#peeta mellark x wife

[myadmiringmind]

Days at Home | Peeta Mellark

Peeta Mellark Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Genre: Domestic fluff | slice of life

Pairing(s): Peeta Mellark x Fem!Wife!Reader

Summary: A simple life has never felt so sweet.

Warning(s): Children (some ppl don’t like them), food, non-sexual nudity

Note(s):

Can be read as AU or not

Established relationship

Peeta and reader have children

Reader is able to have children

Children call reader “Mom”

|PICTURES ARE NOT MINE|

———————————————

You blink, your brain foggy in your half conscious state.

All you can see is darkness, but register the familiar warmth beneath you. Immediately you know it’s Peeta. His chest rises and falls as he sleeps peacefully with his arm curled around you protectively, keeping you close to him.

Peeta is always warm. Which doesn’t hurt now that fall has begun, but it does make it harder to leave in the mornings.

You snuggle up into him, your face going into his neck. Everything about him makes you feel at home.

Even though you try to fall back asleep you know it won’t happen. You savor the last few moments before you’ll push yourself out of bed.

But when you try to get up, Peeta’s arms tighten.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice is laced with sleep and you know he’s only barely awake.

“I’m going to get a shower.” You answer quietly

“What?” He uses his other hand to rub his eyes as he struggles through the haziness of sleep.

“I’m going to get a shower.” You repeat a little louder.

Peeta looks over at the curtains to glance outside, “The sun isn’t up yet. We can sleep for a couple more hours.”

You shake your head, the fact that he won’t be able to see it not present in your thoughts, “I tried, but I’m already awake. Go back to bed, honey.” Carefully moving off of his chest, you retreat back to your side of the bed.

Peeta protests, “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You sure? It’s pretty early.” You say with guilt from disrupting his rest.

Peeta’s nod is barely noticeable in the dark, “Maybe the shower will wake me up.”

You hear the bed creak, Peeta’s loud footsteps, and then the overhead light is turned on.

You flinch from the sudden brightness and hear Peeta chuckle, “Sorry, baby.” He sounds amused.

The sound of his heavy footsteps fill the otherwise quiet room while you rub your eyes.

You feel the familiar roughness of Peeta’s hand tilt your head up and give you a loving kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll go start the shower.” He says before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom.

You use the little time alone to pick out an outfit. You lay it out on the small ottoman at the end of your bed next to the outfit that Peeta chose for himself the night before. You laugh quietly at seeing the simple white button up with tan pants. He barely gets cold in fall.

“Better hurry unless we want to waste all of the hot water, sweetheart.” Peeta teases from the bathroom door.

-------------------

You and Peeta have been together for a little over ten years, so it’s only natural for the two of you to move in such a way that is familiar and routinely.

Peeta always lets you step into the shower first, he lets you soak under the warm water before it’s his turn. Then, he’ll pull you into his chest for a sweet hug, just letting the two of you bask into the warmth of each other. He’s constantly giving you kisses, on your shoulder, your neck, and your face.

One time, you were running late for an event and had the misfortune of a quick shower. The usual intimacy the two of you shared was skipped over leaving the both of you feeling a little more uneasy than normal.

In fact, it seemed to be the only thing driving Peeta’s mind that day as he would make little comments about his day not starting off right whenever given the chance.

It didn’t matter that the two of you were exhausted by the end of the day. The bath was still ran, and the two of you relaxed in there to make up for what you lost in the morning, even though both of you were on the verge of sleep.

The memory of that day effectively reminds you just how much the small moments you spend together matter to you.

Back in the present, Peeta’s hands rubbed up and down your back, making you shiver.

Your shower routine was done before you could properly savor it and Peeta was wrapping the soft towel around your body, keeping you warm after stepping out into the cool air.

“We have a few hours until the kids are up, what’s on your mind?” Peeta asks, rubbing your arms for extra warmth.

“Food.” You answer immediately.

Peetas laugh echos in your bathroom and your eyes catch his grin through the mirror.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

———————————

Peeta is an expert in the kitchen.

You’re not bad, but it’s obvious which one of you is better. You can’t really complain, anything Peeta makes you love. Maybe it’s because he grew up as a baker, maybe it’s because he puts love into everything he does, or maybe it’s just because you adore him.

You can’t say that it was a quiet morning, with constant chatter between you two, laughs, and kisses, it wasn’t at all quiet.

While your breakfast is in the pan, Peeta puts on a record containing music from your wedding. He sways with you, grinning at each other even when you're moving too slow for an upbeat song.

“The little ones will be up soon.” You comment, seeing the time on the clock.

Peeta’s arms wrap around your waist, his head on your shoulder, still swaying slightly, “Good, I don’t want to have to reheat the food for them.”

It was a classic breakfast. Fluffy chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, bacon, bread, jam (that you made from your fruit garden), and of course the bowls of fruit that you had picked freshly this morning.

“We should go wake them up then.” You said

You felt Peeta’s nod as he pulled you up the stairs.

—————————

Your eldest slept peacefully. You almost felt bad waking him up.

You moved to open the curtains, letting the natural light into his bedroom. You saw him stir at the unfiltered light.

“Hey bud, it’s time to wake up.” Peeta whispered, gently shaking him.

Your seven year old clutched his deer stuffed-animal closer to his body.

You walked over, and sat on the edge so you could shake him.

“Rise and shine, honey.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Slowly but surely, his eyes slowly opened.

“Dad?” He noticed you next, “Mom….is it time to get up already.” He mumbled

Peeta chuckled softly, “Yeah bud, we’ve got the whole day ahead.”

Your son only yawns in response.

“We made breakfast.” You offer, and your son pauses.

“What kind of breakfast?” He asks

“Pancakes, bacon, bread, jam, the whole feast.” Peeta answers

“Okay.” He pushes back the covers and stretches once he stands.

He gives Peeta a hug and a kiss first, then you bend down so he can give you one too.

“Let’s go wake up your sister.” You say, following your son out of his bedroom door with Peeta close behind you.

Your seven year old shuffles with his stuffed animal still in his arms. Your daughter's room isn’t far so it doesn’t take long before you’re standing outside her bedroom door.

Your son does a short courtesy knock before he opens up the door.

Like your eldests room, the curtains are drawn and the room is mostly dark. Your son immediately goes to his sister's side while you make your way over to the curtains.

Like your son, your daughter scrunches her face when the light pours in. You laugh quietly at how similar they look.

Your son whispers his sister's name and shakes her a little roughly.

“Be a little gentler, bud.” Peeta advises

The boy listens and shakes her again.

Your daughter lets out a little whine at being woken up.

“It’s time to get up, there’s breakfast downstairs.” Your son says softly, gazing at his little sister with expectation.

Your daughter tears up a bit at the idea of getting up.

“Good morning, honey.” You say, coming up beside your son, and kneeling down.

Peeta sits on the edge of the bed and gives your daughter a kiss on the forehead. You move some hair out of her face.

“Don’t wanna get up.” Your four year old cries.

“But how else are you gonna eat pancakes?” You ask, caressing her cheek affectionately. Internally, you coo at how precious she looks, even in her teary state. One glance at Peeta and you know he’s doing the same.

She looks at you in thought, obviously debating her options.

When she makes up her mind, she looks over at Peeta and raises her arms up, “Daddy!”

Peeta chuckles and effortlessly lifts her up into his arms.

“Let's go get your little brother up.” Peeta says softly to the two of them.

This time Peeta is the first out of the room with your daughter in his arms, then your son, and you right behind him.

When you were just outside of your youngests room, you see your daughter wiggle in Peeta’s arms, an obvious sign that she wanted down.

Your eldest, once again, gave a little knock on the bedroom door, and you even heard a happy giggle on the other side of the door.

“Come on, open it!” Your daughter urged her brother impatiently.

“I am!” He responded with a bit of frustration in his voice.

Peeta wrapped his arm around your waist and chuckled while you both watched them enter your youngests room.

Your one year old son was standing up in his crib with a happy smile on his face.

Your son and daughter ran over and said a chorus of good mornings.

You walked over and pulled your youngest out of his crib. Once you placed him on the ground he was given a couple hugs and kisses from his older siblings.

“Let’s go downstairs and eat bekfest!” Your daughter said, not quite pronouncing ‘breakfast’ correctly.

“Hold my hand.” Your eldest held out his free hand to his brother. But the younger just walked past him.

“Doesn’t seem like he wants to hold your hand right now, but you can hold mine!” You grinned teasingly, holding out your hand.

“I get to hold your hand all the time.” Your son dismissed already making his way towards his brother, ready to demand for him to hold his hand.

“I’ll hold your hand.” Peeta offered you, grinning as well.

“Who’s gonna hold my hand?” Your daughter cried, suddenly very distraught by the thought of no one holding her hand.

Peeta stooped down and picked her up with a little spin, causing her to giggle.

“I’ll hold you in one arm, and your mom’s hand in the other.” Peeta tickled her, drawing more giggles out of her.

“Sounds good to me.” You said walking over to the two blondes.

“Let us go down first mom and dad.” Your eldest told you, finally getting his brother to hold his hand.

