wrote the letter for Katniss because, after the war, him and Johanna developed a close enough relationship and she had those informations by overhearing their conversations sometimes

•Haymitch resented Katniss a little for how blunted she had been when she asked for him to take Peeta’s place when the announcement from the Quell came out (even if he had been the one to offer it, he wished she had at least hesitated a little bit before throwing him to the wolves), and even though he had never (and would never, for countless reasons) tell her that, he always carried the feeling that she didn’t care for him as much as he cared for her, and the coldness of it hurt him badly….even if it wasn’t exactly true.

•Effie felt uneasy every time she went out with Katniss and Peeta’s daughter and a man talked to her too softly, because as much as she knew District Twelve’s citizens were warmer and that she wasn’t in the Capitol anymore, she couldn’t shake the memory of how the men usually talked to her when she was the same age, and as irrational as it goes, she didn’t want anything like what they did to her back then to happen with that little girl. So, not so politely, she would excuse them and nudge the girl to walk faster every time she gave too much attention for them

• When he got his recess from the Peacekeeper job, Gale went to District four and he and Johanna went out every Friday night to drink their sorrows away and find a easy fuck to each other -which wasn’t really an easy doing, because Gale was too shy and Johanna was too picky, but they had fun anyway-

•Even though Haymitch never enjoyed to leave District Twelve for long, he had managed to get involved in a handful of political activities for the new Panem, since President Paylor had finally decided to have some use of his limited political knowledge and strategies to help the government and the country back to its feet, with as much peace possible. He traveled once or twice per year through the Districts to help the new President with small social programs

[explosiongamora]

I apologize in advance for the insufferable, most infuriating person I will become when The Hunger Games: Sunrise on the Reaping comes out:3

[taytrashmouth]

Peeta mellark x reader

(The hunger games)

Remember requests are open so please send them in!!!!

It was a quiet day in district 12. And everything would’ve been at peace if it weren’t the last day of the games. That Peeta was still in.

You told gale to call you when it was only down to a few tributes, you couldn’t watch Peeta and Katniss. Not after the way he left.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie trinket read with a smile, your heart dropped as you watched him ascend the stage. Your throat ran dry and you couldn’t speak, you wanted to call for him but no words came out. Tears streamed down your face as you made your way to the empty aisle where Katniss has volunteered for her sister.

He looked down at me, but not for long. He couldn’t seem to bare it. A part of me knew he wouldn’t come home- I had seen the way those other tributes played.

I stood there until a peace keeper hit me across the cheek and shoved me back into place, I saw Peeta lunge forward but a peace keeper held him too.

When I was allowed to say goodbye I entered the small room after his family has left.

I hugged him tightly and he returned the gesture. “Peeta you have to survive.” You spoke firmly holding his face.

He started to object but you interrupted. “Promise me you’ll try to win!”

“I promise.” He was being genuine.

His hand brushed hair behind your ear and lingered on your cheek.

“You know- since you stood up for me against those boys when we were 12, I’ve never admired someone so much.”

You smiled whilst your cheeks turned red, you didn’t look away though, you couldn’t. This could be the last time you see him.

“You are so smart, and shy but you stand up for what you believe in, even when that means putting yourself out there. You’re funny and creative. I’ve never met someone who loves bread as much as you and-“ Peeta was rambling.

“Peeta..” you tried to question where he was leading in you Mr final moments.

“You’re beautiful n/n…and I guess all I’m trying to say is that I love you.” He looked nervously at your expression. “I have since the day I met you.”

“Peeta I- I love you too.” You smiled and cried at the same time.

“I wish I told you sooner.” He cried too.

“Yeah, me too.” He hugged you tightly.

As you both pulled out of the hug, with tear stained faces. You were leaning into each others touch. Lips barely grazing before two peace keepers were ripping you away. You screamed as they pulled you away.

“You’ll kiss me when you come home!” You yelled as they picked you up.

A boy from the mines ran out of the local bar to inform me that gale was calling. When I saw gale he couldn’t look away.

Peeta and Katniss were being hunted by some rabid hybrid.

You couldn’t watch for a while, until Cato found them and the stakes became a lot higher. You watched Peetas head almost become a meal and watched as he was held at gunpoint. You held gales hand in support as he did yours.

You hid your face in your other hand often.

When the last canon had fired you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“They won.” You smiled at gale.

Just as they announced 2 tributes from the same district can no longer win.

You began to cry. And then harder when Katniss handed Peeta those stupid berries.

