#peeta mellark x y/n

[dixonsfawn]

imagine having the worst possible nights sleep. unable to get comfy. or fall asleep for ages. your mind racing with a million thoughts about things you should’ve said in those moments. then just being able to roll over into his arms and let him cradle you until you do eventually start to feel tired. your eyes fall heavy to the sound of his breathing mixed with his soothing little hums as he runs his fingers softly in circulation motions across your back. his torso pressed flush against your own as your legs tangle beneath the sheets. he has you totally encapsulated by him. both literally and metaphorically. he leaves the most gentle kisses on your forehead, not wanting himself to fall asleep until he’s made sure you have first. even as his own eyes begin to fail him, and he lets out his own little yawns. he’s determined to get you to sleep first. your head nestled against his chest as his head rests on yours, and he knows once your breathing slows into a steady rhythm he too can finally go to sleep ᡣ𐭩

[bruisedboys]

peeta mellark !!!! who loves all your insecurities likes it’s breathing <3 and who worships the ground you walk on because you’re his sun!!

peeta who loves your stretch marks even if you don’t. he’ll run his hands over the soft ridges, up and down, over and over. he’ll kiss the ones on your hips when he’s feeling lovesick (which is always) and he likes how you shudder under his mouth, say his name all breathless while you bury your hands in his hair.

peeta who doesn’t care if you don’t shave, it couldn’t bother him less. and if you do want smooth skin, he’ll offer to do it for you, claiming, “I’m an expert, sweetheart. c’mon, can I please?” you never say no, you can’t. he’s unbelievably careful and kisses your knees when he’s done.

peeta who loves your tummy and your thighs!! he’s always got a big warm hand on your thigh, or one under your shirt, kneading your stomach. they’re kind of his favourite parts of you. the parts he can squeeze all his love into. his favourite thing ever is when you wear a big t-shirt to bed so he has easy access to your thighs and tummy <3 better if it’s his t-shirt, of course.

peeta who braids your hair back for you before you sleep, no matter how tired he is. you sit on a cushion on the floor while he sits on the bed, fingers gentle as they card through your hair. sometimes you’ll fall asleep against his knee. he never has the heart to wake you up, so he lifts you into bed himself. you wake for a handful of seconds, enough to murmur a sweet, “thank you, pete.” he kisses your forehead, his way of saying you’re welcome.

peeta who takes your face in his hands when you cry, endlessly gentle. he swipes at your hot tears with his thumbs and curls his fingers behind your ears. “did you know you’re pretty even when you cry?” he’ll say. “how do you do that, hm?”

peeta whose love is hot like stars and infinite. he’ll go to the moon and back for you and he’s not afraid to let you know that <333

[joshfutturman]

ੈ♡˳ jhutch char love confessions gn!reader

summary: jhutch chars realising they're in love with you headcanons for josh futturman (future man), derek danforth (the beekeeper), mike schmidt (fnaf), billy (burn), clapton davis (detention) and peeta mellark (the hunger games). suggestive elements.

ੈ♡˳ josh futturman

♡ it hits him like a truck one day, the realisation that he loves you. he's not even with you in that moment, in his own bedroom, sitting up suddenly from bed. he repeats it over and over, testing how it feels on his tongue. . . oh god, he loves you. ♡ he's never felt like this before. sure he's had crushes and stuff, but nothing as strong as this. it knocks the wind from his lungs. he can't stop smiling. he has to tell you. ♡ your next date consists of him tripping over his words the whole time, not entirely out of character for futturman, but you can tell he's on edge. he skirts around the words the entire time, until you kiss. ♡ when your lips meet, slowly, tenderly - he can't help it. an 'i love you' slips out between breaths against your lips. his cheeks blaze, but they blaze even brighter when you tell him that you love him too.

ੈ♡˳ derek danforth

♡ he realises he loves you one day at a party, watching you mingle with guests. he watches how you expertly wrap them around your little finger, a sudden surge of jealousy flooding his mind. he doesn't want you being with anyone else, you're his. and - fuck, fuck, what? he loves you. ♡ fuck, derek panics. this can't happen. it's not supposed to happen. he doesn't do that romantic sappy shit. he's happy, happy with the way things are, right? how did you manage to get so close? how are you doing this to him? ♡ he realises he doesn't want those other partners, flings, whatever, he just wants you. and he holds it in for as long as he can, bursting at the seams with love for you. ♡ it's not until you're both on the verge of climax one night, when it slips out unexpectedly in a moment of vulnerable passion, his lips ghosting against yours. it's out before he's even realised he's said it. but he means it, fuck he means it with everything in him. and it comes naturally to you too, echoing it as you capture his lips in yours.

ੈ♡˳ mike schmidt

♡ mike schmidt doesn't believe he deserves love. so when he realises how hopelessly in love with you he's fallen, he curses himself. he shouldn't, he can't. it'll only end badly for him, it's a pattern in his life he's cursed to follow. ♡ he starts to avoid you, stops asking you out, stops calling as often. you're hurt. and he hates that he's hurting you, but it's better for both of you. maybe if he can slip away silently, he can pretend he doesn't cherish the ground you walk on, maybe he can pretend you're not the love of his life. ♡ you greet him angrily at his front door, you're not going to let him slip away from you. you're met with resistance, until the words tumble from his lips in an avalanche of pent up feelings. ♡ it makes you pause, noting the sadness in his eyes. you cup his cheeks, gently guiding his face towards yours. you admit your love too, kissing his lips softly, repeating it as the look on his face tells you he doesn't believe your words, can't believe your words. but you'll prove it to him, every day for the rest of your lives if you have to.

ੈ♡˳ billy

♡ billy will tell you that he doesn't do 'love'. it's cliche, it's sickening. it's all to hide the fact though, that he's so clearly falling deeply in love with you. ♡ it's a sinking feeling that makes him feel sick, how much he cares for you. he finds himself thinking about you on drives, aching to have your hand in his. and he feels stupid, because he's never felt like this before. all those sickening love songs suddenly start to make sense, and he finds himself humming them occasionally. ♡ but how can he tell you? how can he tell you he loves you when his stomach forms knots at the very thought? it's too much, his soul will be laid too bare for him to handle any kind of heartbreak after that. instead he keeps his feelings to himself, cold, quiet, hoping they die away. ♡ they don't though, they blossom when you tell him you love him one day. you explain that you know he doesn't 'do love', but that you can't help it, you love him, and that's that. billy can't help it, he grabs your stupid dumb lovable face and kisses you till you both can't breathe, mumbling an 'i love you too' under his breath.

ੈ♡˳ clapton davis

♡ he realises he loves you one day while skating, and does something he hasn't done in a long time. fall. his body connects with the ground and he lays there, staring up at the pale blue sky passing him by. his arm stings a little from the impact, but he doesn't care. a smile spreads across his face, he loves you. ♡ clapton loves you, a lot. it's like a curtain has been pulled in his mind, revealing what was there all along. he's smiling, chuckling to himself as he wonders how he didn't realise it sooner. you're like, the coolest person ever. of course he's in love with you. ♡ he spends two whole weeks listening to 'if it's love' by sting. he sings it in the shower, hums it while out skating, mumbles it under his breath during classes. 'if it's love, it has no season, if it's love, there is no cure, if it's love, it won't see reason, and of this you can be sure. . .' - man, sting just. . . gets him. he totally understands the feelings he feels for you. ♡ and that's how he tells you, in a mixtape titled to you. the first song is that same song, and as you place it in and hit play, clapton rambles on about how he's fell head over heels for you. it's the cutest thing you've ever heart, the cutest thing anyones ever done for you - and you don't think you've ever seen him smile as wide as he does when you tell him you love him too.

