#Everlark fanfic

[triassictriserratops]

"our little fires" is one of my favorite things ever, EVERYONE needs to read this!!!!

our little fires

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Chapters: 3/3

Rating: M

Wordcount: 56248

Pale as a ghost, Peeta climbs the steps. It’s so silent in the Square that I hear the wood creak. The tears are streaming down his face now. Curling his hands into fists along his sides, he takes his place next to me. Finally, reality sinks in, crushing me. I’m not going to wake up. They want me to kill the boy with the bread. They want me to kill the boy I love. (or: The Hunger Games but Katniss and Peeta are a couple when they are reaped.)

READ CHAPTER 3 ON AO3

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

When the Rooster Misses the Dawn

So I saw this post from @triassictriserratops and asked if I could have a go at it, since I do enjoy writing some oblivious Gale letting his arrogance where Katniss is concerned lead him into accidental voyeurism. What can I say? I hope you enjoy and this cheers you up a bit, my friend!

RATED M for mild sexual content, accidental voyeurism, and brief mention of miscarriage.

Written in haste and not beta read so all mistakes are mine.

***

There existed only a handful of situations dire enough to wrest Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne from his duties. Of course, his duties lay so far afield from home that word of the disaster took months to reach him. 

The news first took the form of a letter from his mother. He hardly gave countenance to it. Surely she must be mistaken, he thought as he read the preposterous claims. Katniss engaged to be married? Impossible. She and Gale had an agreement. Nothing official, to Gale’s great chagrin. He had meant to formalize it before he left, but so many other details had captured his attention. Ensuring his family’s security before he left, for one. There was also the matter of that pretty little blonde claiming him as the sire of her brat. 

He couldn’t very well outright propose to Katniss while dealing with that potential catastrophe. It had been costly but well worth it in the end. While the tidy sum and stern words he’d given the girl had hushed her, Gale found himself floundering for the words ample enough to convey his intentions to his true beloved when the time came.

He thought she had understood. No. He was certain Katniss had understood. She had no wish to marry immediately but would welcome a proposal from a good man she could respect, one who could provide her with security and stability, she had told him. Who would help her see Primrose educated and launched into society at the appropriate age. A man who would be a dutiful father to her children and a willing caretaker to her mother, should Mrs. Everdeen live to see her elderly years. Gale had been certain she meant him. Who else could she have meant? 

He had left home, confident that Katniss would wait for him to secure his status in the army. They would marry as soon as he returned home. That was his understanding of the matter. His mother must be mistaken. 

Still, to be certain, he had dispatched a letter to Katniss, laughingly commenting on the preposterous rumors about her marital status. While he waited for her reply, he dispatched his military duties with alacrity, even with enjoyment at times. And if he occasionally spent a small, token amount of his earnings on pleasurable company, no man in his right mind would chastise Gale for the weakness. 

The fact that the number of women whose bed he had warmed numbered too great for him to count did not signify. He consoled himself with the conviction that his knowledge of the carnal delights would only enhance his skill in the marriage bed. Katniss, he was certain, would have no recourse to complain if he could provide her with unparalleled ecstasy as well as a parcel of strong, healthy children.

A second letter from his mother reached him before any reply from Katniss. In this letter, Mrs. Hawthorne delivered the news that it was done. Katniss had been married a sennight previous to the penning of the missive he held in his hand. His mother had been in attendance at what she called a “lovely but rather hasty affair.” A quick calculation revealed to Gale the horrific possibility. The letter had clearly been waylaid. If indeed it were true, his darling Catnip had been wedded and bedded four months prior.

Gale denied it as long as possible. Until three days hence when at last a letter arrived from Katniss herself. No, not a letter. A mere note of five sentences. It too had been mislaid, likely due to the dampness that obscured some of Katniss’s already messy penmanship. Had she been in tears when she wrote this?

My dear friend,

I haven’t the time to give the news more than a few sentences, but indeed it is no jest. I write to you as a married woman and we depart this very morning for my husband’s estate. I have only time to provide you with my new direction. Write to me, Gale. I fear you would not understand our marriage and I could not bear it if it were the reason for the dissolution of our friendship.

Lady Katniss Mellark

Lady! So then, she had married a lord. Gale seethed at the indignation. She must have been induced into marriage for the sake of money. The security and stability she had claimed to desire for herself and her family was to blame. He had known that Katniss and her family existed constantly on the verge of gentile poverty, but had he known the situation to be so dire, he would have offered for her hand much sooner. Far better to be wed and separated for an untold number of months rather than see Katniss sell herself into marriage to a lord. No doubt an old, doddering fool of a lord, at that.

Such injustice! Gale raged for months, convinced of his righteous fury at the indignity Katniss must be suffering at the hands of her revolting spouse. To be forced to play nursemaid to an aging fool, and to then submit herself to his no doubt odious and lecherous advances in the marriage bed. No! It was not to be bourne.

It took days for the Colonel to untangle his affairs, both military and personal, enough for him to request a leave of absence. He wrote to Katniss at her new direction, providing a date she could expect him to visit. The journey required interminable weeks which he spent planning his strategies. How to convince Katniss to escape her horrific marriage, or encourage her to speed her husband’s journey to the grave. He would, of course, lend any assistance she might need in the matter.

At last, he arrived at the estate of Lord Peeta and Lady Katniss Mellark, Earl and Countess of Baecare. As he reined in his steed, his gaze swept the rather humble facade of the manor home. A place so quaint should prove no challenge for him to storm. A mere servant greeted him and as he gave his name, he was informed that Lady Katniss was currently indisposed.

“May I show you to your room? My lady will join you in the parlor after you’ve had a chance to freshen up and settle in your room.”

Gale agreed to the terms of engagement and dismounted. He had little enough in the way of luggage and carried it himself as he followed the maid inside.

The interior of the house impressed him even less than the exterior. He could not be terribly wealthy, this Lord Mellark, Gale thought as he examined the house. So simple and lacking in ostentation. Katniss could not be happy to have sold herself for so little. How exactly was this Lord Mellark meant to support Katniss, her sister, and her mother if he could so ill afford the luxuries of a wealthy home? 

He found his chambers serviceable but unimpressive. He had shared a bed with a courtesan whose chambers put this one to shame in terms of wealth and opulence. This house was no more than a country farm. To think that her husband claimed nobility with this shabby residence!

Gale freshened his appearance, and satisfied that Katniss, although he had never known her to be given to flights of romanticism, might in fact be swept off her feet by his dashing appearance, Gale made his way to the parlor to wait.

A footman offered him a drink and poured a glass of Scotch for him, then left him in silence to contemplate the room. He found more of the same. Serviceable but falling short of his expectations for the home of an earl.

“Forgive my intrusion,” a voice broke Gale’s strategic concentration and he turned about to find a man entering the room, one arm working a gleaming wooden crutch as he limped closer, an affable smile on his face. A young man, dressed in simple but fine clothes. A dark blue coat over an intricately embroidered, pale green waistcoat. His shirt and cravat crisp white and his breeches a soft, almost buttery shade of tan. Despite the man’s obviously deformed leg and limp, he wore gleaming riding boots. 

“You must be Colonel Hawthorne. Welcome to our home. Katniss has spoken so warmly of you that I feel I know you already,” the stranger said and stopped far enough away to execute a polite bow. “Please, allow me to refresh your drink.”

Gale stood there as the stranger claimed his glass and refilled it.

“I hope your journey was swift and untroubled?”

“A little longer than I had hoped, but no challenges I could not handle.” The stranger chuckled and offered the refilled glass to Gale. He accepted it and attempted to puzzle out who this young, cheerful man could possibly be in relation to Katniss. Surely this was not the Lord of the Manor… or perhaps it was.

“Indeed. My lady has spoken at length about how capable her dear friend Gale Hawthorne is in all matters,” the man spoke the words and yet Gale could not absorb them fully. His lady. Of course servants address their mistress with the honorific, but this man did not dress like a servant. Perhaps the lord’s son and heir, then? A cripple, how embarrassing. Perhaps then the aging Lord Mellark had offered comfort and wealth to Katniss in the form of a dowager title in the hopes of producing a different, younger heir…

“Peeta. You are not teasing our guest already, I hope.”

Gale found himself paralyzed at the sound of her voice. Months now he had dreamt of her and her lovely voice. Now to hear it addressing this man, so familiarly, he could hardly bear it. Of course she must act as required. Still, it stung.

The pain only alleviated a little as he turned at last and noticed an unprecedented pallor to her skin. 

“Lady Mellark,” he managed to say as she came forward and clasped his hands, presenting her cheek for him to rest his against. An old family greeting. He could hardly stand to feel the meager brush of her skin against his when he longed to pull her fully into his arms. But then she was gone, removing her hands even from his grasp. “It has been too long.”

“Far too long, and you are a wretched correspondent,” she declared.

“No worse than you,” he retorted and the other man laughed. 

“She does seem to demand far more in words than she is willing to return,” he said. Katniss turned her face enough to scowl slightly at the man, but he seemed unashamed and unaware of her expression. “But no matter. My lady finds her own means of conveying her thoughts.”

The only advantage to her ire was the flush that rose to Katniss’s cheeks, chasing away the frightening pallor. Perhaps then the man was not so oblivious, Gale considered, but had no chance to delve into deeper strategic observations.

“You must forgive my husband, Gale. He believes himself to be an unparalleled wit,” Katniss declared with a saucy lift to her chin. So then this was in fact Lord Mellark. Young and crippled. Not much better a match than old and crippled. Still, perhaps Gale’s plans could still work. He sensed indeed that Katniss would need them to work.

They sat then, and conversed, covering Gale’s journey and the other required topics. All of it quite banal as tea was served and sipped. Katniss ate but one biscuit, a little surprising given how healthy her appetite had always been, at least to Gale’s knowledge.

He hoped for some time alone with Katniss, to pry further into the particulars of their marriage, so that he might fine tune his strategies for extricating her from what was clearly an unfortunate marriage. He became only more convinced of the need to free Katniss from the odious union when she suggested that she show Gale about the estate, and Lord Mellark intervened.

“My dear, the Colonel has ridden a long way on his journey. Perhaps he might prefer rest. Or perhaps a walk in the gardens.”

“I can manage a ride quite well enough. I am used to long days of difficult work,” Gale countermanded, but Katniss demurred.

“No, my husband is quite right. You should rest before dinner. We shall ride out in the morning instead,” she declared, and Gale could not argue without seeming rude. He bowed in acquiescence but rather than accepting their invitation to walk with them both in the gardens, he declined and retired to his chambers.

Yet he did not rest. Instead, he paced his rooms. At one point, he lingered at his window long enough to catch sight of them returning to the house. Katniss’s dress, he noted, seemed to be stained in several places and her hat trailed by the ribbons behind her. Lord Mellark seemed oblivious to her shocking state and even laughed as she gripped the balustrade before slowly making her way into the house.

Manners be damned, Gale was ready to charge to her room when a servant appeared to inform him that dinner would be served in a half hour.

Thwarted, Gale fumed as he dressed for dinner. He silently fumed as Katniss made awkward attempts to draw him into conversation over dinner and ate little again. Was she ill? What had the bastard husband done to her? Gale wondered as he ate what he would otherwise deem an exquisite meal. The table seemed populated with all his favourite foods, a detail that he noted as a plea from Katniss. A silent reminder that this should have been their marriage table. Not Lord Mellark’s.

She retired early, leaving Gale alone to converse with Lord Mellark in the study. He used the opportunity to study the man as best he could. What little he gleaned only further convinced Gale of the man’s unsuitability to act as Katniss’s husband.

A third born son, not even intended for the title, who had lost his entire family in a tragic fire at one of their older estates while he had been away. 

Third born sons, Gale mentally scoffed, so needless and undesired as to inevitably fall into the dissolute lives of gamblers, wastrels, amoral spendthrifts, and seducers of innocent maidens and opera singers. Gale wondered then if Katniss’s clearly declining health were due to the obvious unhappiness of her marriage or to something more sinister. Perhaps Mellark had infected her with some terrible venereal disease!

The idea gave him pause, but no. His love for Katniss transcended such petty matters. He would not punish her for her husband’s cruelty in inflicting such a disease on her. Gale would love her regardless, passionately even, and in every sense of the word. As soon as they were free of her husband.

Even if a venereal disease were not the culprit, Katniss could not be happy saddled with a crippled husband. Gale knew how she disliked dealing with injuries, suffering from queasiness at the mere discussion of her mother’s skills as a healer. Perhaps this was it then! Of course Katniss was constantly ill around her husband. He was permanently injured and she required to face such an injury each time he demanded his marital rights in her bed.

Gale continued to fume and build a case against her husband. When he spotted Katniss fingering a faintly tarnished trinket hanging on a chain around her neck, he formed the theory that Lord Mellark, as a third son, was ill equipped to handle the fortune entrusted to him. Yes, that must be the reason for the modesty of their home, and the gold locket perhaps the only bit of finery left to Katniss that had not yet been sold to pay for her husband’s debts. 

