#student!katniss

[jlalafics]

Can we have a teacher peeta and studen katniss fic??

I actually did write a teacher Peeta and student Katniss fic awhile back. It's called "The Teacher" and it's on AO3, if you want to check it out.

I think I might have a ficlet that also has a teacher/student relationship. I'll find it and reblog.

[mellarkablegirl]

THE TIME OF MY LIFE

I promised a new chapter every Thursday and I intend to keep my promise. All your feedback and likes are so so appreciated.

CHAPTER1

The descent into Sydney International seemed to be taking forever and after a 22-hour long journey, I was in no mood for patience. My jittering and bouncing knee annoyed the distinguished looking man in the seat next to me , he’d introduced himself as Seneca at the beginning of the journey and one look at his sleazy smile told me , that the next 18 hours of my life were going to be an endeavor to ignore my seat mate. And If my disinterested looks and earphones weren’t enough to tell him off, I was sure my famous cold brushoffs would be quite enough. At least that’s what Gale always told me. Ahh, Gale, my stereotypically male best friend that I was sure I was hallway in love with. Gale was my first crush, on the first day of uni we got paired up for an icebreaker session. I hurt his ego by saying he was too skinny to play hulk and he shot right back by calling me Catnip. I expected for it to go all downhill from there, but weirdly enough we bonded instead. I developed a gigantic crush that just refuses to go away and he dated other girls (lots and lots of other girls) before he found his “one”, Madge Undersee.  That was off course until she stomped all over his heart and chose to move on pretty quickly. These days Gale spent most of his time moping around and being super clingy.

Pondering on my life so far seemed to be taking my mind of the creep sitting less than a foot away from me and the nervousness of what the next 6 months hold in store for me, so that’s exactly what I did. I quickly rehashed my inner monologue looking out over the blue ocean just off the Sydney coast. I was so glad that last window seat for empty and up for grabs! Anyway, here’s what I said(mentally):

“My name is Katniss Everdeen, I’m almost 21 years old, I’m from Panem , I study at the Polytechnic college with a major in Product Design , I’m doing a semester abroad program in Sydney Australia for the next 6 months , I’m going to miss my family , I love my family? I’m excited to get this ball rolling, I’m also a little nervous. “The sudden jerk of turbulence brings me out of my reverie, and with only minutes left to land I decide that this, this is going to be the time of my life and I am going to seize it.

The people here seemed so much friendlier and welcoming than back home, and their accents were adorable, the hospitality was pulling me in and I had to shake myself. Its barely been an hour since you’re here and you’re already getting soft, get a grip K! I wheeled my bags out and looked up the concourse calculating how I’d get to my new home, when a loud “Katniss!” echoed behind me. I whipped around, that voice I’d know anywhere. A little way up the concourse stood Cinna, or uncle Cinna as my mother would insist, he used to be my favorite relative before he up and moved to the other side of the world. He now beamed at me with arms open, it had been too long since I saw him and all of the emotions bubbled up and I ran into his arms, a little sob escaping here and there. An appearance of a familiar person suddenly quelled my fears, I wasn’t completely alone and this whole endeavor was going to be a walk in the park. That’s when I saw his wife standing behind, smiling encouragingly with a bundled-up baby in her arms. The cold out here was biting and Portia coming to the airport with baby Rue made me feel oh so special, especially in this weather.

“Come on squirt time to get you indoors and settled in “and with that we were off, on the car ride home we reacquainted ourselves with each other’s lives. Cinna now ran a full-fledged salon in the city and the small family lived in a cute suburban house just a few miles out of the CBD. Portia was a celebrity stylist and her flexible hours allowed her to spend more time with baby Rue who turned 1 this fall. Since the university residences wouldn’t open until next week, my first week in Sydney would be spent with Cinna and his family at their home. I settled in pretty quickly, Cinna and Portia were oh so welcoming but tiny little Rue had stolen my heart. I doubted I’d ever felt so connected and protective of a baby, save for when Prim was born.

Oh Prim! I almost forgot; it was almost time for our video call. Before I left, I promised my baby sister that I’d update her almost everyday on what I had been up to. But video calls were saved for weekends and special events. Looking at the clock I calculated the 5 and half hour time difference and decided it was too early to call home. So, I wandered into the living room, looking for something to entertain myself with. In the week that had passed I had spent most of my time outdoors, discovering the new city, going on lunch dates with Portia and stocking up of all the essentials I’d need once I moved into the dorms.