You dropped gales hand and ran out of the bar. You couldn’t watch him die. You wouldn’t. You ran deep into the meadow and fell to your knees. You screamed. You were angry at the capitol, angry that you didn’t have more time with Peeta. You had lost the best thing in your life.

You stayed there for hours, crying and remembering.

You stayed out there in the meadow for a day or two. Sleeping under the trees. Forgetting about food or water.

When you finally went home in that third day you took a cold shower, wishing you had gone in his place.

In the early evening there was a knock on your door. You swung the door open expecting to tell whoever it was to come back some other day.

But when you saw the boy you longed for you began to sob. He grabbed you tightly, hugging you with everything he had.

“I thought you were dead-“ you sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m here now it’s okay.” He whispered into your ear and stroked your hair.

When you had both calmed down, he lead you to the river. Not many people knew about it.

And there it was, a picnic blanket with 3 types of bread in a basket accompanied by some fancy drink from the capitol.

“Peeta.” You smiled becoming all giddy. Running down to the blanket, Peeta followed with a smile, knowing he had made you happy.

“You like it?” He asked sitting down.

“It’s perfect.” You blushed, and ripped a piece of the soft bread loaf. “Mmmm… oh my god I missed this. There is no good bread in the world without you Mr Mellark.” you smiled. 

“It was all an act…” he spoke up. He looked scared. “Me and her.”

You smiled sadly to yourself.

“It wasn’t real?” You asked him genuinely to assure yourself, letting your insecurities get the better of you.

“Promise.” He whispered.

“Then you owe me a kiss, Mr-“ you were interrupted when he pulled you in and kissed you passionately. You squealed as he flipped you into your back, leaning over you into the kiss.

When he pulled away from air you giggled. “I’m really glad I’m home.” He smiled. You laughed again.

“Me too…”

You spent the rest of the evening holding each other, kissing and talking about all the times you missed each other over the past month.

“You are beautiful you know that.” He smiled, holding you in his lap looking at the water.

“You’re really pretty yourself…lover boy.” You teased tilting your head back and looking up at him.

“I hate that!” He cringed.

“Okay okay, I’ll stop.” You turned around to face him. “Lover boy.” You repeated and immediately screamed and ran away. He was hot on your trail. Smiling and chasing you.

When he caught you he spun you around smothering you in kisses, carrying you back with your legs dangling. Both laughing and smiling.

[mega-aulover]

THE SEAM COBLER - Chapter Seven

Summary: Delly is promised to marry Peeta, but she ends up getting pregnant by Gale. Pregnant Delly must marry to be able to keep the family business. What happens when Gale Gaylord Yancy Hawthorne marries the Merchant girl no one wanted?

Rated M

Chapter Summary: Delly has to learn how to deal with the rumors surrounding her and Gale, especially as she is still harboring some doubts about herself and her marriage to him.

Special thanks to my beta & bestie, @norbertsmom for editing and fixing all of my mistakes - I would be nothing without you!

READ HERE AO3 & FFN

[inky-writing]

Cato

Coriolanus Snow

Finnick Odair

Gale Hawthorne

Haymitch Abernathy

Peeta Mellark

Sejanus Plinth

Thresh

[crabcanwrite]

Hey! I would like to request Gale Hawthorne x gn!reader headcanons when they reunite in 13 after reader was taken by The Capitol (along with Annie, Peeta, Enobaria and Johanna like one of the victors) and ofc you ain't gotta but I would be thankful if you do :)

Words: 210

Fandom: The Hunger Games

Ships: Gale/reader

Warnings: none

Gale would absolutely try to keep you as close as possible, at least for the first few weeks of you being back

He would try to keep you away from any triggers, although it's a fool's errand

Gale would be extremely affectionate, always holding your hand or wrapping an arm around you

He would be hesitant to let you stay with him when he makes weapons, worried that it would upset you

He wouldn’t be sure exactly how to comfort you, but he does his best, holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your face

You woke with a start, fear rushing through your veins. An ‘oomph’ noise came from your left, making you flinch. 

You hesitantly looked to the side, only to see Gale lying on the floor next to the bed. 

“Gale?” you whispered, furrowing your brows. He sat up and frowned, looking at you with worried eyes.

“Nightmare?”

You nodded, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Gale climbed back onto the bed and pulled you into his arms.

“..Sorry” you mumbled into his chest. 

“Don’t be” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re safe here, alright?” 

You nodded, hiding yourself against him. Gale held you tighter. “I’ll protect you.”

