#hunger games rewrite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muted-like-sunset · 1 year

Text

Spark| Chapter 7

peeta mellark x fem! reader

masterlist

word count: 7.1k

trigger warnings: nightmares/nighterrors, drowning, implied abuse, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, mild argument, animal death (minor), fire, bears and bear attacks (nongraphic), canon typical violence, weapons (knives, swords, etc.), sort of sexual harassment? (mild), mentions of death.

(mostly) unedited, all mistakes are my own

She thrashes through the night, haunted by a familiar voice. She fights against long fingers grasping clumps of her hair, fighting to reach the surface of their bathtub as hands hold her under, trying to scream for Asher and instead getting lungfuls of water. She wakes with a start, kicking at the blankets wrapped around her until she can free herself. She draws back to the head of the bed until the blankets fall entirely from her body.

There, she shivers. Her hands press firmly into her eyes willing the feeling of water in her lungs to leave her. She casts a glance to the window in her room, eyes drifting out over the still sleeping city. The sun has just started to rise, casting a warm glow through the streets of the Capitol. She breathes in the sounds of the early morning, the sound of the city sleeping in after last night’s festivities. There is no birdsong, no soft rustle of trees like at home. She longs, for a moment, to hear her parents talking in the other room. To hear Asher pushing his blanket down the scratchy sheets.

She drags herself out of bed, making her way carefully to the bathroom. Hesitating at the shower for a minute, she gathers her thoughts before turning it on. She plunges in quickly, thankful for whatever Capitol technology makes the water warm as soon as she turns it on. Her teeth chatter with the force of her shivering, forcing her face under the spray just to come out gasping and running her hands over her face to orient herself. A quick press of a random option in the selection in her shower has her doused in a sickly sweet, almost fruity scent. The bubbles are a bright pink, brighter than even Effie Trinket’s hair, but she’s thankful for the visual stimuli. Theres nothing like this at home.

She works a bit to find the matching lotion, wondering if it will match its predecessor’s hue. After testing a criminally large collection of lotions, she settles on one that smells the same. This time, its assaulting shade brings a smile to her face. Once she’s moisturized and dried, she makes her way to the closet. Towards the front hangs a full outfit. Her skin prickles, wondering when it had been placed there. A chill runs up her spine as she pulls it from its place, dressing quickly to keep her mind from wandering too much. Tight black pants, a burgundy top with long sleeves, and plain black shoes. She stares at herself in the mirror for a second, studying her body. For the first time since leaving Twelve, she looks somewhat like herself. Her face is clear of makeup, clothing plain enough. She tilts her head, imagining a few snags in the clothing, more tearing on the arms and around the hem.

Her eyes prick and she takes a deep breath, eyes darting from her reflection. She isn’t home, she might never be home again. If she wants to go home she needs to focus on getting through the next few weeks, not moping over whats passed. Instead, she rolls her shoulders back, casting a quick glance to make sure her face is steeled back in a calm manner. Then, she remembers the pin. Where had she left it?

She trails back in her mind, picturing all of the clothing she’d worn since the reaping and realizing when it had gotten lost. The last time she’d seen it was yesterday morning, before the tribute parade. Perhaps Cinna still had it.

Its early enough that no one has come to collect her, so she waders aimlessly out into the main room of the apartment. By a long table in the dining room, a man with dark hair and an all white outfit stands silently. Another avox. Where has the girl from last night gone?

The table is covered in food of all kinds, so she takes a plate from one end and piles it high with a little it of everything she can fit. Eggs, sausage, hotcakes, and pretty purple fruit make their way onto the plate. She finds a jar of honey and drizzles it on top of the hotcakes, smiling. This is a familiar treat. She settles at the table with her plate and a glass of orange juice, tucking in to her meal. The purple fruit turns out to be some kind of melon, the juice of it pooling on her plate. She returns to the table and fills a plate with rolls and some fruit spread that smells strongly like oranges.

She moves to the window, setting her plate on the ground and picking a roll to pull apart in her hands. There, she watches the city streets slowly begin to come to life. She thinks of her parents getting ready for work, of Mama combing her Papa’s hear with a practiced hand. She wonders how the morning is in Twelve. If the streets are foggy yet or if the morning is dry. Katniss and Gale will already be in the woods, working to feed more than just their own families. She hopes Asher has started to go with them, that he isn’t moping alone at home. Knowing him though, the call of the mines has gotten more of his attention than she would like. The mines offer somewhat security where the woods rely on his skills. She knows that the mines are what he would choose, but she holds out hope that her friends can bring him along anyway. If for nothing else than a place to release his frustrations.

He and Gale might just be a match.

Had they seen them last night? How did they feel about their debut, had it given them hope that she could make it home? She hopes they’d slept a little sounder, that she’d looked confident enough to ease their worries for the night.

Haymitch and Peeta come into the room together, she wonders briefly if she has woken them.

“Comfy?” Haymitch asks, his face pulled down with sleep. She smiles sheepishly, pulling herself out of her seat. She collects her plate and joins them at the table, tucking herself towards the end and across from Peeta. He’s wearing an identical burgundy top with loose black pants. She tugs the fabric against her thighs and wishes hers were loose as well.

She’s anxious to start training. They’ll have three days to practice their skills before showing them off to the gamemakers. Three days is not nearly the time she’ll need to hone her skills, but she’ll have to make it work. There will be other tributes, like Marvel, who have spent their lives preparing for this moment. She can’t be caught unprepared.

The table is quiet as Haymitch and Peeta eat, she’s lost her appetite. After a while, Haymitch pushes back from the table with a small sigh, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a swig. Leaning heavily against the table as though already drained by the day, he speaks. “So, training. If you’d like, I can coach you both separately. It’s up to you.”

She furrows her brow, glancing to Peeta to find much the same confusion. She leans forward. “Why would we ask to be coached separately?”

Haymitch smiles a teasing smile, looking up at her from where he rests his chin on his hands. His smile drops as soon as he finishes speaking, settling back into a slight grimace. “You can’t hold hands through the arena. Say you have a skill that Peeta doesn’t know about. You might be able to use it to your advantage.”

A skill Peeta doesn’t know about? To her, she has no unknown skills. Everything she’s learned is seen by the population of Twelve every day. She glances over to Peeta, watching for his reaction. He shakes his head so subtly she wonders if he even meant to, his eyes moving to find hers. “No, nothing. I’ve eaten enough to know yours, too, I think.”

She’d considered that he’d know about her hunting. Everyone in Twelve did, most likely. Still, its kind of nice to know that he’d reliably eaten something she provided. It makes her face heat a bit. She nods to Haymitch. “We’ll train together.”

“Alright,” Haymitch leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What can you do?”

“Nothing, unless you count baking bread.” Peeta says dryly, she smiles. It’s harrowing to think it might be his only skill, but she knows that isn’t true. He’s strong, she’s seen it herself. She shakes her head, smiling at him like this is their own little joke.

“I don’t.” Haymitch says, turning to look at her. “I know you can use a knife, got anything else?”