I was excited, I had been living alone for a few years as I attended Polytechnic but the whole vibe of this city was fascinating to me. The cultural diversity, the fast-paced life and the whole place in general made it seem like some kind of Hollywood production. Moving in day, dawned and it was cold. No one had warned me that Australia in June was as freezing as a tundra. But with the help of Cinna and a cute RA, that introduced himself as Darius, I was all set.  After a round of hugs and take care of your self’s I was finally left alone, not before I promised to keep Portia updated and drop in for dinner one of the days. As I plonked myself on the mattress, I let out a long sigh, here goes 6 months of new experiences I thought. Gathering up my stuff for the kitchen , I walked out only to run smack dab into a tall girl with a pixie cut and a sneer on her face , “Oh so you’re in number 8 “, she said “ Clove Richardson , the room across yours is mine and my friend Glim lives in number 1 , we’re both from the UK” she said extending her hand for a greeting. I was taken aback by the abruptness of her behavior but introduced myself nonetheless, she asked for my social media and swiftly added me to the group chat with all the girls that stayed in the apartment. I had moved into an 8-bedroom apartment in the student village right across from my campus. As she walked away, she announced that since I was finally here, we’d have a house meeting this evening.

Nodding my head, I started placing my bowls and utensils into a shelf when a quiet voice behind me startled me,” Oh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to get my groceries in. “I turned around and in front of me stood a waif like girl, she had a head full of curly auburn hair and the kindest pair of green eyes I’d seen ever, something about her seemed familiar but I couldn’t put my finger down on what.” I’m Annie Cresta and you must be Katniss? “she said with an enquiring look, I merely nodded. “Wait Annie Cresta? Do you happen to know a Finnick? Finnick Odair?” I asked suddenly remembering where I knew her from, “Why yes, how do you know Finn?” she asked a perplexed look taking over her face. I started laughing at what a small world this was, explain to her how Finn and I were good friends back in school and that he had mentioned his girlfriend ‘Annie’ multiple times during their conversations. Annie smiled, a tiny hint of mischief in her eyes and asked me how I’d settled in. I rehashed my run in with Clove and that I knew Darius. She invited me to the open barbeque later this week and all I could do was nod unsurely. I may have been hell bent on getting new experiences, but I sure wasn’t an out going person to start off with. For a matter of fact, I hated parties and large gatherings, but telling sweet Annie that there was no way I’d be found dead at that barbeque was just plain mean .I holed myself up in my room until a soft knock and Annie’s voice told me everyone had gathered out in the living room .

As I looked around the room, I noticed Clove taking to a beautiful looking girl with platinum blonde locks and expensive looking clothes, that I concluded to be the Glim she had mentioned before. Annie was speaking to a girl in mechanic overalls with her hair up in a high ponytail. I smiled at Celina the exchange student from Japan, who’d introduced herself to me during student orientation. The last two girls looked like twins but with completely opposing personas. “Listen up bitches! Let’s call this meeting to order and let’s get acquainted yeah? “the one in the overalls called out. “I’m Johanna Mason. I live in room 7 and I’m a forestry major” she nodded as if to prod the rest to follow her lead. Glim turned out to be Glimmer Roberts a data analytics major, Clove was in room 2 and a Business major. The twins were in room 3 and 5 and introduced themselves as Maria and Eva Leeg. Room 4 was Annie and room 6 was Celina and room 7 seemed to be empty so far. The girl assigned to it hadn’t turned up so far. A chore roster sheet was hung up and storage shelves divided up among the residents pretty quickly and efficiently. And rule sheets were quickly passed around. Just as I was turning around Annie called to me,” Hey Kat! Sorry can I call you Kat?” I nodded and chose to let her have her way, “Finn is coming down from Melbourne this weekend, and he wanted to know if you’d like to catch up “she asked. I nodded a little overenthusiastically, I was feeling a little left out and meeting with an old friend from home seemed to be a great idea. “I’d love too, I’ll text him and let him know, Thanks Annie! “I called as I retreated to my room.