No matter. Gale would shower her with jewels, if she would have them, once they were free of her husband. If she would accept them, of course. Katniss had always hated the pompousness that came with wealth and the ostentation that seemed to flow from every thread of the lives of the wealthy, and even from their pores.

As the days passed, Gale only became more convinced of the need to free Katniss from her marriage. Because despite all the mounting evidence that Lorn Mellark must be the worst sort of husband for Katniss, and that she must be genuinely miserable in her marriage, Gale could not help but like the man.

Damn his eyes! Lord Mellark projected a character so opposite to what Gale knew he must truly be. The devious man made it nearly impossible to hate him. Until Gale recalled the privileges Lord Mellark enjoyed beneath Katniss’s skirts.

He had his strategy prepared, even allowing for the fact that they would need to make haste to retrieve her sister and mother, in order to protect them from Lord Mellark’s wrath and retribution once he realized Gale had spirited away his wife.

Finally, Katniss’s health seemed to improve, and on a night when she declared herself to be famished and then consumed a prodigious amount of food, Gale decided it was time to enact his plan. He suffered through the after dinner pleasantries, although he did fully enjoy the delights of Katniss’s singing. He’d never known her to have such a sweet, melodious singing voice, and he realized that he had never heard her sing before this night. 

Her voice seemed to take wing and soar about the room, and he was awash in emotion, so overcome that he hardly noticed her husband’s clumsy playing of the pianoforte in accompaniment to her song, nor did he countenance the small gesture of Lord Mellark grasping her hand and lifting it to his mouth for a soft kiss after the song had ended.

Katniss shivered in revulsion, and begged leave to retire shortly afterwards. That was all that mattered to Gale. Tonight, he would go to her and declare himself and his intentions. A sneak attack in her chambers, although he fully expected her to fall weeping into his arms in gratitude.

Perhaps not weeping, he amended as he grimaced and dismissed the servant. He packed his belongings then and waited, tracking the moon’s progress across the sky until the hour when he could be certain Lord Mellark slumbered in his bed.

***

Katniss sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. Her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the reflection in the mirror. On the open door behind her that led to her husband’s rooms. She despised this concession to wealth and nobility in their house. She had in fact been meaning to remedy the odious arrangements of their rooms since they first arrived. But the excitement and anticipation of waiting for him each night had provided a thrilling and diverting distraction for far longer than she had expected. And then the baby. The one she had lost.

She nearly began weeping again thinking of the babe, but no. She lifted her chin and forced herself to appear serene. It would not do to have Peeta see her in tears. He had been delaying this night far longer than she desired, far longer than the doctor had recommended, at first out of concern for her health, and then out of concern for her broken heart.

Tonight, she would wait no more. Peeta would return to her bed or she would march to his room and seduce him. But he would not ignore her summons. Of that she was certain. She had sent him a note. His precious words he always begged from her lips, although he wielded them far better than she ever hoped to do.

Come to my bed, husband, or suffer my wrath come the morning. Love me again.

With all my heart, body, and soul,

Katniss

Perhaps a bit pathetic, but she was desperate. Having Gale in the house only increased her frustration since Peeta seemed overly conscious of setting her childhood friend at ease. He had barely touched her this past fortnight and she was half starved and out of her mind with need for all the small intimacies she’d grown accustomed to receiving from him. That was why she’d nearly combusted and simultaneously melted into a puddle at his feet when he kissed her hand after she sang tonight.

Damn him and his sense of hospitality. She would have him tonight and have him fully. If she moaned loud enough to bring the rafters down on Gale’s head in the guest room down the hall, then so be it.

At last, she saw him filling the doorway, leaning against the frame as he gazed on her, a familiar and achingly welcome heat and longing burning in his blue eyes. She controlled her breathing as best she could, but her heart she could not command. It raced with excitement. With love.

It had taken her far too long to admit it to herself, but once she had, her heart seemed intent on making up for her slow awareness of her emotions, inundating her entire being with passion and love for this man. Even now after months of marriage, she yearned for him.

“You commanded my presence, my lady,” he murmured and Katniss shivered again, this time at the dark intimacy in his voice. The velvety promise in his tone. Her knees shook as she stood and she strode across the room, uncertain she would make it to the bed before she collapsed.

“And you were wise to heed my command, my lord.”

He smiled at her sassy retort and met her there, beside the bed. She stared at his chest, both of them breathing heavily, the air pulsing with anticipation. He leaned his crutch against the bed and cupped her cheeks in his warm, broad palms. She leaned into his touch letting his familiar, beloved scent wash over her.

“Katniss, my love,” he murmured, sounding almost in pain. It satisfied her to know he had felt the denial of their love as deeply as she had. It soothed her irritation at him enough to spur her into action. Katniss lifted her face to his, and rose onto her toes, opening her eyes only for a moment, so that she might see the hungry expression in his blue eyes before their lips met.

***

Gale paused outside the door and smiled to himself. His silent tread, developed through years of hunting beside his father -- a gamesman to a lord -- and then through years as a soldier, had come in useful tonight. He had arrived at Katniss’s chamber door undetected. He pressed his ear to the closed panel. No sounds within, but just as he reached for the door handle, a loud clatter sounded inside followed by a swift curse in a man’s voice and a feminine giggle.

A giggle?

Never in his life had Gale known Katniss to giggle. He pressed his ear more firmly to the seam between the double doors and listened. Silence again. Still, he waited. He could be patient. His quarry lay within and he would not be denied victory this night.

When the clock down the hall began to strike the hour, he used the sound to mask his knock. A mere light rap. Likely not enough to wake Katniss, but he must try the polite approach before he intruded. He reached again for the door handle, but when he pushed down, nothing happened. 

Locked!

Steeling himself, he curled his hand into a fist and prepared to knock again. A little louder this time, he thought, but then a new sound reached his ears. It sounded… yes it sounded like moaning. Was Katniss injured? He tried the handle again to no avail and dropped to his knees. He felt a little foolish using the keyhole to spy on his beloved, but he had little choice. He needed to ascertain the situation before he charged within.

With his ear to the opening, he could hear much more clearly. Katniss was indeed moaning, a desperate and inconsolate sound. But just as he prepared to stand, intending to kick down the door and storm inside, coherent words reached his ear.

“Peeta, my love! Oh!”

Gale froze. The sounds morphed and penetrated his brain at last as Katniss’s moans grew in intensity.

Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne had warmed the beds of many women. Too numerous to count, in fact. And as he knelt before the locked bedchamber door of his beloved Katniss, the sounds within finally coalesced into something truly horrific. His brain knew that it was time for a strategic retreat as he listened to Katniss moan and whimper in ecstasy. But his body would not obey his commands. All he could manage was to turn his head and peer through the keyhole. To spy upon his love and watch in horror as she threw her head back on her pillows, her bosom heaving beneath her askew nightshift and her hands grasping at a head of blonde hair moving between her thighs. At a pair of pale, bare shoulders as he pleasured her with his mouth. The wooden crutch discarded on the floor would reveal her lover’s identity even if the sound of his name falling in sighs off her lips did not.

“Ung! Peeta, please,” she whimpered and writhed and then gasped as her body convulsed.

Still, Gale could not walk away. Not while Katniss smiled and hummed and petted his hair in the aftermath of her passion. Not while he could clearly hear the wet sounds of Lord Mellark dutifully worshipping between his wife’s thighs. Not when Katniss’s breathing evened out and she released a content thigh, opening her eyes as Lord Mellark rose up above her, and her smile widened.

“Now… now I steal your words, husband of mine,” she said and placed one hand on her husband’s chest, deftly pushing him over onto his back. She followed him, straddling his thighs and Gale nearly vomited as he caught sight of Lord Mellark’s disgustingly pleased and clearly besotted face as he gazed up at Katniss.

When she reached for her shift and began to lift it off her body, Gale finally broke himself free of the spell and stood. He stood there, blind but unfortunately not deaf as he stared at the door and attempted to refigure everything he had seen during his visit in this house.

And when the sounds of mutual pleasure within grew too loud to bear, Gale finally forced his feet to obey. He walked away, back to his rooms, his tread disconcertingly loud, but it mattered not. Who could possibly hear his retreat that mattered when his beloved Katniss wailed and sang her pleasure with such unmatched enthusiasm and volume?

[thesunpersists]

The Yellow Line

“Is this my punishment for being annoying, Katniss? ‘Cause I actually don't mind pillow fights with gorgeous half-naked women.” He grabs her wrists and pulls her closer. “I won't let it go because I want us to have this all the time. We won’t need to worry about the last bus, the weather, or someone hearing us... It'll be just you and me."

-

Two households, both alike in lack of privacy. Will Katniss and Peeta manage to get away and have a place of their own? Maybe somewhere on the yellow line?

Set six months after Katniss with a K and Codename: B³.

Read on ao3!

This is for  @browneyeddevil who left a lovely comment on Codename: B³ and requested I write something about the last part of the story, which goes:

“One of these days,” she thinks to herself, “you will spend the night in his bed in the twelfth borough. Then your displacement will not be zero.”

This got me thinking just how quickly that distance between their houses would become a source of annoyance and I wrote this short piece about how they would come to live together. Thank you, @browneyeddevil for the inspiration and the encouraging comments! ❤️

[tetheredfeathers]

Maybe when you're older

Katniss and Peeta Age: 5-6

“You better give that back Colton, or else.” the dark-haired girl sneered.

“Or what?” the older boy taunted.

“I’ll stick one of my daddy’s arrows in your eyes,” the girl retorted, glaring into his flesh like an angry bear from one of her daddy’s stories.

Th older boy bent down and tugged at her pigtails. Katniss’ face flushed bright red, she felt heat coursing through her veins. She unclenched her tight jaw and threw herself over the older boy’s arm and bit down, hard.

Colton let out a let out a loud yelp, dropped the crayon and scurried like a scared mouse.

“Here,” Katniss said, handing the orange to the blond-haired boy behind her.

“Thank you," the boy replied, attempting his best smile in between tears.

“Don’t cry. I got your crayon back, it’s all okay now.” Her silver eyes softened as she watched long steaks run down the pale boy’s face.

The boy nodded, lifting his shirtsleeve to wipe his wet face.

“Come, you can sit with me and Madge,” Katniss offered with a sweet smile.

The boy beamed up at her and grabbed her shirtsleeve as they strolled down the lunchroom.

After that day the boy and the girl followed each other everywhere like lost puppies. He never let go over of her hand and neither did she.

---

“My daddy took me swimming last weekend, “the girl said.

“I wish my daddy would do anything besides bake all the time. Was is nice? What colour was the water?”

“It was  sooo fun. I keep begging daddy to take me again, but he keeps saying something about the Capitol adding more work time. It was so pretty Peeta, so many colours I can’t explain. It was blue and green and clean and sparkly and I just love it, love it.”

“Can I come with you next time,” the boy raised his head expectantly.

“Mmm, I don’t know. I’ll have to ask daddy.” She said, watching the boy intently as he unwrapped a piece of bread. Her mouth watered, she shifted her gaze quickly trying not to give away the fact that she hadn’t had a proper meal in days. But the boy knew her better, he pressed a piece of bread into her hand as her stomach let out a loud lurch.

“Thank you.”

She had watched her parents kiss multiple time, she never quite understood why they did it, but at that moment looking at her best friend’s face an idea crept into her mind.

Katniss grabbed both his hands, leaned up close and pressed her tiny lips against his. They both pulled back surprised, flushed and embarrassed.

---

They sat by side in art class, Peeta was immersed in painting his tree. While Katniss half-heartedly drew scribbles on her notebook, peaking at her best friend every so often.

She leaned in close, brought her hands to his eyelashes and stroked them, The boy pulled back surprised

“You’re eyelashes are very pretty.”

“Thank you.”

The boy turned around and kept colouring his tree a dark shade of green, the girl’s hair brushed against his shoulders as she watched him with droopy eyes.

Peeta turned once again and twirled her red ribbon against his index finger, the girl lifted her head, smiling and unwound her ribbon.

“Here.” She said, scruffily wrapping the string around his wrist.

---

“Daddy, I like a boy”.

“Really sweety? What’s his name?” The tall, dark-haired man asked his little girl.

“Peeta.”

The tall man laughed deeply thinking about Mr Mellark’s deep affections for his wife when they were kids.

“Daddy can I stay with him, he has bunk bed and bread and crayons and everything.”

“Won’t you miss daddy? And what about Prim? How will she fall asleep if you don’t sing to her.” The man pouted.

“Hmm. I can’t leave Prim, you’re right. Maybe when I’m older?” The girl earnestly questioned the silver eyed man.

“Maybe when you’re older.”