She considers this, turning her days in the woods over in her head with a keen eye. She can use a bow, just not as well as Katniss or Gale, and she sets the groups traps, a skill also dwarfed in comparison to Gale. “I’m okay with a knife, that’s sort of it.”

Peeta scoffs a laugh, sitting forwards and shaking his head. He speaks to Haymitch, but his eyes are on her. “She’s better than okay, she’s excellent. She sets traps,” He looks to Haymitch, flexing his hands almost like he could feel the wire between is fingers. “My father buys her squirrels, sometimes rabbits. He says the way they’re caught must be quick, its so clean they barely have time to struggle.”

“If we’re correcting one another,” She begins, crossing her arms. “Peeta’s strong. I’ve seen him lift hundred pound bags of flour in the market, carries them two at a time if not more. Tell him that, it’s not nothing.”

“It’s not the same.” Peeta shoots back, his blue eyes locked onto her. It’s intense, she has to steel herself from looking away. “Lifting flour isn’t the same as using a weapon, you know that. Besides, I’m sure every tribute in the arena will just stand still for me to, what, carry them?” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. She looks away from him, face flushing.

“He’s a wrestler.” She tells Haymitch. “He always wins unless he’s pitted against his brother, but even then its close. There’s always hand-to-hand in the arena, he’s making himself sound worse than he is.”

“Well, so are you. I’m not going to wrestle anyone to death in the arena. You’ll be off in a tree somewhere picking the rest of us off with traps.” He almost spits, moved to anger. She can see the way his hands tighten around nothing, curling themselves into fists before relaxing and splaying out large.

“It won’t matter if I can’t get any sponsors.” She mumbles, pushing her plate away from herself and slumping down in her seat, arms crossed in front of herself. “You do that kind of stuff naturally, I have to actually try to make people like me. People are going to fall all over themselves trying to sponsor you.”

He scoffs, but she doesn’t turn to look at him, too busy fighting off defeated tears. “She has no idea, the effect she can have.” He says quietly, like she might not hear him.

The effect she can have, what does he mean? That people will pity her, or that they’d have some reason not to? She forces herself to think. Surely, she has something to gain sponsors attention. She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, listening as Haymitch and Peeta shift.

“Well then, you two make a good show, don’t you?” Haymitch says, smirking. “We’ll work with that. Y/N, theres no guarantee you’ll have any supplies to set any snares in the arena, make sure you save that for your private session. Show them what you can do, it’d make an interesting games. Until then, steer clear of any trapping, do you hear?”

She nods, not meeting his eyes.

“Peeta,” Haymitch begins again. “She’s right. Don’t underestimate physical strength in the arena, it tilts the advantage to you in a confrontation. They’ll have weights in the training center, you can use them, just don’t go all out. The plan for both of you is to learn things you might not already know. Throw a spear, swing a mace, learn to tie knots. Save your skills for your private showings, are we clear?”

They both nod, she doesn’t have to look to know it. Haymitch leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“In public, you two stay by each other’s side every minute. You’ll figure it out, you always seem to.” This peaks her attention, sitting up and meeting his eyes. Seam gray, like everyone she grew up with. “Now go on, meet Effie at the elevator at ten to head down.”

She pushes back from the table, making a quick exit back to her room. His footsteps follow her down the hall and she pauses inside of her door, listening intently for him to show up to talk. It wasn’t so much a fight as it felt to her, but she’d still like to see him. Her shame cements her feet to the floor, listening instead for some sign he wants to talk. His footsteps pause just in front of her door, only for a moment, and her breath hitches. Then, she hears him continue, his door opening and shutting quietly.

She freezes for a long while, waiting at the door for him even though he isn’t coming. She shakes herself from her stupor, moving instead to her bathroom to get ready. She brushes through her hair, securing it the same way she always does before brushing her teeth. It’s almost ten, so she slips back into the hall to meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator.

Peeta’s already there when she gets there, talking quietly with Effie. She dips her head, following them into the elevator. Her nerves, temporarily stayed by a flash of anger at him at breakfast, return in full force at the idea of meeting the other tributes. Marvel will be there, and his district partner. The tall one with golden hair. She wonders if she might be spiteful of the attention her district partner is paying her.

“Hey,” Peeta whispers, bumping her gently with his arm. “You okay?”

If Peeta made friends with her, would she be angry? She tries to imagine her laughing at something he said, smoothing over her golden hair with an elegant hand, giving him a bold and flirty smile. Her stomach knots, would she be angry?

She nods, letting him stay close “Nervous.” She admits with a watery smile, looking to meet his eyes. The ride is quick, probably less than a minute before they’re coming to a stop. The doors open to a large gymnasium, and despite it not being ten yet it seems they are the last to arrive. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high as they enter. She lets herself study the other tributes, they’re all dressed athletically. Still, she and Peeta are the only pair that are dressed alike.

Her eyes find Marvel already looking at her, a grin on his face. The blonde girl is near him, glaring daggers at her. She fights the urge to tuck herself close to Peeta, to seek his protection from the girl. She’ll be on her own if this girl decides to take it out on her, she won’t always have Peeta at her side in the arena.

She and Peeta join the others in their tense circle, standing still as someone pins a cloth square with a 12 to the back of their shirts. A tall woman stands in the center of the circle with a name tag that says ‘Atala’, she begins to explain the training center. The rules go in one of her ears and out of the other, thankful that Peeta seems to be listening attentively enough for the both of them. She lets herself study the tributes she hasn’t seen closely before, trying to make herself useful.

Almost all of the male tributes are larger than her, and even some of the girls seem to dwarf her. Marvel’s district partner is one of them, tall and athletic looking up close. Her hair is pulled back into a braid that runs down her back and her eyes are trained on Y/N. She looks away, the other girls seem more manageable. Though, even the smaller one from District One looks frightening. The other tributes not from career districts look more like herself. It’s easy to tell that many of them come from backgrounds like her own, if the hollowness of their cheeks and eyes is anything to go by.

Soon, the group splits. She feels Peeta’s hand move to take her own, trailing down her arm before locking their hands together and tugging her alongside himself. She tries to shake off her thoughts, following closely behind even as she feels eyes on them. Was this what Haymitch meant as “in public”?

“So, what do we do first?” Peeta asks quietly, leaning down to talk almost into her ear. She bounces on the balls of her feet for a moment, looking around. The eyes of the other tributes flutter away as she surveys the room, all but Marvel’s. He holds her gaze until she looks away, looking instead to find an empty station.

“Feel like trying firestarting?” She asks, pulling him beside herself as she moves towards the station. They detach as they come up on the station, straightening themselves to begin training. She wipes the sweat from her hands.

Fire, as she has always been taught, is dangerous. One stray spark could bring down almost all of Twelve, so their fire had always been her Papa’s job. After the accident, that fell to Asher.

Still, she had built up kindling before. In her house, Papa had always scraped the coal dust off of every surface. The bottoms of their shoes were often caked in it in the right weather conditions. After collecting it, he pressed it into small discs to use as an accelerant.