[cece693]

It Should've Been Me (Peeta Mellark x Male! Reader)

I don't know why there isn't much male reader fanfics for the Hunger Games, but I aim to change that. Especially when there are interesting characters such as Finnick and Johanna, but I'm playing it safe and beginning with Peeta.

Summary: M/N Evergreen didn't feel like a victor, especially when it cost the life of his sister, Katniss. Forced to wear a smile and continue living life as 'normal', the only person who seems to recognize his brokeness is the boy with the bread, Peeta Mellark.

M/N Evergreen didn’t feel like a victor, not when winning cost the life of his sister, Katniss. It was supposed to be her. She was the one with the spark, the one who inspired others to believe in something more. But now she was gone, and all that was left was him—a hollow reminder of what should have been. He knew he should be grateful; the Capitol's train pulling into District 12 meant he got to come home. But what kind of home was it when the only person who ever made it feel that way was dead?

Effie Trinket’s voice was a distant hum, urging him to “put on a happy face, darling.” Smile for the cameras, for the sponsors, for the charade of a victory tour that awaited him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t move. Even if he forced the corners of his lips upward, the emptiness in his eyes would betray him. The train doors slid open, and all he could do was stare blankly as the frigid air of District 12 rushed in, filling his lungs with the sharp scent of coal dust. The lenses of dozens of cameras zoomed in, capturing the haunted look that had become a permanent fixture on his face.

He heard Effie clear her throat nervously as she stepped out ahead of him, trying to drum up some semblance of a greeting from the sullen crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, our victor, M/N Everdeen!” Her voice rang out with all the bubbly enthusiasm she could muster, but the words fell flat.

As the Capitol’s cameras continued to click and whir, M/N forced himself to walk through the motions of the victor’s return. He let Effie guide him onto the stage, his limbs moving mechanically, as though they belonged to someone else. He could hear the rehearsed speech forming on her lips, filled with empty praise and hollow encouragement. He heard his own voice, flat and monotone, echo her words when prompted, thanking the Capitol for its generosity and the people of District 12 for their support.

But the truth was, he didn’t feel like a victor, and he never would. He was just another casualty of the Hunger Games—only, he happened to still be breathing.

The days passed in a blur for M/N Everdeen, though he barely noticed the shift from one to the next. Returning to District 12 should have felt like a relief—home, where things were familiar. But the place seemed alien to him now, like he was wandering through a ghost town where all the buildings and people were merely pale shadows of what they once were. Even the Seam, which always bustled with life despite its poverty, felt quieter, as if the town itself was grieving. Maybe it was.

At home, his mother had returned to the land of the living, as much as she could. She moved around the house with a new purpose, cooking and cleaning with a mechanical precision that betrayed the emptiness in her eyes. M/N knew it wasn’t for him; it was for Prim. Their mother clung to her youngest, constantly checking on her and making sure she ate, slept, and stayed warm. M/N could see her fighting against the hollowness, desperately trying to appear whole for Prim’s sake. For him, too, though he wasn’t sure why she bothered.

M/N hadn’t eaten since he stepped off the train. Every meal placed in front of him felt like an insult to Katniss’s memory—he shouldn’t get to eat, shouldn’t get to live while she was gone. His mother and Prim had seemed to silently agree on a pact not to let him waste away, though. If he refused breakfast, his mother would leave it on the table for him to find later. If he tried to hide in his room during dinner, Prim would seek him out, dragging him to the kitchen. They were relentless in their quiet determination to keep him alive.

Today, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out, to escape the house where Katniss’s absence hung like a shroud over everything. He slipped out the back door and walked toward the edge of the district, to the fence that separated District 12 from the woods. It was supposed to be electrified, but the power rarely ran this far out, and he easily found a gap to slip through. The forest beckoned to him, promising solitude and silence—two things he desperately craved. For a few moments, he felt the faintest hint of peace as he wandered deeper into the trees, letting the thick canopy above dim the harsh sunlight.

But he wasn’t alone for long.

“M/N.” a voice called softly from behind him.

He froze, recognizing the voice before he even turned around. Peeta Mellark was standing there, a few paces back, watching him with that same quiet intensity he’d had since the day M/N returned. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t wearing that charming expression he often showed in public. Instead, his face was open, unguarded, as though he’d stripped away all pretense.

“What are you doing here?” M/N asked, his voice raw from disuse.

Peeta stepped closer, careful not to startle him, as if M/N were a wounded animal. “I saw you come out here,” he replied. “I was worried.”

M/N let out a bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the forest. “If I don’t come back, I’m sure everyone would understand.”