[notsocooljess]

one year and one day ago i posted my first everlark fanfic on ao3! i was so excited to write this when i thought of the idea i wrote the entire thing in the notes app on my phone from 11PM-2AM in one sitting, checked it over the next morning for any errors, and posted it. i hadn’t rejoined tumblr yet, so it was really a shout to the void lol.

Glances is still one of my favorite things i’ve written. here’s the link if you wanna check it out :P

[peterjakes]

katniss x peeta - 'to you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it'

A snowstorm hits District 12, which means Peeta and Katniss must stay inside, together. Feelings are becoming too much to hide anymore, so much so, our heroes are coming to terms with their feelings and each other.

I luv these two v much <3

watched and re-read everything before sunrise on the reaping comes out in THREE DAYS (!!) so I decided to actually write another part of this series.

I actually love a lot of this one (which is rare for me)

thanks as ever for reading x

also posted on ao3;

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63878407

Katniss watched the snow fall as the tiny snowflakes flew into the window. It was the first real snow she had seen since being back home in District 12. Peeta was outside shovelling the already settled snow covering the walkway, preventing anything or anyone from making their way out of the Victor’s Village. Katniss was not going to be one of those people. She wasn’t a recluse, anything but. But she didn’t feel any need to leave the safety of her house to go hunting in the snow. She had listened to Haymitch’s warnings of how icy it was and didn’t fancy the next week bedridden due to a twisted ankle. Of course, this would give her more reason to require Peeta’s company, but thoughts like those were ones for silly little girls. Katniss wasn’t a silly little girl. Not anymore. If she wanted to spend time with Peeta, she just had to ask. But why was that still so difficult?  

She tried to remember the first time she saw snow. The memory was hazy and a little blurred. Prim hadn’t been born yet. Katniss must have been around 4 years old. Her father was there, out in the snow with her. Her mother…she was inside, at home. She didn’t do well in the cold, so delicate, so fragile. Her father and Katniss had walked to the market. It was so cold that day, Katniss remembered her mother fussing over her before she left, putting on as many layers as possible. Her father wasn’t at work, but Katniss couldn’t quite remember why. Perhaps the temperature was too low, even for the mines. Katniss was so excited, to spend the day with her father. She couldn’t care less about the strange, flicks of snow that would fall on her coat as she walked with her father. Or how it would crunch loud whenever they took a step. Her father would spend all week in the mines, working the long, tiring hours to come home to Katniss asleep.

They sold some game to the peacekeepers that day. Katniss remembered the warm bread they had with their supper, so a trip to the Mellark bakery must have happened. But Katniss didn’t have any recollection of that. It was the perfect day, as far as she could remember. Katniss had been thinking of her father more often recently. She had spent so much of her childhood watching her mother forget, watching her distance herself from her children, her life with her family. Katniss didn’t want that. She couldn’t turn into her mother; she wouldn’t let herself.

“Hey, Katniss.”

Katniss hadn’t noticed Peeta come in; her mind too involved in the lost memory. He was standing by the door frame, still holding the shovel he was using for the snow outside. There was slight flicks of snow dripping from his soft curls, snow drops hanging onto his coat. His eyes were bright this morning, as if he was happy about something. Katniss couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There was a slight pinkness to his cheeks, where the cold had found its way to Peeta’s face.

“Hm?” Katniss turned fully away from the window, to face Peeta as he walked towards her. She had tucked herself into the corner, wrapped in a blanket, not wanting to move.

“Enjoying the view?” Peeta raised his eyebrow, placing his coat on the side before slipping his shoes off. He knelt down to prop his boots against the wall, taking a moment to straighten them out.

“I…”

“I was kidding, relax. Where’d you go?”

“Just thinking.”

Peeta moved closer to Katniss, rubbing her arm ever so slightly, before starting to remove his gloves and scarf. “Well, I think we should be okay for now. It’ll probably snow more later, but we can deal with that then.”

Katniss smiled at Peeta, here he was musing over things that seemed so inconsequential. So normal. Like nothing that had happened to them had happened. No Reapings. No Games. No rebellions. Just them.

“What? Am I boring you?”

“Of course, not.” A smile escaped Katniss’ lips again, it crept up on her. She just couldn’t help it; seeing Peeta like this, it made her feel warm inside. It felt normal, natural for the two of them to speak to each other like this. Be in each other’s company. Katniss could freeze the moment, just there, and she’d be happy.

“You’re not hunting today?”

“Haymitch didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“When have you ever listened to Haymitch?”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying out. And I’d rather spend the day with you.”

“Okay, that’s what we’ll do then.” Peeta smiled as he hung his coat up by the front door, tucking the pockets back in.

“Weren’t you going to the bakery today?”

“I can go tomorrow, if the snow settles. I doubt anyone is going to venture out when it’s like this. I can just bake here, for us.”

“I don’t have any ingredients.” Katniss frowned, she wasn’t being intentional difficult, though she may seem like it. Any time anything seemed too good to be true, it was. Things was calmer now, time moved slower. District 12 wasn’t what it was. Panem wasn’t. Katniss could allow nice things to happen. She just had to keep persuading herself that.

Exasperated with her protesting, Peeta softly spoke up, “I can fetch them from my house. Katniss, why do I feel like you don’t want me here?”

“I do…just not because of me.” Her voice sounded so small in that moment. It was silly really; Peeta was one of the only people left Katniss could truly be herself with. Gale was gone. Prim. Her mother. Cinna. But Peeta. He had stayed. He’d left once, and Katniss never believed she would get him back. She would have to let him in, let herself be vulnerable and open. It was the only way to be.

“Katniss, of course it’s because of you. I don’t have to bake, either. I was thinking…”

“What?”

“The memory book, it’s been a while…if you wanted to?”

Katniss nodded. It was always difficult at first, settling down to open up for those memories. Katniss would collect the book; it was usually hidden away in her house. Sometimes she’d get Peeta to hide it just so she wouldn’t be tempted. Those memories plagued her dreams every night, she didn’t need them during the day too. It was different when they went through the book together, however. Katniss knew she held the majority of the memories, and Peeta hung on her every word. He'd listen so intently, putting his pencils down instead of scribbling away, watching Katniss as she spoke. Sometimes she wasn’t sure where to start, but Peeta always had questions. There’d be things he could remember, others he wasn’t so sure of. Peeta, Katniss’ Peeta always knew how to bring out the best in her. The best of everyone. He had a way with words that Katniss could never quite understand. How he spoke so eloquently, knew exactly what to say. She just wished he saved some of that for himself.

“Good. After lunch?”

“I don’t have anything in, Sal said she was going to the market but-“

“Ah, I thought so,” Katniss turned to see Peeta’s rummaging through her kitchen cupboard. He pulled out a few tins and a bag of flour. Peeta gifted Katniss a wide smile before placing the ingredients on the kitchen table. “I left some stuff here last time, just in case. I know what you’re like, Katniss.”

“And what’s that, then?”

“For me to know. I can make some cheese buns. And er, we could cook this…rabbit?” Peeta motioned towards the animal hanging up by the sink, frowning so slightly.

Katniss smiked, “Hare, actually. I forgot about this one.”

“Is it still good?”

Katniss nodded, “If we cook it right.”

“Well, you can be in charge of that. I’ll get started on the cheese buns. And then the memory book!” Peeta raised his voice, quickly smiling at Katniss before moving back to the counter. He started to pull out various bowls from the cupboard, clanking them down before pouring in several ingredients. Katniss watched as he moved around frantically, her eyes shifting from Peeta to the mess he was creating. She wasn’t entirely sure what has gotten into him. Something had clearly riled Peeta up, he was fine only a minute ago. But Peeta was different now. Katniss knew she was too. She’d noticed small things he’d do now to stay calm, stay still, stay secure. He'd zone out sometimes, mostly when painting or baking. His eyes would shift, become dazed. He’d go quiet, his hands would grip whatever was closest. Sometimes it was Katniss, but sometimes it seemed the sight of her just made him worse. There were times Katniss wouldn’t see him for days. She knew he was cooped up surrounded by pieces of paper, filled with sketches in wild colours. Katniss knew she could be difficult; she’d always been difficult. The meadow was the place she’d hide, for hours on end. She’d tried to not go as often, especially when Peeta would actively spend so much time with her. He didn’t love how long she would spend hunting, but it was the one place she could escape. Just Katniss and her bow. It was the songs of the mockingjays. The gentle breeze that travelled across the meadow. The burnt orange of the sun setting.

“Peeta, is everything alright? You’re acting more…”

“I’m fine. Honest. Just…enjoying the day.” A quivering smile escaped Peeta’s lips as his eyes looked away from Katniss, losing all focus. There was a hint of sadness within the pretend happiness in his eyes before he turned back to the mess he’d created on the counter.

Peeta was not fine, and it was unlikely he would ever be fine again, but he had accepted that, and just wished Katniss would. He could tell she was tiptoeing around him, which almost seemed laughable to him. He wasn’t someone who she needed to be scared of, and the thought of that wasn’t something Peeta wanted. But during those days in District 13, he was scary, he was viscous, he was confused, he was angry, he was sad. But Peeta wasn’t like that now. Peeta was not who he was before their first games. Or even their second. Peeta was something entirely different now, just as Katniss was.

Peeta knew trying to hide the fact that he felt broken almost every single day would not solve anything. And yet, Dr. Aurelius had given him some homework until his next session. Not to hide the darkness, or the so-called ‘bad’ parts as Peeta would call it, but to embrace the good. To take notice of things that made Peeta happy, things to be enjoyed. Peeta had tried to make a list in his head, but it wasn’t a very long one. Everything he thought of just had a different memory, a sad one that included a Peeta that didn’t exist anymore. Peeta enjoyed baking. He liked spending that time alone, creating something that someone could enjoy. The way Katniss’ face lit up when he made her cheese buns again. Making his monthly batch for Haymitch, and Greasy Sal. Baking at home was fun. But the thought of going into town, visiting the old site of the bakery, that only conjured up the worst of memories.

Peeta had supposedly been an artist at one time. Painting, drawing, decorating. Some of his old paintings from after the first games had survived. Some had been gifted to Katniss, others he had kept hidden away in dark corners of his home. But Peeta couldn’t look at them anymore. He had new paintings to create, new memories to put down to paper. Some of these memories were dark, destructive, and damn right horrific. But Peeta couldn’t keep them all inside of him anymore, he had to let them out. And the memory book…that was helping. Katniss would talk, she would tell Peeta things he imagined he should have remembered. Sometimes it would trigger a memory. It could be a happy one, one filled with good things, but other times it would be something sad, something that Peeta didn’t want to remember. But he did regardless.

Peeta knew he had decorated Finnick and Annie’s wedding cake in District 13. But he had little memory of it. He knew it had happened. But he wasn’t at the wedding. ‘It’s probably for the best’, that’s what everyone had said. The drugs they were using to soothe Peeta seemed to cloud everything. Haymitch said he had done a good job. But that could have just Haymitch being kind. And yet, Peeta couldn’t remember Haymitch had ever been particularly kind to Peeta. He had always preferred Katniss over him, which was something Peeta had been resentful of at one time. For a moment before their first games until he realised, they could use it. For a while in District 13 until he realised it wasn’t that important. Decorating cakes was something intricate, delicate, personal. Peeta hadn’t had any opportunity to decorate anything special since being back home. Cheese buns. Sourdough. Tiger bread. Scones. They were simple, easy, formatted. He knew people would have birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations, but were they ready to celebrate them? Being the only baker in the district also came with more pressure, something Peeta hadn’t thought about.

Peeta had a little plan in his head, it was a silly one really, something that was so inconsequential to everything else that was happening. He wanted to re-open the bakery. He knew it would never be the same, nothing ever could. It wouldn’t have his mother dictating the kitchen, his father at the front of house, smiling at any passerby or customer, or Peeta and his brothers helping as much as they could between school and the wrestling competitions. Buildings were being build up again, and Peeta was sure the council would be willing to spare one for a bakery. It would be nice for people to have a place to go, for Peeta to have a real routine again. He hadn’t mentioned this to anyone else yet, almost too scared they would laugh in his face and tell him what a silly little idea it was. There was someone who Peeta did want to tell. He was sure she wouldn’t laugh at him. He was sure she would listen. He was sure she would convince him to do it.

The problem was Peeta still had no idea where he stood with Katniss. It has been a few weeks since she had kissed him. A few weeks since Katniss had made that move. A few weeks since Peeta had realised what was happening between the two of them. But this wasn’t the first time Katniss had done something Peeta never thought she would. The first kiss during their first games. The way she would look at him in that cave. Those long nights on the train during the Victory Tour. And some things were still blurred, confusing. Moments when Peeta wasn’t so sure if they had even happened. Had he remembered it wrong, was it just a dream? The little game, real or not real, it made things easier, about what had happened before. But not how he felt. Not how Katniss felt. He couldn’t work her out, but maybe he didn’t have to. The way Katniss and Peeta were acting around each other was almost normal. Almost, but not quite. As if the two felt the shift between them, something unspoken but they couldn’t face it. Would rather tiptoe around each other until it became too much. Peeta wasn’t sure he wanted that, not anymore.