ੈ♡˳ peeta mellark

♡ peeta fell in love with you the day he met you. it wasn't hard to fall, not when you clicked the moment you both said hello. they say love at first sight isn't real, but peeta knows you're proof that belief is wrong. ♡ he shows his love without words through his baking, sweet treats left at your doorstep, leftovers from the bakery brought on dates, asking you to try his experimental new recipe. he tells you he loves you through actions, through his kindness and patience. the way he gently tucks your hair behind your ear, holds doors open for you, or just simply listens with those sweet, gentle eyes. ♡ and he knows it's silly, maybe, how in love with you he really is. but he knows all to well that life is too short to hold back. he'd kick himself if he never got the chance to tell you how he really felt about you. ♡ so it's not hard for him to find the words when the time is right. they leave his lips, firm and strong, proudly almost. because he's been telling you he loved you from the day he met, albeit silently. and he'll tell you forever, until he proves just how special you are to him.

[destourtereaux]

just a little bit of hope - peeta mellark x fem!reader

⤷ summary: with katniss and gale both gone, peeta steps in as an unlikely hunting partner for y/n. ⤷ wc: 2.6k ⤷ requested? yes. see request here. ⤷ follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs to be on my 'taglist'!

⤷ a/n: two things - one, peeta has dimples here, it's just how i imagine him, so please bear with me; two, pretend gale's father is alive please, i didn't think our girl would be able to support two families, no matter how strong she is.

___

The day is horridly warm, exacerbated by a heavy humidity. As you wake, hot air suffocates your surroundings, and the sun glares through the window, hung on a span of blue sky. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, your bare feet find the ground, then immediately retract. The floor is burning hot, baked by the sun. You grit your teeth and force your feet back onto the wood, ignoring the searing heat. You have things to do.

You make a bowl of porridge, watery, but edible. You drink half, and leave the rest for your mother. Your father is off to the mines already, his boots absent. You get dressed, pulling on the prettiest dress you own. You're ready. Or, as ready as one can be. 

Today, there will be no hunting with Katniss and Gale, no trading at the Hob. Today, there is only the reaping.

___

You spot Katniss at the edge of the square, gripping her sister's hand. Your friend looks nothing like she normally does. Gone are the boots and hunting jacket, replaced by a simple blouse tucked into a modest skirt. You nod grimly at her; neither of you feels like smiling.

Gale is over on the other side of the square, across from the stage they've set up. Your eyes meet, and he mouths "good luck".

After a few minutes of the routine announcements, Haymitch is introduced, then Effie. By now, the crowd has settled into an air of grimness, despite the clear blue sky overhead.

You don't hear Effie's jokes, and nobody laughs. She finally stops smiling, looking extremely awkward – you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Then, she sticks her hand in the ball of names, each carrying a life, and pulls one out. Her smile is back on her face when she announces, "Without further ado, our female tribute is: Katniss Everdeen!"

You freeze, repeating her words in your head as if hoping they'd sound different. Your oldest friend – determined, brave Katniss, given a death sentence.

But Effie doesn't wait. Her next words are just as devastating. "And for our male tribute: Gale Hawthorne! Come on up now, dear, don't be shy."

Peacekeepers erupt through the crowd, grabbing your two best friends in the entire world by the shoulders, and forcing them up to the stage. Katniss whips her head around, looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what she's asking for.

"I'll take care of her, Katniss. I won't let her die. And you can't let yourself die, okay? Promise me. Katniss! Promise me!"

Your last words are hysterical, but ironically, Katniss is not. Having heard your commitment to Prim, she is satisfied. She yanks her arms free of the Peacekeepers and walks by herself, her head held high and her face serene.

You grab Prim's hand. Her whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs. You don't hear Effie's last words, but you know what they are.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

___

It's been two weeks since the reaping which stole your best friends. It's shocking how quickly you fell back into routine, as if nothing has even changed. The only indicator of their absence is an added part of your day: splitting your earnings between your family and Prim's.

There are now double the mouths to feed, so you spend double the hours in the forest hunting. Villagers are sympathetic – that may be the only reason you're all still alive. They love Prim, and they trust you. Everything you hunt manages to be traded.

But still, you're cracking. It's just too much, and you don't know if it'll ever get better. You have no idea what Katniss and Gale are going through right now, and you don't let yourself think of them. It would break your heart.

___

Peeta Mellark has always been observant. His teachers told his parents this, back when he was a child. It's this trait that makes him notice you. The girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders, killing herself day after day to provide for not one, but two whole families.

He doesn't understand how no one else sees it. But maybe they do – it's just that no one in District 12 is really in a position to do anything about it. Still, the fact remains that you're close to breaking. You can't keep doing this alone.

Peeta Mellark has never been brave. His mother yells at him, beats him, and he takes it. He has never talked back to teachers, or dared disobey the Peacekeepers. So when he offers to hunt with you, he surprises even himself.

"What?"

"I'm Peeta Mellark. We were in the same class, and my parents run the bakery. I was wondering if I'd be able to hunt with you?"

So you weren't hallucinating. The baker's son – a boy you didn't think could kill a fly – had just asked to hunt with you. Your shock translates into a small laugh, not that anything about the situation is funny, really. Hurt flashes in Peeta's eyes, and you quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Y/N L/N, I know who you are. I just didn't think you'd be the hunting type," you explain. Because you're gentle, and kind, and I've never seen you hurt anyone, with your words or physically. But you don't add that last part. 

"I've only ever hunted with Katniss and Gale, you must know them, they were reaped this year." Your voice cracks a bit with those last words, and Peeta acknowledges the fact with a nod. His hand twitches; he wants to pat you on the back, or grip your shoulder, anything to stop the melancholy leaking into your eyes, but he doesn't.

"But you're welcome to join me," you end with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

___

The new partnership starts early the following day. You meet a groggy Peeta near his home, and the two of you begin the walk to the Meadow.

You hear no electrical hum from the fencing, which means it's safe to touch, and you guide Peeta across the boundary which separates the Seam from the forest. This is all illegal, you know, but you're too used to it to even notice. Peeta, on the other hand, feels an exhilarating sense of rebellion as he crosses the barbed wire, following your figure into the woods.

"You've never hunted before, have you?" you probe, although it's more of a confirmation than an actual question.

Peeta nods. "But I'm a quick learner. And I won't get in your way, I promise."

You smile, a genuine one this time. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

Over the next hour, you go over all the traps you had set from the day before, collecting from Katniss and Gale's traps as well. True to his word, Peeta picks it up quickly, and even has a great eye for camouflaging the traps. This becomes his task, using grass and twigs and flowers as his medium, painting a deceptive scene which looks safe and welcoming to the many squirrels and rabbits in these parts.

You also start him on foraging. Only one type of berry is poisonous in the Meadow, and it's easy to identify. You make sure he's clear on which to avoid, and leave him to it, while you head to the hollowed out tree where you've hidden your knives. The familiar sight of Katniss' bow and arrows within the trunk brings a pang in your heart. You leave them nestled within and retrieve only your daggers. You were never a good archer.

Another hour passes, and you return to Peeta with a deer. You're happier than you have been in weeks – this will be enough for almost a week's worth of food. Peeta is not empty-handed either, he has two buckets of progress, one filled with strawberries, the other with raspberries. He gives you a soft smile – he has dimples, you think. He then immediately turns a faint shade of green, having noticed the dead deer. 

You're seized with the desire to laugh, "Why'd you offer to hunt with me if you get queasy from the sight of game?"

He looks at you with an indignant pout, and you can't stop the giggle that tumbles out, then the full on laughter. 