She takes the lead, curious to try her own hand at what she’d seen done endless times. First, she tries with dry materials - grasses, ark, and leaves - and finds easy success. She flinches back each time the spark takes and bursts into flame, but quickly becomes accustomed to the flash of heat. The way it flickers mesmerizes her, she almost feels remorse when it dies out. Her next tries are in a damper environment. The woman running the station gives her pointers and she sets quickly to scouring the materials laid before her. Some are meant to make it easier, like puffs of cotton o a tarp, but she’s intent on learning.

She’d seen Katniss do a trick a couple of times when they’d been caught in weather they shouldn’t have, one that required a specific type of wood.

“These trees,” She begins looking over to see how Peeta is doing. He’s more focused on her than his fire, eyes darting up when he should be working on getting his flint to spark. “Can we use them? For the fires, I mean.” She asks. When the trainer nods, she slips into the fake woods created in the station. There are only a couple of trees, likely not even planted and instead just propped up below the damp soil.

What had she said? Y/N stoops low beneath a pine, pinching a fistful of dry needles from underneath. She moves back to her materials, taking the training knife and moving back to the tree. She scrapes off some bark, happy with the sticky feeling of the sap against her fingers. Yes, this will spark. She brings her spoils back to Peeta with a smile, offering the small chunk of wood and bark in her hands.

“Here,” She begins, settling down beside him to show him what she hopes will work. “See how its sticky? It’s pine, the sap is flammable.” The moment she’s gotten the wood into his small attempt at a fire, she holds a hand out for his flint. He passes it over wordlessly and she strikes it. It only takes one, the moment the spark touches the sap it bursts into a small flame, quickly taking over his pile of tinder and sticks.

They work together for the rest of the hour before Peeta suggests that they move on to another skill. They move down the line, stopping at the camouflage station, which makes Peet light up. She focuses on trying to mix colors to match the ones Peeta creates easily from mud or berries or clay. Meanwhile, he easily creates a scene on his own skin. She looks up from his arm as he steps away, backing himself against a mossy rock and checking his work. His arm practically disappears when he holds still and she can’t help the gasp that leaves her. “Peeta, that’s amazing.”

“I used to do the cakes at the bakery.” He flushes, looking to her with his chin down. The cakes he’s referring to are up in the window of the bakery, decorated in flowers and other pretty things painted in frosting. She had been by with Primrose many times, both enraptured by the sight of anything pretty.

This is how they pass the time until lunch. When time is called, they stand from their station (knots, much to Peeta’s dismay) and move to join the other tributes. They follow behind as the tributes are guided to a room off of the gym where the walls are lined with carts filled with food. She and Peeta find a cart that isn’t surrounded and pile their plates with a meat that reminds her of grouse or chicken, green beans, butter beans, and bread. She can’t help but grin when they come across a dish of small potatoes and piles some onto her plate before helping Peeta add them to his own. They find an empty table, sitting across from one another. Conversation should come easily, they certainly have plenty to talk about, but their conversation this morning with Haymitch makes any words that might come out stop, sticky in her throat.

She eats quietly, trying to avoid looking up in case Peeta is looking at her. Its only after she’s finished half of her plate that she sits back, wiping her mouth and looking to him. He’s looking at her, his own plate mostly finished. “Well,” He practically whispers, leaning forwards over the table. “Haymitch will want us to look friendly. Laugh, like I’ve said something funny.”

She covers her mouth, trying to make her nervous laugh sound more like a friendly one. He smiles at her, leaning back on his seat. “Now, your turn.” He directs quietly, settling his hand on the table, intertwined with one another. On impulse, she reaches across the table to smooth the tenseness from his fingers.

“Have I told you about the time we got chased by a bear?” She asks softly, still smiling nervously. Where they had melted the callouses from her hands, they left his rough. She runs smooth fingertips over his hands, feeling every crack and ridge, every burn that scarred his pale skin. He shakes his head, turning his hand over and taking hers in his hold. She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter.

She tells the story, trying to mimic Asher’s animated storytelling but falling flatter. They’d been young and foolish enough to not back down from a bear that was in a hive. Honey, when they can collect it, is a valuable trade in the Hob. She’d been hoping for a new pair of boots for Asher, who’d outgrown his months before. Normally, black bears are easy enough to scare off if they’re alone. The issue is, bears can be hard to identify. Black bears aren’t just black, and grizzlies come in all shades. This particular grizzly seemed small, with a coat so dark it had looked black. That was, until it turned and the sun caught it’s coat differently. She’d been the one to spot the color, taking several steps back and throwing her arm out to her friends. It stood on its hind legs, threatening a bear often makes them show their true size, and it had been large. She’d cursed herself for not paying closer attention to the rounded shape of its ears, or the large hump of its shoulders. They’d had to climb high to avoid it, the bear too heavy to get to the branches they could at their size.

Peeta, better at this whole thing than she is, laughs and prompts her for more information at just the right times. ‘Wait, they’re not just brown? No, they come in lots of colors. That’s terrifying, how big was it? Maybe six and a half, seven feet.’ They laugh at her misfortune, garnering the attention of several other tributes. Facing them, she has a clear view as they turn to see the pair. Peeta notices her looking away, turning over his shoulder only long enough to see the others looking before he turns his gaze back on her. “Hey, why don’t we get some water and see if we can head back in.”

She looks past him again, catching sight of the careers. Some, like Marvel, are already looking. The massive tribute from Two is watching, smirking side by side with his district partner. She meets Marvel’s cool gaze and looks away, nodding. She sticks close to his side as they stand and move away from the table.

They stick by the drinks for the remainder of their hour lunch, only a handful of minutes, talking quietly. This is how their days pass, breakfast with Haymitch and Effie in the apartment, training, lunch, training, dinner in the apartment, bed. Rinse and repeat.

On the second day of training, they split in the mid morning to practice different skills. She’s no use in weight training, and even though she’s been instructed to avoid her skills, she’s hardly got any skill with a bow and arrow. It doesn’t count, not really.

She spots Thresh, the massive tribute from Eleven, wielding a knife of some kind in hand to hand training with one of the trainers. His dark skin beaded with sweat as he and the trainer trade mock blows, resetting periodically with a small nod and a tensing of his massive shoulders. She creeps closer, positioning herself just to the side of their session in order to get a closer look. Thresh seems to notice her, finishing out a round with the trainer before backing off, grabbing a hand towel from the trainer’s hand and wiping it down his face before stepping off of the platform.

“It’s all yours.” He offers, eyes trailing over the room as though to find his next stop. His low register startles her, but only for a moment.

“Oh, no. I just,” she gestures wordlessly to the platform and waiting trainer, eyes locked onto Thresh. “Just wanted to watch. You looked like you knew what you were doing, I guess.”

He eyes her warily, setting the massive blade and his towel down on the nearest table. His voice is honey sweet, a low comforting bass that rumbles low in his chest. “Not my first fight.”

“Guess you’ve got the advantage.” she smiles, hoping to keep him from running off. She wants him to like her, even just a little bit. Hopefully, that small acquaintance will keep him from killing her. “You’re Thresh, right?”