Peeta’s house was quiet, no, not quiet, it was silent. Peeta had realised just how silent it was a few days after the snowstorm. They were trapped in Katniss’ house, which was fine by Peeta. He didn’t want to leave Katniss alone, and he was sure she didn’t want to be alone, that she wanted Peeta beside her. But the blizzard had calmed down, the snow started to melt away and Peeta knew he’d have to go home eventually. He promised Katniss he would be back, back soon, and it was clear by her expression that she didn’t want him to leave. Peeta didn’t want to either; time spent alone meant time spent with his nightmares. Time with the monsters, the memories that would never leave him. The things he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. He wouldn’t turn into Haymitch. Spending his days alone, drinking whatever he could find. Things had got better for Haymitch; he was at least trying. But it was hard for a leopard to change its spots. Was a life of alcohol and misery in store for Peeta too?

It wasn’t until late afternoon that the two of them sat down with the memory book. Peeta was right, it had been a while since either of them had worked on it, or even mentioned it. It wasn’t intentional from Katniss or Peeta. Although Katniss didn’t necessarily enjoy re-living everything that had happened, she knew how important it was for Peeta, and she wanted to help him. Even with all the time in the world, Katniss just hadn’t found a good moment to bring it up. And Peeta always seemed so busy. He was baking more regularly now, making sure to find time to make something for some usual customers. A trading system was in place in District 12, rather than the currency before. Peeta would often trade his bakes for more ingredients or paint supplies. As well as baking, Peeta would attend all the regular council meetings. He wasn’t an official member yet, which Katniss couldn’t understand. Peeta was the perfect candidate for the council. He was clever, kind, well-spoken, could articulate his thoughts about the future so clearly and he cared. He cared so much. But there was a part of Katniss that thought Peeta was afraid. Afraid to take too much responsibility, as if it was easier for him to sit by the side-lines, watching everyone else make the progress he knew he could help with. This irritated Katniss on Peeta’s behalf, she wanted to push him to do something about it and made a mental note to do so. Even with not being an official member, Peeta was involved in the rebuilding of the district, and spent many evenings working on plans on how to make it possible.

There was the painting and sketches too. Peeta didn’t openly admit it, but he had been painting more and more recently. He wasn’t trying to hide it from Katniss, he just wasn’t ready to share them all yet. The sketches he did for the memory book was different, it was something shared. But the other paintings, the things he saw in his nightmares, they were only for him. He didn’t want to scare Katniss, didn’t want her pity or her sadness. It wouldn’t be a regular thing, just whenever the inspiration came to him. Sometimes it was from the nightmares that would greet him every night. Other times it were the memories that would haunt him even during the day. Some were dark and clouded, so much so Peeta couldn’t even make sense of them. But it was almost like a release for him. Katniss had her hunting. Haymitch his drink. Peeta had these paintings.

The last person they had worked on had been Katniss’ father. Peeta only had vague memories of him. He remembered his father telling him a story about Katniss’ mother, but the man she married was only briefly mentioned. Katniss had described him so well, and so vividly, it was almost like Peeta did remember him. The one thing Katniss focused on was his laugh, and her smile when she remembered, that was something Peeta would never forget. Katniss praised Peeta on his sketch of her father, but it brought up some strange feelings. It wasn’t as if Katniss hadn’t applauded Peeta’s work before. No matter how terrifying or upsetting his paintings had been, she could always appreciate the beauty. But there was something different this time. This was her father, someone she loved and missed dearly. And Peeta had made her feel something for him again. It was special.

Peeta had let Katniss take the lead with who they worked on; it made the most sense as she remembered more than Peeta. Peeta wasn’t surprised that they seemed to surpass Prim and go straight to Finnick. Peeta knew Finnick was less painful that Prim, but still painful, nonetheless. His ‘sea green eyes’ as Katniss had put it filled Peeta’s brain. Finnick was someone Peeta remembered, some parts were blurred and didn’t quite make sense. Quiet and calm, then loud and swirling, like the waves Finnick was so used to. Peeta remembered his dark, ruffled hair and the way it would move along with Finnick and his trident. He remembered how his teeth glistened whenever he smiled. He remembered how popular Finnick was wherever he went. He remembered the unsuspected kindness Finnick showed them both. Katniss didn’t need to spend too much time speaking about Finnick, clearly understanding that Peeta could get a sense of what he wanted to sketch for their shared friend. Peeta couldn’t understand the things Finnick and Katniss had in common, just like he and Annie did.

Katniss walked over to the kitchen at one point, leaving Peeta to his sketch of the sea. She returned quickly, holding something in her hand. Once Peeta had finished the section he was working on, she slotted the polaroid photo onto the right-hand side of the page. It was Annie, and her son. Finnick’s son. Peeta nodded, as if to say he approved, and the two didn’t speak for a while. Katniss watched as Peeta scribbled all the details in his mind. When Peeta’s hand started to ache, he realised it was time to stop. Finnick’s page was filled with small details of him, his eyes, the sea, the trident, all sitting alongside the polaroid of the people who loved Finnick the most. Peeta glanced up to Katniss for her approval, and she gifted him a small smile.

Finnick was the only person they managed to work on that evening. It seemed to take it out of both of them. It was still raw. Peeta didn’t need the memory book to remember the tunnels, nor did he need it to be reminded of everything Finnick had done for Peeta. He would be forever indebted to him. He had saved him, countless times. And Peeta would never be able to repay the debt. Katniss seemed to understand this. She closed the memory book after a while, placing it on top of a cabinet sitting at the edge of the living room. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she motioned towards her bedroom. Following her lead, Peeta tidied up the supplies he was using, and dimmed the candlelight, carrying it towards Katniss, who blew out the last flicker of light, before pulling Peeta towards her bedroom.

Finnick visited Peeta that night. It was rare for anyone but Katniss to haunt Peeta in the night. His sea green eyes, the toned, golden skin, his bright smile. And then the screams. The water. The trident. But then he was gone, forever, as he would always be now. Peeta didn’t want him to go, he almost urged him to stay, to not leave. But Finnick couldn’t, and Peeta knew that.

Peeta’s usual nightmare then took centre stage. He could never escape it. Even during his time at the Capitol, when all he could hear were Johanna’s screams, that particular nightmare would always be present. Yes, others occurred, but they could never overpower the one, true nightmare Peeta would have. The one he had since he left the arena the first time. And the one he had every night since. Even knowing he couldn’t lose her now; those fears were always there. Logically, this nightmare wasn’t realistic. Dr Aurelius had told Peeta he could control the dreams if he tried hard enough. But Peeta couldn’t seem to master it. And yet, there was a part of him that didn’t want her to leave his thoughts, not even within the nightmares.

“Peeta…” It was her voice that broke the link between Peeta and what was haunting him that night. It was always her; he could never escape her and frankly, he didn’t want to. Katniss haunted his nightmares, visited him in his dreams. She filled his brain; she clouded his thoughts. Peeta couldn’t face it all without her. They needed each other. “Peeta!” Katniss had shouted his name this time, her face full of worry. She was sitting in front of him, her hands cupping his face. She was blinking rapidly; it was unclear how long she had been shouting his name.

“I’m sorry. Where-“ Peeta moved to sit up, but Katniss kept her hands on him, not wanting to let go. He still had his eyes closed, the nightmares still swirling around his head.

“A nightmare. I’ve never…”

“I told you. Mine aren’t loud, they’re quiet and…” Peeta was rocking ever so slightly, mumbling words to himself that Katniss couldn’t quite make out.  “I’m sorry. I need a minute.”

“OK.”

“I’m gonna get some water, do you want anything?”

“No.” Katniss whispered, as she shook her head. She watched as Peeta scrambled out of bed, he swayed as his walked, clearly adjusting to being in the living world again. Katniss waited for Peeta to come back. It seemed far longer than she had expected. After what seemed like hours, Katniss could hear the soft sound of Peeta’s feet walking from the kitchen back to her. His eyes were red, a little puffy too. He was holding the glass of water, filled to the brim. Katniss didn’t believe Peeta left for that. But he was walking as he normally would, just a small limp as a reminder of what the Games took from him. Even in darkness, the sight of Peeta walking towards her, back to her, filled her with this feeling. It wasn’t the hunger she had felt before, though she could admit to herself she felt that often enough. A longing maybe or something else. Something sweeter. Happier.

Katniss shifted, to make room for Peeta. He placed the glass on the nightstand, straightening it before he crawled into the bed. Without hesitation, Katniss moved towards Peeta’s body, and he took her in his arms. His arms tightly wrapped around her, clearly wanting to hold on extra tight. Feeling the vibrations of his breaths, Katniss found herself drifting back to sleep quickly. Her dreams were filled of him that night.

Katniss woke first in the morning. Peeta hadn’t let go of Katniss the entire night, which may have been why Katniss had slept so well. The best she had slept in months. She felt guilty; that Peeta had such a terrible night, and yet Katniss felt almost like herself again. She didn’t want to wake him, not straight away. He looked so peaceful, deep in his sleep. The morning sun escaped through the window, reflecting onto Peeta’s forehead. His light curls almost looked yellow. Katniss watched as he breathed in and out, so calm and quiet. It wasn’t until Katniss heard Buttercup sprinting around that she moved closer to Peeta. He started to stir, clearly aware of their close proximity.

“Peeta…”

“Hm?”

“Last night…your nightmare.”

“Katniss, do we have to? I’ve just woken up.” Peeta yawned, before rubbing his eyes. His curls were all over the place that morning. So much so, Katniss dragged her fingers through them, smoothing them down.

“So, you did sleep?”

“A few hours, I think. I couldn’t properly after... I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.”

“What did you want to ask?”

“What was it? Was it a bad one?”

Peeta shifted, moving to face Katniss. The two laid on either side of the bed, their bodies parallel to each other. Peeta gripped his pillow with his right hand but allowed his left to stroke Katniss’ forearm. They were still for a few moments, just watching each other. “It must have been…I don’t usually wake you. I can’t remember much, really. Just…”

“Yes?”

“You weren’t there, here. But when I woke, there you were.” Peeta forced himself to smile. Katniss was there, and Peeta didn’t want her to go. He’d hold onto her as tight as he could, in his nightmares too.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Peeta.”

“Katniss…” Peeta sighed, not out of anger or frustration, but of desperation. He longed for Katniss to utter those words. Deep down, he knew she wouldn’t leave, but so many parts of him couldn’t quite believe it. But Katniss admitted it. She’d told him what she felt, what she’d wanted with just those words. Katniss didn’t need to say anything else, that had sealed it.

“Ssh, it’s still early. You could get some more sleep.”

“I don’t think so, why would I waste such a lovely morning?” Stretching out his arms and legs, Peeta shifted to sit upright, leaning against the bedframe. He smiled as Katniss watched him, he eyes following his.

“It wouldn’t be wasting it.”

“I’d much rather stay awake with you.”

“OK.” Katniss moved to lay on Peeta’s chest, trying to soothe him, if she could.

“Katniss…we do need to get up soon.”

“Not yet.” Nuzzling her face into Peeta’s body, the two laid still. Katniss drifted, not quite asleep, but not completely awake either. The bright morning sun seemed to dim once she came to again, indicating it had been some time. Katniss’s forehead moved to sit just below Peeta’s nose. She dragged her lips up inches away from Peeta’s chin. He could feel her quick breaths float against his skin. Peeta knew what she was doing, she was waiting for his agreement that this what he wanted. Of course it was. Peeta had longed for it. From the moment Katniss and Peeta sat in the car riding to the station. From the moment he watched her interview with Caesar. From the moment she had found him covered in dirt and muck. From the moment she nursed him back to health in the cave. From the moment they were announced victors of the 74th Hunger Games. Even before, seeing her sit out in the rain, starving. Watching her sing the Valley Song. Eating her squirrels his father would trade each week.

Everything was different now; for both of them. Peeta and Katniss could allow themselves to heal, could allow themselves to open up and they would do it together. Peeta saw that now, as did Katniss.

Peeta lifted Katniss’ chin with his index finger, allowing her lips to find his. This kiss was slow, it dragged on and on, Peeta didn’t know how long exactly. But Katniss didn’t stop, and nor did Peeta. The two not wanting to part. Her lips were soft, a cherry-like taste travelled from Katniss to Peeta. Her breaths quicken as Peeta pulled her in closer, the tip of their noses brushing against each other. Katniss ran her fingers through Peeta’s curls again, pulling on the ends. Peeta’s hands found the back of Katniss’ neck, tracing his finger along her skin. It was Peeta who pulled away first, smiling to himself to the sight of Katniss. Her cheeks reddened, clearly embarrassed. But Peeta didn’t care, he liked that about Katniss. A memory appeared, one from the first games. He remembered the way she had kissed him in the cave. Remembered how lost he had felt before. He remembered teasing her about how peaceful she looked in her sleep. How her frowning seemed to disappear.