"I'm not like this with all game, just, you know, the larger animals. I can look at dead squirrels just fine – stop laughing!"

Making your way back, within the District, you stop just outside of the fence to split your gatherings.

"Take the squirrels and rabbits, and the bucket of raspberries. I'll keep the deer and trade the strawberries with the mayor," you offer.

"No, you take it all," he crosses the barrier carrying the buckets, and you follow after him, shaking your head.

"I can't, Peeta. That wouldn't be right. This is a fair split."

"I never said I wanted to keep what we hunt. Only that I wanted to hunt with you, Y/N. Take it. I know you need it more than I do. I'll see you next weekend?"

And with that, he pops a strawberry in his mouth, smiling at the sweetness, and walks away.

You're left with your mouth open, unable to process what had just happened.

___

The next morning, you show up at the bakery. His bakery. You earned a few dollars from selling your strawberries to the mayor, and you figure that if Peeta won't take anything, you should buy from him instead.

A few dollars is enough for two loaves of good bread, and so you head to the bread aisle. But your gaze catches on the beautiful cakes on display, decorated with multi-colored icing and swirling script written in melted chocolate.

"I did those," comes a voice from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you see Peeta himself, looking at the cakes with fondness and a bit of pride.

"You did what?"

"The cakes. I decorated them. My mom bakes, but I decorate. I like doing it – it's like painting, just on a different canvas."

"They're really lovely. You have a talent for it," you confirm, "I bet that's why you were so good at hiding traps yesterday. You can see nature's patterns."

He gives you a soft smile in return, and you can see the dimples again. They're adorable, you think. I want to see them every day.

He gives a small cough, looking at you questioningly.

You startle, and blush a deep crimson. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I'm here to buy bread. Two loaves," you say as you lower your head to stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

It's only when you hear a chuckle that you lift your head back up. Peeta's eyes are sparkling, and his dimples are clear as ever.

"I'll give you three."

___

Two months after the reaping, your partnership with Peeta is still going strong. Every Saturday, the two of you head to the woods, and spend half the day fishing, gathering, and hunting. Originally silent company has evolved into true friendship, with witty banter, fleeting touches, and shared smiles.

You have come to know Peeta Mellark. He isn't just the baker's son, the one who decorates cakes and hates seeing dead animals. He's the boy who saved you, when no one even knew that you needed saving. 

Day after day, he has shown up, offering kindness, companionship, and warmth, without expecting anything in return. You care about him more than you thought you could ever care about someone who wasn't family. You care about his messy blond hair, and you care about his broad shoulders. You care about his blue eyes which sparkle when he tells a joke, and his beautiful heart which leads him to give the occasional customer an extra free loaf. Most of all, you care about his dimples, which come out when he smiles at you. You care so much about him, that it scares you.

And Peeta cares about you. He cares about your hands, calloused but nimble, lethal when holding onto your twin daggers. He cares about your face, how it glows when you laugh at his jokes in the woods, but dims a bit when you're back in the district. He cares about your hair, always tied in a ponytail when in the Meadow, but left to flow freely down your shoulders when hunting's over. Most of all, he cares about your smile, which comes out when Prim thanks you week after week for your help, and forces you to take bottles of goat milk and pet Buttercup. He cares so much about you, that it scares him.

___

This hunting day, Peeta comes with news from the Capitol. A few weeks back, he started giving you updates on the Games, after you told him that you couldn't stomach the thought of watching your friends fight to the death.

"Y/N! Good news!" he greets, exiting the bakery. As the two of you begin your walk, he adds, "I'll tell you when we get to the Meadow."

"You're insufferable, Mellark. You can't just hook me like that, and not tell me what it is."

Peeta doesn't answer, so you start walking twice as fast, ushering him toward the edge of the Seam so you could figure out what exactly he wanted to tell you.

Once in the grassy plains of the Meadow, between the forest and the fence, you turn back to the boy, the impatience evident in your face.

"Tell me, Peeta, or I swear I'll –"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "but it's not really good news, per se. It's just a little bit of hope."

You nod, urging him to continue.

"It's about the Games. About Katniss and Gale."

The last traces of your smile fade. Concern is etched onto your face, and your eyebrows scrunch up, your jaw tightens.

Noticing this, Peeta pulls you in by the waist, so that your head lands on his shoulder. "It's good news, Y/N. Don't look so defeated. They're both still alive, and they're fighting."

"But at least one of them won't be coming back," you whisper into his neck, so quietly you wonder if he even heard. But Peeta always hears you.

"Y/N. That's the news. They could both come back. Caesar Flickerman has just announced that they will be changing the rules this year – allowing two victors of the Games, provided they're tributes from the same district!"

You look up at him in awe. A change to the Games. Katniss and Gale, not one or the other. Both could win. Both could come back.

You choke down a sob, staring at Peeta's brilliant smile and those mesmerizing dimples. And before you can process what you're doing, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a bout of bravery.

Peeta's frozen for a second, before he begins to reciprocate the kiss in earnest. He pulls you in, one hand holding your neck and the other wrapped around your torso, pressing himself impossibly closer. He tastes like icing and strawberries, and you can smell the comforting scent of warm bread.

The kiss ends far too quickly for your liking, and you're suddenly impossibly shy, all bravado gone. You lower your eyes so you won't have to meet his eyes, but realize that you're practically sitting on his lap, having moved there at some point during the kiss. This observation brings a flaming blush onto your cheeks, and you scramble to move away, but you're held in place by Peeta's arms, forming an iron-tight cage around your figure.

He brings a hand to your chin, lifting it up, and kisses you again, more gently this time.

"Don't go all shy on me now, Y/L/N," he teases, and holds the back of his hand against your forehead, as if feeling for a fever. "You're burning up, darling."

"You know damn well that's not a fever–", you start, but you're cut off by his laughter, and once again distracted by those dimples of his. 

Maybe Peeta was right. Maybe there is just a little bit of hope left for you.

___

interested in other works of mine? see my masterlist!

[schmidtsbimbo]

★Peeta Mellark Headcanons★

𖦹 Warnings: Mentions of the orange peel theory so maybe look it up if you don’t know what that is, nothing else this man could do no wrong

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated♡

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: this is incredibly short but i had to get it out of my system i miss peeta its been rotting my brain, also i promise I’ll get to my requests eventually :p

This has not been proofread ^_^

Peeta who can’t keep his hands off you. Not necessarily in a sexual manner, he’s just simply yearning for your reassurance and the comfort of your presence. Weather it’s locking pinkies together while you walk alongside each other or simply playing with your hair while you sleep

Peeta who would do absolutely anything for you. That orange peeling trend on tiktok is kinda what made me want to write this because omg??? He heard you complain once about how sticky your hands get when you peel them and he hasn’t let you peel yourself one since. That man would run into a house fire just to get you that orange. He’d plant his own orange tree, tending and caring for it just for you if he could

Peeta who never comes home without brining you some kind of gift. If he’s in town and finds a small trinket he thinks you’ll like, you bet he’s getting it for you. Picking flowers on his way home simply because they’re your favorite color and picking up a small rock because it was kinda shaped like a heart, anything he thought you’d like he’d get for you in a heartbeat

Peeta who enjoys your presence no matter what you’re doing together. You could be quietly reading a book and he’d lay on the opposite side of the bed just admiring you as your eyes are glued to the page. Completely oblivious to his gaze on you, his eyes reflecting appreciation and fondness with every lingering look

Peeta who loves seeing you in his clothes. He’s coming home after working on the garden you guys started together and can’t help but just beam at the sight of you cooking in one of his t-shirts. You’d wake up missing him a bit more than usual that morning and start looking for anything of his, smiling fondly at his familiar scent as you slip on his t-shirt and begin your day

Peeta who always brings you back a small treat from the bakery, weather it’s your favorite bread or a cupcake decorated especially for you with small hearts and smiley faces, he always makes sure to never come home empty handed

[sarahisslytherin]

rose garden filled with thorns

peeta mellark x reader

summary: peeta and katniss are just playing their parts, aren't they? sometimes you're not so sure.

contains: angst, jealousy.

a/n: ngl i'm proud of this one. shoutout to @oweninadaydream for being my cheerleader for this fic. gif by @bookcentral.

word count: 840

Just this morning you had woken up in Peeta’s arms; now you watch him glide across the dance floor with Katniss in your place. The Capitol party is in full swing now, pastry-shaped bursts of color flashing past you and music blaring. Snow’s garden is overflowing with people, yet you find yourself with no one to turn to. It seems you’re left with nothing else to do other than seethe in the distance as you sip on what feels like your hundredth drink and your eyes follow the capitol’s “star-crossed lovers”.

