Worse Games to Play Chapter 1, a hunger games fanfic. Hi all! So, this story is basically my take on Katniss's decision to have children with Peeta. This story is pre- epilogue, but it will eventually go through to post- epilogue. I think that's all that needs saying.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Suzanne Collins owns all the things.
R RATED FAN FICTION PLEASE NOTE: This particular section is dedicated to extremely smutty/lemon Fan Fiction, hence the title “R Rated Fan Fiction.” It may not be suitable for everyone.
I'm just playing around with her awesome characters. When Peeta first asked me about it, I gave him a short, flat 'no,' and rolled over, my back to him. He didn't say anything in return. He knows not to argue with me. My decisions are always definitive, always final. I thought he might be a bit peeved with me when he didn't immediately cuddle up behind me.
But when I woke up in the early, dark hours of the morning from nightmares, I found my hand clutching his, vice- like. Even in sleep, he knows when I need him close. Just like I know when he's seeing or hearing things not of this world; things that are a product of old mental scars the tracker- jacker venom left him.
Lazarus is a fanfiction author that has written 128 stories for Doctor Who, Angel, Red Dwarf, LXG, Terminator, Harry Potter, Friends, Incredible Hulk, Buffy X-overs, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Spider-Man, Movie X. Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark; Katniss Everdeen; Peeta Mellark; Summary. When Katniss, home from college, stops into the local bakery to pick out a birthday cake for her sister. Az oldalon Suzanne Collins reg. Suzanne Collins has been widely praised for the success of The Hunger Games trilogy, including its story design, characterizations, pacing, writing craft, and allegorical and thematic content. Rightfully so, and there’s.
We are each other's' crutch. Both messed up beyond recognition, but able to keep each other going, limping along.
It's not the most romantic arrangement, but it works for us. And there is love there. Beneath the scars and nightmares and delusions and fear, it's there. We take care of each other. It's been that way since our first games . And we try as hard as we can to keep the fear away from the other.
- The Give Away the Bride trope as used in popular culture. In Western weddings, the bride's father walks her down the aisle to the altar where the vows are
- The Aerith and Bob trope as used in popular culture. In some fantasy settings, people will have names that you would expect to see in real life.
- No Archive Warnings Apply; Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark; Katniss Everdeen; Peeta Mellark; Mrs. Everdeen; Effie Trinket; Summary. As one of the most talented artists in Panem, Peeta Mellark’s excitement about viewing.
People can only lose so much before they can't be happy without fear that it will be taken away. We learned what triggers the other, what to say, and what not to say. How to minimize the breakdowns, the pulling out of hair, the curling into a fetal position. Which is why I am surprised when Peeta mentions it again a few months later. He knows it scares me. Why does he ask again? I give him the same answer, harsher this time.
But he doesn't stop asking. Every time he mentions it, it's the same nightmare. I dream of reaping day. I dream that the Games never stopped. I dream of mentoring child after child, and watching them all die year after year after year. Bloody, wasteful deaths.
I awaken shaking enough to wake Peeta. His arms tighten around me sleepily; he whispers kind words to me.
He doesn't realize he's causing this particular nightmare. The next time he mentions it, I say more than just 'no.' I try to explain. You know it scares me. But I also think it would make you happy. I'd never stop being afraid. Please, Peeta, leave it be.
A little bit of shame. And really, what he's asking isn't shameful. It's so sweet, and bright, and innocent. I sigh and Peeta's eyes brighten.
He knows the look on my face means I've rethought something. He nods once, but his excitement isn't tempered. I can't think about it more than one day a year.
You may never get a yes from me. And I promise I'll really think about it.
I hold it in because it would disturb him. He'd think I was upset with him. I just try to kiss him back as warmly. He asks every year on that day. The first time, I can't believe he remembers exactly what day it was.
He always asks casually, trying to act as if he isn't hoping I'll say yes. Never any sweeping gestures, although the cheese buns he makes tend to taste a little more robust on that day of the year. He never looks me in the eye either. He doesn't want me to see first the hope, and then the defeat, in his eyes.
I try my hardest to say no nicely. And he always says the same thing afterwards. It makes me feel sick with guilt. I keep count of the years. One, two, three, four. On year five he asks if I'm ever going to say yes.
I tell him I'm not sure. It surprises me when it hits year ten. Peeta has diligently asked me the same question once a year for a decade.
He always leaves it up to me. I think of what Haymitch said to me once.
That I could live three lives and still not deserve him. I feel like he's more right every day. Year eleven he stops smiling when he asks. Year twelve, he's quieter.
On the fifteenth year, Peeta asks me in the middle of the day. He's fiddling with some kind of bread in the kitchen.
I've just come in from the woods. This year he sounds a little different. A little more urgent, but also a bit defeated.
I know what he's thinking. I'm not old yet, but the years he has left to ask this of me are dwindling. He asks, for the first time, as if he knows the answer will always be 'no.' I didn't lie to Peeta. I really do think about it every year.
But I've never thought about it as hard as I do this year. I don't answer him immediately. I go upstairs, take off my father's old hunting jacket and hang it back up.
