#idk how long buttercup should live but pretend he's fine in this timeline okay

[itcanbegoodagain]

Pregnancy Cravings

Word Count: 1288

Rating: N/A

Inspired by this video.

"There's no rules, baby," Peeta says softly, the corner of his lip quirking up in amusement at my frustration. "Do what your instinct tells you to."

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then, carefully, I dip the brush into the light pink I made, swirling together white and red. I bring it to the canvas and begin to fill in the gentle lines Peeta drew for me. I start at the edges of the petals, bringing the color down in quick strokes. I've learned that if I think too much about how I move the brush, the more I mess up.

A few minutes of silence pass by before Peeta murmurs that I'm doing well, and the primroses look beautiful. I smile, not taking my eyes off the painting in front of me. "Eyes on your own work, Mellark."

He laughs next to me, and I hear him shift before putting his palette down. He holds my head steady, pressing a kiss to the side of it. "What can I get you to eat? I'm going to the kitchen."

"I'm okay," I reply.

"Yeah, sure, the noises coming from your stomach totally mean you're not hungry," he says with an eye roll I can hear.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, clearly admitting he's right. "Do we have any leftover cinnamon rolls from yesterday? I could probably eat a whole baker's dozen in three seconds."

"Lemme check." Then he's out the door, taking the warmth of his hands on my head with him.

Cabinets open, then he yells back. "No cinnamon rolls."

Immediately, tears spring into my eyes. They blur my vision slightly, but I focus on the flowers and holding the brush correctly. Slowly, one drips down my face. Down the drain that hope goes.

He walks back into the room, holding a small plate of date bread he made today. "I brought the bread from this morning to hold you over until-" he breaks off. Peeta sets the plate down with a quiet sigh. He nears, frees my hands, then kneels in front of me. He holds my hands to his chest and looks up at me. "What's up, Katniss?"

I sniff, feeling ridiculous, and say, "I just... cinnamon rolls sound really good right now. I wasn't lying when I said I could eat a lot of them."

He laughs quietly. "I know -- you can always eat a lot, even when there isn't a baby asking for more." He brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you make some?" I ask hopefully.

"I don't have everything here," he says, protesting when my face breaks again. "But hey, hey, there is some dough at the bakery that I've had proving since last night. I can go get it and make you some fresh rolls in less than an hour."

"No, Peeta, I don't want you to go all the way there for me."

He smiles, shaking his head a little. "What, like that's the most taxing thing I've ever done for you?"

"Peeta, I'm serious," I cry.

He pulls me into a hug. "Me too, Katniss, okay? I love you and our baby you're carrying, and if you both want some cinnamon rolls, who am I to deny you?"

I brush my hands over my face, wiping away the tears. I look at him, and my heart feels so close to bursting it's hard to breathe. "Are you sure?" I ask quietly.

"There is nothing else I want to do right now," he replies. My stomach does a little flip at his words.

"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."

He grins at me, leaning forward to press a kiss to my lips. I hold him there for a moment, relishing in his warmth and comfort and love.

"I'll be back soon. Get comfy, or keep painting, and there will be cinnamon rolls before you know it." He presses one more kiss to my lips before walking to the doorway. Once there, he pauses for a moment, leaning against the doorway to watch me compose myself. When I start painting again, he taps the wood with his hand a couple times and he's gone.

--

I'm in the living room when I hear the timer go off for the oven. I'm curled up on the couch with a blanket, stroking Buttercup's fur.

Soon, Peeta exits the kitchen with a large plate in hand, a knife and napkins in the other. He sits beside me, setting the plate on the small table before us. "There, fresh and warm. All for you," he tells me, laying an arm across the back of the couch.

I reach forward and grab one with my fingers, ignoring the knife completely. As I bring it close, I get a close whiff of its smell, and my stomach turns. My mouth closes, my face turning away from it and Peeta.

"Katniss?" he asks. "What is it?"

I break down into tears again, putting the roll back on the plate. I cover my face, getting a little bit of frosting on my forehead with the movement.

I cry and laugh simultaneously, not believing the state I'm in right now. This is absolutely stupid. "I..." I begin. I feel his hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles, and I cry harder.

"Katniss," Peeta says again, real concern pushing through.

I drop my hands and look at him, tears running down my cheeks. "I know I said that cinnamon rolls sounded good, but... But they don't anymore. And you went all the way to the bakery to get the dough and make them for me, and I don't even want them anymore, and I'm so picky and ungrateful-"

"Woah, hey," he says, cutting me off. "First of all, you are not picky. You would eat food off the floor. Second, you are not ungrateful, Katniss, okay?" His hands move to my face, brushing away the hair there so he can get a good look at my tear-stained cheeks. "You thank me all the time even though you don't need to. We're married, so you never have to feel bad or thank me for taking care of you. It's the pride of my life."

Without conscious thought, I crawl into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms circle me, pulling me close. Slowly, he rocks us back and forth, and my slight hiccuping sobs grow smaller before they fade away entirely. He presses kisses to the side of my head the whole time, whispering little things about his love for me in my ear.

"Okay?" he asks, minutes later.

I take in a shaky breath. "I'm okay," I tell him quietly. "And I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he replies. "You're doing something incredible, giving over your body for months for something we both get to enjoy for the rest of our lives. I don't have to feel what you do. I want to take care of you, no matter what that looks like."

He pulls my head from his neck. "I love you, Katniss, and the baby you're growing in your stomach. If I wasn't in it for the ups and downs, for the long haul, I wouldn't have married you. But I am, so I did."

"I love you, too," I say, leaning forward to kiss him. It's a little snotty, a little teary, but that's okay. "You make me feel so safe. I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

Peeta hugs me close for a few minutes more. "Katniss," he says quietly, "I can literally feel your stomach growling. What sounds good?"