You had always been fond of Peeta. You would go as far as to say you might had been harboring a bit of a crush on him all these years. You wished you could’ve told him what to expect at his own games before he was reaped, but you had never found the right moment. There was never a right time to tell him of the horrors he would witness, and learn to live with if he somehow managed to survive. You were thankful for his love for Katniss back then, it is what saved them in the end. But now, after that romance had fizzled out upon their return to District 12, and yours had only begun, you feel the pang of jealousy reverberate in your stomach like the fire of a cannon. 

You can only watch for so long before you feel the need to run off, to escape the scene one way or another. The more you look at them, the more they seem to belong together. Did you really think you would be able to get in the way of their famous love? Peeta swears it’s all an act, that they’re only indulging the public to keep Snow content and the dangers at bay. Part of you wants to believe him, but with the way his hand rests on Katniss’ waist as they dance, the way he seems to gravitate towards her no matter where she is tells you otherwise.

You wander the grounds, your heels sinking into the grass-covered soil with every step. The music from the party fades out the farther away you get, relief washing over you as you realize it. You take refuge in an isolated greenhouse which you find to be brimming with Snow’s signature ivory roses. You try not to pay them mind, beautiful as they may be, because you know just thinking about the man who put you all in this game will make you sick.

Your head is spinning from the heat of the night, from the tight confines of your capitol-friendly attire. You’re in such a daze, you almost don’t notice Peeta’s voice echoing your name until his face is mere inches from yours.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he scolds you, as if he has any right to. “How could you just run off like that?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed.” you retort, your words slurring a bit. Peeta’s brows knitted as if wanting further explanation. “What with all your attention on your darling fiancé.”

"You can't be serious." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know it's not like that."

"How do you think it makes me feel, Peeta? Watching you with her. ever since your games it's been painfully obvious. You loved her then and you love her now."

"Y/n." you hear him groan, but you ramble on.

"I don't know why I lie to myself. I tell myself you moved on, that you love me now. It was stupid. I don't hold a candle to 'the girl on fire'." You barely even notice the tear that dribbles down your cheek until Peeta’s thumb swipes it away. When your gaze meets his it’s like being in the eye of the hurricane, in your own personal haven. 

“It’s all for show, baby. You gotta believe me, it’s all for the Capitol.” he pleads with you, crouching down to meet your eyeline. “Whatever feelings I had for Katniss are gone, I swear.”

You sniffle, helping Peeta to dry your tears. “How can you be so sure?”

“How can I be sure?” he repeats, laughing incredulously. “Because every moment I’m with her I spend wishing I was with you.” His hands come up to cradle your face, delicate in his grasp. You know your feelings of inadequacy won’t disappear with a few pretty words, but for now it is enough. Your breathing has steadied, your tears have dried. This isn’t just anyone, it’s Peeta; and he’s your Peeta now.

“C’mon.” he smirks in that way that looks like he's got everything under control. He stands, offering his hand for you to take, and you do. You pull him in by his suit and plant a passionate kiss on his lips. “Let’s get back to the party. You still owe me a dance.” 

You giggle at that, hand in hand as you leave the solitude of the greenhouse. “Alright, Mellark. As long as you don’t step on my toes.” He snickers. “I won’t make any promises.”

[ilguna]

Can you do prompt 11 from aisle 1 with peeta or finnick? Like reader or whoever u choose is almost killed in the games then they get yelled at n stuff🩷🙏

☼ bloody flowers (Peeta Mellark) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, blood, ehh gore, weapon use. peeta’s mean.

wc; 2.3k

prompt; 11. yelling at them because they thought they’d lose them.

notes; no katniss, roles for mockingjay are reversed.

—

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” You tell Peeta and Finnick, breaking the silence.

Finnick is on his feet, slowly wading further into the saltwater, carefully rubbing it on his skin to ensure he’s got all the poison out. He barely looks over his shoulder to acknowledge what you’ve said, nodding. He’s having a hard time speaking, his throat is raw from the amount of fog he breathed in.

As you get to your feet, brushing the sand from your skin, Peeta looks over at you, eyebrows drawing in. “Let me make the hole first. You stay with him, you’re better friends.”

“That’s not…” You shake your head, but he’s heading into the jungle, knife in hand.

When you turn your head to look at Finnick—afraid that he’s heard what Peeta said—you can’t find him immediately. You shuffle forward in the sand, eyes searching the water. You spot him beneath the surface, easing your anxiety.

With that, you leave him be. You trust that he won’t accidentally drown himself, since he’s the best swimmer out of your group. And he’s going to need some time alone, after losing Mags to the fog in the jungle.

It was quick, you didn’t even have time to intervene. Finnick saw that you were struggling to carry Mags down the slope, after the two of you had switched, because Peeta was entirely too heavy to be leaning on you for support. In the brief break you took to regain your strength, Mags kissed Finnick goodbye and walked straight into the fog.

What happened didn’t register until Finnick was pulling you to your feet, ordering you to grab one side of Peeta, so the two of you could work together. You don’t have to say anything to Finnick to know that he’s hurt, the look on his face alone is a dead giveaway.

You find your melted jumpsuit strewn in the sand, alongside Finnicks and Peetas. It had been ripped off of you by Peeta, who was so desperate to get you in the water, that he’d forgotten how much it’d hurt being submerged. It could’ve been worse, you weren’t covered in nearly as much of the fog as Finnick had been.

You crouch next to Peeta’s suit, flipping it over to find the mockingjay pin still holding on tightly. You unhook it from his clothes, and move to pin it to the front of your undershirt to hold onto it for him. You then reach to touch the gold necklace to make sure that it’s still hanging around your neck.

The floatation belts seem to have not been affected by the fog at all. They look brand new, actually. You pull it around your waist, buckling it back on. As much as you’d wish to leave it, you’re not the best swimmer in the alliance. Peeta and Finnick are far better, which is why they’ll feel comfortable enough to leave theirs behind.

You stand again, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the soreness throughout your body. And then, you reach to pull the hair tie out to let your hair down, which has been severely damaged by the fog. Barely touching it, clumps come out, stuck between your fingers. The sight is only slightly nauseating. You comb your hair the best you can, watching as the collection grows. When it seems to have slowed, you pull your hair back into a ponytail, and fling the dead hair into the trees.

Speaking of which, Peeta’s found a good one ten yards in from the beach. You can hardly see him through the trees, but the sound of him drilling is unmistakable. You keep an eye on him the best you can, but Finnick splashing around is distracting.

He stretches, slowly, testing his limbs to see if they’re working properly. Gradually, he begins to swim, which is mesmerizing to watch. It’s nothing like the way you were taught to. There’s a rhythm, a pace. He dives, surfaces, rolls like a log of wood in water. He sprays from his mouth, and then he’ll sit underwater for minutes at a time.

