In December 2013, my friend MockingJayFlyingFree and I (Lbug84) participated in angylinni's holiday fic exchange. We both wrote our stories, created our universes, and somewhere along the road got pulled into each other's projects. We've decide to play around with these characters some more, even though we don't own them.

And so we are pleased to begin this journey, following Katniss and Peeta, and Prim some time after the end of Christmas TV, which you should enjoy first. This story is angst-filled, and we've cranked up the bdsm. But, it's first and foremost a story about broken people finding home with each other.

Thank you to Chelzie for continuing to beta this series. She's absolutely the best. Thank you to dispatchesfromdistrict7 for the original prompt, continued inspiration, and invaluable feedback. Thank you to Emleng for her enthusiasm for this project, checking our medical facts, and prereading with excellent feedback.

We thank you for reading, and hope you enjoy the ride.

Katniss POV

I look away.

I can't begin to imagine what's coming. I deserve it. I know. After all, we were supposed to get married today.

Peeta knew I'd never marry in a church again. He knew it couldn't be anything like it was when I married Gale. He knew because now we both wear the scars of each other's pasts. The thick raised skin on the back of his left hand from cleaning up the shards of a broken vase, an unfortunate victim of my rage. The hidden streaks of tender skin on the insides of my thighs, wounds he caused in his anger.

I expect I'll have new scars after tonight, especially after what I did.

He'd taken me to the courthouse twice already. And both times, I couldn't even bring myself to go inside. Each step I took weighed on my soul, and not even Peeta's hand in mine could help tame the wild emotions of fear, guilt, and resentment. I wanted to, but couldn't marry him. If I did, and I lost him, I don't think I could survive.

But there's more to it than just that. There's a little voice in my head that reminds me that I already took vows. Forever vows. Not just the words I promised at the wedding. Gale and I shared scars, too. Even before we married, we cut open our hands and let our blood flow into each other's and we promised forever. Even though our marriage ended when death did us part, my love for him didn't.

I know it's not fair to Peeta. He's trying to understand. But when I whispered "I can't" and then left him on the steps of the courthouse for a third time, something inside of him snapped. I came home to this. To a master, who barely speaks.

He takes a step towards me. I don't move. I couldn't if I tried; the rope helix has me secured in place, fastened to the hook with my arms above my head. I don't dare meet his eyes.

"Open your mouth."

I obey. As soon as my lips part, I feel the bright pink ball gag against them. He fastens it behind my head and I begin to worry. He never gags me this early. He likes to hear me moan, scream, and beg for him to stop. He wants my breath hitched and my voice weak. I bite down into the gag. This is new.

"Spread your legs."

I know he wants them wide, so wide I can barely stand. He wants the rope to dig into my wrists as I struggle for balance. And I oblige. He moves behind me. I feel his breath on the back of my neck as his hands wrap around me, pinching my nipples before they move down. His left hand spreads me open and his right fingers slide along the length of my slit once before he begins his assault on my clit. He uses the pads of his fingers to rub me quickly back and forth. My stomach muscles tense as I try to fight the building tension.

"Let go," he commands. And again, I find this interesting. He never wants me to cum so soon. But I obey. I always obey. I tug at the rope, lifting myself onto my tiptoes as the waves of my orgasm rise and crest. It's a good high, but it's short. I'm moaning around my gag as he removes his fingers from me.

"Good. That's one."

Uh-oh. How many times does he want me to cum? I can't be certain. All I know is that after a few times, it becomes painful. I quickly realize that's where he wants me, that he'll push my upper limit if he can. And that this ball gag in my mouth prevents me from uttering our safe word. Damn it.

I hear the buzz of one of my toys as Peeta turns it on. I don't recognize which one it is right away, but it doesn't matter. From the sound of it, Peeta has the thing all the way turned up. My clit is still sensitive as he presses the vibrating massager between my legs. I feel the heat rise in my body immediately. I try to stay on top of it and not allow sensation to win just yet. But he knows my body, knows how to make me cum, and he's holding the toy at just the right angle. I surrender. I rock my hips and try to reach it.