“Don’t say that,” Peeta said sharply, the sudden firmness in his voice cutting through the quiet. “You don’t get to give up. Not after everything…”

“Everything?” M/N scoffed, spinning to face him. “What did I survive for, Peeta? There’s no victory here. I’m alive, but she’s gone. And now I have to pretend like any of this is okay?”

“You survived because Katniss wanted you to,” Peeta said, stepping closer again. “She fought for you—”

“I don’t need a lecture about my own sister,” M/N interrupted, his voice rising. “You don’t know what it was like! You weren’t there! I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that. All I could do was… was watch as she—” His voice broke, the words dissolving into a choked sob.

He turned away from Peeta, trembling as his chest tightened painfully. He had spent every waking moment since returning home forcing himself not to break, swallowing back his grief until it clawed at his throat, but now it surged forward like a flood. He didn’t know how to stop it.

“It's not your fault,” Peeta’s voice was gentle, and when M/N felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched but didn’t pull away. “You did everything you could.”

M/N shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered. “It’ll never be enough. She’s gone because of me.”

Peeta’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. M/N’s legs buckled, and he collapsed into Peeta’s embrace, his sobs breaking free in jagged gasps. Peeta held him tightly, steadying him as he sank to the forest floor. He murmured soothing words, though M/N couldn’t make out the exact phrases—only that there was a calm, reassuring rhythm in the sound of Peeta’s voice.

For a long while, M/N cried in Peeta’s arms, clutching at his shirt as if afraid to let go. It wasn’t fair, not to Peeta, not to anyone, to have to bear the weight of his grief like this. But Peeta stayed, anchoring him through the storm of emotion until, at last, M/N’s sobs quieted, leaving him drained and hollow.

When he finally pulled back, Peeta’s shirt was soaked with tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked down at M/N with an expression so full of understanding it hurt. “You’re not alone, you know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

M/N shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Peeta’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “One step at a time. That’s all you need to do for now.” The words weren’t a solution, but they were something—a fragile thread of hope in a world that felt impossibly dark. And for the first time since returning to District 12, M/N didn’t feel completely lost. He still didn’t know how to live without Katniss, but with Peeta’s arm around his shoulders, guiding him back toward the fence, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could figure it out. One step at a time.

[impossiblesuitcase]

This You I Choose - part ii.

Part i.

I almost wish I’d come to this conclusion earlier. That even before the first Games I had determined that, yes, I will always love Gale, but I cannot ever love him as mine. I can’t say that I feel nothing for him. I understand why I felt what I did when he lay on that table, whipped and drugged beyond comprehension. But I retract my decision to choose him. I cannot give them both my heart, and I’ve tasted life without Peeta. That’s a malnutrition I can’t supplement with anything else.

I stop wearing the locket, relegating it to a drawer in my room that I never visit. The pearl I keep in my pocket at all times. I showed it to Peeta once like Prim had suggested. He merely glanced at it, let out a soft “huh,” then returned his ardent gaze to me.

Now, having cleared my head of cobwebs, it’s easier around both boys. I chat to Gale casually, comfortably, and I realise that I feel so much lighter without any obligation towards him. The kisses I once thought could mollify him are no longer the currency I use to buy his patience.

Peeta is even easier to be around. I kiss him an awful lot, even more than those fake kisses on the Victory Tour, to the point that I’m surprised by myself. I keep telling myself to slow down, hold back, then an episode of terror and screaming suffocates him and I abandon my inhibitions.

Three weeks into his recovery, we’re enlisted by Plutarch for a propo. He’s been dying to make one since Peeta first arrived, but with no meat on his bones Peeta was in no shape to be galvanising revolutionary efforts. Plutarch and Coin want to show Panem that Peeta is on our side to sweep away resistance from any citizens still on the fence about the validity of the rebellion. I don’t mention that I’m on the fence about supporting this rebellion. 

No, not the rebellion. District 13. Coin. I know Peeta feels the same just from the way he looks at her.

We’re sent above ground to where the rose petals were strewn by Snow’s hovercrafts. Though most have been cleared away, I find some hidden in the mud. It makes my stomach turn.

Cressida and her crew get to filming and we’re instructed to act as though we’re training. We’re given weapons to assemble and drills to practise. There’s a band of at least two dozen other soldiers to fill the shot. They need no practice—they’re trained for combat; Peeta and I are the pretty sitting ducks.