“After you, bud.” Peeta encouraged, grabbing your hand and grinning at his daughter.

———————————

Breakfast was a blur of catering and attempted food fights. It only stopped when your seven year old declared he was going to get dressed and your daughter followed after him claiming that she wanted to get dressed too.

“I’d say that was a successful breakfast.” Peeta commented while eating a few pieces of fruit.

“I’m just glad they didn’t ask for cereal instead.” You laughed, taking the dirty dishes over to the sink. Since Peeta did most of the cooking you agreed to do most of the dishes.

“Mom!” Your daughter's voice cried

You were at the bottom of the stairs in a second, "What is it?” You questioned, scanning her for injuries.

“I can’t get this shirt on!” Her tiny lip wobbled from the top of the stairs, arms craned upward from where they were stuck in her shirt.

“Okay, I can help. Do you want my help?” Your shoulders relaxed at seeing her unharmed state.

Your daughter nodded.

“Everything okay?” Peeta asked, holding your youngest in his arms, the toddler nomming on a piece of fruit.

“Wardrobe malfunction.” You answered, climbing up the stairs.

Peeta nodded and went back into the kitchen.

“I don’t like this shirt.” Your daughter commented as you eased it off of her.

“You wanna pick out another one?” You asked, smoothing down the messy blonde hair on her head.

Your daughter nodded eagerly running towards bedroom, with renewed enthusiasm.

———————

You’d admit that you weren’t originally the most ecstatic at the idea of building a sandbox. The idea of having to clean all the sand off of them still gives you chills. However, it keeps them entertained and happy so you decide it’s worth it.

You and your husband laid on a picnic blanket, Peeta’s back against a tree and you in his arms.

It had been decided that since you were already planning on spending most of the day outside, you might as well eat lunch outside, hence the picnic supplies.

Now, the picnic basket that’s used more than you could’ve ever imagined is closed, all its contents drained except for your water bottles.

With fall your flowers and trees were going dormant for the winter, and you were already brainstorming flowers to plant in the spring.

“I’m thinking of Marigolds.” You comment after internal debate.

“Those are pretty.” Peeta says while stroking your hair.

“Do you think the kids will want to plant some?” You ask, looking up at him.

Peeta shrugs, “I think they will, but you can ask.”

You let your gaze shift to the horizon and notice the sun going down.

“Should we bring them inside for dinner?” You ask quietly, as if any louder would disturb the peace.

“No. Let’s watch the sunset first.” He kisses your cheek

——————————

To no one's surprise your children were quite hungry. They ate so quickly you were worried they were going to choke.

After they were done they were already exhausted, which made it quite the challenge to get them to take their baths.

Your daughter nearly fell asleep while you helped her change into her pajamas.

Then, before you could give her a single kiss she was out like a light, snuggling into her blankets.

Your sons waited patiently for their kisses. Though, you could see your youngest fighting sleep. Luckily, he wasn’t fighting for very long. After hugs and kisses from both of his parents he was out like his sister.

Your eldest was the last to be tucked in, enjoying his hugs and kisses while the three of you chatted a little bit about how the day went.

One thing is for sure, they will be well rested by tomorrow morning.

As soon as you quietly closed the door to your eldests room, Peeta pulled you into a hug.

He swayed the both of you lightly, making you want to fall asleep in his arms. You had done your own share of running around today.

He pulled back with a kiss on your cheek but didn't remove his arms.

"I love you." He said quietly

"I love you too." You replied with no hesitation.

"Thank you." Peeta said, confusing you a little bit.

"For what?"

"For giving me a better life than I could've dreamed of, for allowing me to wake up next to you everyday, for loving me."

You kissed his cheek, "I couldn't not love you. I can't imagine another person who could make me as happy as you do, or make me feel as loved as you do." 

Peeta's smile was so big and full of emotion that it made your heart soar, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter how short or long, I want to spend it with you."

"Well that's good because I also want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Peeta chuckled, "It's cute you think I'd ever let you go." He teased

"Just shut up and kiss me."

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

———————

edited in 07/24/2024

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t even describe it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[bugcuti3]

Every time Peeta is described as “stocky” with “wide shoulders” a fairy gets its wings 🤭

This is based off a scene from @artdivadej ‘s Hunger Games FanFic called “survivor’s remorse” WHICH I LOVE❤️❤️

[ladyathenawisdom]

Trap | Prologue

Warnings: Fluff, Mature Themes, Violence, Corruption, Manipulation, Mentions of Smut, Mentions of Killing.

If anyone asked the Capitol what soulmates looked like, either platonic or romantic, two names would appear in their minds.

Coriolanus Snow and Lalina Trap.

Two of the best students at the Academy in the Capital.

And the President Of Panem and the First Lady of Panem.

Soulmates; It was a word that couldn't even possibly explain the friendship between Lalina Trap and Coriolanus Snow. The two seemed more than that.

They had been the best of friends ever since they had met. Never once leaving the other, no one could see one of them without the other. The two seemed to be in sync, almost as if they were the same person sharing one mind.

But then again, they didn't share the same personalities for no reason at all. The two were good, really good, clever and tactical. Their minds fresh and sharp, cunning and devious all the same. Afterall, the two seemed to click for a reason after all.

Power and Love. They craved it, they wanted it, but more then that; They wanted each other.

But rejection and the ruining of their friendship kept them apart, the fear of losing the other kept them apart. Yet, the two also seemed to want each other because of that. Because the other craved power, because they were devious and psychotic. They were the same person in two different bodies.

But while Coriolanus looked to be devious, Lalina looked innocent. She was a innocent young woman, never letting anyone see her true face. Except her best friend, Corio, she had nicknamed, who knew her truly.

The saying was: Snow Lands On Top

But there was another saying.

Never ever fall in Lalina Trap's trap. She was a trap for a reason, her traps never failed.

Never Fall Into Her Trap.

The two couldn't stand to see other people around the other, they couldn't stand the other getting hurt, emotionally or even physically. They were meant to be, they were meant to be together, they were meant to rule. The perfect power couple.

Two Monsters In Love.

Laughs and cheers were heard all around as the pary commenced, right after the 74th Hunger Games. The two victors had been crowned, surprisingly and not surprisingly of District 12. Then again, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, were the famous love couple. Their gossip and love story had become quite popular and had spread all around the Capitol and the districts.

Katniss walked side by side with her man, a fake smile on her face as she held Peeta's hand as they followed after Haymitch and Effie who was talking about something related to the party.

The female victor looks over in front of her when she hears boisterous laughter, she furrows her eyebrows in confusion. It wasn't surprising to see such loud things happening at a party, buy she could hear the compliments and sweet talks of the ladies and men all around.

As if they were complimenting someone.

Haymich also pauses, something flashes in his eyes as the people move away to reveal a bodyguard. The man turns before he walks to the side, revealing a woman.

Katniss blinked in shock, the woman was absolutely beautiful. She looked fairly old, but that didn't seem to dull her beauty, in fact, it seemed as if it enhanced it. And unlike the fashion of the capital, she was dressed quite simply yet elegantly.

Her platinum blonde hair, almost white, was in a half updo and half down. Her brown eyes were like two doe eyes staring right at her, yet sharp like daggers. Her lips were heart-shaped and painted pink. Her makeup was tame compared to the rest of the Capitol, but she looked beautiful in the simplicity.

She was wearing a long brown gown, smooth and light. She wore light jewelry compared to others, light golden earrings, bracelets around her wrists and a few rings on her fingers. But despite that, the energy that radiated off her was powerful and strong.

Katniss narrows her eyes, spotting the snowflake pendent around her neck, seeing the word 'trap' on it.

Haymitch chuckles, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

The woman's lips immediately break out into a wide smile, looking eager and surprised. "Haymitch!" She exclaims with a chuckle, holding a drink that had a pink liquid in it. "How are you?" She smiles kindly, her doe eyes twinkling.

Haymich smiles, looking tipsy yet knowing where he was currently. "Ahh, just showing the victors where the real party was." He says, looking over at his tributes. "Katniss, Peeta. I want you to meet our lady of Panem. The First Lady Of Panem and President Snow's Wife. Lalina Trap-Snow." He smiles politely.

Lalina's eyes snap towards Peeta and Katniss, eyeing them carefully. "Ahh, yes. The famous couple I've been hearing about, finally getting to meet them." She smiles.

Katniss didn't seem to think the smile was genuine.

Lalina's eyes linger on the pin on Katniss's dress. "What a lovely pin," she remarks, taking a sip of her drink.

Katniss merely nods, looking hesitant.

"You're very beautiful." Peeta says, staring at her in what looked like awe almost.

Katniss side eyes him.

Haymitch coughs.

A laugh bubbles out of Lalina's lips. "Wow, that must be the most genuine thing I have heard from someone other than my husband." She chuckles, clearing her throat as she maintained her posture.

Katniss continued to stare, almost as if analyzing her. She didn't know whether to like the woman or not, she was kind enough. But even kind faces had dark sides that they showed no one. But Lalina Trap-Snow, she seemed to be a mystery.