As he mused over this memory, his thumbs stroked the pinkness in Katniss’ cheeks, slowly disappearing as she opened her eyes again. Peeta didn’t need to play the ‘real or not real’ game. He knew the answer already.

[evermarch]

your fic made me realize that peeta saying "i'm here" can soothe both his and katniss' greatest fear.

peeta, who doesn't want to lose himself, going "i'm here" to keep himself grounded

katniss, who doesn't want to be alone, having peeta stroke her hair going "i'm here" to keep herself grounded

and in nights when it's hard for them to deal with their fears, this simple phrase from peeta's lips is enough to calm them both

anyway, uatl for the ages

NO WAit

STOP IT

why WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME

i’m so sad now don’t put this on me!! do not put the EMOTIONAL HAVOCK YOU HAVE WREAKED ON ME I CANT TAKE IT

also i love u

[yvisoul]

my 32 year old aunt, who is a big Hunger Games fan, wants to start reading Katniss/Peeta fanfics that are post-canon based but before having children (?) like, something about their relationship growing & healing after canon (idk i'm not a hunger games fan lol) does anyone have any good fics recommendations for her?

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

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thg fic recs

These are the gifts written for me in the various fic exchanges I've participated in. All four of them are so different from each other, and all so good.

Deterioration of a Smile - FortuneFaded2012 @fortunefaded2012

Katniss Everdeen has been on death row for ten years, but she is convinced she has only been there for months. Convicted of a triple homicide she must contend with her mental deterioration, glass wall visitations with her fiancé Peeta Mellark, and her impending execution.

Rating: M

Words: 13,101

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A wedding in the district - AlwaysEverlark @alwayseverlark

Request: Non-reaped!Everlark. Katniss and Peeta interact as guests at a traditional district 12 wedding.

Another take on “it would have happened anyway”

Katniss is invited to her first Merchant wedding.

Rating: M

Words: 5,785

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you make me feel - Word_Addict

Peeta and Katniss meet, not at the Reaping, but at a dance months later. Will they still find a spark, even without the Games to ignite it?

Rating: G

Words: 1,115

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The Revival Tour - atleastmymomlikesme @atleastmymomlikesme

The last surviving member of the Covey returns to his nomadic roots only to find himself in the least musical place in Panem- District 13.

Rating: T

Words: 2,297

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Absolutely loved When the Rooster Misses the Dawn. Do you plan to write more? Maybe a morning after scene?

Eh, why not. This one isn't quite as fun, and it is considerably longer because they led me down a slightly more angsty road. I felt like there needed to be some kind of aftermath/consequences of Gale listening at their door. But it is from Peeta and Katniss's pov's so you get to read some absolutely unhinged, down bad for his wife Peeta thoughts, if that's your thing. And it does contain Everlark sexy times and a happy ending for them (duh). Part one is here.

RATED M: for sexual content and discussions of miscarriage.

***

The Hen Tarries in Her Bed

There existed very few temptations great enough to induce Peeta Lucian Mellark, accidental Earl of Baecare, fourth in his father’s line to hold the title, to linger in bed past the rising of the sun. 

Whether they were the intended heir or not, the late Lady Mellark had demanded a certain level of industry in each of her three sons. Peeta, as the youngest, was no exception, and his body retained the training of early rising and hard work, even after the school yard incident that led to his injury. Even after his mother had passed from the world along with his father and brothers, and Peeta had inherited the title, the fortune, the lands, and all of the privileges that came with such trappings, he could never sleep past the dawn.

But his wife… ah she certainly presented the greatest temptation of them all. 

He smiled at the sight of Katniss, still slumbering in her bed. He left her to see to his morning needs, but the soft, pale glow of a lovely spring morning had begun to spread across the sky, making her appear awash with starlight, even as the stars faded from view. He found that he could not resist such a delicious temptation, even though he knew that he should. He had business to see to, and she would undoubtedly be sore after the previous night’s delights.

But in truth, had Peeta ever managed to resist her? He had not.

He discarded the dressing robe and slippers he had donned, and instead of beginning the day’s work, he slipped back beneath the covers, finding the area he had vacated still warm with his own heat. He sighed, content. Carefully, so as to not wake her just yet, he drew his body close to hers and wrapped his arm securely around her. Nestling his face in her riotously messy hair, he smiled and savored her soft sigh, the movements of her body that brought her closer to him, even in her sleep.

He, however, could not sleep, so instead he watched the dawn paint the sky in rosy tones. He caressed Katniss’s still naked form and attempted to reign in his reawakened desire for her. Granted, he did not think he could deem it reawakened. His love for her had never slumbered, and neither had his desire. He’d merely had cause sufficient enough these past few months to firmly control himself where his wife was concerned.

Perhaps his mother’s strict training had at last worked to achieve the desired effect of nobility, beyond Peeta’s inability to tarry in bed. The late Lady Mellark refused to allow any of her sons flights of passion or fancy to the point that Peeta’s brother’s often joked that they resided in a monastery, not an estate, although Peeta knew both of his older brothers had engaged with lovers while away at school. In Peeta’s case, there existed reasons why lovers were more difficult to secure, and he sometimes feared that such austerity in his upbringing caused him to completely lack control once he discovered the abundant bliss to be found in his marriage bed with Katniss.

Likely, his mother would not have approved of his marriage to Katniss at all, had she lived, and certainly not if he still somehow inherited the title, but Peeta had not cared. Not in the end. 

Katniss had claimed his attention nearly from their first meeting, and although he did try to court other potential brides whom his mother and father would have considered to be far more suitable candidates for the next countess, Peeta’s heart was not in the pursuit of their hands. 

He felt himself continually drawn back to Miss Everdeen’s side, attracted to her wit and her willingness to tease him and verbally spar with him as they stood on the fringes of ballrooms. Or when they would meet in the park, both on horseback, and together avoided the need to converse with society at large, preferring the quiet company of one another. They often met on the streets, usually while shopping for a book, and they quickly fell into a friendship through discussing one tome or another, recommending a book the other had yet to read. She expressed an interest in his art when he mentioned his feeble attempts at painting when they met in the galleries one afternoon, although he waited until after they were betrothed to fully share that aspect of himself with her.

He appreciated the way in which she showed concern for his health, often slowing her steps and finding interesting sights to give him time to rest, but somehow she still refused to treat him as an invalid.

She claimed that she hated to be the center of any form of attention and everyone seemed intent on determining if she were a ruthless fortune hunter or an heiress, so she preferred to appease her guardians with appearances at balls and other society functions, but had no intentions of pursuing a husband at all. She had far more interest in the food being served than in the gentlemen seeking her attention, and so Peeta had gladly secured refreshments for her whenever she desired at one event after another.

Yet he knew it to be an entirely futile endeavor, courting Miss Everdeen. Peeta… well he did intend to marry. As an earl, it was expected of him, but he despised the manner in which young ladies saw his injury as a sort of obstacle worth their endurance if it secured for them his title and fortune. Furthermore, he knew many of the young ladies viewed him as a desirable husband, solely due to the fortune and title, but as an entirely unsuitable and unromantic suitor, since his leg limited his desire to engage in many of the very basic courtship requirements -- namely… dancing.

Until that fateful night when he had noticed Katniss attempting to politely refuse the request of a dance from a gentleman of questionable honor. Peeta had stepped in and falsely declared that his own name was on her dance card for the next set and apologized for his tardiness in escorting her to the floor.

He could not ascertain from her expression if she were furious or relieved or indifferent to his interference, yet she had not hesitated in resting her gloved hand on his proffered arm and following him out to the floor. They had stumbled, quite awkwardly, through one dance and a half before Peeta’s leg demanded that he cease such foolishness. His pride smarted fiercely, far worse than the pain in his leg, as he excused himself before the set ended, humiliated at his own weaknesses and furious with himself that he must humiliate her in such a manner, abandoning her partnerless on the floor.

Better that than continuing to humiliate her with his clumsy dancing, he had reasoned as he leaned heavily on his cane and made his escape.

Peeta had escaped the crowded ballroom into the garden and limped as quickly as he could manage to a secluded spot in the hedges and collapsed on a stone bench. He’d barely caught his breath, and then she was there. Angry, yes, but not for the reasons he had suspected.

And the kiss.

Oh the way she had kissed him that night. Peeta supposes he ought to have been shocked by her forward behavior, but even then, he could not bring himself to deny her. He had indulged in the kisses, aching and greedy and hopeful. He had pursued more kisses, drunk and lightheaded with love and desire for her. Convinced that this encounter would be his only hope for a passionate interlude.

She did not wish to marry and he must. How could he expect anything but a cold, impersonal marriage bed from any of the young girls sniffing after him for title and fortune but who cared not to know who he was as a man. Especially after he knew Katniss’s kiss. Knew the heat and warmth of her fire. Knew the heady tonic of her regard for him. Perhaps she did not love him, but he knew that she respected him. They were at the very least friends. And he was already hopelessly in love with her, he knew. It would be impossible for him to refrain from comparing every kiss in his future to this one.

Of course, they had been discovered. Thankfully, it had been before Peeta’s self control slipped so much as to completely ruin her, although it had been a near thing. 

It had been Katniss's sponsor in town who discovered them in such an amorous embrace. The rather intimidating Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, whose suddenly gained fortune remained cloaked in mystery and dark rumors as to the source. It mattered not. Her sponsor saw her into her mother’s arms and then returned to Peeta. He had only to assure Mr. Abernathy that he fully intended to call on Miss Everdeen in the morning and request the honor of her hand in order to avoid a duel, although Mr. Abernathy’s words that it would take some convincing on Peeta’s part to secure the lady’s agreement kept him awake well into the morning.

He hated that he must ask her to go against her own wishes. He hated that he must ask for her hand when she had no desire to marry. But nor could he bear to be the reason for a stain on her reputation, or that of her sister’s by proxy. He hated himself for knowing that if nothing else, the threat to Miss Primrose’s reputation would likely induce Katniss to accept him. 

He tossed and turned for long hours, despising himself for allowing himself to become swept away in the moment and ignoring Katniss’s clearly stated desires.

Still, Peeta had woken before dawn and called at the Abernathy house at the earliest hour that would not be considered rude. Surprisingly, it had required very little persuasion to secure Katniss’s agreement. She asked merely a few inconsequential favors of Peeta that he would have seen to anyway. As her husband, of course he would provide a home, security, funds, and comfort for her mother and sister. She hadn’t even needed to ask, but those were her meager requests in exchange for her hand.

During the weeks leading up to their wedding, Peeta could not determine what Katniss might be feeling. She did not act the ecstatic, besotted bride, but neither did she eschew his company. They continued on much as they had before the kiss.

Except that it continued to happen. Whenever he found himself alone with Katniss and any modicum of privacy, they could not seem to resist one another. He began to doubt the entire thing. He wondered if Katniss kissed him so frequently and fervently so as to secure their marriage. Perhaps he had read her intentions entirely wrong. Perhaps he knew nothing about her at all. And so Peeta braced himself for a rude awakening once they were married. 

An awakening that never materialized.

Every night, during the early days of their marriage, he went to her bed expecting an indifferent and dutiful wife, submitting to his carnal desires only out of a sense of obligation for the security and financial care he gave to her family. Instead, he had found Katniss not only willing but almost forceful in her own carnal demands, and he was helpless to resist such a temptation. Even the flimsiest of beliefs that he might be wanted rather than merely tolerated overwhelmed everything else.

Even when Peeta knew her to be tired or homesick for her family, the moment Katniss kissed him and pulled him into her bed, he lost all sense of decency or consideration. Her lips on his always seemed to create a lapse in his decorum. Not that Katniss ever seemed reluctant in their lovemaking. Quite the opposite. But after every night of vigorous, prolonged intercourse, Peeta always feared that he had become some sort of mad beast. Uncontrolled and unable to stop, even past the point when he knew his love would become exhausted, past the point when he knew she would face soreness, aching muscles, and perhaps other ailments the following day.

Every morning that he woke beside her, his memories of the previous night stoking his desire awake again, he braced himself for a cold rebuff of his advances that never came. Again, quite the opposite. They made love in the morning nearly as frequently as they did at night. 

Eventually, he began to hope that she might love him.

And then the babe. 

He had, of course, been elated when Katniss had informed him merely three months into their marriage that she was with child. For a time, they had shared a blissful happiness. He could scarcely believe that he might have so many of his heart’s desires. But providence did not see fit to allow them to continue in their bliss.

There was his own bitter disappointment at the loss of their child, but Katniss bore it far harder than he. Peeta struggled with his feelings of helplessness. He could do no more than hold her and soothe her, love her as best he could, and withhold himself from her bed for as long as possible.