After I texted Finn to let him know he asked if it was alright to invite another friend of his that lived in the area, I understood he had little time and agreed to it. I spent a bunch of time scrolling through Instagram, looking at what everyone back home had got up to in the last week. I wasn’t big on social media but Instagram and Tumblr had always been my weakness. Getting bored of it after a while I looked up at the clock on my study table, it flashed 8:30. Still too early to go to bed, I spent a while switching from the rather useless apps on my phone before I came up on Tinder.  I had all but sworn off the app after my last disastrous date back home, but decided there was no harm in checking out what Sydney had to offer. I swiped left on multiple Chris Hemsworth lookalikes with shitty bios before I stumbled upon the account of Darius, he was cute and had seemed to flirt with me when He helped me yesterday, so I swiped right on his goofy grin and besides he had a really smart bio too. I kept swiping for a bit before another one caught my eye. His name said Peeta, and his only picture was a shot of his eyes hidden behind a thick bound book. The quirked-up eyebrow and black framed glasses added to the adorableness of this picture. His bio said “Hummus where the Peeta is” and I genuinely cracked up I swiped right just as a notification for a match came in. For a second, I thought I had matched with cute bread guy. But the notification said Darius. An unknown feeling bubbled up inside as I deleted Tinder on an impulse. I threw my phone across the bed and pulled a novel from the nearby shelf, snuggling in to read myself to sleep. But I could barely concentrate, my mind kept wandering to bread guy. I berated myself, this is what you get for opening Tinder when you’ve sworn of it Katniss! Giving up hop on getting anything done tonight, I shut the night light and burrowed under the quilts and pillows on my bed. Willing myself not to dream of fresh baked bread and comfortable arms to snuggle into.

[javistgs-ficlibrary]

Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss.

by @xerxia31

[the-peeta-pocket]

Will you be writing a part two of the teacher Peeta and Katniss student Drabble? 🙏

I’ve already published a second part to it! You can read it here.

[the-peeta-pocket]

Could you write teacher!peeta student!katniss please? Love u

I’ve got every reason in the world to hate Peeta Mellark.

For his relentlessly positive attitude, and for his handwriting that’s so much better than mine. For his innocent, blue-eyed smile. For those soft, golden curls that remind me of a less Ramen-Noodley version of 1998 Justin Timberlake. For his naïve faith in humanity, for his belief that all students have potential  – has he met Glimmer? The girl’s a walking piece of driftwood – and for his jawline that could probably crack Captain America’s shield in two.

Also, for the fact that he’s my professor, and despite how repulsive student-teacher relationships are, I still can’t catch my breath around him.

But mostly, for the fact that, despite every single reason I have for detesting the sheer sound of his name, I don’t. Not in the slightest.

XXX

“How are you liking the reading so far?”

His voice startles me out of my little fantasy realm, and I drop the book on the table in front of me, almost knocking over my tea. With a face probably the color of pasta sauce, I turn my head to see him standing there, leaning against the edge of my booth.

“Peet—Mr. Mellark,” I stammer, my tongue feeling like a limp rag against my teeth.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but I simply couldn’t pass the moment up when I saw you over here. Knowing my students actually do their work is always so heartwarming .” He motions the copy of Paradise Lost lying on the table in front of me, the one we’ve been working out of this past week in the twelfth-grade English course he teaches.

Naturally, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Too bad your books aren’t.”

With a surprised chuckle, he cups his free hand – the one that isn’t holding the drink he must’ve just ordered – over his heart like he’s been wounded. “Oh, be kind, now. You don’t like Milton?”

“He’s an overconfident chauvinist.” My hand absentmindedly traces the rim of my mug. “And the iambic pentameter is giving me a headache.”

The smile in his eyes makes my stomach do somersaults. “Be grateful I only assigned four books out of the entire poem. Trying to read the whole thing in a week nearly put me in an asylum.”

I note that his coat is still on, his knit hat (fucking hipster) covering his ears and most of his curls, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His coffee’s to-go; he probably only planned on being in the café for a minute, and here I am, monopolizing his precious time by attacking his reading material.

“Sorry, you were probably in a hurry,” I gush, pinning my focus on my knees. “I didn’t mean to hog your attention.”

He waves me off. “No worries.  I was just grabbing something caffeinated to get me through a Sunday Afternoon of lesson planning.”

“Coffee?” I ask, and then cringe. God, why am I being conversational? Each word between us is detrimental to my well-being, because it’s hard to deny any sick, twisted feelings for your teacher when you’re actually talking to him.

“Black tea, actually. You think iambic pentameter gives you a headache… you should see me on coffee.”