When he finally comes back up, he looks better than he did earlier. He pushes his hair out of his face, walking in your direction.

You offer him a smile, “Feeling better?”

“Considerably.” He says, eyes finding the pin on your tank top. He touches it, squinting slightly. “Left the token, huh?”

“He knew I’d grab it.” You wave him off. “Let’s go help him, he’s going to need the spile.”

Finnick leads the way into the jungle, you follow behind him, fiddling with the necklace. He holds the trident to his side, the pole bouncing off his thigh when he takes steps too hard. You briefly look away to pop the locket clasp open, suddenly afraid that the fog might’ve damaged the delicate photos inside. You slam straight into Finnick’s back, having to catch yourself on his shoulder.

A question raises on your tongue, but he presses a finger against his lips to keep you quiet. He looks upward, into the branches that belong to the trees that hang above you lowly. You follow his gaze curiously, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of what’s been watching you.

You press your lips together, your left hand falling from your necklace, and your right readjusting the sword in your hand. There’s a mass of orange monkeys weighing down the branches. More than just five or ten, there’s easily two dozen, sitting there, waiting for one wrong move.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them. There was a pair of them right after you’d escaped the fog, Peeta had pointed them out. Those ones retreated, not wanting anything to do with the three of you. These ones don’t have any intentions on leaving.

“Peeta,” Your voice wavers slightly, Finnick glances at you. You take a breath, “I need your help with something on the beach.”

“Just a minute (Y/n). I think I’ve just about got it.” He tells you, still occupied with the tree. “Have you got the spile?”

“I do, but we’ve found something you might want to see.” You murmur, noticing how the monkeys are reacting to Peeta’s movements. They don’t care if you move. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

“I don’t want to lose the tree.”

“We won’t, we’ll be right back.” You tell him, motioning for him to come toward you.

He lets out a sigh, but listens. You chew on the inside of your cheek, listening to the noise he’s making. Still, the monkeys don’t move, because that’s not what causes them to be aggressive. He’s only five yards from the beach, when his movements become stiff, eyes darting up for a second.

It’s enough. The shrieking begins, as the monkeys all begin to move at an impossible speed to jump at him. They slide down vines, leaping large distances, fangs bared, claws shooting out. One word comes to mind.

“Mutts!” You snap, shoving past Finnick to get to Peeta.

You swing the sword carelessly, hitting the vital parts of the monkeys the best you can with the amount flying out of the trees. When you make it to Peeta, the two of you switch weapons, him slapping the knife into your hand for you to take so he can begin to do real damage with the sword.

Peeta’s got a better technique, bringing down almost as much as Finnick is with the trident. He’ll spear the mutts, and then fling them aside, off into the trees. The three of you form a triangle formation, trying to kill them efficiently. Only, you can’t keep up with your knife, they’re forced to cover you.

You feel a pair of teeth sink into your thigh before Peeta’s slicing through the throat, forcing the jaws to unhinge. The air grows heavy, from the trampled plants, the scent of blood, and the musty stink of the monkey mutts that hound you.

Peeta swings at one of them, and instead of landing the hit, the monkey secures the sword, and throws it into the trees, permanently making it out of the question. Then, it grabs a tight hold of Peeta’s arm, and swings him out of the formation, in the open. Where another monkey spots this, sprinting for the kill.

You begin to run for him, throwing the knife at the mutt that’s racing you. The mutt manages to dodge the attack, and you’re about to throw yourself at Peeta to save him, when someone else beats you to it, first. A woman materializes out of a tree, screaming loudly as she throws herself into the monkey, arms wrapping around its body.

It sinks its fangs into her chest.

Finnick’s trident hits the monkey with such force that it makes a loud squelching sound when the trident collides with its body. The mutt releases its jaw, Peeta kicking the body off.

“Come on, then!” Peeta shouts. “Come on!”

The mutts don’t seem to be interested anymore, retreating into the trees the same way they had done before. You reach to grab Peeta, hands shaking, when he suddenly points toward the beach, eyes hard.

“Go.”

Your mouth pops open, eyebrows drawing in, but you don’t argue, walking the five yards out of the jungle, onto the beach. The two boys follow behind you, with Finnick carrying the woman, who you’re able to recognize as the morphling from District Six, when you get a good look at her.

Finnick lays her in the sound, and Peeta follows behind him with your knife. He kneels next to her, cutting open the wetsuit that covers her chest, revealing the four deep wounds. Her blood is slowly emerging out of them, staining her skin. You’d say she’s fine, if it weren’t for the damage the monkeys did inside of her body.

She’s gasping for air, struggling to breathe. This could mean a punctured lung, maybe even her heart. Her skin is shaded a sickly green, sagging to reveal each one of her ribs. This is caused by years of abusing the pain medication.

She takes your hand shakily, squeezing tightly to ground herself. You lean over her, moving the hair out of her face.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says before walking away.

Peeta settles in the sand, voice soft, “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

She stares at Peeta, hanging on to every word.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.”

Her breathing is growing shallow, calming, dying. Her free hand dips into the wound on her chest, touching the blood as she swirls it on her skin, the same way she had in the Training Center.

“I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air.”

She lifts up the bloodied hand, painting a flower on Peeta’s cheek.

“Thank you,” He whispers. “That looks beautiful.”

Her face lights up, as she makes a small squeaking sound. And then her hand falls back onto her chest, giving out her last huff of air. The cannon fires. Her hand loosens in yours.

You sit there in the sand, watching as Peeta carries her into the water, carefully settling her on her back. She floats toward the Cornucopia, and when the Gamemakers are sure she’s a good distance away, the hovercraft appears to take her away. The claw drops, carrying her into the night sky, and she’s gone.

You get to your feet when Peeta comes back your way, but with the look on his face, you’re not exactly eager to touch him.

“What were you thinking?” He asks you. “Running at me like that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Your mouth opens as you shake your head. “I—the mutt was coming right for you, I thought—”

“You thought what, (Y/n)? You were going to kill it with this?” He asks, holding your knife out for you to see. It’s stained red, sand sticking to the blood that refuses to dry. “Oh no, that’s right, you threw it at the mutt.”

You stare at him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, not okay!” he shouts. “Were you even thinking?”

“I just—”

“I don’t need you trying to be the hero.” He tells you. “I had it handled.”

“I’m sorry, Peeta.”

“Don’t do it again.” He says, shaking his head. “It’s hard enough keeping you safe when you’re not running into danger. So don’t start doing it on purpose.”

“I won’t.”

He looks over your face, judging whether or not you’re being truthful, when his eyes dip toward your chest. His face smooths, holding his hand out, palm up. “Give me the pin.”

Wordlessly, you unhook it from the cloth and place it in his hand. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

“That’s fine.” He says, closing the distance between the two of you. He directs your chin up carefully, raising his eyebrows. “You know I love you.”

“I know.” You whisper. “I’ll be more careful.”

He presses a kiss to the middle of your forehead. “That’s all I ask.”

—

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!! everyone is welcome to join :)

[targaryenluvs]

PARANOIA

pairing: dark!peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: peeta tries to reintegrate into society in district 13 and get over his fear of you being taken from him. no one noticed just how badly the capitol messed him up until he lashes out.

warnings: guilt trip/manipulation, possessive, panick attacks and nightmares

a/n: my first ever dark peeta fic as well as fic in general! thank you to the anon and their request

the first time you laid eyes on peeta since the arena was horrifying. his sullen eyes, hollowed out cheekbones, nimble fingers, all of it made you sick. your boyfriend was a shell of his former self and was deathly afraid of his best friend katniss.

it seemed you were the only one able to calm him down.

almost every night of yours was spent curled up in bed together, stroking his hair, assuring him that he was far away from the capitol.