He nods, humming.

“Y/N.” She introduces. “What is that?”

He lifts the blade again, its curved blade glinting in the light of the room as he turns it over in his palms. “This is a hand sickle.”

He stretches out a hand, offering her the blade. She accepts it, surprised to find it lightweight. “Is this something y’all have in Eleven?”

“Sort of.” He answers, readjusting her grip on the handle with his own hands. He spins the blade so the interior of the curve faces outward, curving away from her body. “Just smaller, better made.”

She nods, watching as he chokes her hand up the handle. Once he seems satisfied, he backs away and grabs a matching blade. He swings it a bit, like he’s getting used to it. Then, he swings it in a powerful arch. She watches, mimicking the swing to the best of her ability.

He laughs a bit and it catches her off guard. For someone so serious, he’s got a wonderfully contagious laugh. She grins at entertaining him, cocking a brow. “Was it that bad?”

He shakes his head, smiling still. “Not bad, just clumsy. You ever used a blade before?”

She smirks, sinking her weight onto one hip. “Don’t have much reason, the coal doesn’t bite.”

He laughs again, tilting his head down and giving a single shake. His shoulders shake with his laughter and her grin grows impossibly larger.

They settle into a small routine. Thresh shows her a move, she tries to replicate it, he adjusts her, and she tries again. They exchange small conversation. By the time lunch rolls around, they’re joking around regularly. Thresh has settled back into his imposing look, but she keeps smiling.

She follows behind him as he collects a plate and moves to sit at an empty table. His tiny district partner joins shortly, sitting silently next to him and eating her food. She can’t help but eye her, its startling to see her here. Of course, there have been young tributes in the past, it isn’t even uncommon. Still, seeing her here, in person, is considerably more alarming than it would be to see it on television.

“What’s your name?” She asks, eyeing the little girl. Her head pops up, chin down and eyes finding Y/N’s gaze shyly. Her dark curls, somewhere between dark brown and black, are pulled back into two small buns at the base of her skull. She looks almost like a lamb with peacefully lowered ears.

She chews a moment, swallowing her food before she speaks. “Rue.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rue. I’m Y/N.” Y/N smiles, trying to keep her face calm and happy. Her chest aches with the thought that this would have been Primrose. She wonders for a moment if they’d have gotten along before quickly correcting herself, everyone likes Prim.

Rue giggles, pulling a roll apart between her finger tips. “I know.”

The older girl laughs, finding talking to the girl easier than she imagined. They pass the first part of lunch easily before she stands, taking her tray in hand. The careers have been staring since yesterday, even now Marvel’s eyes are locked onto her. She can’t hep but be curious, but even so, she won’t attach herself to the tributes from Eleven. She excuses herself, looking for Peeta. He’s sat at a table with a couple of other tributes but none of them seem to be talking. She moves to a mostly empty table, save for the boy from Disrict Three.

Not wanting to intrude, she sits down the table from him. Its nice, to have a somewhat secluded meal. In the apartment she’s at a packed table, here she can distance herself. It’s not technically being in public, she and Peeta don’t have to always be attached.

Behind her, someone clears their throat. She suppresses a startled jump, turning over her shoulder to see what the fuss is about. The careers have abandoned their table in favor of hers, but it isn’t her that’s being accosted.

“Move.” The massive tribute from Two commands, setting his tray down firmly on the table. The boy from Three, the real target, gets the message quickly enough. He’s smart to not aggravate such a massive adversary so early, not when theres still so much to get through. She’s starting to collect her things when Marvel sets his tray beside hers, sitting a bit closer than she expected.

He’s giving her an odd look, something she can’t quite put a finger on. She hears sound in front of her and turns to see the tributes from Two taking the seats across from her, Marvel’s own district partner hovering behind them venomously. .

“Got a name, Twelve?” The boy from Two asks, a smirk on his face. She hesitates, wiping her hands down her pants.

“Its Y/N,” Marvel hisses at him, giving him an agitated look. He looks to her, bumpng her playfully with his shoulder. “Don’t mind Cato, the muscles dont let all of the blood reach his brain.”

Across the table, Cato huffs. She knows better than to laugh, instead looking to the two girls for a reaction. Cato’s district partner is tense but smiling, Marvel’s seems absolutely tickled at his jab tough her eyes remain hard on her. Cato laughs at this, glancing back and forth between the two. Giving in to the curiosity, she looks between the careers before settling to ask Marvel.

“Okay, what’s this?” She asks harshly, causing silence among the group. Cato laughs lowly, mumbling.

“Ooh, kitty’s got claws!” He laughs, leaning over to his partner. Y/N gives him a look before she can think better of it and the girl from One bristles behind them.

“We just think you’re interesting, Y/N.” Marvel almost purrs, leaning in closer to her. She chances a look away from the group, eyes searching for Peeta. He stands across the room, speaking quietly to Rue. He’s showing her something, but Y/N can’t see it.

“Aw, no need to call in your bodyguard.” The girl from One whines, leaning against Cato’s massive shoulder as though bored. “We just want to talk.”

“He’s not my bodyguard.” She says flatly. Theres no need to drag Peeta into this, not when she isn’t sure what they want. Leaning forward on the table, she looks into Cato’s eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning towards her with a smirk. “we were wondering if you wanted someone to have your back in there.” Her eyes move to study each career, looking for some hint of their plans for her. Cato is smirking, oozing arrogance, and she knows that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. None of the careers would, but after seeing Cato train she feels especially in danger around him. His partner as well, even though she looks completely bored. She’s seen her throw her knives, she’s not one to be messed with. Marvel’s partner glares at her, obviously upset at the idea of her entering the group.

She leans back a bit, brows furrowing as she takes in the situation. “You want me to join you?”

Marvel laughs quietly, the sound makes her hair stand on end. A shiver runs up her spine and she fights down the blush at his proximity, clearing her throat. He reaches over to her, patting her thigh with a grin. “We do.”

She jumps at the contact, pulling her leg tighter to her body as the careers laugh. She splutters a bit, her words caught in her mouth as she scrambles to get them out. “I don’t understand. I’m not-“ She trails off, gesticulating nervously with her hands.

Cato shakes his head, his smile dropping. He leans back in his seat, framed on either side by the girls, and crosses heavy arms over his chest. It makes him look all the broader. “Doesn’t matter. If people like you, they like you.”

“If you want to join us, hang around.” The smaller girl says, her dark hair shiny under the lights. “We’ll know if you fit after the interviews, then we’ll send word to your mentor.”

She studies them, but finding any tell that they’re lying or baiting her would require her to know more about them. Perhaps the way the blonde twirls her hair around her finger is a nervous habit, or maybe Cato only seems dry and stoic because he’s hiding something.

Then again, perhaps that's nothing. Sighing, she nods. After all, what is there to lose? With Peeta’s strength, they’ll be an easy choice for careers. “Alright, I’ll let Peeta know.”

“No.” Marvel interjects, quick to reach a hand out for her arm. His hold is gentler this time, but still a bit too tight. “We just want you.”