"Well, you do look quite spectacular this evening." Haymitch says with a nod. "And I don't lie when I'm drunk."

Lalina smirks. "You're always drunk, Haymitch."

"Guilty,"

Peeta chuckles.

Effie smiles, looking surprisingly uncomfortable in the presence of the First Lady of Panem.

"Well, I should not keep you waiting." Haymitch nods, gesturing to the party. "I'm sure you have priorities."

"Oh, don't worry yourself." Lalina says. "I have to go meet Corio anyway. It was an honor meeting the famous love couple." She glances in the direction of Katniss and Peeta. She smiles at them before turning around and walking away, with the man and a few other security guards following behind her at a safe distance.

Effie sighs, breathing out in relief. "Oh, that woman gives me the creeps!" She says quickly and quietly, looking around incase anyone heard.

Katniss and Peeta watch in fascination as the First Lady walks away.

"Don't be fooled by the act," Haymitch speaks up, looking around the gala. "Lalina Trap is a mystery herself. She's said to be more devious then Snow, and that's saying something." His eyes light up when a waiter walks by, he grabs the glass of whiskey and downs it.

Katniss looks back at her. "More then Snow?"

"She seems so...kind." Peeta frowns, looking back at his mentor.

Haymitch chuckles. "Oh, don't fall in her trap. There's a reason she's a Trap, she's clever and knows how to play her part well. She's most likely the only weakness that Snow has, but also his strength. They're both devious and clever." He sighs, shaking his head. "Don't underestimate Lalina Trap. And most importantly, don't fall into her trap, her traps never fail."

Katniss' eyes trail back towards the seemingly kind woman, spotting her walking up to President Snow.

The Victor blinks in surprise when she sees the glimpse of genuine longing in Snow's eyes as he turns to her, his hand grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles gently.

Lalina giggles, her laughter bubbling around as her cheeks turn a pretty pink color.

Katniss watches keenly, looking curious.

Lalina Snow.

Lalina Trap-Snow.

Lalina Trap.

[summerdiphylleia]

The next right thing

Chapter 1: The 74th Hunger Games

Summary: Felicia has always been succesful at overlooking the tributes' names and faces, but ignoring Katniss Everdeen was proving to be a rather difficult task. And she hated herself for it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x wife!oc

Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

*******************

“Are you ready, my dear? Our guests are arriving.”

Felicia stood against the bathroom counter, staring at the mirror. The same mirror that had been looking back at her for over twenty years. Two decades, wasting away in that mansion. It was hard to believe so many years had passed, but the reflection in front of her reminded Felicia of all the years gone by. There were wrinkles around her eyes, and the skin sagged a little around her cheeks and her neck.

She was often offered ‘enhancements’, as they liked to call it in the Capitol, but she refused all of them with a polite smile. She liked the way she looked, worn down as she was. Her eyes remained the same tender, amber brown, although they carried more wisdom and worry than before. Her hair still bore hints of the soft, buttery blonde colour she kept from her youth, but was starting to get lost within the handful of grey hairs she’d grown in the last couple of years. She usually had them fixed by her hairdresser, but didn’t brood on it so much. She took pride in carrying sixty years of age, and she didn’t mind showing it. 

She turned around, and found her husband waiting with a hand extended for her. He also showed signs of ageing, even more so than her: his once impeccable blonde hair had turned completely white, and his face looked withered down; like her he had declined any offers of going under the knife. 

But he had kept his height —he still very much towered over her— and every so often, when the Games were far off and politics sat low on his mind, Felicia could swear she got glimpses of his younger self on his eyes: on the way they curved into a smile after she teased him, on the way they shone whenever they discussed a subject he was keen on, on the way they kept on sharing that spark, that boyish grin, with a man from her past that hadn't been as yearning for power, as corrupted by it. 

“Your bowtie is not properly fastened,” she chuckled, reaching towards him, “let me get it.” 

He studied her, while she worked on fixing his tie, leisurely scanning her from top to bottom. She wasn’t wearing anything too fancy, a simple maroon dress embroidered with small golden flowers, and a pair of small heels matching in colour. Her hair was half up in a bow, and makeup sat simple, not at all too extravagant, on her face. “You look ravishing, dearest.” He whispered, lovingly. She kept focused on straightening his bowtie, but she could feel her cheeks turning the colour of her dress. She wished he wouldn’t say such things so often. It sounded so real. 

Felicia simply hummed in response. “Arabella called,” she explained, in a soft voice, “she told me Max and her wouldn’t be able to attend today’s… gathering.” He stiffened at her words. 

“As they couldn’t last year. And the year before.” He remarked. Felicia briefly glanced at him, and returned her gaze to his collar. “There,” she mumbled, patting on it, “all fixed. You look very handsome.”

He didn’t reply to her, and simply adjusted his suit. He didn’t share his words with her, but she could guess what kind of thoughts raced through his mind. Every time they drifted onto that particular issue, her mind replayed one conversation they had many, many years ago. 

“What exactly are you accusing me of? Turning our infant children into rebels?” She snickered, chasing after him at an amused pace, but Felicia quickly regretted her words. Coriolanus went still, and when he turned around, the look on his face made her flinch. That was the only time she ever felt truly afraid of him. He didn’t just convey rage through his eyes, his whole body swelled on it. He suddenly grew inches in height, and his expression darkened, and she was nothing but a little girl once again. She felt all of her boldness flush away at the sight of him, regretting having allowed herself to yield into such insolence. 

He strode towards her, eyes narrowing in a viperous manner, “don’t joke with that,” he hissed. She raised her gaze, her eyes met his, and anger dropped from his face all at once, and he swiftly glanced around. “Don’t say things like that out loud, you know better than that.” 

She lowered her head. She did know better than that. 

She hated losing her temper. Every time she lost control, he took it. 

Felicia pursed her lips. “I’m sorry,” the words dragged out of her mouth, “but I’m setting my foot down on this. I don’t want them watching that… that thing.” 

Irritation flashed through his eyes once again, then he turned his back at her, and started walking away. “Fine.” 

That was the first time, but not the last one, that an orange pill found its way into her nightstand. 

Felicia blinked the memory away. “Don’t dwell on it, darling,” she sighed, “they’re too busy with work, that’s it. I’ll call them and arrange dinner for the five of us some other time, alright?” 

It was his turn to simply hum in response.

***********

The day went by in a blur. Felicia put on the same act she does every time she’s surrounded by such a crowd: she smiles, and laughs and comments on everyone’s gowns, and makes sure no guest ever has to stand with an empty glass on their hand; and she keeps close to Coriolanus and kisses him and pretends they are a perfectly loving couple. Surprisingly, that remains the easiest part of the facade. 

She doesn’t really pay attention to anything in particular during those days, rather she seeks a void within her. To her, the reaping was nothing but an affair she needed to get through, as cautiously as possible. She doesn’t focus on any of the tributes, she always tries to ignore their faces; they would all die anyway. All but one. One lucky Victor. A lucky child she would get used to seeing in most of the pretentious parties she attended, usually accompanied by a disturbingly older man from one of the high positions in society, who didn’t need to care about keeping his hands to himself. Only seldomly she wouldn’t see said Victor around in such gatherings and, not long after their absence was noted, she would hear the news of their family passing away in some tragic accident. Those nights she went to sleep concluding she’d made an art form out of turning a blind eye. 

The reaping came and went, and before she knew it she found herself in front of the whole Capitol, watching along the parade of the twenty four tributes. Once again, Felicia forced herself into haziness, avoiding to stare at any particular tribute. But the cameras kept on focusing on two of the tributes, though, and their faces were shown on the screens more often than not, even during the President’s speech. She recognised them, they were the two tributes from District 12. Felicia remembered her reapings. That girl… Katniss Everdeen, she’d volunteered for her sister, a little girl whose expression of fear made it obvious it was the first year her name was on the bowl.

Felicia scolded herself for remembering her name. It would hurt so much more when she ultimately learnt of her death. 

***********

The gardens were in full bloom that time of the year, and Felicia often found herself walking around them, buntal hat on her head, and a pair of pruning scissors on her hand. That morning she was being accompanied by her husband, and Theodore, their youngest son. He was a tall boy, with piercing blue eyes, just like his father. His older brother, Maximus, had also inherited most of Coriolanus’s appearance. It was Arabella, the marriage’s only daughter, who looked the spitting image of her.  

They were strolling around the rosarium, tending to the flowers, when Ivan, Coriolanus’ personal bodyguard, a big, brooding man with eyes of a hawk, approached them in a soft trot. “Mr. Crane is here to see you, sir.” 

“Ah, yes,” her husband nodded, putting his scissors on Theo’s hand, “I’ve called for him.” Felicia turned her gaze towards him, annoyance creeping on her mien, but didn’t say anything. She forced her face into a welcoming expression, as Ivan brought the younger man to them. 

“Seneca,” she greeted him in a kind tone, with a warm smile while offering her hand to him, “how lucky of us you’re visiting us.” 

“Mrs. Snow, you look as exquisite as always.” He addressed her, leaving a kiss on her hand. He bore a worryingly stiff grin on his face. “Sir, young man.” 