At first, such restraint had been easy. Her body would not allow it. As she began to heal in body, she asked him to sleep beside her again, for comfort. He had agreed, but within days, Katniss made several frantic, tearful attempts to seduce him. His body proved more than willing, but his mind thankfully managed to win the battle. She was not ready. Not if she were sobbing as she issued the invitation into her bed.

She could not bear it, she sobbed into his chest night after night. She could not bear the loss.

Heartbroken and fearful for both of their sanity, Peeta attempted a new approach. He held her on the settee in her chambers, until she fell into slumber, and then he would carry her to her bed, leaving her there alone and retreating to his own. The first month of that had been torture. The cold way she would greet him in the mornings, both of them fully dressed and pale with lack of sleep, gutted him. He nearly caved when the doctor announced her body ready to bear the strain of intercourse, ready to bear another child.

The pronouncement came the same day as a letter from her childhood friend, Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne, announcing his intention to visit them. As she relayed the news to her husband, Katniss had smiled. It was the first spark of real happiness Peeta had seen in her since the babe had been lost.

In response, Peeta did what any sensible man would do. He had gotten himself drunk for the first time in his life that night and locked himself in his study, fearful of what he might do if he went anywhere near his wife’s bed.

In the morning, jealousy and despair and alcohol still warred within him. Until he woke to find his wife sleeping on the sofa, her arm stretched over the edge and her hand clasped around his as he slept on the floor. He had expected that at last, with the man she could have married set to visit them, Katniss would see Peeta as he truly was. Worthless.

Instead, Katniss had begun a campaign of seduction, conceived with near military precision to attack Peeta’s weaknesses and defenses. The only reasons Peeta had managed to resist her at all was owing to the moments of obvious, deep grieving Katniss still displayed, and his awareness that once she saw her undoubtedly dashing, frighteningly capable, military friend again, she may very well decide Peeta was no longer worthy of her regard. 

He held out as long as he could, watching her recovery as closely as he could without discomfitting her. Gale had arrived as expected, and as expected, Peeta found him to be every bit the dashing hero he had feared to meet. Tall, handsome, smartly garbed in his uniform and bearing the responsibilities of his rank and success with clear ease. Peeta found himself observing his wife’s interactions with the colonel with far too much interest and fear. 

Yet, although there were moments when Peeta’s heart twisted with the certainty that he had already lost his wife to this man’s love, Katniss never wavered in her efforts to resume marital relations with Peeta, culminating in the note she had sent the night prior, after she had retired to her chambers. It had come to him via a footman, and found him in the drawing room, mired in a conversation with the colonel, about the empire’s prospects for expansion, and when he read the note, it had required all of Peeta’s fortitude and self-control to refrain from running out on the colonel mid-sentence.

Then, somehow, the conversation had turned to Katniss herself as Gale regaled Peeta with several anecdotes about their shared childhood. Peeta had only grown more uncomfortable and less sure of himself as the night wore on. Doubting the sincerity of Katniss’s words in her missive. Until an offhand comment from Gale had caught his attention.

“She was always such a quiet, serious child. I expected her to grow into a quiet, serious woman. Who would have guessed our Katniss could sing with such beauty?”

It took Peeta far too long to piece it together. The words and their meaning. Far too long for him to reply. “Do you mean to say she did not sing when she was younger?”

“Not that I ever heard. She had no use for anything she considered pure amusement. While other young ladies concern themselves with frivolous pursuits such as ribbons and rainbows and embroidering cushions, Katniss concerned herself with far more substantial matters. The running of a household in her father’s place, and the like. What need has a woman of her station for singing except to catch a husband? And you’ll know, of course, that she had not intended to pursue marriage…”

It felt an accusation, this reminder of Katniss’s wish to remain free of matrimony. Yet somehow, Peeta found himself defending Katniss’s capitulation to him rather than defend himself, who was the clear target of the implied accusation.

“She didn’t. Pursue it, that is,” Peeta supplied, and Gale had given him an odd look. Peeta had been too caught up attempting to decipher the rest to pay too much attention to the expression. It made no sense. Katniss had told him that she sang with her father as a child, that her education in song had been informal but beautiful, and comprised many of her fondest memories of her father. She had once told Peeta that when she sang, she felt close to her father again, in a happy way. She sang all the time in the months before they’d lost the babe. And yet here sat Gale, her childhood friend whom Peeta feared as a threat to their marriage, admitting that he had no knowledge of this aspect of Katniss’s childhood, of her heart.

What else then, did Gale not know about Katniss?

Hope sprang to life again in Peeta’s chest. Using the first lull in conversation to make his excuses, Peeta had rushed upstairs and dismissed his valet as soon as he was prepared for bed. Still, he paced and worried and doubted, reading and reading the note again and again. Mulling over her song tonight, Gale’s admissions.

Love me again, she had demanded. Did she not know? Did she not know how fiercely love for her had always beat in his breast? Clearly she had not. Resolved to show her, Peeta had gone to her, intending only to provide for her pleasure and then hold her while they slept. But of course, Katniss had other intentions, and once he was again naked in bed with her, Peeta found that he could not resist. 

And he had been right. He had become a mad man. A demon in her bed, yet she had not allowed him to stop. She had in fact encouraged him and demanded his passion. Despite his better judgment, his body awakened the way it did in those early months of marriage. Ready to plunge into her again. And again. And again. Until they were too tired even to dress for sleep.

Peeta knew it would be the same this morning, even after last night. Perhaps especially after last night. He dared not wake her to satisfy his own desires, however, not after he kept her awake so late into the night, into the morning even, with their repeated lovemaking. 

He chastised himself for demanding so much of her, for asking so much of her. But, God help him, he desperately and constantly desired his wife, and once Katniss initiated their lovemaking, Peeta almost always found it impossible for him to stop until they both collapsed, satisfied, exhausted, and completely spent.

He should not wake her, he thought as he continued to watch the sun’s progress as it rose and still his wife slept in his arms. He should not. And so he fought a familiar battle with his own body.

Eventually, she stirred in his arms and Peeta found his hand wandering closer and closer to places where bliss could be found. Katniss murmured in her sleep and then stilled. Her breathing halted and Peeta ceased his touches, waiting for her to notice her body’s fatigue and unleash her anger on him for his inconsiderate behaviour.

“Peeta? Why did you stop?” she asked instead and Peeta sighed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and rolled his body away from hers.

“Because you must be tired and sore this morning.”

“I am,” she said and turned to him, her brow furrowed. “But that is no excuse for you to tease me and then to cease.”

“I had not--” he stopped talking at the knock on her door that preceded the turning of the key and the entrance of a servant.

“Lady Mellark, shall I see to your needs?” Eliza, her ladies’ maid, halted and gasped as she saw them. “Your pardon, my lord! My lady! I had no idea!”

She bobbed a curtsy and left, locking the door again behind her. Peeta glanced at Katniss and noted her furious blush. While Katniss was recovering, she often locked the door in an attempt to hide her grief from even the servants. Peeta had gotten quite irate with her over that and the servants had standing orders to ignore the locked door to her chamber, to ensure that Lady Mellark had ample food and had not worsened during her periods of rest.

“You did not rescind the locked door order, did you?” Katniss accused him. Of course he had not. It still felt necessary until a few days ago, and then her note last night had him too distracted to rescind the order.

“And with that, my lady, I believe I shall depart,” Peeta declared and reached for his crutch, but before he could grasp it, Katniss gripped his shoulder and pushed him back onto the mattress.

“You will not. You will wait here.” Katniss clambered from the bed then, and Peeta lay there, wondering why he did not simply leave the room. She returned shortly after and slid naked back into the bed. Peeta gripped the sheets beneath him and swallowed, praying for forbearance.

He would not make demands of her body this morning. He would not.

“Do you intend to ignore me, husband? Or shall we sleep a little longer in one another’s arms?”

“My love, we have a guest,” Peeta reminded her and yet he could not resist. He returned his body to his earlier position, wrapped protectively around her.

“He has been here long enough to grow comfortable. He can amuse himself,” Katniss stated as she wriggled in his arms. Peeta hissed and gripped her hip to halt her motions.

“Have a care, my love. I do not wish to hurt you.”

Katniss scoffed at his words but stilled her body, and gradually, Peeta relaxed enough to slip into a light slumber, warm and content to at last be in her bed again, to know that their love had not been diminished by the months of denial.

***

Katniss waited for her husband’s breathing to calm. The steady puffs of air against her neck did little to calm her own awakened needs, but she was satisfied that Peeta at least slumbered for now. She knew that he woke before dawn every morning, if he slept at all. She knew that he had likely spent the morning silently berating himself for what had happened in their bed last night, despite all the evidence she had heaped before him that she had wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. 

She had been relieved at that. Some part of her knew that Peeta’s restraint since they lost the babe was due to his consideration for her well being, both in body and in spirit, yet it had infuriated her. Ever since that first kiss they shared in the garden, Katniss had delighted in her husband’s bashful restraint at first and gloried in his absolutely mad passion once she had broken through his restraint. 

It was always the same with him, this belief in his own insignificance, this insistence that he not burden her with himself or his feelings, that he must distance himself to protect her, from what she knew not. And then once she had found the crack in his armour and split it open, the immense outpouring of love and need and passion that Peeta could no longer contain.

Today, she sensed that he needed rest. And perhaps the haze of his sleepiness would allow her to slip in again and ignite his desire for her enough to overcome his silly inhibitions about hurting her. Of course her body was sore this morning. How could it not be, with the impassioned way Peeta had demanded her satisfaction several times the previous night? Katniss did not intend to let that stop her. She had not let it stop her in the early months of their marriage, and she would not let it stop her now.

She let him sleep until the morning sun blazed through the window. Of course, Peeta was correct about their guest. Gale would be awake and about the house by now, but she did not intend to let that stop her either. Eliza had already proven herself time and again as a resourceful and thoughtful maid. She would likely provide a suitable explanation to Gale as to the whereabouts of the lord and lady of the house.

In the meantime, Katniss let her hand rest on Peeta’s thigh and began to caress him, the way he had been caressing her as she woke earlier. She felt the stirring of his desire against her backside and, unrelenting, continued her caressing assault on him.

His breath hitched and his fingers clenched on her hip. 

“Katniss,” he groaned and she slid her hand between them. “My love.”

“Why do you fight what we both desire, my lord? My love,” she whispered and gasped as his hand slid around her body, delving into her already considerable arousal.

“Because you are in pain. Because I need you to understand that while I grieve the child we lost, I cannot bear to put you at risk for the hope of another.”

She gasped again and whimpered, wriggling in his arms as his deft fingers and his pained words proved to her again how well her husband knew her.

“I want you, Peeta,” she sighed and moved her hips, inviting him to come into her as they lay like that, his body curled around hers, his chest pressing warm and solid to her back. “I yearn for your touch for the sake of your touch. I want you because I want you. Not because I am desperate for another child.”

“But you do desire another child,” he murmured. She turned her head and gazed up at him, allowing all the sorrow and love she felt to show in her expression as she nodded.

“Yes. Yes, my love. I want a child. Ours. Your eyes, your laugh, your ridiculous curls on his head. But I can wait for them. I cannot wait much longer for you. I cannot bear this distance between us any longer. Do not place it there again.”

His eyes closed and he leaned his forehead against hers, and yet he gripped her thigh and opened her a little more. She gasped as he entered her, swift and sure and deep.

“Oh my love, yes,” she whimpered as he began to move. She smiled with the ecstasy and stroked his cheek and his hair as they gasped and whispered to one another. Her body twisted and turned with the need. Her fingernails scraped at his scalp as she moaned and flew higher, closer to her crisis with each sinuous movement of their bodies together.

She reached hers first, as she knew she would, crying out and then clinging to him as his mouth muffled her sounds of ecstasy. His kiss only heightened her pleasure in her release and she quaked like a storm in his arms, certain that only his hold on her prevented her complete destruction.

As she floated back down from her rapture, she smiled for a moment and then frowned. “My love. You did not join me.”

“I did not,” he admitted, kissing her perspiring brow and then her eyelids, then her lips. “I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

“Then you will love me until you finish as well,” she stated simply. “Let me--”

“No,” he said, his fingers tightening on her hip and his blonde hair shimmering in the bright morning light as he shook his head. “I will take care of myself.”

At this, Katniss scowled. She moved her hips and gripped tight to his hair as he grunted and met her movement. “You will not.”

“You said you could wait for a child.”

“I can. And I will if I must, but you will not deny me what we both desire, Peeta,” she murmured and grinned at the sound of his tormented groan. At the feel of his restraint snapping once again.

Words of love poured from his mouth unchecked as he altered their embrace. He came to her as she lay on her back beneath him now. He moved above her, inside her. She clung to him, her limbs tight around his body, her hands scratching desperately at his back as she arched into their love. Into the inevitable pleasure of having him inside her, moving as though they had been formed for one another. It felt as though starlight coursed in her veins and perhaps it was the stars that had determined them for one another. She knew it was the sort of thing Peeta himself might say, and in fact he did say such things in the early days of their marriage.