Damnit, Katniss, stop smiling at him. Ignore him. Yes, don’t say a word, and then he’ll leave, and then you won’t have to deal with those blue-raspberry-slushie-colored eyes anymore on you and making you feel like your body’s made of pudding— “Do you want to sit with me? You could work on your lesson plans, and I could sit quietly with Milton, and only occasionally express my annoyance.”

I want to punch myself. I actually want to punch myself. That was not in the damn plan, Katniss.

Since when am I so audacious?

He seems a little startled at my outburst, but before I can correct my mistake and turn him away, he smiles softly. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually. Lesson planning is about a thousand times less excruciating if you’ve got company.”

It’s difficult, but I manage to mask my sheer horror as he slides into the booth across from me, slipping his messenger bag off his shoulder and pulling out his laptop. “So, what part are you on?” he asks conversationally.

My throat feels like sandpaper. I swallow hard. “Uh, the part where Eve is being a total narcissist and ogling her reflection in the lake. Because that’s all women are good for, apparently.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his tea, and the sound of his laugh makes me want to die. God, he’s so beautiful. And twenty-five. And my teacher. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m glad you take offense to his writing. When I was in high school, our teachers shoved colorless literature down our throats and expected us to nod our heads at everything written there.”

“But you’re not like that,” I drawl, curling my tongue around each syllable. “You’re trying to culture us.”

“Good literature makes you think.” He sits back. “Great literature makes you respond.”

“You’re too much of an idealist, P—Mr. Mellark. Expecting your average high school students to respond to literature is like asking Jennifer Lawrence to cool it on the pizza.”

“Well, you’re responding to the literature, so clearly I’m not a complete failure.”

Instead of giving me the smug look I expect, he tosses me one of modest admiration, and it makes my heart swell to the size of Canada. This is not okay.

I am not okay.

I have a crush on my teacher, and I. Am. Not. Okay.

XXX

As someone who’s aiming to pursue a degree in Environmental Sciences after graduation, every language arts course I’ve ever taken has been nothing more than a graduation requirement to me. English is the farthest thing from my forte, and I’m about as fond of literary analysis as I am of my sister’s demon cat, Buttercup.

So when I turn in my paper over Paradise Lost, which accounts for twenty-five percent of my semester grade and seventy-five percent of my anxiety for the month, I expect my success in the class to go down in flames like Nixon after Watergate.

The Monday after we turned them in, and Mr. Mellark slips mine upside-down onto my desk, my stomach clenches and I turn it over slowly, my heart lurching to find… no grade.

Instead, I frown as I read over the orange-colored comment at the top, written in his soft script.

Come talk to me after class, Ms. Everdeen.

I want to vomit. Or cry. Or drop out of school. What’s that supposed to mean? Is he going to ask me to redo the entire thing? Because the paper I turned in was eight fucking pages of sweat and tears, and I don’t think I’m emotionally capable of putting myself through that again.

Thankfully, this class is my last of the day, so after the final bell has chimed and the remaining students have filtered out (the girls a little more slowly than the boys, as I’ve realized that people like Glimmer, Clove, and Cashmere always linger a tad bit too long), I slowly wallow up to Mr. Mellark’s desk, my face burning a thousand degrees.

“Hey, Katniss.” He leans back in his swivel chair.

Unable to muster any words, I slip my paper onto his desk, the comment staring him straight in the face.

He nods slightly. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“If you’re going to ask me to rewrite all of it, I’m going to take the essay and give myself a paper cut to the jugular,” I mutter, feeling a little dizzy.

His eyes widen at my suicidal outburst. “Why would I ask you to redo it?”

“Because it’s shit,” I say, and then bite down on my tongue.

And then he chuckles that stupid, beautiful chuckle of his that makes the spot between my thighs ache. Fuck hormones. And fuck his vocal cords. “You think this is bad?”

“I’m sorry, literary analysis isn’t exactly my strong suit.” I’d rather break into my chemistry teacher’s office and pour sulfuric acid on myself that do another one, to be frank.

“Katniss, this is literally the best essay I’ve read from a student.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh?

“You haven’t even been teaching for a full semester,” I say absently, positive that he’s messing with me.

“True, but I graded a lot of papers as a TA when I was getting my Master’s.” He leans forward. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about possibly publishing your analysis.”

“What?”

“I mean, it’d need some touching-up and expanding in areas, but the angle you take is absolutely fantastic. I haven’t seen anything like it before.”