“peeta, i promise, no one’s going to hurt you. i’m right here, shh.” you cooed, your hands rubbing down his arms. “y/n?” you smiled at the recognition, “yeah sweetie. i’m right here i promise.” his heart slowed down and so did his breathing, your hands around him, hearing your heart in your chest. you were alive. here with him. no one had taken you, he wouldn’t let them.

it was tough of course, getting him back into the world.

he seemed to think that everything was a problem, out to get him, to get you.

at his first dinner with everyone he’d been keeping his cool. focusing on eating his food and you. but it seemed to be all to much especially when finnick odair sat right next to you, striking up conversation for majority of the night, leaving peeta to himself.

“do you ever stop talking?” peeta’s abrupt disruption of the conversation and uncommon tone of annoyance was more than enough to stop everyone in their tracks. finnick was stunned, not expecting peeta to speak that way, and so were you. “peeta? is something wrong?” you asked him, hand slowly placed on his before he withdrew his, standing up suddenly.

“no, everything’s fine. let’s go.” he dragged your arm along with him, unrelenting grip as he led the two of you back to your room. “peeta! what the hell?” his glossy eyes made you immediately frown, “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled. i just…” you exhaled, unsure of how to approach the conversation.

“you’re acting so weird, i just want to make sure you’re okay. what happened out there?” you questioned, sitting next to him on your bed. “everyone was taking you away from me.” he murmured, playing with the hem of his shirt.

you smiled, “i was right next to you peeta, i wasn’t going away nor was anyone taking me. it was simple conversation. i’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, rather than lashing out, talk. tell me what’s wrong okay?” he nodded, “are you mad?” you hugged him tightly, “never.” you’d been told how hard it would be for peeta, but you never expected it to be this bad.

it seemed almost everything rubbed him the wrong way.

whether it was who you sat with, talked to or even looked at. it all affected peeta. and you had no clue how to handle it. of course you loved him yet you felt suffocated. you barely saw your friends half the time, peeta seemed to be everywhere.

his shouts for you in his sleep, he couldn’t control that of course yet it seemed to drain all the energy out of you. every night, as if on cue, he’d call out for you and your personal space was kissed goodbye as you crawled into his bed to hug him. promises of safety and love directed his way.

you found relief in your showers.

you could be alone, with your own thoughts for once. no peeta. you felt guilty at times, being so miserable around your dear boyfriend who’d been through so much. but it seemed the others were slowly getting better, johanna could at least sit with other people. annie had finnick of course. but peeta seemed to be getting worse, clinging into you for dear life and simultaneously dragging you away from your friends.

but of course, he’d pushed himself into the picture. claiming he felt as if he was back in the capitol when showering alone. he needed you, you’d help wouldn’t you? what a bad girlfriend you are if you deny him. and so he chipped away at your personal space, your privacy, all infiltrated by peeta mellark.

you were with him 24/7.

and he’d never let you go.

[ceruleansx]

need | peeta mellark

↳ peeta mellark x reader

↳ warnings - tooth rooting fluff

↳ summary - you were extra cuddly and craving to give kisses to your bf peeta

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

you woke up with your back towards peeta, the sunlight splayed on your face. you opened your eyes slowly, seeing the sun just setting. the shade of orange was peeta's favorite color.

you turned to him because you wanted to tell him to look at the sunrise.

he was facing you, eyes still closed. he looked so pretty in the presence of the sun. it made the blonde hair covering his face more beautiful, something that you thought was impossible.

the beauty that peeta had almost seemed like he wasn't real.

you moved his hair from his forehead, and gave him a loving kiss. his nose scrunched up and he squinted his eyes.

"mmmm." he mumbled.

you shook his arm. "look peeta, the sunrise." you whispered.

he looked away from you and looked at the sky.

"wow..."

"it's beautiful isn't it?" you said softly, admiring the different shades.

"the most beautiful thing i've ever seen." you turned your head at him.

he was looking at you as he said that. you felt your cheeks burn with redness, and you look back to try and hide it.

"i can see why this color is your favorite, it's so pretty."

"you wanna know why it is?" he said, and you layed down to face him.

"why?" you smiled, still a blush on your face.

he looked at you so lovingly, like you were the only person he wanted to kiss and love forever. no one else.

"cause it reminds me of you.." he whispered, as he brushed a strand of your hair behind you ear.

the butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you went to cuddle on top of him. his arms were now around your waist as you nuzzled your face in his neck.

you gave sloppy kisses on his neck as he rubbed your back.

"i love you peeta.." you mumbled into his neck, mid-kiss.

"show me how much you love me." you could practically hear the blush creeping on his face.

you removed your head from his neck and looked at him.

"wellll" you brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"i love your smart ideas and mind."

you gave a tender kiss to his forehead.

"i love how kind and caring you are."

you kissed his nose.

"i love how patient and loving you are, after every situation or fight."

you kissed his cheek.

you finally kissed his soft lips. "and i love that your mine." you whispered against his lips.

he kissed you this time, much longer than expected. he pulled away, trying to hide his smile. his face was as red as a tomato.

"your not shy with the kisses this morning." he blushed.

you didn't make a comment, just stared at his beautiful face. he did too, thinking that he basically hit the jackpot with being with you. he was going to marry you one day, he knew it.

"so you love me..?" he asked.

you rolled your eyes playfully. "no i totally just kissed someone that i don't love."

he chuckled and you smiled. "of course i love you peeta, only you. and no one else."

oh, how you can make peeta blush like a 9 year old. he kissed you once more before talking.

"i love you too y/n, and i'm going to marry you one day."

you were so in love, you didn't have a reaction.

"i would love to marry you peeta mellark."

after that, you layed on top him, just the two of you watching the sunset. you two were just both imagining your future kids, happily married, and loving each other for eternity.

[bonesandchalamet]

from the shining lights, to the sandy beaches, I’ll only love you — p.mellark

masterlist | pairing: peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: bored and facing the capitol, you give the citizens of panem some drama to spice up the games

warnings: slight mentions of 18+ ideas but nothing graphic + mentions of insecurity

hours you think. it had to have been hours layered laying in woven grass blankets with flattened bread in your pockets that’s sure to be moldy soon from the moisture.

“how long have I been out?” a grunt escapes your lips to signal your awakening to them. you attempt to sit upward, but your hands were badly blistered and your arms were weak.

peeta lunged into the makeshift tent, he gently lays you back down shushing you to not worry about taking the next shift. after all, you’d been the one to trip over rocks in the acid rain, if anyone should get sleep it’s Finnick who carried you like it was nothing.

Finnick. sweet, sexy, district four, Finnick odair. the man women are obsessed with, and you could see why. his beautiful blue eyes and cocky smile, if it weren’t for the baker beside you, you’d be all over that fine man.

there was nothing wrong with peeta. his tenderness, the warmth he provides, he was an amazing boyfriend. but the ever thought of another man seemed to spark a load of questions piling up in your brain.

the storm had been out for awhile now, leaving you with some time of peace. you flip onto your left side, facing peeta, a wicked smile lifts your lips that he can’t even read. but it gives him something to laugh at in this place, “what’s your problem?”

“if you could fuck someone in the capitol would you do it? someone dressed like Effie?”

finnick makes a repulsive noise. hes had a fair share of capitol women, and even the sight of Effie was enough for him. having ran into her with zero makeup on, and nothing but a wig, Finnick odair would rather steer clear of any women from the capitol.