Even before that, when they were but friends, together avoiding the matchmaking schemes of others, at times he would say things that hinted at an undying love for her.

Those words had frightened her then but she craved them now. She pulled his mouth closer to hers so that she might breathe them into her lungs as they poured from his lips, his love a vital source of life to her body.

She shook her head in disbelief at the power his love still held over her and whimpered as she felt her body approaching another climax. He must feel it too, she sensed as the expression in his eyes shifted from awe to determination. His fists clenched in the bedclothes beside her ribs and he leaned into her, his movements steady and constant, allowing her to tip into the flames of ecstasy first. 

She felt him following her, though, even through the waves of release. He followed her with a tremendously loud shout and wild, almost punishing thrusts of his hips. His body would not seem to countenance restraint in that moment and as soon as he passed through it, she pulled him to her in a tight, unbreakable embrace.

He buried his face in her bosom and seemed to be sobbing. It frightened her a little, his sudden release of feeling. She had once asked him why he so often held back as he did from their passion, until it became uncontainable. He had admitted to her that his father once told him that intercourse was the duty of the nobility to continue the lines. That it should be cold and dispassionate by necessity because passion clouded the judgement and therefore, the late Lord Mellark had taught his son, was the sole luxury of lower echelons of society.

How wretched, Katniss had thought when Peeta first told her that. Her own mother had come from a lower line of the gentry and married a steward. At the time, it must have been scandalous, but they had been happy and loved one another deeply. Katniss herself had married Peeta not because of his title, but because she loved him, although she had not yet admitted it to herself at the time, and Peeta loved her. Despite his father’s lessons on passion, Peeta showered her in affection and passion alike. 

No one could deny his love for her. 

Much later, they arose from bed and dressed. Peeta aided her with her corset and gown, which delighted her. It had been far too long since he had performed these small tasks for her, engaged in these marital intimacies. He assisted her in donning her stockings even, smiling up at her and kissing her thighs above the embroidered garter ribbons he ordered for her as a wedding gift. She clung to the bedclothes as he did so, thinking of the day he gave them to her. The flower of her namesake twisted around words stitched in a watery blue, like the lakes where one could find Katniss blooms.

Here where I wish to always stay, to know your embrace.

He confessed to her that it had felt perfectly scandalous when he ordered them for her, that it had taken him a long time to pluck up the courage to give them to her, uncertain as he was of her reaction. 

When he did give them to her several days after their wedding, along with a pair of luminously silky stockings, Katniss had blushed and wavered for a moment. Was she indeed allowed such a scandalously intimate thing? Of course she was, she finally decided. They were married. She sat up in their bed, clutching the neck of her night shift closed for some silly reason, and beckoned him to her.

“Help me with them?”

He had, even though she would not wear such a thing to sleep and it was already late at night. His touch as he slid the stockings up her calves, the brush of his fingers as he tied the garters in place had aroused her beyond imagining. When he had finished and sat back to admire them on her, Katniss reached for him and dragged him to bed.

Moments later, she had come apart with Peeta embraced between her legs, their bodies undulating in harmony and Katniss moaning his name like a chorus while his fingers toyed with the ribbons still holding the stockings in place.

Remembering that night, Katniss watched as Peeta once again tied the garters in place and turned his head to kiss each of her knees before he stood. She reached out and grasped two handfuls of his still loose shirt. They gazed into one another’s eyes and Katniss wondered if he could anticipate her words before she spoke. 

Instead of speaking, she tugged on the fabric in her hands and Peeta tumbled back into bed with her.

Much later, with some difficulty, Katniss let him go as Peeta rose from the bed and stretched. 

“Do you intend to remain in bed and neglect our guest all day, my love?” he teased and Katniss threw the nearest pillow at him. He deflected it with a wicked grin on his face and shrugged on his dressing robe. “Or shall I ring up for food to prolong your stay in the sheets.”

“It seems a little late for that. Order a large luncheon today, and perhaps I shall have a bath, since my wicked husband seems intent on exhausting me.”

Peeta scoffed at her words, but the grin hadn’t moved from his face. He rang for Eliza and retrieved Katniss’s key from her drawer before unlocking the door and opening it.

“My lord,” Eliza curtsied again.

“My lady requests a hot bath, although it is abominably late in the day.” Peeta’s grin remained unrepentant as he made the declaration, but Eliza shared a knowing look with Katniss.

“Right away, my lord. My lady.”

She disappeared and Peeta shut the door, his eyes pausing on the floor as he bent over to retrieve something.

“What is it?”

“A note. For you,” Peeta said, his tone and the mere presence of the note giving her pause.

“For me? From whom?”

“A lover, perhaps,” Peeta murmured and ran his finger along the edge. Katniss scoffed at his words.

“Well then, hand it over, although I have no idea why you feel the need for subterfuge when you can simply tell me your thoughts,” she said and held her hand out for the note. Her gaiety wavered as Peeta shook his head.

“It is not from me.” He showed her the address and her heart dropped to her stomach and she lowered her hand as she recognized the penmanship. She knew that her face showed Peeta a terrible untruth as he winced. “I see. I had thought…”

“Peeta, no. That is not… Gale is not my lover.” She rose hurriedly from the bed, and Peeta clutched the letter to his breast. Fear rose up in her. “Here. I will toss it in the fire.”

“Are you not even a little curious what he writes?”

“Not if it is going to lead you into doubts. Read it yourself, then,” she huffed and sat again on the bed. 

“Very well.” Peeta shrugged and tore into the note before she could react. “My darling Katniss, When this letter finds you, I will already be away--”

“Away? What can he mean?” Katniss asked, rising once more. 

“I do not know if you interrupt,” he said ut his eyes only scanned and he did not read aloud. This time, when Katniss reached for the paper, Peeta handed it over without a fight.

“I do not trust myself to continue reading without destroying something.”

My darling Katniss,

When this letter finds you, I will already be away. Perhaps I should have waited, as leaving in such haste will no doubt arouse your husband’s suspicions. I could not bear to continue a moment longer in a household where you are forced to enact such an elaborate charade. I must confess, I did lose hope briefly last night. I must explain.

After a fortnight in your home, I was convinced you must be miserable in your marriage. You are not yourself around that man. Sickly and pale, dejected and lacking all your former vibrancy. It is as though you are a watercolor caught in a current, all of your bright colors draining from you, and I, the helpless witness. 

You wrote to me, fearful of losing me. You begged me to write to you, but I know now that those pleas were mere shadows of what I must do for you. Last night, I resolved to liberate you from your prison. I came to your chambers, intending to declare myself and beg you to away with me. Instead I happened upon a most horrifying spectacle. A charade of desire enacted by yourself--

Katniss could not stop the sound of mortification that clawed its way from her throat. She looked up to find her husband with his hands braced on her mantel, staring into the fire, and somehow she knew that he had at least read to this part.

-- I must confess that at first, I believed it. I credited your performance as proof that I had in fact been mistaken. Perhaps you did indeed love your husband and desire your marriage. I resolved to depart today, a strategic retreat, an admission of defeat, but then your maid gave me hope. She claimed you to be indisposed yet again this morning and I knew that your monstrous husband must be the cause.

We were once meant to be wed, Katniss, my beloved, surely you must recall. We had an agreement, you and I. You swore you had no interest in marriage save to a man you described to me that day. I knew that man to be myself and I believed your love constant enough to induce you to wait for me. I do not accuse you of inconstancy now. I still do not know what dire tragedy forced you into marriage, but I am convinced it must be the worst form of torture and coercion for you to submit yourself to such abominable charades.

My love for you has never wavered, and I sense that yours for me remains as constant as ever. If I am right, my darling, I beg of you… come to me. Meet me at The Hanging Tree Inn along Greenbriar Road. I will await you at midnight and we will escape together.

All my love,Gale

“Escape together? How could he possibly suggest it? Has he no concept of the shame and ignominy his family would face if he deserted his post?”

Peeta turned slowly to face her, and she could see in the glittering fury in his eyes that she had spoken amiss.

“Is that… truly your only objection to this letter?” Peeta asked, his voice low and almost menacing. “Not the suggestion that you abandon our marriage for him, or his clear certainty that you would agree? Not the claim that you were engaged to him? Not the insinuation that you married me out of desperation? Not the admission that he listened at our door while we made love last night?”

His voice cracked on the last complaint and he tore his gaze away from her, whispered one more to the floor. “Or his assertion that I am draining you of all your vitality.”

“Peeta,” she gasped and stood from the bed, hurrying towards him. He stepped back and held up his hands as though to ward her off.

A knock interrupted and Peeta snatched her dressing gown up, hastily draped it over her shoulders before granting entrance to the servants. They brought in the tub and bucket after bucket of steaming water. Katniss and Peeta waited in silence. She chewed on her lip as she searched for the right words to reassure him, and came up uselessly hopelessly empty. How to untangle the mess of her feelings for Gale and how Peeta disrupted every fiber of her being? She couldn’t even fathom how or when to start.

“Thank you,” Peeta said to the servants as they finished and left, sounding shockingly calm. Kind as always.

He stood next to the tub then and motioned towards it. Already she could smell the soothing fragrance Eliza had added. She could see the steam curling up from it and longed to plunge her body into its depths. She longed even more to breach this sudden distance between them. 

“My lady,” Peeta croaked. She went to him and he helped her remove her robe, offered his hand in assistance and saw her seated in the tub. Then he bowed to her, turned on his heel, and left her. As soon as she heard the soft click of his door closing between them, Katniss buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to weep. Because she knew what she must do.

After her bath, she ordered her horse saddled and penned one sentence on a piece of paper, entrusting it to Eliza, to see it delivered to Peeta once she had left. She grimaced, still sore from the vigor of Peeta’s lovemaking, as she mounted her horse and rode the handful of miles to The Hanging Tree Inn. It was not even tea time, yet her stomach growled ominously as she rode, from hunger or anxiety, she could not be certain.

When she entered the inn, she was directed to one of the private dining rooms and pain sliced through her as Gale smiled at the sight of her. He was heartbreakingly handsome, she admitted, and she regretted the pain she must inevitably cause. He stood and opened his arms.

“You came. I knew you would.” His gaze darted over her shoulder and his smile widened. “And you came alone. Good.”

“I only came alone because I knew that you would not believe what I must tell you unless I did so in person and alone.” Gale’s smile faltered and Katniss gathered her courage.

***

There were very few temptations in this world that Peeta Lucian Mellark, Earl of Baecare and fourth in his father’s line to hold the title, feared. His mother had prided herself on instilling iron strong self control in all three of her sons. Unfortunately, she never managed to break her own husband of his drinking, and after years of cleaning up his father’s messes together with his brothers, of attempting to hide their father’s inebriation as often as possible to avoid their mother’s wrath, Peeta feared his own vulnerability to excessive drink. He never drank more than one, perhaps two drinks at a social engagement, and rarely ever did he drink at home.

He stood in the drawing room of his estate, the one to which he withdrew to seek solitude after a brawl in the schoolyard saw his leg irreparably broken and himself temporarily ejected from school, until his father had levied his wealth and title to gain Peeta’s return. His mother’s disappointment and creative punishments ensured Peeta never got caught fighting again. He withdrew here again after the fire destroyed the true estate of the title, killing his entire family while Peeta was away seeing a doctor who promised he could at last straighten Peeta’s twisted leg.

He rushed home to see his family buried and never returned to find out if the doctor’s promises held true.

Peeta had thought, when he brought Katniss here, that perhaps he could at last chase away the loneliness and misery that seemed to seep beneath the drapes of every room in the house. He clutched the glass in his right hand. His first drink poured and waiting to be consumed. He glanced again at Katniss’s maddeningly brief and unclear note.

I am not leaving.

Not leaving? Why then did he watch her mount her horse and ride the mare in the direction of town, towards the inn where Colonel Gale Hawthorne asked her to meet him. It was not too late, Peeta supposed. Would they dine and take a room at the inn? Consummate their love before beginning their journey? Perhaps he could follow and challenge Gale to a duel.

Challenge Gale, a trained soldier and colonel in the army, to a duel, what foolish nonsense.

He must indeed be the idiot his mother always declared him to be, if he believed he could earn and hold Katniss’s heart. 

He considered his drink. He should just begin it now. Get himself impossibly drunk for the second time in his life and admit that Katniss would not be returning. It was close to dinner.

A shout interrupted his wallowing and he lifted his eyes, spotted the cloud of dust at the end of the lane that indicated a rider. He dared not hope. He dared not move.

Instead, Peeta waited in the drawing room and clung to his drink and the note as the rider approached. As her form took familiar shape and he recognized the same riding habit she wore when she left. His heart clenched and he dropped the glass, spilling the alcohol on the carpet. He retrieved the glass. He grasped for his cane and turned towards the door as she dismounted.