“What?”

“Which is saying something, considering it’s been circulating since the 17th century.”

My eyes are bugging out of my head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I know that English isn’t your favorite subject, but don’t sell yourself short. You get things, to put it simply. You see things that so many other students don’t.”

“You’re just saying that because—” Because what? Because we’ve run into each other in cafés – it was accidental the first time, but then it became a sort of implicit Sunday-afternoon routine – or because I vainly consider myself as one of his favorite students?

He cocks a brow as I cut myself off, but thankfully, doesn’t press further. “If you’re willing to do this, I’d love to help you. Revise, I mean. My goal isn’t to get my name on your final product.”

Then what is your goal?

I stare at him blankly, trying to understand if I’ve just imagined this entire conversation or if Pe—Mr. Mellark has really just offered to help me get something published.

“I—I have to think about it,” I manage to choke out, my voice sounding foreign, like someone outside of my body is speaking for me. And then I turn on my heels, darting out of the classroom.

XXX

“Hey, Peeta?” I ask, looking up from my laptop to see him reclined casually on his sofa, scowling at a document in his hands.

I don’t remember exactly when I got into the habit of calling him by his first name – he started insisting after our seventh coffee-meetup (not that I’d been counting), and it just became integrated of its own accord, until I had to actively remind myself to call him Mr. Mellark in class. Otherwise, Regina George (Glimmer) or her sidekicks might get a little jealous.

But the concept always made me smirk. I was Peeta’s favorite student. He wouldn’t say it, but I could tell I was by the way his focus was trained on me about half of the time during his lectures, and he always went a little gung-ho when it came to writing in the margins of my papers. And he wasn’t afraid to put his hand on my shoulder, or my forearm.

“Hmm?” He looks away from the paper, pushing his glasses up his nose. God, I love his glasses, the only downside being that they partially obscure the blue behind the lenses .

“I was wondering if I could, uh… ask you something.”

He sets the paper down on his legs, giving me his full attention. “Go for it.”

I don’t know why I’m so nervous to ask this from him, since we’ve been getting increasingly comfortable together since we started working on revising my paper over winter break. Once the second semester started up, I continued showing up at his place about three afternoons a week as if we were still working diligently on the paper, although nowadays, I mostly do homework.

Sometimes, he’ll ask me why I come to his apartment just to do assignments when I could do it anywhere else. But there’s no malice in his question – rather, mild amusement – and I always give him the same answer. Because your armchair is so fucking comfortable. He’ll just shake his head, emitting one of his signature chuckles, and retreat to the kitchen to make us both some tea.

“Katniss?” His voice shakes me out of my reverie, and I blink a few times, remembering I had a question to ask.

“Oh, uh… yeah. I was hoping you could, well, maybe write me a letter of recommendation.”

He frowns, but a strange emotion flickers across his face, something almost resembling… disappointment. As if he’d been expecting a different question. “Of course, Katniss.”

“Thank you.” What’s going on? Why is he avoiding my eyes like that? “It’s just that… I really want to go to Capitol for school, but since it’s out of state, tuition there is crazy, and I definitely can’t even afford a tenth of it… I’m going to need some killer recommendations, or—well, I don’t know.”

He nods, his focus suddenly drilling into the paper, into the pen in his hands, into anything but me. “Yeah. I’ll get that to you ASAP, since apps are due soon.”

I open my mouth, searching for some sort of hook to reel him back to me, but I don’t know what I could possibly say.

So, instead, I turn back to my homework and wall myself in, just like him. Two can play at this game.

XXX

Things simmer down between me and Peeta, cooling off even more quickly than they’d heated up. What hurts more than the change, however, is that I don’t know why it’s happened, meaning there’s nothing I can do to mend whatever rift has formed.

He continues to invite me over, mostly because my paper necessitates some revisions, but it’s all suddenly too awkward. So once my essay is finalized, I vow to never set foot in that apartment again.

Thinking about it all makes me cringe. How I bailed when things suddenly became professional, as they’re supposed to be. Peeta and I had been friends, and my schoolgirl crush had morphed into an actual deep-rooted fondness, which he eradicated pretty successfully… I should thank him for that.

Peeta Mellark is my teacher. He’s also eight years older than me. He has his own apartment, and a Master’s degree, and a Prius, and a life all to himself. I’m just getting mine started.