“Do tell me you’re joining us for lunch?” She urged him, with a cadence only her husband would be able to recognize as fake. “The cook is making some delicious salmon bites, you would be a lunatic for missing them.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, Felicia, the Games don't run all by themselves.”

She turned her lips into a cheeky pout, and then her face split into a grin. “Then you’ll have to let me invite you over some other time, so I can properly commend you for the wonderful job you’re doing on them.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smiled.

Coriolanus and Felicia shared a brisk glance, and she took Theodore by his shoulder. “Come on, sweetling, let’s keep our path. There’s a rosebush over there that desperately needs our help.” 

They waved the gamemaker goodbye, and moved on with their way. Theo looked at her like he wanted to say something else, but she discreetly shushed him, guiding him into a more isolated spot, away from the two men and prying ears of the greenkeepers. 

The pair sat on a bench, next to a particularly unkempt bush, and she showed him where the plant needed to be trimmed and neatened. 

“Mom, why do you hate Seneca?” The boy asked, cautiously, while indifferently working on the roses. 

The question caught her by surprise, and Felicia couldn’t help but giggle, until she saw the serious expression on his face.“What makes you think I hate him?” She questioned him, puzzled. 

“It is because he’s in charge of the Games, isn’t it?” He muttered, “I don’t like him either.” 

Felicia put the scissors away, and gently stroked his hair. “Sweetheart, where is this coming from?” She asked. 

“They make us watch the Games at the Academy, did you know?” He explained, meeting her gaze. She nodded. Of course she was aware. She knew it was only a matter of time before he started commenting on it. “Most of my classmates think it’s some kind of… show, like it’s nothing but entertainment.” 

It pained Felicia to see the defeated look on his face, but she couldn’t help but think of how lucky she was to be having such a conversation with her son, condemning the Games from their very privileged position. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what mothers in the districts were forced to tell their children. Once again, a sneaky thought crept into her mind. “What if you killed him?”  She blinked it away. 

“Well, you can’t blame all of them, honey,” she sighed, “it’s what they’re instilled.” 

“I know,” he murmured, “I guess I’m just glad you taught us better than that.” 

Felicia smiled, and wrapped him in a hug, leaving a kiss on his head. “You know you can’t say that kind of thing around others, right?” She whispered into his ear. He nodded. She grimaced. She had taught them right. 

***********

The rest of the week went by just as fast. Felicia was demanded to be in the front of the crowd for the tribute interviews, and she did it gracefully. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t help but notice the tributes from District 12. They had bewitched all of the Capitol citizens, especially after the boy had come forward with his crush for Katniss. For the girl, she reminded herself. Everyone swooned over the star-crossed lovers, but Felicia could tell a performance when she saw one. And she had to recognise, it was a very smart one indeed, surely it was securing them with a good amount of patrons. 

With the interviews gone by, and the tributes already within the arena, Felicia could finally numb the rest of the Games out. They were the only thing everyone in the mansion and the Capitol could talk about of course, but she had always found it easy to disappear into her tasks. She answered correspondence, decorated the mansion, went for fashion fittings, attended charity events, visited her two oldest children, occasionally helping them with their work at the hospital. It felt nice reminiscing about her days as a surgeon, when she actually felt useful for something. 

She had Lan, her trusted bodyguard for over twenty years, update her on any news about the Games, in case she found it necessary to discuss such events with anyone of political importance, and day after day she was surprised she felt relieved to hear the District 12 tributes were still alive. 

One day, she heard Cesar Flickerman come into television, announcing that if two tributes of the same district were the last remaining survivors, the two would be declared winners. And for the first time in over thirty years, Felicia sat down and watched the Hunger Games.

******

so, this might be turning into a series after all! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!

[dilfsxysh]

ENVY

pairing ⇨ josh hutcherson x f!co-star!reader

content ⇨ smut, dick kissing, handy, praise, some cursing obv, trailer sex(you’ll understand) mentions of flirting for workplace advantages (pls don’t do this •_•)

summary ⇨ joshy gets jealous when you flirt with a crew member on your guys’ new movie

a/n ⇨ sorry no aftercare i didnt want to write all that😤

༻༺

“envy: the desire to have a quality, possession, or other desirable attribute belonging to (someone else).”

“hi matty!” you say coyly, looking up at your wardrobe designer through your lashes. “whats up, sweetie?” he asks, playing into your inviting demeanor. “i was just wondering…”

josh watched from afar as you spoke to him, twirling your hair around your finger, you bit your lip, and touched his shoulder. he couldn’t help but feel at least a bit jealous of matthew. josh watched as you giggled at him, only wishing it was his jokes you were laughing at.

“ill see you a bit later, matty.” you end the conversation, turning at josh who was staring straight in your direction. you tilt your head softly, furring your brows unsure if he was looking straight at you or past you.

your eyes met shortly before deciding to walk toward him. just as he noticed, he quickly looked away and acted as if he hadn't seen you at all but that didn’t stop you from confronting him. you grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. “josh?” you asked, voice softer than intended.

“um yeah?” he spoke with a rejected voice. you raised a brow, “did you need someth— are you okay?” you noticed his defeated demeanor as you looked up into his eyes.

“yeah, no, i’m fine. did you need something?”

“for an actor, you’re a terrible liar, you know that?” you remark slyfully but he sighs, not laughs.

“i told you, it’s nothing. i guess i just had a bad afternoon.” he shrugs, now avoiding eye contact.

“well then what’s going on? i’m here for you. you know that.”

josh hesitates for a moment, not really sure what to say, “look it’s stupid, okay? it’s not worth getting into.”

you sigh loudly, pushing him further, “well if it’s bothering you then it’s not stupid, is it?”

“if you seriously want to know so badly, i just— why do always have to flirt with him?”

your eyes widened, you were almost dumbfounded. this is what this was about. “matthew?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“yes matthew. you’re always laughing at him, touching him, acting all innocent and shy with him. it just—"

“why do you care? i’m just flirting so i can get things from him…” you admit shamefully, knowing its wrong but it works when in this line of career.

josh rubs his face, looking away, seriously regretting everything he’s about to say, “i have feelings for you, okay? seeing you with him, it hurts even though we aren’t— we aren’t together.”

your pupils blow out and you almost choke on nothing. “you do? josh i—"

josh interrupts you, “yes, i do and it’s been driving me crazy, pretending like i don’t. and i do understand that i’m saying this knowing you don’t feel the same…”

“josh i feel the exact same way. i have since we started filming— i just thought— wow i didn’t think you also had feelings.”

he looks up from his feet, trying to hold back his smile, “you really do?”

“i really do.” you said shyly, also trying to hold back an excited and nervous smile.

without a word, you were in each other's arms. josh hugged you tightly, savoring the moment. you clung to him, feeling like weight has been lifted from your shoulders with the comfort of his embrace.

you and josh pulled back from the hug, both nervously smiling at the new feeling. “come by my trailer after shooting. to…talk.” you said with a smirk on your face, covering your nerves.

before josh could even think of a response the director called for the final scenes of the day and you reluctantly parted, sharing one last smile before returning to set. the rest of the night flew by in a blur of takes and retakes, knowing what you knew had somehow made the time faster.

the crew members called for a wrap, dismissing everyone back to their houses and trailers.

the sun was almost done setting, josh made his way to your trailer, anticipation building with each step. he knocked gently on the door, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

the door opened, and there you stood with a smile as your eyes met his. "hi," she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Josh stepped into your trailer, you greeted him with a playful smile and eyes with something behind them that he couldn’t quite place.

“why’d you call me in here, hmm?” Josh asked, leaning against the counter. you grinned, trying to play it cool. "oh, you know, just wanted to chat," you replied, trying to hide your devilish smirk.

he let out a breathy chuckle,"mhmm, well it seems like you have other motives.” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest.

you laughed, feeling more at ease with his reciprocating banter. "hmm, maybe I do," you muttered, dropping to your knees in front of him.

josh raised an eyebrow, a nervous smile spreading across his face. "care to share?" he asked, his voice breaking a bit as he feels you rub your hand over his bulge.

"mind if i show you?" you said slyly, meeting his gaze as he nods his head. you dipped your fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling his sweatpants and boxers down and letting his hard-on spring free.

your eyes widen at the unexpected size of him. you kiss the tip, sucking a bit then kiss and lick down his cock. you lick from the base to the tip, putting it in your mouth without breaking eye contact.

one of his hands grabs onto the counter and the other grabs onto the hair on the back of your head as his mouth starts to hang open.

“you like that, hmm?” you hum onto him, standing up but not letting his dick go. all he does is nod as you kiss him, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. he whimpers into your mouth as you stroke him, using his pre-cum as lube to slip your hand around his length.

your lips kissed eagerly, you both breathing heavily as you kissed. your tongues played together in a way that felt exciting and new, exploring each other with passion. you gently bit his lip, making him gasp with pleasure. josh was filled with excitement and desire, like nothing he or you had experienced before.

he moaned softly as you separated, his mouth chased yours for more. your hand didn’t stop stroking until you two separated.