I twiddle my thumbs for a few minutes on the bed, just staring at the ceiling. I will always be terrified. I was waiting to see if I'd ever feel better about it.
But I try to come up with more reasons to say no to Peeta, reasons beyond just, . I think back on all these years with Peeta. I think, though, that sometimes I'm too cold to Peeta. Sometimes I think I'm mean to Peeta. This one gesture will be one of the few really nice things I've ever done just for him. He's done more than enough for me. I sit up, decided.
I walk downstairs and lean in the doorframe. Peeta is still fiddling with his bread, but his face has fallen since I went upstairs. Peeta thinks I've said no.
He thinks by walking out of the room I've said no. I realize he thinks I've said a final no. My saying yes to him is so unusual that he thinks he's not in his right mind at the moment. It's a thick laugh that speaks of tears. But I'm saying it now.
I let my feet dangle, let Peeta sway back and forth with me. He's crying full force now.
In this moment I'm not sure how I've said no to him for fifteen years. I expect Peeta's wanted a baby since he was one himself. He kisses me for I don't know how long, my feet still dangling. Then he pulls back and smiles at me. Peeta Mellark hasn't smiled like that since the day on the rooftop of the Training Center before the Quarter Quell.
I didn't know how badly I missed that smile. All I can think about when I kiss him is how I don't ever want it to slip away again. It takes a few months. I stop policing the amount of contact I have with Peeta. Before, everything had to be extremely careful. Now, when that hunger I get climbs up from my belly, I let it take control. Sometimes the feeling reminds me, perversely, of the acid mist in the clock arena.
It creeps up on me, slowly, silently. Close, thick air speaks of rain forest and I inhale deep lungfuls of it and, for once, am glad for its heat. Muscles start to quiver and twitch. Cling to Peeta, don't lose him. My own heart thundering in my ears. Just rough sounds, the kind Avoxes are forced to make.
Almost to the water, almost there. Don't stop, don't stop.
Can't keep my eyes open. Gasp as the first wave hits. Hear Peeta's quick breath. Breath starts to calm. Muscles relax, fingers unclench. Nuzzle Peeta's shoulder and don't move until morning. At first I'm afraid that I've waited too long.
That I'm already too old, despite being in my mid- thirties. But the day that I feel like fire is crawling up my throat all day, the day I smell the wrong thing and have to throw up in the kitchen sink because I don't have time to make it to the toilet, I know.
I don't need a strange test like women in the Capitol used to use. Even without the upset stomach, years of hunting has given me an animalistic instinct that tells me things before I can work them out myself. I am pregnant. And I panic. It doesn't take Peeta long to find me. I've run to the woods, as I usually do in crisis. I'm high in a tree, chased there like a scrawny cat fleeing from a slavering dog. I hear Peeta's faint voice far below me, calling.?
But he'll still tramp through them to find me. I watch him look up into the tapestry of branches and brush, trying to find me. His eyes light up when he spots me. He immediately lunges for a branch and begins a slow, clumsy climb up the swaying hardwood I've lodged myself in. Bless him, he can't climb trees. He's never been able to. And he's still trying.
It has lost its normal volume, its fortitude. He gratefully stops his ascent, dropping unceremoniously into a pile of leaves and pine needles underneath my tree. I skitter down, landing lightly on my feet beside him. I take his hand, warm, wide, and strong, and lead him somewhere we can sit and talk more comfortably. I take him to a hill with minimal tree cover and long, soft grass. We sit together, me and Peeta.
For a while, Peeta takes his cue from me and also remains silent. Maybe it's the shaking hands, or my biting my lip, or my ripping grass out of the ground. Whatever the case, Peeta eventually has to ask.? You haven't been this shaken up in years. Peeta tries to disguise the grin that threatens to envelop his face. I'm obviously not happy about it and Peeta isn't about to make me more anxious than I am already.? I'm sorry, I don't understand.!
What did you expect me to do? I thought you meant it when you said yes. I wanted you to be alright with everything. That's why I left it up to you.
Words tumble out of my mouth without stopping, sentences come pouring out with no breath in between.! What was I supposed to do? You look at me like you do, with that face you do, and you ask me all sweet and quiet and patient for fifteen years running, and I know you want a baby so bad you're going to burst, and I just want you to be happy and I don't feel like I'm nice enough to you and I wanted to give you this one thing, so I said yes, and now I'm freaking out because I didn't really think about it on my end!
I didn't want you to do it if you didn't want to. That was the whole point of asking the way I did. I haven't cried like this since Prim died. Not in fifteen years. I've never told him why I didn't want children. Peeta has probably just assumed that I'm not the motherly type. My problem is that I am.
All I can think about is how I can't have my child end up like Rue or Prim.? They took everyone else! The whole of District 1.
Everyone in our first games save us, half the people in our second! Almost everyone in the Hob!
Conoce la historia que conquisto a Millones. Los juegos van a comenzar. Los tributos deben salir a la Arena y luchar por sobrevivir. Ganar significa Fama y riqueza, perder significa la muerte segura..