It’s for the best, I promise myself over and over again, pretending I don’t hear his honey-silk voice whenever my fingers slip beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts, and that there isn’t a flash of shimmering blue behind my lids as I tumble off the edge of reality.

XXX

My hands are trembling as I clutch the creased paper in my hands.

Congratulations, Katniss Everdeen!

Everything in my mind is a wild blur of color and light as I struggle to read the rest of the letter. The letter that tells me that not only have I been accepted into Capitol, but I’ve also somehow, miraculously, earned a full-ride.

A full-ride.

Holy shit. I’m going to college.

The paper flutters to the ground as a sudden impulse hijacks my rationale, and I grab my keys from the hook by the front door.

Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m here, at a doorstep I haven’t dared visit in weeks, my knuckles tapping out a firm rhythm on the wood.

When the door swings open, my stomach forms a knot, but I can’t help the smile on my lips that’s wider than the Pacific.

“I don’t know what you wrote, Peeta, but I can’t thank you enough.”

He’s clearly startled by my presence, but it makes my heart thaw to see that he’s obviously not upset by it. Just horribly confused. I can handle confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“The recommendation.” I shuffle over the doormat. “I got a full-ride to Capitol, Peeta. I’m going to college, and it’s because of whatever you put in that letter.”

Momentarily, I think he’s going to follow the pattern he’s been adhering to these past few weeks and give me a slight nod or a forced smile. Something that any normal teacher would give to his normal student.

But then, a bright grin slips over his features, his adorable pincushion dimples hollowing his cheeks.

“That’s incredible,” he congratulates, actually reaching out to grab me by the shoulders, pulling me against him in an unexpected hug. It smushes the breath from my lungs but makes my heart swell at least seventeen times, his warmth encircling me as we stand in the threshold.

It’s the first time he’s ever hugged me, and holy hell, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so weightless, or so electrified.

So much for quashing that schoolgirl crush.

I pull back, grateful that his hands don’t leave my shoulders. “It’s because of you,” I tell him.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a good student,” he contradicts with a chuckle, a sound I hadn’t realized I was so starved for until after it sates me. “You’ve worked so hard this past year.”

His eyes lock with mine, the blue completely washing over everything in my peripheries. The warmth of his palms over the tops of my arms sends high voltage pulsing in my veins, and it makes my heart thump in my throat and my center ache and coil, my senses drowning me.

I don’t know what could’ve possibly led me to do this; perhaps it was my emotions on overdrive, or more likely, a mild stroke, but suddenly I’m leaning forward, standing up on my tiptoes as my arms circle around his neck, my lips slanting under his.

The kiss is soft and impossibly gentle, his lips timidly receiving mine in surprise, but for a moment his grasp on my shoulders tightens, and he draws me in. He feels like satin, and tastes like cinnamon, and I want to melt against his sturdy, comfortable frame.

And then his palms flatten over my collar, delicately but insistently pushing me back.

“Oh, fuck—”

I’m not sure if it’s his rejection or an overwhelming realization of my own capacity for sheer stupidity, but my eyes grow wide as saucers, and I stagger back.

“Peeta, I’m sorry—”

“I’m shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—” His hands move to his hair, twisting anxiously in his yellow curls.

“It’s m-my fault,” I stammer, covering my mouth. “It’s…” What the hell did I just do?

I look up at him, who’s wildly gazing down at me as if I’ve just announced I’m moving to Peru, or as if all my teeth fell out, or as if my skin is green.

Come to think of it, my skin probably is pretty green.

I think I’m about to vomit.

“I—I have to go,” I wheeze, my tongue tasting like lead. I feel like an elephant just sat on my cranium.

As I whirl around, heading for the stairs, I hear Peeta’s voice in his doorway, baffled but anxious.

“Katniss, wait—”

All I manage to force out is a weak, “I’m sorry,” as I hurry down the steps.

What have I done?

[everlarkficquestions]

Teacher peeta with Katniss as student?

Here are some teacher/professor/TA Peetas who have Katniss as a student:

Chemistry - annieoakley1 aka everlarkeologist

A Fine Line to Cross - passionately_curious aka mitchesbcray

Doors and Stockings - lollercakesff

Come Back to Me - Anais117

You Quite So New - atetheredmind aka muttpeeta

Comfort Zone- jennagill

I’ll Never Say Goodbye (Always, Forever) - iknow_write

Extra Credit - slstrow