“i need to be inside of you.” he pleads, picking you up with ease and sitting you on the counter. he pulled your shorts down as fast as he could and moved your wet panties to the side. josh almost groaned at the sight of you, all wet for him and only for him.

“fuck, you’re so pretty.” he moans, slipping inside of you. his cock filled you all the way up, you had to get used to the feelings before moving.

he looked into your eyes for confirmation before pulling back and pushing back in slowly. ultimately, he began the perfect pace.

“you’re so big— so good for me” you managed to whimper out, looking down at where you two connected.

his hips continued in and out of you, soft praises leaving his mouth every other second. he felt like heaven on earth as his thumb rubbed against your bundle of nerves, making your legs start to shake.

“you are s’ pretty like this— taking me like this. s’ good.” he remarked sloppily. you moaned out his name, louder than you probably should’ve.

you kissed him sloppily, bringing your lips together to keep quiet as your fingers clawed at his back. you both moved together, his soft lips making the kiss deeper but there wasn’t much more that you could do to cover up how close you were.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” hr confessed. you kissed all over his lips, face, and neck. and his hips jerked against you as he got closer to the edge, his head falling back and his face twisted in pleasure but you were closer.

“you’re doing so good— all wet for me, you take me so well” josh says with a high pitched moan. you rub your clit, with a high look on your face.

“oh my god— im so close. you fuck me so good.” you moan, voice so broken it doesn’t even sound like you.

as you reached your climax, a wave of intense pleasure swept over you, making you gasp shake. josh slowed down his rhythm as you convulsed around him, squeezing him and letting go. your breathing slowly went back to normal as warmth spread through your body. josh held you at you waist, rubbing shapes on your body with his thumbs, allowing you to breathe and relax before starting again.

“you okay? you wanna stop?” he asks, his voice is warm and welcoming but you shake your head.

“i’m good. so good.” you say, starting to fuck yourself onto him. you moved your hips, needing the friction you just had so badly again.

“sh— shit” he breathes out and grabs your waist again, pulling out and flipping you over, now bending you over the counter.

he lined himself up and pushed back in, starting a quick pace. your walls tightened around him, warmth surrounding his shaft, your slick covering him as he moved in and out. josh’s hands slid up and gripped your shoulders for leverage, moaning and gasping as he snaps his hips against you.

josh moaned, unable to think clearly, mind fixated on the sensation of his dick pulsing inside you. as his orgasm approached, small praises escaped his lips as his knuckles turned white from his tight grip. his thrusts grew more erratic, without any rhythm. you and Josh groaned in unison before he pulled out, coming on your ass and back, his legs weakening as he falls on top of you.

you giggle as he pants, his half-decent body pressed against yours. “god- im sorry.” he says, breathing out roughly.

“for what?” you say concernedly, thinking he did something he wasn’t supposed to.

he gets up slowly, grabbing a rag and wetting it, rubbing it on your back to collect his seed. “for coming so fast” he admits with an embarrassed look in his eyes.

“joshy, i came before you.”

-

[sarcasm-and-stiles]

Josh Hutcherson is so baby girl

[waitimcomingtoo]

Sweet Nothing

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: you and Peeta have an honest conversation after he defends Gale at the whipping post

You looked over your shoulder when you heard your front door open and saw Peeta with a loaf of bread. He saw that your hand was on Gales back and his jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Hey, Peet.” You said through a yawn. He blushed at the nickname as he walked further into your house.

“Hey. Have you been there all night?”

“Yeah. In case he woke up.” You yawned again and nodded towards Gale.

“Did he?”

“No. He’s still pretty knocked out from whatever Prim gave him.”

“You should go get some sleep. I’ll stay with him.” Peeta offered as he set the bread down.

“No. It’s okay. I won’t make you do that.” You smiled awkwardly, knowing that was probably the last thing Peeta wanted to do.

“You’re not making me do anything. Go on. Get some rest.” Peeta gently urged you. You gave Gale another look and decided he’d be fine without you for a little while.

“Okay. Thank you.” You said as you stood up. You stepped forward and sleepily wrapped your arms around Peeta. He was surprised at first but soon wrapped his arms around you. You yawned against his shoulder before resting your cheek on it and closing your eyes. Peeta smiled to himself and gently swayed with you to let you get a moment of rest.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think you should sleep standing up.” He said into your ear. You sighed and let go of him before going to your room. Peeta watched you leaved before occupying the seat you had just been in. He could still feel the warmth you left and longed for time when that wasn’t the only intimacy the two of you shared. He let you sleep for a few hours before deciding to bring you some water. He went into your room with a glass just as you were waking up.

“Hey. How’d you sleep?” He smiled softly and sat on your bed.

“I slept okay.” You shrugged. “Thanks for giving me a break.”

“Of course. We both know you’d never ask for one, but I could tell you needed it.” Peeta smiled teasingly as he handed you the glass of water. You gratefully accepted before downing the glass.

“You’re a good guy, Peeta.” You sighed as you put your cup down. The finality in your voice clued Peeta in that you had made some sort of decision between Gale’s whipping and now.

“But not the right guy, huh?” He smiled sadly. There was no self pity in his voice, which made your heart ache as you stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t always know what you’re thinking. But I can tell something about Gale is giving you serious guilt about your fake relationship with me.” Peeta said, making your stomach drop at how well he could read you.

“I think he kinda assumed he and I were something before I went off to the games. But I don’t know if we are. I know he wants a wife and kids. And I know I’m not ready for that yet.” You admitted without looking at Peeta.

“Do you think you’ll be ready for it one day?”

“Maybe. If I ever truly believed the world was safe enough for kids to be in.”

“What about marriage?” He asked softly.

“Well I’m already engaged, aren’t I?” You laughed dryly, knowing your fake wedding was mere days away. Peeta didn’t share your laughter and instead looked gutted at the reminder of the wedding. Your smile fell as well and you looked down again.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t how you wanted things to happen.” You said as you played with your fingers.

“How do you know that?” Peeta asked and it was his turn for his stomach to drop.

“Haymitch told me.” You admitted as you looked up at him. Peeta gulped and stared into your eyes, knowing there was no use trying to lie to you.

“I’ll admit that I always hoped we’d get married one day out of love, not obligation to The Capital. But your brilliant mind has once again come up with a way to keep us safe. So I guess I can’t really be upset.”

“Yes you can.” You said immediately, making Peeta look confused.

“You can be upset about what I did to you in the games. I’m upset about it.” You continued as tears filled your eyes. Peeta smiled sadly and took your hand.

“You didn’t do anything to me.” Peeta assured you. “You played a part that allowed us to get out of there alive. And alive together. We never would’ve both made it home without you. I would’ve died from my leg wound and you would’ve come home with no one who ever truly understood what you went through back there.”

“I know. I just wish there was a way I could’ve let you know about the plan while it was happening. I didn’t know you weren’t playing along.” You said while avoiding his gaze. Peeta’s eyes bore into you but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I didn’t know how much I would be hurting you when I acted the way I did in the cave. It killed me when I realized you were never pretending.” You whispered as a tear slipped down your face.

“I wouldn’t say I never was. I think we both played up our romance for the cameras, intentionally or not. But a lot of what I said to you was true. I really have pinned for you for the last 11 years.” Peeta confessed as he wiped your face with the sleeve of his shirt. You looked up at him and gave him a soft smile.

“Some of what I said was true too.”

“Really? Like what?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“Like when you said I wasn’t paying attention and I told you I was. You said it was just because you didn’t have any competition in the games. I said you don’t have much competition anywhere.”

“That can’t be true.” Peeta chuckled. “You just slept in an old chair all night long in case Gale woke up and needed something.”

“He would’ve done it for me.” You said quietly.

“I think he’d do anything for you.” Peeta laughed sadly, making you think.

“No, actually. I don’t think he would.”

“You don’t?” Peeta raised an eyebrow.

“I love Gale. He’s my best friend and provides for my family. But sometimes, and I would never admit this to him…” You trailed off and looked off into the distance as you thought of Peeta preparing to eat the nightlock berries with you.

“What is it?” Peeta asked.

“I honestly think if Gales name had been called in the reaping instead of yours, he would’ve killed me in the games if it came down to it. He would’ve let me eat the nightlock by myself or cut my throat or done something final just to get home. He’s a hunter. He isn’t a lover. He isn’t…” You trailed off again and looked down to avoid meeting Peeta’s eyes.

“He isn’t you.” You finished. Peeta’s face burned red but he kept his composure. He had a million things he wanted to say to you, but nothing came out.

“You know, you guys would probably get along if you gave it a chance.” You said to fill the silence.

“Gale and I would never get along.“ Peeta laughed as he shook his head.

“You might. You’re both from district 12. You’re the same age. You’re both stubborn. I think you’d be great friends.”

“No. We could never be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because of you. The number one thing we have in common. We both….” Peeta trailed off and smiled sadly, and you knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. They both wanted you, so they could never get along.

“Yeah.” You said finally. “I guess you’re right.”

Peeta felt he had dropped the ball and caused the moment you were having to end. He wiped his hands off on his pants before taking one of yours to hold.