“I want you two close together,” directs Plutarch, gesturing to Castor to zoom in on us. “Keep working but talk a little too. Smile, laugh. We want to show that Peeta is safe and well and with the Mockingjay.”

It’s curious to me that they didn’t make Peeta’s first propo an interview. Surely he could deliver their drivel on those teleprompters more convincingly than I ever could. Maybe they are afraid of what unscripted things could pour off his persuasive tongue.

Peeta and I get to assembling the guns. It’s familiar to me now after a few prior rounds of practice, whereas he is haplessly out of his depth. I instruct him as best as I can and he makes good progress until I accidentally forget a step and leave his gun lopsided.

He frowns. “What did I do wrong?”

Instead of admitting my fault, I perch my elbows on my gun, resting my chin in my hands. “Come on, Peeta, it’s not difficult.”

Peeta dismantles the gun and tries again without my direction. He manages okay until he inserts the spring backwards, groans, and tosses it into his lap.

“Not as easy as frosting cookies, is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “You barely know how to do it yourself.”

I bite back my smile. That’s true.

As I gaze at him, he looks back at me curiously. 

“What?”

“You’ve been teasing me a lot lately,” he says, sounding confused.

I suppose I have been, though not intentionally. For every moment I’ve seen him sobbing or thrashing or whimpering in pain over the past weeks, every fibre of my being has needed to replace it with safety, laughter and that little smirk of his.

Instead, I say, “I like seeing you annoyed with me.” Because it’s cute how your lips curl up, I don’t say.

His lips curl up, as do mine.

“Okay,” Cressida calls out. “We’re going to get some establishing shots. We’ll take five.”

She begins consulting with her crew, pointing in various directions across the barren landscape.

The soldiers next to us are practising tackling manoeuvers. I’m about to ask Peeta if he knows this particular stance from his wrestling days when a soldier lunges on another too aggressively. They plummet to the ground. 

The shriek of agony stops everyone dead.

I shoot up to sprint over to them but Peeta’s hand is locked around mine, freezing me to the spot. I turn to shake him off when I see something dark on his face. He’s trembling. I reach out, steadying him under my palm. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes are squeezed shut. The tremors take over his whole body.

“Peeta? Peeta!” I have seen him like this in the hospital, his instability manifesting in ear-splitting wails and knocked down meal carts. But the doctors were always there to sedate him.

I hurl the guns away from us. Indistinguishable mutters spew from his mouth between choked breaths. I don’t know what set him off; the scream reminding him of a tribute’s death cry in the arena? Or did the wrestling remind him of his brothers, their remains under the charred debris of the bakery?

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” he repeats, “It’s not real.”

I grip his shoulders. “What isn’t real, Peeta? What is it?”

His eyes snap open, pupils rapidly flitting left and right as they stare down at his clenched fists. Panic transfers from his face to my own.

“Look at me,” I plead. “Just look at me. Just breathe, Peeta.”

It’s an active battle. He fights to concentrate on me as fiercely as he has fought mutts and monkeys and mockingjays. His breaths stabilise slowly, and endless minutes later when the trembling releases him, he slumps into my arms.

“Just an episode,” he manages faintly.

“What was it?” I whisper. “What were you seeing?” 

“You,” he says, eyes wide and mournful. I have a horrifying moment where I fear the torture has turned him against me. But no. No one could make Peeta forget that he loves me.

“Me?” I probe gently.

“The Games. The interviews. When they…when the Capitol got their hands on me they…targeted a lot of those moments. Fed me lies about you. I knew they weren’t true, but…when I think of them sometimes I—I don’t feel in control.”

His hands fold around mine and squeeze them and that’s how I know he’s back. He scowls in the camera’s direction. “That makes it worse.”

“The filming?”

“The pretending. I’m sick of it.” He grips me tighter. “I know you’re helping them, Katniss. But it makes me remember: It’s still just a show. A game. Another story to sell.” His breath hitches. “I don’t want it to go back to how it was between us.”

What had been between us was coldness. I wasn’t exactly kind to him that year after our Games and before the Quell. I downright ignored him for a good chunk of it.

“We’re different now, Peeta. We won’t lose each other. We won’t shut each other out,” I insist.

He glares at me. “It was you shutting me out, thank you very much.”

An abrupt laugh tears out of me, a clear, melodic sound. It echoes around us despite the barren acoustics on this wasteland. That’s when I look up. It’s a mockingjay reverberating the sound.

We hear Plutarch start to prattle on about the bird, how they should get some clips of me singing to it. Two Mockingjays: United, he wants to call it. Peeta and I try to hide our laughter.