"You want to cum again already?" he asks. I nod furiously as I shut my eyes. Peeta presses the vibrator harder against my flesh and my body stiffens in ecstasy. I'm hot, and it feels like I'm about to sweat. But before my body can allow it, I cum. I feel the fluid seep out of my pussy as I eagerly grind against the machine. I hear Peeta chuckle as I ride the wave of my orgasm. He removes the toy and I'm grateful.

"How many times do you think you can cum before you pass out?"

Shit. Seems I'm about to find out.

I'm still breathing heavily, trying to get control over my body when I hear Peeta sift through the drawer. I inch my feet together and try to calm myself down. When I open my eyes, I can see that Peeta's selected a wooden paddle, and tucked it into the waist of his pants. He's still wearing the suit he intended to marry me in.

He releases my hands from the hook and demands that I lie down on the bed, spread my legs, and keep my hands where he can see them. I follow his directions, step by step. He secures my ankles to the posts and I lay bound and gagged with my knees up and my legs spread before him. My pussy is wet, so wet from the two orgasms he forced, and my hips buck ever so slightly with the aftershocks.

I shut my eyes as he moves closer, hovering over me. His fingers touch and tease my erect nipples. When he twists, I moan around the gag. It hurts. So damn good. He presses my knees down and his gaze drifts to the juncture between my legs.

"You've been a very bad girl today, Katniss."

I nod my head. I have been bad. I deserve this. And at the same time, I know I don't deserve him. Peeta removes the paddle from his waistband and my eyes widen in anticipation. Where does he want to use it?

My eyes snap shut and I moan loudly as Peeta brings the paddle down between my legs. The pain is immediate, as the wooden panel makes contact with my moistened clit. I try to pull my knees together, but Peeta holds me open. He brings the paddle down again. And again. Soon I feel how wet the ball gag in my mouth is and how wet my pussy is. I shrink away. If he hits me again, I'll cum. I know it.

And so does he.

"Do you want more? Or do you want cock?"

"Cock!" I try to tell him. But my voice is muffled. Oh God, I know how hard I'll cum if he fucks me right now, but my request is garbled. And instead of his hot thick length inside of me, I'm met with another strike of the paddle. It causes me to gush as my hips jerk up off the bed. Hot fluid rushes out of my body, soaking the sheets beneath me.

"Damn." Peeta voice drifts to the forefront of my mind. I feel his finger lazily trace along my slit. "I should've been inside of you for that."

I nod my head. That's what I wanted, too.

"Guess I'll catch the next one."

The next one? I'm already exhausted. I can't cum anymore. But I know this will be unacceptable to Peeta. He lets me catch my breath before he stands, walking away from the bed, leaving me a sweaty, shaking pile of mush and desire. He's back quickly, holding something in his left hand. I bite my bottom lip as the cool metal of the clamp grazes my nipple. I whimper as he attaches them, one at a time. He smiles at the noise.

"You can take more," he says huskily as he leans over me, my body still exhausted, legs still spread for him. I don't flinch when his fingers slide along my entrance. I don't even blink as he sinks two thick fingers into me. But as his free hand presses down on my abdomen, I shut my eyes. The pressure is decadent. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, and his thumb grazes my swollen, sensitive clit. My legs are shaking and my body is covered in goosebumps. It's too much. My body contracts around him. I'm already cumming again, so hard that my entire body is rigid. But Peeta doesn't stop. His fingers move faster. I want to beg him to stop, but I can't.

I can't.

I don't feel him remove his fingers from me. It's not until he tugs the clamps from my nipples, sending jolts of pain through my entire body, that I realize he's moved. Through the pain I register that he's hovering over me again. He reaches down and unbuckles the ball gag, removing it from my mouth and tossing it aside. When his eyes meet mine again, he raises his eyebrows. He's giving me the opportunity to use our safe word. And I'm tempted to... But when I open my mouth, I surprise even myself.

"That's all you've got?"

Peeta's eyes darken and he lowers his body to mine. He enters me in one smooth motion, causing me to cry out as his cock fills me completely. I'm unable to move against the rope, or move away from his deep thrusts. Peeta sits back on his haunches and uses the rope wrapped around my waist to pull me closer. My body slides along the wet sheets as he plunges into me over and over in sweet punishment. His fingers spread me open and he presses into me deeper. His thumb and forefinger pinch my clit.

"Aciyor!" I cry out.

"Good," Peeta growls. He fucks me harder, faster.