—

The third day, part way through lunch, is when the private sessions begin. She’d spent the remainder of yesterday and the entirety of the morning following behind the careers as they moved stations. They focused heavily on showing off their skills. Clove, the girl from Two, was a master with knives. Cato favored a sword, Marvel was good with a spear. Glimmer, Marvel’s district partner, was decent with a bow.

Glimmer was something to see, she could see her succeeding in the games. Long, lean, and muscled, Glimmer looked like something off of a Capitol magazine. What she lacked in skills she made up for with her beauty and silver tongue. More than once, Cato had fetched her weapon from the rack or gotten up to get her something she asked for. All it took from her was a smile and the touch of her hand. Clove seemed upset about it, but even she said nothing.

Glimmer is the second person to be called for her private session, right after Marvel. As the female tribute for Twelve, Y/N has a long wait. At first the room seems to buzz with conversations, though all talking ceases the moment Cato leaves for his session. Clove has no interest in talking to her and, knowing she isn’t wanted, she stands and moves to find Peeta instead.

They sit in a tense silence as the other tributes are called and exit, waiting for their own names. When Thresh is called, Rue moves to sit closer to them. She talks quietly with Peeta, sparing Y/N glances every now and again though she doesn’t speak. When Rue is called, they’re left alone. The silence returns until Peeta is called. He sighs, standing and heading towards the door.

“Peeta,” She calls, startled by her own voice. He turns easily, brows raised as he waits for her to speak. “Just, remember what Haymitch said. Be sure to remember the weights.”

He nods, giving her a small smile. Her tense shoulders relax a bit as she prepares herself to be alone in the room. Continuing towards the door, Peeta calls back to her. His voice echos in the quiet room. “Thanks. Good luck, Y/N.”

She nods back. If she can’t win, she wants Peeta to. Its better for her family,for their district. If Twelve has a victor they’ll be given food for an entire year, which in turn gives next year’s tributes a better shot. For career districts, maybe this doesn’t matter.

When her name is called after what feels like an eternity, she stans and moves to the door. On the other side, the gamemakers sit up in their viewpoint, looking down on the training room floor. She moves to stand in front of them. Many seem to have enjoyed too much wine, talking and laughing loudly to one another as she approaches. They’ve been through twelve districts, plenty of time to finish at least a bottle a piece.

Still, there is nothing to do but enact Haymitch’s plan. Of her skills, only two could be worth showing. There is nothing to snare here but herself, or perhaps a training dummy if she could lug it across the floor. Off to the side, there is a rack of bows. Theyre made of a variety of materials and sit by matching quiversof arrows. She plucks a silver one from the rack, shouldering the quiver and taking a stance before the gamemakers. There are basic targets down range from the rack, but across the gym are move lifelike dummies, like the ones Clove used during training. They’re farther, but she’s shot smaller game at a greater distance.

The moment she pulls back the string she knows something is amiss. Unlike her bow back home, this one feels tight. She takes aim nonetheless, trying to avoid psyching herself out and insead taking a steadying breath in. Breathe, aim, let loose.

The arrow misses the dummy by several inches and she knows that she’s lost any attention they may have been paying her. She glances up, only managing to confirm her fears.

Instead of looking at her, all eyes are turned on a table behind them. A large pig has made an appearance, skin perfectly roasted a golden brown color. She forces herself to take a deep breath, turning back to her target. She nocks another arrow, steadying herself and adjusting her aim for this bow. When the arrow flies, its immediately clear to her that it’ll land. It sinks deep into the dummy’s head, nocking it’s head back in a graphically intense manner. The arrow sinks deep, surely protruding from the other side of it’s head. Right between the eyes, she smiles proudly. She turns back, excited to see the gamemakers reactions.

Still, the gamemakers are absorbed in their meal. They’re laughing, clapping one another on the back with huge smiles.

Frustrated and bordering on furious, she rips an arrow from her quiver, nocking it and pulling the bowstring taut. In the roast pig’s mouth rests a perfect red apple. She takes aim and lets go.

The arrow strikes the apple, flying a few feet further before pinning it to the wall. The gamemakers turn, and her stomach leaps into her throat. Why had she done that? She had never been an incredible shot, she’s lucky no one is horrifically injured or dead. Still, she curtsies low to them, hanging on to her confident air. “Thank you for your time.”

She rights herself, forcing her muscles to move slowly, to not shake. The bow is set back in its place. Her feet carry her quickly to the door to the elevator, slamming her hand onto the button to her floor without waiting for dismissal. Some mix of horror at herself and the motion of the elevator makes her stomach sink to her feet and the rise quickly into her throat. Why, why shoot an arrow at the people solely capable of making the next few weeks of her life hell? It was that pig, that damned pig. She’s facing her final days and they hadn’t even had the decency to pay attention to her.

More than that, it was her own temper. For the second time in the last week, she’d signed her own death certificate. She sinks against the back wall of the elevator, imagining the glass breaking and her plummeting to a quick death at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

#Peeta #Peeta Mellark #the hunger games peeta #THG Peeta #peeta mellark x reader #spark #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games rewrite

67 notes · View notes

muted-like-sunset · 2 years

Text

Spark| Chapter 6

peeta mellark x fem! reader

masterlist

word count: 4.8k

trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, mentions of suffocation, death, food/eating, alcohol, fire, maiming (not graphic), heights, electricity/being shocked, survelliance, fear, starvation, violence/gore

(mostly) unedited, all mistakes are my own

Peeta doesn’t speak to her through the brief elevator ride, staring ahead in silence. She can feel the eyes of their teams on her and her face heats with embarrassment. She had it under control, she knows she did. Marvel would have let her go had he not been releasing her into Peeta’s arms. Now both of their teams think she needs someone to look after her, that she needs Peeta.

She leans against the window, trying and failing to not grip Peeta’s hand. This elevator is much faster than the one in the Justice Building. She keeps her eyes glued to the doors to avoid watching herself shoot up into the air. The moment the doors open she evacuates the elevator, glad to get out of the little box and away from the eyes of her team. Effie calls out after her and she ignores her, heading to the furthest room down the hall. She slams the door and nearly screams when she finds no lock.

Of course, wouldn’t want tributes offing themselves before the games even begin. She spins on her heel, looking back into the bedroom. The sheets on the bed are a deep purple, cool to the touch, and a shiver runs up her spine as her fingers stroke across their seamless surface. The entire room is pristine and as amazing as it is, the perfection only serves to fuel her anger. She takes hold of the covers, ripping them back with such force she’s almost sure they’ll rip before she tosses them backwards. They’re surprisingly heavy and don’t make it far before floating to the floor, a corner still tucked underneath the mattress. She rages on, grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed and throwing it with both hands towards a window. It makes a soft thump as it connects, plopping on the ground softly.

She throws herself onto the bare mattress, hands tugging a pillow over her face as she fights back tears. Stupid Peeta Mellark and his apparent need to make her look weak. She is not weak, far from it. The thought dries her eyes, though the anger subsides as well. She scolds herself for her inability to keep hold of it, her usual pipeline from white hot anger to burning shame taking hold once more.