Perhaps she forgot her luggage, he reasoned. She did leave without any bags.

The door opened then and Katniss strode into the room. She seemed confident until their eyes locked and then she wavered. Her mouth opened, but no sound came forth.

“You left,” he croaked and she scowled at him.

“I did not. Did you not read the note?”

“The note? Of course I read the note, all four unconvincing words of it.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze.

“I owe you an explanation.”

“Indeed.”

“There was never a formal engagement between Gale and I.”

She stopped talking and Peeta stared. Blinked. And grew impatient.

“I feel as though there is still much to be explained.”

“I know there is, but I do not know where to even start.”

“Expand on the lack of engagement. That is a start.”

“You should know that he kissed me.”

“He… kissed you. When?”

“Just now, at the inn. It is inconsequential and I stopped him but--”

Rage rushed up inside him, replacing at last the blank numbness that had taken over when he saw Katniss riding away from him. He threw the empty glass and it shattered against the wall. Katniss flinched and stared at him, wide eyed.

“You rode away from here, met another man -- who has professed his love for you -- at an inn, tell me that he kissed you, and expect me to accept it as inconsequential?”

“I would explain if you would let me!”

“I think I would rather call him out. But the real question remains. Would it serve any purpose?”

She scowled at him. Not her usual scowl. Peeta loved that scowl. He often teased it onto her face simply to tease it back off again, into a smile or a laugh, sometimes even a kiss. This was not that scowl. This scowl was formidable and terrifying.

“Serve any purpose? Of course it would serve no purpose! It would be pointless and stupid to call him out.”

Her words only stoked his rage. “Stupid? Stupid how? Do explain to me how it would be stupid to challenge the man who kissed my wife and asked her to run away with him?”

“Stupid because Gale is a crack shot. He would kill you.”

“And that would bother you?” Peeta asked, reckless and uncaring in the moment.

“Of course it would!”

“I fail to see why. You would be a wealthy widow.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Peeta,” she shouted as she charged towards him. “I do not want you dead! Are you really going to throw away our love because Gale kissed me once? Against my will?”

Her words immobilized him. Our love. She sometimes called Peeta “my love,” but he had accepted it as a term of endearment no different than when she called him “my lord” or “husband," not as a declaration of love.

“Yes, of course it would be stupid to challenge him to a duel when you have no hope of winning, and it would be pointless because I came back! I never intended on leaving because I love you!”

Her words and her clear fury shocked him enough that he simply stood there as she grasped his lapels and pulled on them, nearly ripping the fabric as she smashed her mouth to his. He flinched then, the image of Gale kissing her surging up in his mind. Tormenting him with the thought that she might still be able to taste the other man on her lips, even as she kissed him. He attempted to retreat, but Katniss would not allow it. Her mouth savaged his until his resistance broke. 

There were few temptations in this world that could induce Peeta Lucian Mellark, Earl of Baecare and the fourth of his father’s line to hold title, into obliterating every known rule of propriety. But the woman kissing the breath out of him had always possessed the ability to addle his mind and stir his blood. She claimed his heart and entrenched herself so deeply into his skin that even now, knowing that she had ridden away from him to meet another man, however briefly, he could not summon the will to resist her.

Perhaps it made him stupid, caving to her demands in that moment, her furious declaration of love for him still waged war in his brain with the certainty that her lover was even then still waiting for her at the inn. But even if that was her plan, to seduce Peeta and leave him too exhausted to follow, he found that he could not quite bring himself to care. Because she did come back.

She gasped when his arms came around her, cinching her impossibly tight against his chest as he finally returned her kisses. They stumbled across the room to the desk. She gasped again when he tossed her atop the desk and flipped up her skirts. Scattered papers fluttered about them, noisy distracting birds as he kissed her. He had neither the time nor the patience for niceties, but Katniss didn’t seem to either.

He moaned her name like a prayer as her hands worked to undress him enough. His coat discarded, his waistcoat half undone. He gripped her buttocks and pushed into her, drinking in the way her body arched and how she moaned as he slid home inside her. She was wet and warm all around him, and he barely had time to register her copious arousal before he began to move.

He thought he had made love to her in almost every state of passion he could conceive. Tender, grieving, hopeful, frenzied, and so many others. But as he moved between her thighs and she met his punishing thrusts with equal fervor, he knew this was different. This had the potential to destroy them. Or forge them into something even stronger than they had been before. He had feared himself to be a mad beast before, but now he knew himself to be one. He rutted between her thighs. He bit at her neck and her breasts while he fucked her. He only half heeded her cries and her pleas as the pain of her nails gouging into his skin became unbearable.

But even when she broke and screamed in his arms, he could not stop. His only saving grace came in the feel of her clenching in release all around him, in the fact that Katniss’s scream of release might be loud enough to reach the other man’s ears, even five miles away at the inn.

He joined her, desperately moaning her name and collapsing even as he was still caught in the throes of his release. The dishes from his uneaten luncheon clattered to the floor and shattered. He winced in regret at the mess, but couldn’t do a thing about it now. 

As they recovered their breath, Peeta lifted her in his arms. She curled around him and clung to him as he carried her, staggered the handful of steps to the chair before he sat heavily in it. Her fingers curled in his hair absently, again and again. He waited and waited some more. A servant knocked quietly and he sent them away. The room grew dark and finally, Katniss spoke.

She spoke of a proposal that was not a true proposal, a mere suggestion and a few questions that she had analysed over and over again. She spoke of letters that still came to Hazelle Hawthorne, even after her son had left home for his military duties. She explained that years of hard work had left Mrs. Hawthorne unable to write most days and so Katniss handled Gale’s wayward correspondence, pointing them towards his new direction. Until one day a perfumed letter arrived from a woman whose name Katniss did not recognize. Consumed with curiosity, instead of sending it on, she had read it, and known from it that Gale had taken lovers.

At first, she had been furious, then hurt, and then doubtful of Gale’s intentions. Perhaps he had no intention of marrying her at all, she had decided. She convinced herself that she had been mistaken in Gale's love for her and feeling foolish, resolved to act as though nothing had happened at all. She burned the letter and never spoke of it again, not to anyone.

Then, Haymitch Abernathy had paid a visit, claiming a distant family connection to Mr. Everdeen and offering to help his girls by sponsoring Katniss for a single season in society. She had agreed, not out of interest in finding a husband for herself, but rather to gain the knowledge she would need to guide Primrose through her own launch into polite society.

Then she had met Peeta and everything had changed. 

“We were so happy, and I so in love with you that I reconsidered my anger towards Gale. I tried to forgive him. How could I remain angry with him, when his actions helped lead me to you?”

At last she emerged from his shirt, her face red and tear stained, her lips still swollen from how harshly Peeta had kissed her. He winced in regret and attempted to apologise.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Katniss declared with an adamant shake of her head, her ungloved palms resting on his cheeks. “You do not. I should have explained to you better before I went, but I had to tell him in person, alone, or he would never have believed me.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” she cried and shook her head when Peeta reached to comfort her. “No, let me finish. I told him that he’d been horribly mistaken. That you do not drain life from me, Peeta. You give me hope. We lost a babe and even though I had only carried our child for a handful of months, the loss devastated me. You know this, but Gale did not. I have not even told my own mother!”

Her voice broke and her confession shocked him. Mrs. Everdeen and Miss Primrose were due to arrive here at their home within the week and Katniss had not conveyed the news? Did her mother then believe she would find her daughter close to childbirth when she arrived?

“Katniss…”

“No, please.” Peeta nodded and waited as she regathered herself. “I have always most feared losing the ones I love, and when he wrote asking if I was truly married to another, I feared he might grow angry with me and end our friendship. It did not even occur to me that our friendship was already lost when I read that letter from his lover, even if I had managed to forgive him. I could not trust him to know my heart.”

Peeta slumped in the chair and in the quiet after her admissions, found a strange sort of peace. Katniss began to kiss him. Soft touches of her lips to his forehead, his nose, his ears.

“Is there anything else I need to explain?”

“Only one thing,” he murmured. “Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?”

She went still and he risked looking up at her. A strange smile had begun to spread over her face. “Yes.”

“Well then,” he said and the last of the tension seeped from his frame. “I suppose I should admit to you that I intended to let you go. If you truly loved him and wanted to be with him, I would not have followed you.”

“Why not?” she sounded annoyed and he nearly laughed.

“Because I could not have lived with myself if I thought I was the cause of your unhappiness.”

“How could you think even for a moment that you were?”

“Because the first time you smiled, the first time you were happy after we lost the babe, was when you received that letter from Gale, telling us that he was to visit.”

She scowled at him then, the scowl that he loved. Confusion and doubt at his words, then she shook her head. “Ridiculous. That was not the first time I had felt happy afterwards.”

“Then what was?” he asked and she caressed his face, a soft smile on her lips.

“We were in the study. You had been working and I had been pretending to read, but in reality I had been weeping behind the book. Eventually, I wore myself out and fell asleep. When I woke up, you were lifting me into your arms. You carried me upstairs, undressed me, and helped me into a hot bath. You suggested we might take luncheon outside in the garden, and although all I could manage was to lay there and watch the clouds while you sketched and played with my hair, I was content. I thought that if I could find those small moments of happiness and hope with you again, and hold onto them, then one day, we might find our way back to feeling joy again.”

“Ah, these are the sort of words I have longed to hear.” Peeta had at last believed her, and slid his hand over hers, holding it in place so that he could turn his head and gently kiss her palms. “Now that we have settled we are both idiots in love and neither of us is leaving, what shall we do now?”

“Hmmm. You could request dinner be served in our room and you could take me to bed.”

“Bed? At this early hour? Countess! Are you so determined to shock the servants then?”

At this, she laughed and kissed him. “My love, I believe we have already done that today.” Her eyes moved pointedly to the desk and Peeta felt himself blushing.

“Well… then perhaps it will not be so shocking after all.”

[thesunpersists]

Love Letters by Proxy

At age 29, Katniss had never been in love. She sometimes worried people could tell just by looking at her. He would never confess it to anyone, but if Peeta could have one wish come true, he’d wish for what everyone around him seemed to have: love. Two hopeless romantics find themselves caught up in a complex game of ghostwriting, unaware that every word and each passing day brings them closer to what they’re searching for.

Chapter 2 - 59 days before is now on Ao3!

No-context spoilers for chapter 2

Thanks for giving the first chapter love, and of course, enormous thanks to @unnamednarrator for being the best beta ever and tirelessly teaching me about prepositions—I promise I'll get the hang of it one of these days!

[madzthemenace]

About to kms. Just accidentally deleted 4K words of my new fanfic chapter that I was trying to upload. I’ve got no backup either.

[notsocooljess]

Mall Santa? 🙏

hi @thesweetnessofspring! thanks for your ask!

here's a snippet from the peeta mall santa/katniss elf AU i've been working on (inspired by you!)

A few days later, Katniss was running late for her first shift, dressed in the itchy polyester costume Haymitch loaned her. Though she didn’t have to wear fake ears, the bells jingling on the ends of her shoe covers while she ran through the mall to her station didn’t help her intense feelings of humiliation.

A line of eager families had already formed at the entrance of the Christmas display, and Katniss jogged past them to set herself on the scene.

“You’re late,” Haymitch grumbled as he swiped the first family’s card, hardly picking up his head to glance her way.

“Sorry I had to brush up on my contortionist skills to get myself into this thing,” she retorted as she made her way into the North Pole.

“Just get next to Santa, sweetheart.”

[tetheredfeathers]

Every night, baby, that's where I go

(A fic about Katniss missing Peeta in D13.)

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word, and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, and catch the scent of cinnamon and dill. Once, I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

My breath catches in my throat; it feels like pushing a wet cotton ball through thorns. I gasp, face flushed, yearning for something to grab onto, something to keep me steady. Slowly, I turn, careful not to wake my mother and Prim, and open the drawer. My hand clasps around the rough material of the parachute, reaching for the cool surface of my pearl.

“For you.”

I roll the ball between my fingers and hold it against my lips. Warmth rushes through my veins as I think about the hours before he gave me the pearl. I roll it back and forth, back and forth.

BackandforthBackandforth.

My mind swivels and rocks between those couple of months. I’m taken back to another night on the Victory Tour.

“Come on, Katniss, just put your weight on my shoulder. We’re almost there,” he said, trying to support my clumsy body from falling.

Read rest here

[evermarch]

🥺 for the fic ask game :)

the type of moment between everlark that ALWAYS gets to me is when peeta realizes that katniss is actually in love with him!! i don’t care what kind of fic it is, there’s just nothing that fills my heart like the moment when peeta realizes that he’s truly loved. for someone who values himself so little to know that he’s loved, wanted, needed, and desired, and not by just anyone, but by the girl he never thought would love him back is just!! it’s what makes everlark so special <3