“Look, Y/n, I know romance is probably the last thing on your mind with everything else going on. But you deserve to be happy. Even if happy is with him. So I’m fine being your friend and loving you from a distance. Because even if you chose him over me, at least I’ll know that you’re loved. That’s all I could really ask for. I just want you to feel loved. So I don’t want you to feel pressured to “pick” one of us to be with. You have a million more important things to think about. But if one day you do chose, just know I’ll love you either way.”

“Peeta.” You breathed out and touched his face. He leaned into your palm before kissing the center of it. You started to lean in to kiss him when your mom entered the room.

“Oh. Sorry.” She said when she realized what was going on. “Gale is asking for you, honey.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” You said without taking your eyes off Peeta.

“You should go. He needs you.” Peeta told you with his selfless smile. He got off your bed and headed for your door.

“Peeta.” You called desperately, hoping he’d stay.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? It’s almost our big day.” He winked at you before leaving. You sighed in disappointment before going to see Gale.

“Hey. How you feeling?” You asked as you sat back in your chair beside the table.

“Better now that your fiancé went home.” Gale said with a tired smile.

“Hey, my fiancé defending you at the whipping post and stayed with you while I slept.” You defended Peeta in a calm, gentle tone.

“Don’t act like he’s some saint. He just wanted some points with you.” Gale brushed it off, making you frown.

“He isn’t like that, Gale. He doesn’t do things for praise or attention. He does things because he’s selfless and kind.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize he meant so much to you.” Gale mumbled. He was starting to get on your nerves in a way he usually didn’t.

“He saved my life. So yes, he does.” You said simply.

“Come on.” Gale laughed humorously. “Don’t tell me you actually have feelings for the guy. He’s a baker. A nobody. He got hurt in the games and painted his face until you came along to save him. He can’t protect you. And he definitely can’t provide for you. Unless you think you can survive on cupcakes and cookies for a living.”

You sat back in your seat and gave Gale a blank stare. You wanted to say “I can’t protect myself. I can provide for myself”, but you bit your tongue. You let it slide since he was just waking up from his pain medication but it bothered you that he didn’t think you were self sufficient. You thought back to your conversation with Peeta from just moments ago and how he called your mind brilliant. You smiled at the memory before looking at Gale again.

“Would you be upset with me if I ended up with him? You asked quietly.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “You’re never going to end up with that guy.”

“But would you still be my friend if I did?”

“I don’t see how I possibly could.” Gale said like it was obvious. He had given you the opposite answer Peeta had and it made you think. Gale didn’t care if you ended up loved. He only cared if you ended up with him.

“Right.” You smiled tightly and looked down.

“Why are you asking me this anyway? Isn’t your love for him just a lie for The Capital?”

In that moment, it had never been clearer to you that no, it wasn’t a lie. Your love for Peeta was real. Gale could offer you a fire that already burned within you, but Peeta wasn’t fire. Peeta was the sun. He was a dandelion in the springtime. He was rebirth, new beginnings, and an old friends all at once. He had nothing to offer you but unconditional, unasking, and unselfish love. You needed to be with him immediately and got up out of your chair.

“I have to go.” You said and ran out your front door. You ran all the way to Peeta’s house and pounded on his door. Peeta opened it in no time and looked surprised when he saw you.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Peeta asked. You answered by throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. Peeta’s eyes flew open in surprise before fluttering shut. He wrapped and arm around your waist and walked backwards without ever breaking the kiss. Once you were inside his house, you deepened the kiss until you needed to pull away for air.

“What’s happening? Are the cameras here?” Peeta whispered as he stared into your eyes. It mad you sad that he thought you were only kissing him because there were cameras around so you shook your head.

“No. I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“That if I’m gonna be on this train for the rest of my life, there’s no one else I’d rather be on it with.” You said as you brushed your thumb against his cheek. It took Peeta a minute to process what you were saying but when he did, he smiled.

“Can you please say it? Even if it’s just this once?” He whispered with desperation heavy in his voice. You smiled and cupped his face so you could bring his forehead closer to press against yours.

“Peeta Mellark, I fear I’ve fallen helplessly in love with you.” You said as stared into his eyes. Peeta broke out into the biggest grin you’d ever seen on him before scooping you up and spinning you around. He pressed a million kisses to your cheek before setting you down.

“That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

[the-prettiest-teardrop]

Peeta Mellark HCs

Pairing- Peeta Mellark x GN Florist!reader

Warnings- Talk of body image issues, nightmares, spiders

A/N- So this is from a weird little daydream I have where you and peeta have like a half bakery half flower shop.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

✿ He would constantly have his hands on your hips as you worked.

✿ He’d be such a sweetheart if you were stressed out, mumbling things like “Doing so good, my baby” into your ear.

✿ Making you little bouquets out of your leftover flowers.

✿ I’m convinced that if there was a spider that crawled off a flower, he’d take it outside because, “He has a wife and kids!”

✿ Def bakes things for you on slow days.

✿ He’d be so sweet if you were struggling with body image, giving you kisses and telling you how pretty you are. 

✿ When he wakes up with nightmares,  he at first feels bad for waking you up to calm him, but after a little, he doesn’t even have to wake you, you’re already up. 

✿ Would def kiss your knee, sitting on the counter? Knee kiss. Tying your shoes? Knee kiss. He just loves showing affection.

✿ Would totally want you to teach him to make bouquets so he could secretly make them for you.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 1)

Haymitch x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue

“Well,” Haymitch grunts, rising from his seat in the bar car, “that’ll do it.”

Y/N knows the drill. Busying herself with the game plan, preparing the devices for her tributes. Loaded with resources to aid in their training.

Haymitch leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before stumbling away toward their train car.

He won’t even see them, not until it’s absolutely necessary. Haymitch has no desire to make small talk; he doesn’t want to know them. Just makes it harder in the end.

His wife, on the other hand, is either a saint or criminally insane by Haymitch’s account. She insists on knowing them, allowing each to take a little piece of her off into the arena to die.

He used to spite her for it, for her inability to simply stop running herself into the ground trying to save kids who are already dead. He doesn’t anymore. That’s who she is and he learned to love her for it. Still, Haymitch doesn’t want to watch. He was always better at picking up pieces than keeping things in place.

“Y/N Abernathy!” A shrill voice scolds when the set of doors behind the youngest victor open without warning.

“Effie Trinket.” Y/N waves a hand in her direction.

“What are you doing? Where is Haymitch? The two of you are meant to be-”

“Look, you’re new at this. I get it, everything is exciting. Can’t wait to make these kids arena ready in just a few days.” Y/N grumbles, never looking up from her tablet. “But it doesn’t work like that. We’re stuck on this fucking train until tomorrow morning with no weapons to train them and no cameras to wave at. There’s no rush.”

“Language!” Effie gasps at her choice of words, coming to stand in front of Y/N with both hands on her hips. “The tributes are waiting.”

“How many people have you killed?” Y/N asks, turning her eyes up at Effie.

The woman simply balks at her, speechless.

“Have you ever held your intestines in your hands? Or fought your way to the top of an hourglass that was slowly filling with sand?”

Effie narrows her eyes into slits. She’d been warned that Haymitch might be hard to manage, but no one said a thing about her.

“It’s ok, not many people can say yes.”

Ms. Trinket stomps her foot like a petulant child.

“I don’t tell you how to do your job, stop telling me how to do mine.”

————————————————————————

When Y/N is good and ready she makes her way to the dining car, Katniss and Peeta are sat patiently there. The boy’s fingers picking anxiously at the satin blue arm rest of his chair. Y/N takes a deep breath. Here we go again.

The pair of tributes snap their heads in her direction, waiting expectantly.

I can’t save you. Only you can do that.

“I’m Y/N. Good to meet you. Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark.” The woman says, more cool and calculated than Katniss expected. She has a digital pad in hand, jotting down notes with her stylus. Giving one to each of them in turn.

“Oh, uh- thank you.” Peeta accepts his gratefully.

“Beginning at the main screen, let me know if you have any questions, there are diagrams of strategies for attack and defense-”

“Where’s Haymitch?” Katniss asks, tapping at her screen with inexperienced fingers.

“He may join us later if it suits him.”

Katniss visibly recoils. This is not the woman the Capitol shoves down their throats on television. Sweet and demure in nature, with a smile to sugar coat even the darkest of thoughts.

“Contingent upon your strengths and weaknesses, this is a playbook of every effective strategy that I’ve seen, heard of, or performed. With different arenas come different challenges, so you’ll need to do some adjusting to meet your specific goals.

If you are skilled in hand to hand combat, I suggest numbers eight through eleven. If you’re skilled in a long range combat, numbers one through five. If you’re skilled in both, I suggest a combination, otherwise known as numbers six and seven. If you’re skilled in neither, I suggest you do the best you can to prepare yourself. Number twelve is for my non fighters, my hiders, climbers and camouflagers. People tend to overlook that strategy all together, but not me. It buys time, if you’re lucky, it buys enough to wait out the masses.”

Peeta nods, hanging on her every word.

“Which one did you use?” Katniss wonders, trying to digest the harsh angles of the first diagram.