She’d been childish, that was certain. Needing Peeta to rescue her only to storm off the moment they reached their floor? She could practically see Effie Trinket’s puffed cheeks, her clear irritation at Y/N’s lack of manners. Effie would have wanted to introduce them to the space they’d been sharing for the next week and Y/N had gone and ruined it.

Her eyes burn again, hands pulling the pillow tighter as though to suffocate herself. When her lungs begin to struggle, she releases the pillow, tossing it hopelessly over the side of the bed to join its partner on the floor. She wishes for a moment that the bed would open and swallow her whole. Anything would be better than having to face anyone again tonight.

She slides off of the bed, knees hitting the ground before she pulls herself to her feet again. She stalks slowly to the bathroom, starting on removing the makeup her prep team had so carefully constructed. Then she hops into the shower, fiddling again with the buttons until she manages to make it release the same sweet chamomile scent. She scrubs at her skin until it’s bright red and then shuts off the water.

There are seemingly endless clothing choices, so she settles for whatever feels the softest against her tender skin. It winds up being a plain pair of black pants and an orange top that shines under the light. She stoops by the door to grab a pair of plain black shoes, tugging them on to her feet as she makes her way back to the bathroom. She sways a bit in her bathroom mirror to admire the way the top catches the light despite having no gemstones, wondering at the fabric. Cinna would explain, surely.

She hesitates at the door of the bedroom, glancing back at the mess she has made. Her shoulders droop in shame as she moves to pick up the bedding. She tosses the pillows back onto the bed, collecting the pristine sheets in her arms and gently rearranging it on the bed. It isn’t as perfect as it had been, but there’s little evidence left to suggest the fit she’d thrown. Once she’s satisfied, she’s back to the door. A deep breath gets her hand on the knob, twisting it and peeking her head into the hall.

There’s voices near the communal area, so she steadies herself and steps into the hall. Her footsteps are silent as she makes her way up the hall, something she’s managed over years of practice. She peers into the dining area, finding everyone else already sitting at the table. She rolls her shoulders back, stepping in to the space with as much confidence as she can muster.

“Y/N! Come sit, sit!” Effie trills, seemingly have forgotten her meltdown. Y/N is happy for her forgiveness, moving obediently to settle in the seat left for her. Peeta is already sat in the seat next to hers, freshly showered and clad in a dark green shirt with its long sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His eyes staying dutifully away from her as she joins the table. She takes a moment to adjust her seating, trying to scoot her chair close enough to the table that she isn’t reaching like a child. Effie is borderline vibrating with excitement as she watches her settle. “You two did such a wonderful job!”

She chatters on about their looks, their interactions with the crowd, everything she can. Y/N unfolds her napkin and spreads it on her lap, pressing it flat with her hands to give her something to do. Effie reaches her hand out suddenly, fingers splayed as though she could take her hand from down the table. “And of course I’ve been talking about you. I’ve been mysterious enough, I talked about how hard you’ve worked to overcome the barbarism of your district. You know, everyone who’s anyone will have their eyes on you two!”

Y/N grimaces at her words, saying nothing. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, barbarism. Effie has had extremely limited interaction with District Twelve and it’s people. District Twelve, where Y/N had spent her every moment until she was delivered to the capitol to await her death. Her death that would be watched on every television across Panem, a death that would have the people of the capitol cheering at every mention of it for the rest of time. Sure, the train, the showers, and the elevator had been new to her, but the only barbarians in Panem lived in the shiny towers of the capitol.

“It’s only natural people have their reservations, what with your district’s specialty being coal. Oh but, you know what I told them? You’ll love this, I said ‘Well with enough pressure, coal turns into pearls!’” Effie smiles, looking about the table for the approval of their team. Y/N smiles at her despite her cluelessness.

Pearls, of course, don’t come from coal. Maybe she was thinking of diamonds, but that isn’t true either. She learned in Twelve’s school that coal and diamond are made of the same element, carbon, but coal doesn’t become diamond. Coal takes millions of years to form from whatever decaying material whereas diamonds take billions of years and are crystals of pure carbon. Pearls come out of district four, and Y/N has heard of a machine in one that can turn graphite into diamond. Twelve doesnt mine graphite, just coal. Y/N takes a moment to consider if the people of the Capitol know this or if they would even care.

She guesses not.

Dinner comes in the hands of a man dressed in all white. He’s silent as he places small bowls of soup in front of each of them, offering a dark bottle that Y/N thinks smells like vinegar to each person at the table. The adults all let him pour a yellowish drink into their tall glasses and Y/N realizes what it must be. Wine, that had been the bitter scent. When he offers it to her she allows him to fill her glass as well, lifting it to her nose and drawing back at the scent.

Her parents hadn’t ever really brought home alcohol. That sort of vice could be dangerous in their situation, the entire district had seen what a dependence could do to a person through their only victor. Still, on a special occasion she could remember them sitting together at the table, Papa would pour her Mama a glass of the cheap liquor that could be bought in the hob and sweeten it with whatever he could. Papa had no affinity for the stuff and she suspected that her Mama didn’t either, instead loving the attention Papa gave her.

She takes a hesitant sip and finds herself pleasantly surprised at the sweet taste. She glances to Peeta, trying to gauge his own feeling about the stuff only to find his glass dry. He hadn’t taken the offer of wine, but why not? They have potentially only weeks to live, why short himself the experience?

“It’s sweet.” She murmurs to him, flinching back when he startles. He looks between her face and her glass, quirking a brow. “Do you want some?”

He shakes his head, eyes drifting back to his soup. She feels her face heat at his rejection, leaning back to sit upright in her own seat. She sets the glass down and straightens her shoulders.

So what if he’s still mad at her, there’s nothing she can do about that. Why let it sour her mood? She takes another sip of the wine and turns her attention to her own soup. She hesitates in picking her spoon, selecting the larger of the two and glancing to Cinna. He smiles, nodding to her choice and lifts a spoonful of the soup to his lips. She glances back down, taking a careful taste of the soup.

The soup is is a creamy brown color and tastes like mushrooms. The familiar flavor is comforting, at least she didn’t have to wonder about the ingredients and flavors.

Dinner is simple enough, the young people in white float about, silently clearing the table as they finish or bringing out their next portion. Halfway through her glass of wine her head started to feel light, a giggly smile plastering itself on her face and despite how she tries she can’t think of what’s making her laugh. All of the talk at the table goes in one ear and out of the other, instead Y/N lets herself wonder about each dish they bring. The salads have the smallest tomatoes she’s ever seen, where did they grow them? Who cooks the food, how do they get it so quickly? A young woman sets a cake on the table and lights it almost in the same instant. The heat makes Y/N draw back but the fire is out as quickly as it starts, leaving it a honey gold color.

“What makes it flammable?” She asks, turning her face up the table towards Effie and the stylists. “Is it alcohol? Or- wait, I know you.”