It’s been so long since we laughed together. Joked the way we did in the cave. That period of avoidance after the first Games is painful now in retrospect and had only served my pride. He was a living reminder that the life I had built was gone. He and the Games were intertwined, his the face of the pretending. But that wasn’t his fault. And even if I hadn’t loved him, I could have had the decency to treat him as a friend.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I apologise.

He shakes his head. “I know it’s different now. If we have to pretend to be in love again for the cameras, I’ll do it. It’s not as bad anymore. You’re nice between the scenes.” He smirks like it’s a joke, and I hate him for being so facetious.

“It’s not pretend!” I burst out. Tears are springing to my eyes and I’m shocked. At him. At myself.

He gapes. “It’s not?”

“No! Maybe before, but not now. Definitely not now.” Couldn’t you tell? I almost ask. But that’s supremely unfair, given how I’ve treated him and our public love story since the beginning.

“...Gale,” he says weakly.

“Sorted.”

“Katniss, I saw you with him in your kitchen after he was whipped. Please don’t feel you have to forget that just because I’m bac—”

I don’t let him finish. My lips are on his and I feel the confusion beneath them, the words unuttered.

“It’s not pretend,” I say against his lips, and in case he didn’t catch it, I inch away, resting my nose along his, eyes milimetres apart. “It’s not pretend. It’s you.”

His eyes, blue and endless, pierce my ribs, lungs, chest, all of it with their warmth. “Since when?”

“Since you came back. That’s when I realised. But I know it’s before that. The train, and the rooftop, the plant book.”

He chuckles. “Is that why you’ve been kissing me every other breath lately?”

I kiss him again. “Complaining?”

He must not be, because for a good while he’s otherwise occupied.

———

We dance together at Annie and Finnick’s wedding. Peeta twirls me under his arm and kisses me and the crowd raucously cheers as though they haven’t witnessed such affection from us before. Which isn’t true. Thanks to the propo circulating of us, everyone has seen Peeta and I kissing when we were above ground, when Plutarch and Cressida were supposedly getting establishing shots.

This makes me jittery now, more than with any Games footage, because for the first time, it’s unequivocally real. 

As he spins me again I notice Gale on the other side of the hall, arms crossed but not tense. He’s accepted it, I suppose, and the more time that passes since I cut his thread loose, the clearer and clearer it is to me. Gale reminded me of the past I desperately clung onto. The simplicity—hunt, trade, care for Prim. But I’m starting to suspect we never would have happened anyway, even if Peeta had not existed at all. In strategy meetings with Coin, Gale begins to propose more radical and destructive tactics. I grow secretly horrified and as he reasons on each decision—the loss of some life to staunch a greater bleed—I fear that I will one day agree with him.

Then Peeta chimes in, my dandelion, opposing such carnage, and I remember that I could never agree with such strategies. Not when my conscience walks the halls with golden hair and ferocious compassion.

No, Games or none, I couldn’t have stuck it out with Gale. But the boy with the bread…

I’m starting to think that any Katniss, in any time, might have been convinced.

———

I have never been an optimist, and I hate Peeta for rubbing off on me. Somehow, I had started to become one.

Peeta is back. He has his episodes, but he is still himself. And he’s getting better and stronger every day. He thoroughly fooled me into believing that he was not broken. That he was still whole.

When Joanna told me in a snarky voice that since returning Peeta is only kind to me, I didn’t believe her. Ignores most of us and is snappy with the rest, she had sneered. How could I believe her? Peeta—my Peeta—sweet and warm and boundlessly gentle?

We’re with our squad heading to the Capitol through a square: Bogs and me and Peeta, Gale and Jackson, the soldiers and the camera crew, when Peeta accidentally triggers a pod that blows up a soldier. 

He is furious. Inconsolable. When one of the soldiers tries to placate him, laying a hand on his shoulder and assuring him that it was a mistake any of us could have made, Peeta snaps. He wrestles him to the ground, his hands locking around his throat. Jackson and Bogs just manage to tear him away.

Peeta screams us all down. My hands shake and eyes water because I simply don’t believe these sounds—this delirium—could come from him. I’ve seen him hysterical, yes, but never to the point of hurting someone. Not choking them. Not on purpose. His bloodshot eyes catch my terrified ones and I expect them to soften. They don’t.

He steps towards me. I retreat back. Gale moves in between us and I let him. I don’t love him, but I still trust him.

A scowl hardens in Peeta’s face as he takes the two of us in.