“Seven.”

Six and seven are combination. “I thought you won with a knife?” Katniss was only two at the time, but there is no shortage of recap. From the people who love Y/N and the ones who believe that the Capitol ate her soul.

“I took the last career out hand to hand, my partner covered the distance.” Y/N explains. “Axe to district one’s back, gave me a fighting chance. Allies are invaluable weapons if you pick the right ones.”

————————————————————————

Climbing into bed that night Y/N feels Haymitch stir, tossing a lazy arm around her as he nuzzles against her back.

“Well? What’d you think?” He asks, reeking of whiskey. “They gonna last a couple minutes? Hours?”

Y/N feels her jaw tick. “We owe these kids the same care and preparation as we gave the rest.”

“As you gave the rest.” Haymitch says pointedly. “I’m a shit mentor, you told me that.”

“You did this for a long time by yourself and I,” she breaks off, tapping anxiously at his fingers. “I commend you for that. But I can’t do it alone. I’ve tried, it doesn’t work.”

“That is not on you.” Haymitch says, under his breath. “The kids have been too young, too weak-”

She sighs, “if we don’t try, that is on us. Haymitch, what if they were our kids?”

“If we aren’t careful, it will be our kids.”

“Even if we play our parts; ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ like a couple of good little show animals, they could get reaped anyway.”

“We made them the most beloved children in Panem. Nobody will be lining up to watch them fight to the death.” Haymitch tries to brush it off. He can’t even think about shit like that. From the moment they were conceived, the odds were put in their favor.

“There’s never been a child born of two victors, people are curious.” Y/N feels him tense.

“Someone told you that?”

She nods, “Finnick’s heard it a couple times now.”

“Heard it where?” Haymitch demands.

Y/N lowers her voice, “Haymitch, you know where.”

From his patrons, the ones Snow forces on him. They pay with secrets.

Part 2

[myadmiringmind]

In-law Dinners | Peeta Mellark

Peeta Mellark Masterlist

AU: The Hunger Games do not exist. They live in a small town that mines coal.

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Fluff | Hurt?/Comfort

Pairing(s): Peeta Mellark x wife!Reader

Summary: You are no stranger to dinners with your in-laws. However, it’s been a while, making you more nervous than usual.

Warnings: Hostility, anxiety, stress, food, just a kind of awkward dinner, and swearing.

Note(s):

Peeta’s mother and brothers suck

Established relationship

|PICTURES ARE NOT MINE|

——————————————————

You were stalling, you knew that. You told your husband that you needed to find a more appropriate jacket to wear with your outfit, instead of the one you usually wore.

You had no doubt that Peeta was aware you were stalling but as the ever perfect lover he is, amused you by playing into your lies.

To be fair, you did attempt to look at the other coats in your closet. Just to see if there was one that would make this night go a little smoother. But as your gaze rested upon each coat that you had personally picked and loved every time that you wore them, your mind could only bring up the nasty comments your mother in law never failed to make.

When you caught sight of his blonde hair in the mirror you pretended to straighten out the nonexistent creases or wrinkles on your outfit that you had already spent too much time worrying about the week that led up to this day. Both of you knew he would see right through this act, but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about your negative feelings.

He walked towards you cautiously. When you could feel his body heat, he turned towards the closet. He examined the pieces of clothing before plucking one off of the rack.

“How ‘bout this one?” He smiled

You gazed down at the coat and your heart swelled. It was one of your favorites (you were certain Peeta knew), and it would go nicely with your attire.

As you took the coat from him he reached his hand up to your face so that he could push some of your hair out of your eyes.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked softly, gazing at you with all the affection in the world.

You shook your head, drawing your eyes away from him.

He cupped your face gently and brought your gaze back to his, “We don’t have to go.” 

You shook your head again, “Yes we do-” 

“No, we don’t. I am not going to make you do anything that’s going to make you uncomfortable.” You knew he meant it. You didn’t even have to hear him say it.

“I want to do it.” You explained. The unspoken “For you.” hung in the air. 

He smiled appreciatively at you and stroked your cheek. You didn’t even notice yourself leaning into the warmth of his hand. 

“I know my family is hard to deal with..” Peeta began

You were quick to cut in, “Peeta-” 

“You don’t have to say anything, I know they are. Which is why I would never force you to spend any amount of time with them.” He said it so sincerely that you wanted to give in. To say “I don’t want to go” and kiss him goodbye, sit on the couch, watch a movie, and wait for him to get home. 

But you also knew you’d spend that time feeling guilty, even though you shouldn’t, because Peeta is right and you shouldn’t have to deal with your in-laws just for him. But you want to. Because even though Peeta’s family sucks, he cares for them. And he cares for you. And you know he’d put himself in this position one hundred times over if it was your family just to make you happy. 

So you don’t give in, even though you really wish you would. 

Your hand reaches up to cup his hand that was still cradling your cheek. You gave it a reassuring squeeze and looked him straight in the eye as you said, “I want to go to dinner with you tonight.” 

Peeta gazed at you for a few extra moments before nodding, “Okay.” he ended it with a sweet kiss as if to say, “Thank you.”

-----------------------------

Being in a relationship with Peeta improved your punctuality. You never arrived too early or too late. It was a skill of his you deeply appreciated and made you glad it rubbed off on you.

Peeta carried a tote bag (that you bought for him) with the baked goods he made for tonight in one arm, and held your hand in the other.

Before he knocked on the front door, he looked at you and smiled, “I’ll be right beside you the whole time. We can leave at any point, just say the word.” He whispered in your ear.

You gave his hand a grateful squeeze and nodded.

It took only a few moments after knocking on the door for his father to appear on the other side.

Simple greetings were made. Peeta’s father was easily the most tolerable, even if he could be awkward sometimes.

Peeta’s father ushered the two of you into the house and Peeta placed your jacket and shoes at the sad coat rack next to the front door.

His childhood house was smaller than your home, even though only you and Peeta lived there. Everything in this house was noticeably old and worn out. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for the tense atmosphere.

You owned many thrifted things, and had done many home projects, but the two of you always felt it made your house more of a home.

As you walked through the small hallway you noticed all the things that were self-fixed and the cracks made in the walls that made the house look even sadder.

The sight of this house around you made you uneasy, your only comfort being Peeta’s hand.

Peeta

You turned your head towards the man you loved and your heart sank. Your wonderful husband who was kind and good, had the misfortune to grow up in a house like this.

He turned his head at the feel of your gaze. Somehow, he was always able to read your thoughts. A sad smile and a barely noticeable shrug was his way of saying, “It is what is.”

You held his hand a little tighter.

If it was just Peeta’s father and brothers, dinners wouldn’t be as hard for you to attend. But it wasn’t just his brothers and father.

Peeta’s mother stood in the kitchen, handing plates to Peeta’s two older brothers to set them onto the table. She had a look of annoyance on her face, just like every other time you saw her.

When she looked up you felt a jolt go through your body.

The woman’s look of annoyance turned to a scowl.

“Took the two of you long enough.” She barked

It was still a couple minutes before the agreed upon time.

“We weren’t expecting so much traffic.” Peeta said in his usual optimistic voice.

Peeta’s words didn’t soften his mothers scowl as she sharply nodded her head towards the small table, “You two can finish setting up.”

Her attitude wasn’t surprising to either of you. You had been friends with Peeta since school and got together before you graduated. You’ve had plenty of time to grow used to the less than hospitable nature of his mother. But it never stopped the anger from building in your chest when they treated Peeta the way they did.

——————

Dinner was..awkward, to say the least. A lot of jabs from Peeta’s brothers and outright degrading comments from Peeta’s mother. Your father-in-law mostly kept quiet unless he was making more small talk.

You truly believed that the only reason the two of you were ever invited to dinner was because of the envelope with a check Peeta would give his father at the end of every visit.

Peeta provided for them, because he felt he owed them for ‘raising’ him.

You agreed knowing it made him feel guilty not to.

The money he gave was some portion of the money that he made from his paintings, never asking or allowing you to give some of your money.

The car ride home was silent, unlike the one on the way there. Peeta was visibly tense and you were sure that you were too. But his hand wrapped with yours wasn’t firm or anything.

When he pulled in front of your house and turned off the car, the two of you just sat there for a moment in the dark.

You rubbed what you hoped was soothing circles on the back of his hand.

When he let out a deep breath you were relieved that you were helping.

“I don’t think I can do this forever.” He muttered

You nodded, “And you don’t have to.”

“Then, why do I feel like I do?” He turned his head towards you, his eyes glazed over in tears.

“Because you care for them…because despite everything they’ve done you give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“I keep thinking they’ll change.” He shook his head, “Then, I see how they talk to you and I..” he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

You squeezed his hand and shook your head, “You don’t need to worry about me-“

“I do need to worry about you!” Peeta cut in with a loud voice, “You’re the love of my life and my family treats you horribly! And-and I let them!”

You think back to tonight’s dinner. How Peeta defended you from every comment, praised you for your achievements, and redirected any conversation they tried to start with you, “You don’t let them.” You brushed a couple stray hairs from his face.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He shook his head, “I won’t let you deal with this anymore.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about Peeta?”