The woman stills, turning suddenly fearful eyes to Y/N. Somehow, she knows this girl. She can’t place from where, or how she’d even know her. Maybe she’s seen her on the television? All she can think is that her features, her flaming hair and bright eyes look familiar. Even her sudden terror strikes something in Y/N’s mind. The girl draws back, shaking her head deftly and leaving the room.

Effie laughs, shaking her head. “Poor girl’s had too much to drink. I mean come on, how could you know an avox Y/N?”

“What’s an avox?” She asks, head swimming. Perhaps she had had too much to drink.

“Avoxs are people that have committed crimes.” Haymitch fills in, eyeing her. “They cut out their tongues to keep them from speaking. Its not likely you know her.” His words ring in her ears like a warning.

“You’re not to speak to them unless you’re giving them an order. Of course you don’t know her.” Effie laughs again.

Crimes. What kind of crime could get someone’s tongue cut out? The more she thinks about it, the more wary she gets. Then, it strikes her.

“Delly Cartwright.” Peeta blurts, laughing and slumping a bit in his seat in relief. “I though she looked familiar too. She could be Delly’s twin.”

Delly Cartwright looks nothing like the girl serving them. Delly’s hair is as yellow as corn, her face constantly reddened as though she’s running through her life. She’s possibly the sweetest person in District Twelve, perhaps second only to Primrose, and she looks nothing like the girl they’ve just seen. Haymitch nods, humming something that sounds like agreement. Maybe Haymitch has seen Delly before, maybe he hasn’t, but he seems content with this answer. Just the thought that he’s somehow relieved by this revelation quiets her.

“Oh, yeah.” She says dumbly, eyes trained on the cake she’s left behind. “Definitely Delly.”

“It’s her eyes,” Peeta offers, his tone drawing her attention to him. His eyes are serious, deadly so. “same color as Delly’s. Honestly, if you told me that was Delly Cartwright in a wig I’d believe you.”

The whole table seems to relax, smiles crossing their faces at Peeta’s words.

“To answer your question,” Cinna starts with a soft smile. “yes. The alcohol burns away. I figured it would be the perfect thing to celebrate your entrance.”

The talking resumes as they serve cake, and Y/N downs the rest of her glass. At least the change in mood dampened her giggles.

After cake, the party moves to the living room and gathers on the couches to watch the rerun. Peeta has once again glued himself to her side and she wonders if this means he’s not mad anymore. She lets him sit by her on the couch, even going so far as to lean into his shoulder when her head starts to feel floaty again. She makes a mental note not to drink any more wine. Still, she lets herself enjoy the feelings it gives, grinning at the conversations between her team. She can’t help the sound she lets out at the sight of them exiting the remake center or the blush that seems to hit her when they watch her kiss Peeta’s cheek.

Why had she done that? There had been no wine in her belly then. She avoids the glances of her team, focusing instead on the shimmer of her top. Her fingers pluck at the fabric as the adults talk.

“Who’s idea was holding hands?” Haymitch asks, a glass resting in his hand. Y/N nearly snorts. Liquor she giggles to herself, stopping when Peeta nudges her. His eyebrows are raised, looking between their mentor and her. Oh, right.

There’s a moment of quiet and Y/N feels the eyes of her team on her. She looks from Peeta’s face to the rest of the room, confused by their insistent stares. Haymitch is smirking and for some reason this makes a smile creep onto her own face.

“What?” She giggles, looking around for answers. The team looks about as her face flushes more. Great. The giggles have returned.

“Oh.” Haymitch smirks, a laugh in his voice. “I see, completely organic? Well, great job you two. Just the perfect touch of rebellion.”

Rebellion, huh? She looks back to the TV, eyes raking slowly over the other pairs. They all stand stiffly at one another’s sides, even Marvel and Glimmer keep a respectable distance between themselves. Unthinkingly, Y/N and Peeta have painted themselves as a pairing, a team. This and their costumes have set them apart more than Y/N thinks she is comfortable with. She stiffens, suddenly feeling as if the room is a bit too small.

Haymitch sighs, pushing himself up from the couch with his drink in hand. “Tomorrow is the first day of training. Meet me for breakfast, I’ll let you know how to play it.” He crosses the space, filling his glass anew. “Now go get some sleep while the adults talk.”

Y/N huffs, feeling discarded. This is about them, why are they being sent away? Fine, she thinks, let the adults talk. She isn’t a child, hasn’t been for a long time. Still, under the gaze of the others in the room, she pulls herself up from the couch. She sways a little, dizzy at the sensation, and Peeta offers her a hand. She thinks back to seeing them on the screen and ignores him, not wanting to play house with their teams eyes on them.

Still, they walk together down the hall until they reach their rooms. Peeta pauses in the middle of the hall between their doors, just between Y/N and the sanctuary of her bedroom. She turns her body to move past him when he speaks.

“Imagine finding Delly’s lookalike here, of all places.” He tests, eyes locked onto her face. She knows he’s asking for an explanation for her reaction to the girl at the table. She considers, for a moment, blaming the sweet wine for her lapse in judgement. Telling him would mean admitting to going into the woods, to her illegal hunting, but more importantly to Katniss and Gale’s involvement as well.

Then again, he had covered for her. He had lied just as quickly as she had.

She wishes her friends were here. Katniss and Gale would have the answers she needs, they would be her first choice. Katniss and Gale who would hold the world on their shoulders if it meant she could relax for a moment, who had soothed her when she needed it most even though they were out of their element.

Would telling him make or break their alliance? Would he see that she seemed to trust him, despite how awful of an idea it may be, or would he see her as cowardly? Is Peeta even the type to cast someone aside like that? His kind blue eyes say no, his gentle touch always screams it.

Perhaps it would be nice to get off of her chest. Just the idea of the poor girl sends a chill up her spine. They’d taken her tongue. Peeta couldn’t pull the image from her mind if he tried, but maybe knowing his thoughts would help her feel less alone.

“Yeah.” Is all she can manage.

Peeta pulls back and for a second it seems like he might leave. Her heart leaps in to her throat, a hand reaching out to keep him from leaving. Of course he doesn’t leave, instead glancing back up the hall towards where the adults still sit and socialize. Her hand grips his shirt sleeve where its fallen back to its full length. Still in thought, he turns his hand to grasp hers and brings his eyes back to her face.

“Have you been to the roof yet?” He asks, voice soft. She shakes her head, embarrassed to be clutching him to hard. “You can practically see the whole city. It’s a bit loud, but I think you’ll like it.”

The roof? Her door doesn’t even lock and they have roof access. She forces a smile onto her lips. “Do we need an escort or can we just go up?”

“Come on.” He grins, pulling her behind himself to another door. “Cinna showed me, said it was a perk of the penthouse suite.”

Up a short set of stairs there's another door that, when Peeta pushes it open, leads to the rooftop. The chill of the evening wind is welcome at first, but quickly sends a shiver up her whole body. Across the roof there's a dome that, even from the outside, is clearly teeming with plants. Instead of heading towards what must be a greenhouse, Peeta tugs her towards the railings at the edge of the roof.