Bogs eventually manages to move us all along. Peeta is silent the rest of the day. He falls asleep that evening with his head beside my hip, close to me as always as if nothing is different. I am sitting up, having volunteered to take the first watch, but my real motive is to examine him. I trace my eyes over his nose, lips and brow. My hands stroke his hair, trying to feel for a difference, something fundamentally changed in even the very fibres of his being.

“You’re scared of him,” says Gale, voice rough from disuse. He’s sitting across from me with Jackson’s sleeping form between us. We’re the only two on watch yet we haven’t spoken once.

“No I’m not,” I say immediately.

He chuckles, a dry, mirthless sound. “Yes you are. You’ve got the same look on your face you had the first time I taught you to shoot a deer.”

I purse my lips.

“He was tortured, Katniss. I saw some of the instruments they used on the tributes when we rescued them.” Gale brings his knees up to his chest. “I know he’s good when he’s with you, but be careful. He might not always be.”

I say nothing. Peeta stirs beside me and I glance down. He’s so serene now, so unlike what I saw in the square. I try to recall instances of Peeta interacting with people other than me since he was retrieved. He was always harsh with the doctors, but that was only natural given how much they poked and prodded him. He is cold with Haymitch, but Haymitch lied to us. He just...ignores everyone else. But there have been times when I’ve been away from him, and I’m beginning to wonder what Peeta becomes in those moments.

Why didn’t Coin and Plutarch make him give a speech to throw it back at Snow and the Capitol? It would have done more for the fight than a propo of us kissing ever could. Perhaps they tried. Perhaps Peeta was the one who was uncooperative.

No. Unhinged. Unstable.

A whimper leaves his mouth. Peeta begins squirming in his sleep, his nose twitching. His face scrunches in pain, his breathing shallows. He’s having a nightmare. I’ve seen this every night since he came back, when I would watch him as he slept to convince myself that he’s still alive. And every time I see this sign I move closer to him.

For the first time, I move away.

———

We fall apart as my arrow sinks into Coin’s chest.

I go feral. Rabid. Animalistic. My sister is dead. I am locked away. I am a husk of a girl. I forget about Peeta. I forget about myself.

Haymitch takes me to 12 after I am exonerated. I live alone; empty, cold, unclean for weeks. 

When I see Peeta planting primroses outside my house, I don’t remember that we were no longer playing pretend. That we are in love, or we as good as said it to each other. Nothing in me can love now. It was cremated with my sister, charred away with my flesh.

He makes no attempts to romance me, either. He was barely holding on as it was, toeing the line between sanity and lunacy. As he writhed in pain with flesh burnt by the explosion, I think he finally lost the battle. He was detained in the Capitol for a while, apparently being treated by the same drowsy Dr. Aurelius that ‘treated’ me. I doubt it worked.

It’s many, many months before we begin to grow back together. I don’t accept his warmth or accept his bread. I figure in his paintings, bloodied and murderous, and they horrify me. Haymitch is a mediator in our every interaction and often walks away groaning about how “You two couldn’t keep your hands off each other and now you won’t touch each other with a ten-foot pole.” 

I don’t pick up any calls, not from Effie nor my mother nor Dr. Aurelius. I only know it’s them calling because Greasy Sae listens to the voice mails and tells me they’re trying to reach me. She might be trying to reach me too. I only care about her stew reaching my stomach.

Nightmares haunt me at all hours. I am glad that I had decided not to love Gale earlier, because I feel less guilty when I dream of him personally shooting Prim in the heart. In spite of it, I don’t hate Gale, though I know I could never let him into my life again. Peeta rarely features in any of my dreams. He is always a background character, his face obscured.

Then one night, many months into my pariahhood, I have a pleasant dream. Someone is holding me, stroking my hair back. At first, I think it’s my father, but then he never smelled sweet. Always of coal dust and sweat. His hair was never honey dappled in light.

I don’t go to Peeta for comfort when I’m screaming, drowning in my own memories. I go to him when I dream.

It’s the middle of the night that I trudge over, let myself in and sit on the edge of his bed as he sleeps. He doesn’t hear me—I was always the one with the stealthy tread between us.

I watch him until sunrise, then I slip home.

After that, I let Peeta back in, and when he doesn’t sprint over, I invite myself into his life. Just as I had forgotten why I loved him, I now forget why I ever thought I couldn’t. Maybe I don’t know how to love him in a normal way, a healthy way. But I am willing to learn. He is still hesitant and that’s okay. A smile is enough to sustain me a whole day.