"Yavaş gitmek... Please..." I beg. "Please, please..."

But he doesn't go slower. He likes when I beg. He ignores my pleas for mercy. It lasts minutes, maybe an hour. By the time he finally cums inside of me, my pussy is numb.

He lifts me off the bed, and the sheets follow. He unties the knots holding me in place, then tosses my limp body back down onto the sheet-less bed. I want to scold Peeta. But I can't, I'm too exhausted. I don't think he's ever fucked me so hard.

"There's blood on the sheets," Peeta sighs. "Where are you bleeding?"

I shrug my shoulders. I honestly don't know. I manage to curl up on my side of the bed. I feel Peeta's hands on me as he inspects my body for open wounds. He finds it, a small gash on the mound of my right breast, my new scar.

"Must've been the clamps," he muses. Or maybe it was the way he recklessly tore them from my body. "Should heal in a few days," he says as he dresses the wound.

I don't answer. I don't budge. I don't even move as Peeta drapes a fresh sheet over us.

I'm surprised when he pulls me close. He tucks his knees into mine and nuzzles his face in my hair. He's sweet, so different from the man who just ripped orgasms from my body and then fucked me with all his might. He doesn't ask me if what he did was okay. He simply rests his hand over my heart, listening to the sound of my breath.

"I... Got you a wedding gift," he says quietly.

I open my mouth to tell him that's not necessary. We didn't get married. But his fingers move and he's tracing the outline of my body with his fingertip. And I tense as his nails rake across my hip. I can't tell what his intentions are, if he plans to hurt me again tonight.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" he asks. His hand tightly grips my hip. I nod into the pillow.

"Answer me, Katniss."

"Y-yes," I croak. My throat is sore from screaming.

"Plane tickets." His hips press against my ass.

"To where?"

He exhales loudly and rolls away. "Izmir."

Peeta POV

I wake up first. I usually do. I look at her in the soft morning light. She looks so different from the screaming, begging, writhing woman I fucked last night. Not good different or a bad different, just… she looks like she's someone else.

The blanket has slipped down from her shoulder, exposing one of her breasts. I see the evidence that she is, in fact, the same woman who was under my control: the dressing on the wound of her breast. Blood has almost seeped through it; I can see the reddish brown outline of it against the outer plastic lining of the dressing. I want to reach out and touch it, but I don't. I feel guilty and aroused at the same time. Sometimes things get a little out of hand, and I know that using the gag means she can't use our safe word. It means I have to be even more attentive to her signals. The signals she sends out behind the shaking, moaning and protesting, the signals that tell me when I've gone too far. I don't think I did last night, but I remind myself that I need to be careful. I don't want to hurt her - notreally hurt her.

I get out of bed and put on a robe. I walk into the kitchen and find Prim there.

"Good morning," I say to her. I wonder if she heard us last night. I guess there is no way she could avoid hearing us.

"Good morning." Prim gives me a cup of tea, something strong and Turkish that I can't pronounce but have come to enjoy. She is more quiet than usual, though. She looks pale and tired. Did we keep her up last night? Fuck, we need to soundproof our apartment. Since her new doctors diagnosed her epilepsy correctly, changing her drug regime in the process, she doesn't collapse in bed at nine, lost to the world anymore. I'm glad her condition is much better controlled now, and that she is experiencing fewer side effects. But at the same time, her old medication did make a few things easier – such as what we did last night, and our regular show.

"Are you okay?" she finally asks.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"She didn't marry you." It's not a question. Prim wasn't at the courthouse yesterday. She was there the first time, which escalated into a nightmare. The second time, we went there without telling her, but she found out when we came home. Katniss broke things, the way she always does when the pain gets to be too much. She even called me Gale once that night, when I tried to calm her down after she'd broken half of our plates. I don't think I've ever seen her that upset.

Katniss calling me by her dead husband's name, on the day we were supposed to get married, was too much for me. We ended up screaming at each other. So yeah, Prim definitely found out what happened. She deserved to know in advance this time, to give her the chance to be present if she wanted to. Because this time, Katniss assured me that she would marry me.

Prim couldn't make it because she had a test. And considering how yesterday turned out, I'm actually grateful. After Katniss left, I needed some space. Katniss did too, I guess. I don't know what she did or where she went, but I arrived home before she did. Our gloomy mood yesterday must've told Prim what happened, or rather what didn't happen - combined with the punishment she no doubt heard last night.