“The next time they ask us over for dinner, I’ll send the check in the mail. They’ll get the hint.” He said with a sad tone.

“Oh, baby…” you weren’t sure what to say.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop seeing them entirely. I’m not sure I ever will. But some time away and some space will be good for me.” He looked at you again, but this time he smiled a little. “I think it’ll be good for us.”

You were close to crying yourself.

“I meant what I said on our wedding day, you’re the most important person to me and I promised to put you above everyone else.” His unoccupied hand wiped away a tear from your cheek.

You leaned in and rested your forehead against his, taking in his words and proximity. You knew how hard this was for him. How hard it’s always been.

“I’m proud of you.” You whispered

Peeta’s eyes met yours and he kissed you. A sweet, meaningful kiss like many you had had before.

Peeta was the first to speak, “Let’s go inside, I want to have a real dinner with my wife.”

—————

“Thank you for coming with me today. I don’t think I ever would’ve found the strength to finally admit to myself…something I think I’ve always known, without you.” Peeta murmured against the crown of your head.

Your head rested upon your husband's chest, listening to his steady heart beat, with one of your hands spread across his stomach, fingers laced with his.

“I love you.” Was your explanation.

You felt his lips curl up into a smile, “I love you too.”

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

[fireflyinks]

flour fight

baker!peeta mellark x baker!reader

summary : when peeta spills a bag of flour, he decides to make the best out of the accident, with his beloved wife, of course

contains : pure fluff, this is the cutest thing i’ve ever written.

a/n : peeta and i are actually getting married!! wedding invites will be sent shortly (im joking) (maybe)

🎀🎀🎀🎀

Owning a bakery with my husband, Peeta wasn’t always easy. Often times, we both got upset over sales and were afraid we wouldn’t have enough money for food. But we always managed our money wisely, and my lover always managed to make me smile.

Peeta entered the bakery’s kitchen, carrying the biggest bag of flour I’d ever seen. Either he had an excellent poker face, or the heavy load didn’t burden his body one bit. It’d expect the latter, since Peeta was extremely strong, and had been lifting heavy bags like this for years.

If our cat, Rye, hadn’t ran in front of his feet at that exact moment, Peeta wouldn’t have tripped. If Peeta wouldn’t have tripped, he wouldn’t have tumbled to the floor, the bag with him. If he hadn’t have fallen with the bag of flour, the two of us wouldn’t have been covered in the white powder, head to toe.

But if Peeta was a different man, he would’ve been livid. He would’ve thrown an absolute tantrum and somehow blamed the incident on me. This would’ve turned into a huge fight.

But instead, he simply looked himself up and down, then myself, reached down to pick up a handful of flour, and tossed it directly at me. The smile on his face was cheeky, as if he was challenging me.

I accepted it.

Flour flew out the room like comets through the night sky. I nailed him in the face a couple of times, and I swear I’d never had so much flour in my mouth before. Giggled filled the room.

This went on until the two of us ended up in a heap on the floor, cackling and rolling around in flour.

Peeta grabbed another handful, smothering it on my face. I gasped, realizing how ridiculous I must look.

“Peeta! This is such a waste of ingredients!” I reasoned, starting to get off the floor. He pulled me back down into his lap.

“I don’t think so. You can’t put a price on memories, and this is definitely in my top five now.” I couldn’t help but chuckle.

He wasn’t wrong, this had been extremely fun and hilarious, but we needed to clean this up. The worst part was he wouldn’t stop staring at my flour-smothered face.

“Peeta stop!” I giggled, covering my face with my dirty hands, “I look awful.”

He shook his head, removing my hands. “I think you look gorgeous. Now come on, cupcake, we gotta clean this up.”

God, I love this man.

[d4yl1ghts]

hey, not sure if this request will make sense but… maybe Peeta as a bullrider/cowboy? and he gives you his cowboy hat. it’s been something i’ve imagined for a long time and it’s been stuff in my brain ever since-

cowboy

cowboy!peeta mellark x wife, fem!reader

summary: peeta gives you his cowboy hat as you share a moment of peace with him

A/N- i hope this is alright, i dont know much about cowboys so 🙏

-

You lived with your husband, Peeta, on a gorgeous farm surrounded by vast fields and country roads in North America. Peeta was a cowboy and usually spent his days watching over the cattle ranches and herding them on his horse. You on the other hand stayed nearer to the farm and watched over the chickens and chicks. The thing you loved the most about Peeta being a cowboy was how good he looked in a cowboy hat.

You were currently cooking some spaghetti bolognese for the two of you as Peeta was due to arrive home any minute now. You placed the two plates down on the rustic table with two glasses of red wine. Then you heard the sound of keys jangling outside the front door and knew your husband was home.

“Hey, honey.”, he whispered into your ear, hugging you tightly from behind. You turned around to kiss his pretty lips. He instantly kissed back. “I love you.”, you muttered. “I love you more.”, he responded.

“Come and sit.”, you patted the chair that was opposite to yours. “This looks delicious.”, he stated.

“Like you.”, you winked jokingly. He blushed slightly, he was so easily flustered, it was cute. You ruffled his hair slightly and then you took notice of his lack of a cowboy hat. “Where’s your hat?”, you frowned.

“It’s hanging up by the door, why?”, he questioned. “You know that’s what I look forward to seeing you in when you come back.”, you answered, almost teasingly. He suddenly rose from his seat. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait one minute.”, he said. After thirty seconds he returned in his cowboy hat. “Do I look cute, baby?”, he asked you, smirking slightly. “You know you do.”

“I do.”, he stated charmingly. “Come here, honey.”, he turned towards you with open arms. You walked over and he placed his arms gently around your waist. He took his cowboy hat off and placed it on your head. “It looks even better on you, baby!”, he said with excitement in his voice, hyping you up.

Your cheeks heated up and Peeta thought that it was adorable. He loved it when you blushed. Especially when he was the reason for it. “I’ll have to get myself another hat if you look so good in that one, tomorrow you can come and herd the cattle with me.”

“Okay.”, you sighed contentedly as you leaned into your husband’s soft touch. He rubbed his big but tender hands down your back. “I love you so much.”, he whispered as he looked up at you, his eyes full of love. You just looked down at him and kissed him, you would never be able to put how much you loved him into words. He knew this of course.

[satcrns]

toasting

peeta mellark x reader

-> celebrating your marriage to peeta with a district 12 toasting

-> word count: 610

the fire danced across the wood in the hearth, heat warming your cheeks. peeta was in the kitchen, grabbing the bread that the two of you were about to toast. bread that he had made fresh this morning. he woke with the sun and went down to the kitchen to start the preparations. of course, this wasn’t just any regular bread. this was the bread for your toasting. 

when peeta came back from the games, he realized just how precious the time he had was. he was determined to fill it with love and laughter: the first step was to make you his wife. your romance had taken the capitol by storm, adding yet another layer of drama to the heartbreak of the hunger games. and now that peeta was back, the capitol wanted to see you two hand in hand for eternity, but the adoring fans in the capitol meant nothing to peeta, getting to hold you for however long he had left in this world was the primary thing on his mind. 

in his mind, he came back from the damaged. he might be a victor, but at what cost? would you want to deal with his nightmares or would you find another man who could work in the mines and provide you a life away separated from the capitol’s grip? 

but you had chosen to stay with him, visiting him often at the house in victor’s village. it was a large house, and without you there it seemed empty. the silence echoed off of the walls, reinforcing to peeta that even though he now had a house, it would never be a home. 

but today you would walk into the home together, recognized as one in your love. you could move in your things and fill the spaces peeta left unoccupied. he could sleep soundly with you beside him, always able keep his eye on you, comforted by your presence when the less than desirable thoughts creeped in. 

he brought the bread to the hearth where you were sitting, the fire painting your white dress a soft orange. you beamed up at him as he sat next to you, handing you a piece. “ready?” he asked, the sight of you took his breath away, even if you were just sitting on the floor in a white dress you rented for the day. 

“of course, are you?” “i’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” you raised your eyebrows at his words in an inquisitive look. he just laughed, moving closer to the fire. you joined him, placing your slice of toast over the flames, watching the soft white bread slowly turn into a soft brown.

you had shared many moments with peeta in your life, but this one was your favorite so far. it cemented that there was a life between the two of you now, you would now be bound together as one person. peeta leans in to kiss you and you can feel him smile into the kiss. he has the money for a bigger wedding, one that everyone can attend, and you will have one eventually in the capitol surrounded by the same people who sent him to die. but, before that spectacle, he wanted a private moment, a district 12 tradition that he’s dreamed of having since being a little boy. 

after eating the toast, peeta and you move out to the back porch to watch the sunset before you have to take your dress and return it. he holds your hand and watches as the deep oranges and pinks set into the sky, happy to have his wife beside him. 

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (30)

Part 1-Part 18 /Part 19 / Part 20 / Part 21 / Part 22 / Part 23 / Part 24 / Part 25 / Part 26 / Part 27 / Part 28 / Part 29 / 

Created: March 14th, 2024

Last Checked:------

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