Fire Burns Brighter in Darkness|| Peeta melark x reader

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Words: 3.3k
A/n: I can never find a good Peetaxreader that follows the book. So since I adore one(1) man from 12, I decided to write one that follows the book in detail, in a way that it is not a complete copy and paste story but could still be read as a stand alone by someone who knows almost nothing about the franchise.
The writing may start a bit stiff as I usually write in 3rd person, past tense but that can get annoying when following the perspective of the reader and I wanted to challenge myself so take some 1st person, present tense. (In other words, your pov)
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I wake slowly, having drifted in and out of sleep for what had to be at least half an hour. As I stir into consciousness I remember the truth of reality I'd prefer to shut out everytime it arises. It's the dreaded day, the day of the reaping.

I should be grateful for what I have, I had to remind myself of that everyday. But it didn't stop the heavy flow of thoughts about how inhumane and unfair the games were.

The Hunger Games was the anual event where twenty four of Panem's children were shipped off into an arena to kill each other. It was a sickly battle between kids to entertain the capitol, to remind the twelve districts that they should never try to cross them again.

It was a disgusting punishment put upon those who had nothing to do with it's origin to cure the Capitol's boredom and bloodlust. But I couldn't openly say that. Ever. We, as members of the districts, were expected to celebrate and honour the games as if we loved them as much as the sickly, twisted people in the capitol did.

"May the odds be ever in your favour." I whisper to myself, dragging out the vowels and hissing at the 's' sound, in an attempt to mock Effie Trinket's bubbly voice. Did she actually care about the children she shipped off for slaughter every year or was she indifferent about them? The only players that mattered were the victors anyways.

Why does the Capitol need to send such a message to the already weakened districts? I ask myself. It's a question that has haunted me ever since I was old enough to learn about and fully understand the games. During a rebel uprising seventy four years ago, district 13 was demolished. Was that not enough? Did they have to keep torturing the poor, already used as footslaves for the Capitol's benefits?

My mind runs wild with thoughts I would never be alowed to publicly voice. I usually kept a diary that I wrote everything down in, the jumbles of my emotions collecting in little books over the years because my mom thought it was a good way to make sure I didn't get in trouble mouthing off about things I shouldn't. Apparently district 12, the smallest and poorest district where people can starve to death in safety used to have stricter guard not too long ago.

Apparently there was a dark time before our current peace keeper came. But I never believed that it was worse than women lining up at his door in the middle of the night to exchange their bodies for food. Remembering things like that makes me grateful that I was a merchant's child, that I'm not going to starve to death or be begging for money for the rest of my life even if my mom happened to drop dead tomorrow.

I am (y/n) (l/n). My mother is Rooba (l/n). We own the butcher's and are one of few people lucky enough to carry some extra kilos in district 12. My mother has taught me how to kill the animals that we buy live from the market or (more often than not) the hob. There's a girl from my class who brings us meat sometimes, if she thinks that she can sell it to us at a fairer price than Greasy Sae. It'll usually be a deer but sometimes we indulge in buying fish or trading it for other meats.

I know how to cut and plate meat without being wasteful. I know how to sell in ways where people think they got a deal but they've actually been overcharged. On weekends, or on days I'm not in school I clean, open and close the shop.