She hesitates as they get closer, not thrilled to look down at the city twelve stories below. Peeta glances back, noticing her hesitation. She rocks a bit on her heels. “Aren’t they worried we’ll jump?”

He laughs a bit, stretching one powerful arm out over the edge of the building. Just past the edge, far enough that you could lean over without running into issue, his hand seems to hit a surface. There's a sharp zap and he jerks his hand back to his chest. “Can’t. Some electric field throws you back.”

She nods, stepping more easily to look past the ledge. Her breath catches, eyes darting to take in as much of the view as she can. The city is bright, brighter than the meadow in the middle of summer, full of fireflies. Electricity was uncertain in Twelve, only really assured when the games were airing or when the Capitol aired something mandatory to watch. Any other time blackouts were more common than the electricity, though she couldn’t complain. It had been this detail of life in Twelve that made entrance into the woods possible.

Still, the lights are undeniably beautiful. Knowing that every light she sees is someone’s home, its astounding. She hears cars on the streets below, a chorus of voices, and this strange metallic sound she can’t place. Back home, her family would be in bed by now. What did these people have to occupy their nights but sleep? She figures that with guaranteed lights at night, she could find something to do as well.

“What do you think they're doing?” She breathes, watching people stories below crossing the streets. From up so high they look tiny, insignificant.

“Watching us, maybe?” He guesses, joining her side. She tenses immediately at his words, brought harshly back into herself. She couldn’t remember ever seeing footage of tributes on the roof, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being filmed. She pulls back, once again unsure. “Why don’t we see the garden?”

She’s thankful for the chance to check out the greenhouse, even with the idea that they’re being listened to bouncing around her head. He takes the lead, opening the door to the greenhouse in a slow swing. The warm air rushes to meet them and she sighs at the relief from the cold. During the day, she imagines that the heat must be insufferable.

The greenhouse is filled with plants, just as she suspected. They’ve build flower beds and planted trees, its actually beautiful. She spots sets of wind chimes hanging from the branches, they sway softly in an artificial breeze. Their song is loud enough that, if they whisper, the cameras won't be able to hear them.

She takes the lead now, walking to rest among the flowers underneath a particularly impressive aspen tree. They take a seat on a wooden bench beneath the tree and she pretends to gaze up into the branches. “It was in the woods, we were hunting.”

Peeta hums quietly, tilting his head back to look into the branches with her. The sky peeks through, not a star in sight.

“Katniss and Gale were there, hunting. I’d spotted some strawberries further out than usual, they were helping watch my back. It got quiet, one bird calling a warning. Then she was there, in the berries with me. I’m sure it was her, Peeta.” She explains in a tight voice.

“Alone?” He asks, tilting his head closer to her shoulder. Her head swims.

“No. She was with a boy.” She turns to face him, urgent. Scared. “They looked like they’d been going for a while. I used to tear my clothes on branches or briars, they were wearing tatters. They looked like death.”

She’s quiet a moment, remembering their sunken faces. She’d seen starvation, looked into its eyes. They’d been running a while. Gale had pulled Katniss into cover, kept her from rushing to her defense. They'd clearly been in trouble, but then so were her friends.

“The hovercraft just, appeared? I didn’t hear it coming. One second the sky was clear and then it was there.” She continues. “I didn’t know what to do, so I hid. Dove out of the clearing and hid. I heard the girl scream, they’d caught her in some kind of net. But they just killed the boy. Shot right through him with some kind of spear and hauled him up. Then it was gone, like they had never even been there.”

Peeta is quiet, considering something. Then, he speaks. “I’m sure she doesn’t hold it against you.”

“She should.” She spits, blinking back tears. She’d been her last hope, any of them could have tried to help. Instead, they’d hidden. Maybe Gale and Katniss were okay with that, she was not.

“You’re shaking.” He observes, loud enough to be heard by anyone listening. “Are you cold?”

He pulls her closer without waiting for an answer, his arm winding around her shoulders to tuck her into his side. She doesn’t fight him on it, accepting his comfort. Really, he is quite warm.

“Where do you think they were headed?” He asks, whispering again. He busies himself with rubbing a hand on her arm.

“I don’t know.” Past District Twelve is wild, the land that was once District Thirteen. Most likely still radioactive, or at least that's what she’s been told.

All is quiet again, save for the sounds of the wind chimes. She wonders where they had been going. Perhaps they’d hoped to live out in those woods. She’d heard Katniss and Gale talk about it before, had even taken part in a conversation or two about it. Without any survival skills, they were better off wherever they had come from. Death in the woods would be brutal, cold or hungry or perhaps poisoned. Still, wouldn’t she have chosen that over the games?

“Maybe we should go inside.” She offers, pulling away from him. She fakes a little yawn, stretching out her tense limbs.

“Did your friends come say goodbye?” He asks, still in his spot on the bench.

“Yeah, they did.” She grains, stretching out her back. “Your dad came by, too.”

“Yeah?” Peeta gives a little laugh, a grin splitting his face. “Well, he likes you. Loves Primrose. I think he wishes he had daughters instead.”

They finally start making their way out of the greenhouse, stopping briefly so she can get a closer look at a bloom. The breeze is worse after the warmth of the greenhouse. Then they’re descending the stairs and stopping in the hall just outside of their bedrooms.

They stand in uncomfortable silence for a moment, neither seeming to know quite what to say. Then, Peeta speaks up. “See you in the morning, Y/N.”

She nods, stepping back to rest against her door. He smiles, brushing a hand through his hair and turning to his own door. Only once he’s disappeared behind it does she turn, slipping quietly into her own room.

She turns after shutting the door, startling at the fact that she isn’t alone. Across the room, the red headed girl stoops low in the doorway to the bathroom. She’s collecting the clothing Y/N had discarded before her shower. Y/N stops, a hand at her chest.

What does one say to the person they let be captured? Sorry? She hesitates, watching the girl before clearing her throat. The girl leaps up, tucking her chin down to her chest.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She starts. Suddenly, she remembers Effie’s words at the table. You’re not to speak to them unless you’re giving them an order. “I think I was supposed to bring those back to Cinna, could you take them to him?”

She nods, skirting the outside of the room and rushing out of the door. Y/N draws a deep breath, focusing on stripping off her shoes and tossing them towards the closet. Then, she pulls the shirt and pants off, slipping into bed in just her underclothes. The sheets are soft against her skin.

She burrows herself into the blankets, holding herself to make the shaking stop. She’d wondered what had become of the girl, but this wasn’t what she had wanted. What had she wanted, though? Would it be better that she were dead than maimed and enslaved?

Her mind drifts to her Papa, to the stump of his left arm. Would she rather he were dead, blown to undefinable pieces like Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Everdeen? She pulls the blankets tighter, like their embrace might keep away the image of Papa buried beneath the rubble of the collapsed mine shaft.

It doesn’t.

#Peeta Mellark #Peeta #the hunger games peeta #THG Peeta #peeta mellark/reader #peeta mellark x reader #The Hunger Games #the hunger games rewrite #Hunger Games #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #spark

180 notes · View notes