“I’d really prefer we think about our game plan—“

“it’s a simple question.” johanna finally wakes, she sits up carefully, her voice draws finnicks attention briefly from looking out.

sweat thickens above his upper lips. peeta knows there’s a correct answer. being in love with you, he’d never thought of another woman, so why would you ask? he can only imagine to lighten the mood, lift the spirits of the citizens watching in boredom, so he thinks it’s not harmful to play along?

“I’ve only ever wanted intimate moments with you.” peeta extends out his hand, the roughness of his palm touching your cheek, “you know I only love you.”

“this is such a yawn.” Johanna counters, she eagerly sits forward breaking the moment, “not a single woman caught your eye on the tour? you’re going to die anyway, might as well admit it.”

peeta let’s out a light laugh, and you know he’s serious. he’s only ever had eyes for you, but to Johanna, Finnick, haymitch, and potential sponsors, he needs to play in. he needs to draw them something, so he does what he’s a natural at; story telling.

“well there was a girl,” he pauses, eyes swiftly glancing at you before back at johanna, “hard to tell how old she was under those capitol lights, but she just kept following me. every room she was there, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off her.” he looks up the makeshift tent, a sadden glow casts across his face, “I wonder if I’ll see her again.”

you can’t quite remember a woman who followed him in every room besides yourself. maybe that’s who he was discussing? but he’d bought Finnick and Johanna’s approval leaving peeta to slip out the tent.

“what about you, y/n? sleep with a capitol or finnick?”

finnicks head snaps his head in the direction of his name, a spark lights in him earning a bright cocky smile, “I don’t bite, babe.”

it’s your turn to make a repulsive noise, but you know everyone at home is inching closer to their screens: would you screw around with Finnick for a night? or would you dare head back to the capitol? Finnick it is.

“just for a night,” you pause taking a long look at peeta. he’s fixated his eyes on something with the sand, probably just to occupy his mind from this conversation that’ll haunt his last memories with you, “I’d do Finnick, on the count that peeta can be there.”

“a threesome?” Finnicks words echo across the sandy beaches practically giving away your hiding spot, “I’m not sure I’ve ever done that.”

“I’d pay to be a fly on the wall of that night.” Johanna grins.

“I’ll pass. I don’t think I’d well with sharing.” Peeta blurts out.

a wide grin takes hold of Johanna’s face, yours is covered in a deep red blush that you’re thankful no one can make out in the darkness.

“peeta, possessive? never would’ve thought of that.”

it’s a shock to everyone, even you. peeta never showed any care that you were close to other guys, like Finnick or even beetee, but maybe it’s because he always knew you’d come back to him. he always knew it was him you’d love and swear you’d never leave. it must be the insecure feeling that if you saw what Finnick had, you’d leave.

to answer his worries, you wrap your arms around peetas neck and press a long kiss to his lips, “I kind of like it.”

“I’d rather sleep with haymitch than either one of you lovebirds.” finnick answers johannas question that was slightly forgotten from you three in the tent.

“come on, it’s my turn to watch.” johanna crawls out the tent, and for a second it’s just you two alone. you slip beside him, resting your head against his bicep, “who was the girl from the capitol?” you whisper.

a smile lifts to his lips, his shoulder slightly budges you to sit up, “who do you think?”

it was you. only you.

[dixonsfawn]

whenever peeta is feeling stressed or just in need of calming, he'll drag you to bed or to the couch where he'll lay you down just to snuggle with you. he buries himself in you, arms wrapped under your waist, head nuzzled between the valley of your chest. his legs tangle with yours as your fingers intertwine. you play with his hair, running your fingers gently across his scalp continuously as he listens to the sound of your beating heart. all he needs is the reminder that he is with you, the love of his life, to feel at ease again because nothing in the world could possibly ever matter more than that ᡣ𐭩

[bruisedboys]

reader and peeta showering together after a hard day (just some innocent intimacy nothing suggestive) 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 love this man sm 😭🤞🏻🤞🏻

!!!!!! thank you for the req angel <3 this inspired me so so much! thanks for kickstarting my writing for peeta era hehe

peeta mellark x fem!reader 16+ please for non-sexual nudity. not really in universe but can read as post mockingjay if you want it to!

Peeta’s sketching on the bed when you come inside. One knee propped up with his back against the wall behind the bed, his sketchbook pressed against his thigh. His golden hair falls over his forehead, messy where he’s been too distracted by his drawing to push it back.

He looks up when you enter, smiling a bruising smile you don’t feel deserving of.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart.” It’s alarming how quickly he sets aside his book and pencil to reach for you, as if he hadn’t been immersed in his sketching mere seconds ago. “C’mere, I missed you.”

As much as you’d like to be wrapped in his strong arms right now, you’re filthy, and he’s just changed the sheets earlier today.

“I can’t. I’m all dirty, see?” You wiggle your dirt-covered hands at him. You’ve been in the garden all afternoon. Time drifted away from you as you planted a new batch of tomato seeds. By the time you were done, the sun was setting and you hadn’t even realised. Your knees are stained dark brown and you’ve got dirt up to your elbows. “I’ll shower first, then we can cuddle. Sorry, baby.”

Peeta looks decidedly put out. You turn away from him before he can convince you any further, because you know if he looks at you like that for much longer you’ll give in. You pull fresh clothes from your side of the dresser and then move down the hallway to the bathroom.

The showers warming up and you’re starting to undress when Peeta knocks on the door. It’s unlocked, and he doesn’t have to, but he knocks anyway.

“It’s me,” he says. Who else would it be? You think. Silly man. “Can I come in?”

You pull the door open for him instead of answering. You’re halfway out of your clothes but it doesn’t phase him. Sure, he looks, but not for long, and not in a way that would suggest anything other than affection.

“Hey,” he says. He pushes the door closed behind him. The shower runs in the background, a peaceful thrum. “Do you mind if I join you? You can say no.”

You huff a soft laugh. He should know by now that saying no to him is a near impossible feat. “Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

You finish undressing quickly, eager to be clean and warm. Peeta leaves to get fresh towels while you hop in under the hot spray. The majority of the dirt on your skin has been rinsed by the time he gets back. You hear him moving around the bathroom for a minute or so before he pulls the shower curtain aside. You let him in, moving aside to make space for him. It’s tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Weirdly, it’s almost a perfect fit for the two of you.

Peeta moves under the shower head and the water quickly drenches one half of his hair and one of his shoulders. His big hand slides over your hip and he carefully moves you into a position where you’ve both got equal spray.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. He’s so close you could count his freckles, each light brown spot scattered across his collarbones.

“Hello,” you say back. His thumb rubs your hipbone, up down, up down. “Is it too warm?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

You smile and touch your palm to his cheek. “You okay?” You’re not asking because he seems out of sorts. You’re asking because you want to know, and if he’s not he’ll tell you. He does the same for you. It’s just how you love each other.

Peeta nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. How did your gardening go?”

You beam. You love that he cares about what you care about. “Good. We’ll have tomatoes growing out of our ears by summer, I think.”

Peeta laughs. It’s a brilliant sound that bounces off the shower walls and warms your chest. “Awesome,” he grins. Then, “Hey, you’ve got dirt under your ear.” He reaches behind you to grab the flannel hanging on the shower caddy. “Look that way for me?”

He holds you still with a hand at your jaw and rubs the dirt from your skin so gently you barely feel it. His touch is like a magnet — you’re drawn to it over and over again, no matter how generously he gives it to you. When he asks if he can wash your hair, you’d be crazy if you said no.

“Yeah, please,” you tell him, past caring how desperate and needing of his touch and love you are. He knows, anyway.