On the days he isn’t so accommodating, I have to force myself to pardon him. To push through my defences, the instinct to yell at him and shut him out because how could he hurt me when he knows I have nothing left but him. On those days, I begin to pick up the phone. Dr. Aurelius tells me that Peeta has been psychologically crippled but shows promise for recovery. Apparently, the stimuli that most often returned him to a calm, familiar Peeta was images of me.

It takes effort, but I learn patience. Peeta is a wearier, colder man than the boy I first met. But everyday, I choose this Peeta. And eventually, he again chooses me. 

I offer my warmth and my freshly hunted game. I figure in his paintings—pastel smiles and brushstroke daffodils in my hair—and they heal me. Haymitch heads off early after dinner, content we won’t rip out each other’s throat. Peeta begins smiling at the townsfolk again, distributing cheese buns to giggling children and sneaking bacon to Buttercup when he thinks I’m not looking.

We carve out a space for the two of us and smile and sing and cry doing it. Our burn scars match and if we align our arms just right they look like one continuous line. Shared skin, shared being.

It’s at least a year and a half after our return that he asks if I love him. I tell him I do. We both knew it and yet he smiles. 

“Can you imagine if we hadn’t been reaped? How different things would be?” I ask one day when things are better, as I watch him knead dough under his steady fists. His muscles have returned and are stronger than they’ve ever been. I hate to admit how much time I dedicate on a daily basis to watching them contract and flex.

He laughs sardonically. “We’d be poorer. And hungrier. Probably less scratched up at that.”

I trail my finger through the flour on the bench. “Happier?” I venture.

He looks away from the dough, contemplating. “I don’t know.”

I flick the finger towards myself, gesturing him to come closer, and when he leans in I swipe the flour on his nose.

“Weirdo,” he says, but it sounds akin to sweetheart to my Capitol-perfect ear.

I ponder the thought for another moment. “I think we’d be more scared.” 

I’m not entirely whole anymore, nor will I ever be. I’m riddled with every trauma symptom you could fit in a medical encyclopaedia. I’m terrified of the outside world, of the things that could be coming for us. But I’m not so scared anymore when I’m here at home, with the serene woods nearby and Haymitch across the way and Peeta in my kitchen.

“I would have been scared. You less so,” he asserts. “I wouldn’t have inherited the bakery, not with two older brothers. I don’t know how I would have lived. Meanwhile you would’ve done like you’d planned. Cared for Prim, never married. Hunted and worked. Once she was free from the reaping you wouldn’t need to be scared, so long as there was always a squirrel to shoot.”

It’s interesting that he assigns this version of me as single. Back in the Quarter Quell, he handed me his locket with the picture of Gale in it, bestowing upon me a life with him as the one I would choose. Now, Peeta rarely mentions Gale, not even in this hypothetical. Perhaps the girl in the woods could have tried to make something of it, but Peeta knows that a songbird cannot sing away a bushfire.

“No,” I disagree, “I would’ve been scared for you. I would have been scared for us.”

His arms go taut as they pause on the bench. Confusion is sprawled over his face. “Us? What us? We only connected because of the Games.” I can hear his ‘you said you would never marry,’ though he leaves it unspoken.

Well, it’s not like I’ve said I will marry him. After all, we’re both only nineteen. But, not for the first time, the thought settles comfortably between us. Not for the first time do I see bread like this used one day for something other than a nice Sunday meal.

A foregone conclusion. This future, I choose.

“No. We had the bread long before that. I didn’t have the courage to thank you then. I might not have for a long time.” I curl my hands around his arms and lean up to kiss the remnants of flour off his cheeks. “But this would’ve happened anyway.”

This does. Every time. Any way.

Notes

Thanks for reading. I honestly wrote this as my own way of trying to parse out and understand Katniss's complex psyche in Mockingjay. I’ve also seen some non-hijacked fics where Peeta comes back all smiles and rosy and that always struck me as unrealistic. Even without the hijacking, the torture would have serious psychological consequences which I hoped to convey.

I really think in any scenario they would have to grow back together in the end, because they have a lot to recover from. Their relationship doesn't 'fix' their trauma; they begin to heal and their relationship progressing coincides with that.

@wenslena @distractionsfromthefood @samsicle8 @pitualba2015 @thefinaldefenseofthedying @heartforeyes @unnamednarrator @tetheredfeathers @ohwellokcomputer @gingerale2017

[madzthemenace]

About to kms. Just accidentally deleted 4K words of my new fanfic chapter that I was trying to upload. I’ve got no backup either.