"No, she didn't," I admit.

"Is she okay?"

I pause, thinking about how she cried yesterday. The dressing on her breast. No, she isn't. "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

I shrug my shoulders. No, I'm not. "Yes."

And I know that Prim can see right through my lies.

"I got us all a wedding present," I tell her, trying to change the subject.

"You got a present for me, too?" She looks confused. I can't say I blame her, considering I'm bringing up wedding presents when I just told her the wedding didn't happen.

"It would be a shame to waste it." I get up from my chair, and give her an envelope I hid in a drawer so Katniss wouldn't find it. I guess there's no harm in giving it to Prim now, considering. "Open it."

She shakes her head. "It says 'Katniss' on the envelope."

"It's okay," I tell her. "I told her last night. She already knows."

Hesitatingly, she opens the envelope. Inside are four sheets of plain office paper, printed on our cheap, barely functioning ink printer. She smoothes out the paper, then looks up when she realizes what they are. "Plane tickets to Izmir. For all three of us."

"Yeah. I figured we could go over Easter. It's supposed to be a good time of the year to visit, before it gets too hot."

She nods. "Yeah." She pauses. "How did Katniss react?"

How did she react, really? "She, um… she was okay. She fell asleep shortly after." She cried. Again. It was definitely not the reaction I'd expected.

"It's going to be weird to go back there. I haven't been home since I was seven."

"I've never even been abroad before. I'll have to get my very first passport."

I hoped that Katniss would go to the post office with me to get one, too. A new passport with a last name other than Hawthorne in it. Fuck.

"We can go together. I need a new one, too. Mine expired." Then she looks over my shoulder. "Good morning, Katniss."

"Good morning." Katniss has obviously taken a shower, and she's dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a tank top. She braided her hair. She usually leaves her hair loose when she's wearing a tank top, to cover her scars. But she doesn't care when it's just Prim and me. We know all about them. "How'd you sleep?"

"I had that dream again. It's so vivid."

"Maybe you should try getting to bed earlier," Katniss suggests. She sits down at the table. She won't meet my eyes. This isn't good.

Prim clearly picks it up, too. "So Peeta showed me the plane tickets. There's even a layover in Amsterdam."

"It's not a very exciting layover. We only have about three hours between the connecting flights, so we won't be able to actually see Amsterdam." I don't know why it feels like I have to defend myself for going with the cheapest option instead of a direct flight to Istanbul. "I rented an apartment for us in Izmir. A holiday thing, two bedrooms, a living room, and kitchen. I thought it would be nice not to live in a hotel." It only occurs to me now that perhaps I should've asked where their family lives before I rented that apartment. When Katniss first told me she came from Izmir, I thought it was some tiny, poor Turkish village full of dust and goats. Turns out Izmir is a metropolis of four million inhabitants. I have no idea where her family lives at all. They could live hours away from the apartment I rented for all I know. "Um, I don't know where your family lives," I say sheepishly.

"I don't know myself. I haven't been there since before our parents died," Katniss says. It's the first thing she's said to me all morning.

"I think most of our cousins live in downtown Izmir now. At least it looks that way from the photos they post on Facebook," Prim says. "Our parents used to live in one of the suburbs, near the sea. We got a Christmas card from Uncle Haymitch. He wrote that he's moved to the village our parents came from before they moved to the city."

"He sends you Christmas cards? I thought he was Muslim."

Katniss shrugs. "He can still send Christmas cards. It's the only time of the year we hear from him, anyway."

There's an awkward silence.

"Well, I'm off to school. See you tonight," Prim says, and then she's out the door. It's as if she couldn't get out of the apartment fast enough, but I can't blame her.

The awkward silence continues after Prim's left. Katniss won't look at me. She stares down into her cup of tea. Finally, I break the silence. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't answer.

"Did I hurt you?"

She inadvertently glances down at her chest for just a second, but I don't miss it. I know she doesn't care about scars, or pain, even. She's used to both. But last night was different. Then she shakes her head.

"Did I go too far?"

Silence.

"So you're okay?"

"No, I'm not," she says quietly. "And neither are you. I'm sorry. I know it's my fault."

