Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 47 - Pearls

The sharp crack of lightning splits the sky, bringing us to our senses. Finnick sits up with a start, eyes wide and searching. His fingers dig into the gritty sand as he desperately tries to ground himself in reality, shaken from whatever nightmare has plagued him in his sleep.

"I can't sleep anymore," he says, sounding exhausted. "One of you should rest." It's then that he takes notice of our intertwined bodies and the expressions on our faces. "Or both of you. I can watch alone."

But Peeta refuses. "It's too dangerous," he insists immediately. "I'm not tired. You go to sleep (Y/N)." I don't protest because I know I need it if I want to keep Peeta alive. He walks me back to where the others are gathered, holding onto my hand tightly. Before letting me go, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead and places his hand on the spot where our baby would be growing. "You're going to be an amazing mother, you know," he says, giving me one last kiss before returning to Finnick's side.

His mention of our baby serves as a clear sign that we are back in the Games and must continue playing the part for the sake of our sponsors and the audience. A small part of me wonders if Peeta's words are a way to let me know that I'm the one who's going to make it out of here alive. But if only one of us should survive and become a parent, it should clearly be Peeta. Anyone could see it.

As my eyelids droop closed, I try to imagine a world without the Games, without the Capitol's tyranny. A beautiful meadow, surrounded by wildflowers and sunshine. A world where Peeta and I could live freely and his children could grow up without fear. This is the world I want.

But as I wake, reality comes crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. The brief moment of happiness that I experienced in my dreams is quickly replaced with the weight of my impending doom. I am still inside the arena, and I'll be dead in a day. I'll hopefully be able to eliminate the rest of the players, including myself, and have Peeta crowned as the victor of the Quarter Quell. This is the best-case scenario.

I stand up from the ground and join the others who are already awake, their eyes glued to a parachute drifting towards us. Another delivery of bread, identical to the one we received last night. Twenty-four rolls from District 3, adding to our previous stash of nine. We each take five rolls, leaving eight for later. Nobody brings it up, but these eight rolls will divide perfectly among us after the next death.

Every moment spent in this alliance raises more questions. How long will it last? The number of tributes has dropped significantly quicker than any of us anticipated, and I can't help but wonder if the others truly have Peeta's best interests at heart as I think they do. Will they actually protect him until the end? Or is it all an act to gain our trust and ultimately take us out? As much as I try to push away these doubts and uncertainties, they continue to gnaw at me relentlessly.

Feeling overwhelmed, I sit down next to Peeta on the beach and eat my rolls. For some reason, I can't bring myself to look at him. Maybe it's the knowledge that our time together is running out and we are essentially pitted against each other, wanting the other to survive the Games. After we're finished eating, I take his hand and lead him towards the water. "Come on," I say. "I'll teach you how to swim."

I need a moment alone with Peeta, away from prying eyes. We need to break away from the others. We find a quiet spot by the edge of the water where it's only waist-deep. If I was really teaching him to swim, I'd make him take the belt off since it keeps him afloat. But the conversation we need to have is far more important than a swimming lesson. I show him a basic stroke and watch as he practices going back and forth in the water. My eyes flick towards Johanna, who watches us with narrowed suspicion before eventually losing interest and going to take a nap. Finnick is busy weaving a new net out of vines, while Beetee tinkers with his wire. It's now or never.