I tighten my grip on the glass in my hand and I'm surprised it doesn't shatter between my fingers. "Why?"

She sighs. "I can't have this discussion. We tried last time, and nothing good came out of it." That was after the second time we tried to get married. We barely spoke for a week afterwards. "I understand why you did what you did last night, okay? You didn't go too far. I trust you."

That's when it hits me. She says she trusts me. But she doesn't. She can't trust me, because if she had, she would have married me.

And I don't trust her, either. Not anymore.

Katniss POV

Peeta thinks it's random.

Every time I smash a plate or turn over a chair, he thinks it's by chance, or maybe even of my own volition, that my thoughts have drifted to Gale. But there's nothing random about it. Peeta doesn't realize that he's the catalyst.

I should've known. I should've seen. The first time I fed him, and he mimicked him perfectly. The questions, the hesitation. Gale was the same. But I was lonely, and Peeta was all blond haired and blue eyed and seemingly nothing like him. But beneath their exteriors, they are so alike.

It's the little things. The way he sits on the couch, rooting for the same basketball team while I grab him a beer. "Come on, ref! That was a foul!" Peeta said. And Gale said, too. And they both stood from the couch and gestured wildly towards the screen. I didn't throw the bottle. I don't think I did, anyway. But when I opened my eyes, Peeta was in front of me, speaking softly and collecting shards of glass from the floor.

It's the bigger things, too. When Prim was on depakote, the medicine seemed to make her periods hellish. She was tired and moody, but Peeta was so patient with her. He'd make her tea he couldn't pronounce and fill a hot water bottle for her. And at the end of the night, he'd wrap his arms around her, kiss her cheek and poorly say goodnight in Turkish. Gale picked up some of our language, too. Living with me and Prim, it's impossible not to. And Peeta makes a lot of the same mistakes in pronunciation. "Allah Re...ren" he said as he waved to her and she disappeared into her room. I don't remember breaking the chair. But I remember the pain that coursed through my foot. I'd broken my toe, and Peeta only sighed once as we took a cab to the ER. He probably didn't think I noticed, but I did.

I'd just arrived home from the courthouse, after our second attempt at marriage. I'd wandered the streets aimlessly for hours before I was finally so exhausted that I went home. My feet were sore. Peeta, tired and defeated, got up from the couch the second he saw me. He held me close and whispered, "Why?" It was the first time he'd asked. And I wanted to give him an explanation. But he didn't know he'd done it again.

I didn't marry Gale the first time, either. My parents passed away only two days after my 18th birthday, and the loss was still so raw that I couldn't imagine letting another person in. Gale didn't understand. He thought it was him. I felt him slipping away, and I couldn't lose him, too.

After I left Gale at the altar, only 6 months after my parents died, he found me still in my wedding dress, on the playground where we first met. He wasn't angry. He simply knelt down in front of me, held my hand and asked me, "Why?"

"I've already lost so much," I told him.

"You won't lose me."

"But what it you leave? Like they did."

"Oh, Katniss," he sighed. "I can't promise you that won't happen. But I love you so much. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you."

And he did. On the day I finally married him, I spent an hour hyperventilating at the church. But I went through with it. And two years later, I lost him. I tried, but I couldn't save him. I can still feel the flames licking my back, burning my hair and my shirt as I dragged his lifeless body away from the fire. Part of me knew he was already gone, but I couldn't leave him. It's amazing how you can feel so powerful and still so helpless at the same time.

I could feel Peeta slipping away then, too. I know he deserved an answer to his question. But instead of explaining, I turned my rage on our kitchen. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight and begging me to calm down. I knew as soon as Gale's name left my tongue I'd made a mistake. But my apologies meant nothing. They won't mean anything today, either.

He reaches out for me, his index finger tracing the underside of my wounded breast.

"Trust," he repeats. I nod my head, hoping he believes me.

He moves quickly, grabbing my breast in his hand and squeezing tightly. I grimace and shut my eyes, but I don't make a sound. I don't struggle or stop him. And when he lets go, I bite my bottom lip and breathe through the pain.

"I have to go to work."

I nod my head. "Okay... Lunch?"

"Yeah. I'll see you soon."

He doesn't say goodbye. Neither do I.

Even after he's left for work, I'm still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at the door.