Peeta turns you by the hips so your back is to him, then gently tilts your head backwards. You hand him your shampoo and he squeezes a dollop onto his hands, rubbing his palms together before spreading the bubbles over the top of your head. He’s very, very gentle with it, much more than you’ve ever been, massaging the soapy, sweet-smelling bubbles into your hair, fingers rubbing circles onto your scalp. His dedicated touch, along with the gentle thrum and warmth of the shower spray, is enough to almost put you to sleep.

“Okay, you can rinse now,” Peeta speaks up. His tone is soft and you suspect he’s noticed your sleepiness. He gets very soft with you when you’re tired. “Shut your eyes, please.”

You do as he says and he directs you under the spray. He holds a hand over your forehead like a barrier so the bubbles can’t escape and sneak into your closed eyes. The action in itself makes your chest ache. He cares more than you could ever comprehend.

When he’s done rinsing you finish scrubbing the dirt from your knees, your elbows. Peeta washes his own hair, and you help him rinse the same way he did for you.

“Thank you, angel,” he says. Warm water and soapy bubbles stream over his shoulders, his neck. His eyelashes are wet, clinging to each other in sparkly triangles. He dips down and kisses your shoulder, then your cheek. “Love you.”

You beam. You love him more than anything. You get on your toes to kiss him properly, a warm press of your mouth on his, a promise for more of the same later, when you’re clean and dry and fed. “Love you too, Peeta.”

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[joshfutturman]

ੈ♡˳ jhutch char bday headcanons gn!reader

summary: celebrating your birthday headcanons for josh futturman (future man), derek danforth (the beekeeper), mike schmidt (fnaf), billy (burn), clapton davis (detention) and peeta mellark (the hunger games). some suggestive elements, food tw. a/n: happy birthday jhutch!

ੈ♡˳ josh futturman

♡ he'd definitely throw you a surprise birthday party, goes all out with decorations and balloons. ♡ your cake would be personalised and special made, but what you don't know is that he secretly tried to bake you a cake that went so badly that he had to throw it away. ♡ can't stop looking at you the whole day cause he wants to make sure you're enjoying it. ♡ orders your favourite takeaway for dinner. you sit in his lap as you eat it, a movie playing on the tv in his room. but he's not watching the movie, he's just looking at you with those puppy dog love stricken eyes of his.

ੈ♡˳ derek danforth

♡ absolutely spoils you with gifts, anything you want, you got it. there's too many gifts for you to count, and more comes throughout the day. ♡ his limo picks you up and drops you off at a fancy restaurant where he meets you for dinner, littering your neck with kisses in front of the entire place. ♡ surprise! he's rented the rooftop bar for drinks, it's just derek, you and the stars. ♡ he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, talking about how you'll get your real gift later in his penthouse. in bed.

ੈ♡˳ mike schmidt

♡ he works extra shifts for weeks to afford something nice for you. he tries to hide the blush on his cheeks, looking anywhere but into your eyes as he gives you your gift. ♡ he and abby bake you a cake, it's adorable. abby helps you blow out the candles. ♡ you all watch a movie together, bundled up under blankets with takeout pizza. mike can't seem to wipe the smile from his face. ♡ later, mike kisses you senseless in bed, mumbling about how he's so lucky to have you.

ੈ♡˳ billy

♡ he wakes you with feather-light kisses along your neck, whispering 'happy birthday babe' in your ear. ♡ takes you to a drive-in movie, making out with you during the credits. ♡ spends the full day joined to your hip, kissing you and wrapping his arms around you every chance he can get. ♡ pretends he hasn't bothered to get you a cake, but then surprises you later, using one of the lit candles to light his own cigarette with a smirk on his face.

ੈ♡˳ clapton davis

♡ makes you your very own birthday mixtape, filled with songs that remind him of you. ♡ he bakes a cake for you, it's kind of a disaster, but he still presents it to you with a massive smile on his face. ♡ lays with you under the stars as you both talk about your future and listen to your mixtape, hands intertwining. ♡ he presses soft kisses to your face, your nose, your lips, your eyes, your forehead, each time telling you something different he loves about you.

ੈ♡˳ peeta mellark

♡ he greets you with breakfast in bed and flowers with a shy but proud smile on his face. ♡ gives you your gifts shyly, with a flush on his face but an eager smile, hoping you like the personalised presents. one of which is a jar, filled with love notes for you to open every day. ♡ you slow dance in the kitchen after dinner, resting your head into the crook of his neck as he hums to you. ♡ gives you such strong, warm hugs the whole day. the kind that make you feel safe, like nothing bad can ever happen while he's got you.

[msmk11]

I Made You a Pie

Peeta Mellark x fem!reader

WC: 849

CW: Mentions of food; you and Peeta had a fight; making up; reference to r's father believing in stupid gender stereotypes; fluff

Summary: The aftermath of you and Peeta's first fight.

Day 9 of mk's mad dash

You and Peeta fought.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

You and Peeta just had your first fight, and it was awful. 

Scratch that, it is awful. You suppose the fight hasn’t been resolved, seeing as you’d told Peeta you needed some air an hour ago. 

It’s not like you’re trying to run away from your problems. 

Okay, maybe you’re trying to run away from them a little. But you also actually needed some time to think. To cool off. Sure, you and Peeta had a fight. But that doesn’t mean you want to say anything mean or nasty just to hurt your boyfriend. You’re a mature adult who can handle conflict well, it’s just that sometimes, you need to step away for a moment to regulate your emotions.

Probably. 

The fresh air has done you some good. After taking a long walk through the woods, you feel calm, level headed, and reasonable. Still, your stomach is in knots as you climb the steps to Peeta’s home where you’d left him. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised- pleasantly surprised that is. The air smells sweet- sweeter than it usually does, at least. You’re not sure if it’s your heart or nose, probably both, that guide you towards the kitchen where you find your boyfriend hovered over the oven. At the sound of your footsteps, Peeta’s head snaps up, “Honey, you’re back. I thought you might’ve left for good,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry, I lost track of time in the woods…was trying to clear my mind.”

“Did it?” Peeta asks, “Help clear your mind, I mean.”

“Yeah, definitely. I feel much better now.”

He smiles warmly at you and you almost forget why you fought in the first place. Nosily, you crane your neck to see what new concoction he has before him.

“What have you been up to?” You question nonchalantly.

Peeta looks down awkwardly and scratches his neck, “Oh, I, uh, made you a pie.”

You certainly melt this time, your resolve no match for your boyfriend’s tooth-rotting sweetness. You walk forward and pull him into an embrace, “thank you, sweetheart.”

“I made your favorite too,” he says, mumbling into your neck. 

You pull away and grab his face, placing a soft kiss to his nose. Then, more seriously you add, “Can you step away for a moment so that we can talk things through?”

“Yes, yeah, of course, love,” the blonde responds. He grips your hand tightly and pulls you to the kitchen table. Though you’re already sitting in the chairs right next to each other, Peeta grabs the back of your chair and pulls you closer to him, so that your knees are in between his own. 

You’re still overcoming your flusteredness at being so close to your boyfriend when he starts to apologize, “Honey, I’m so sorry I-”

You reach out and put your hand on his thigh, “Peeta, sweetheart. Wait. You’re not the one that needs to apologize first. It should be me. I’m the one that overreacted.”

“But-”

“Please,” you plead, “Just let me say this first.” 

He nods at you to continue.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you this morning when you were just trying to be helpful. Of course I appreciate your nice gestures, and I understand that you just want to do things for me because you like to spoil me. And I love that about you. But I guess sometimes it makes me feel like I’m incompetent. Like you don’t think I can do things around the house to help- even if it is your house. Growing up, I was told I was incapable or incompetent simply because I was a girl. My father didn’t believe I could do anything besides help out in the kitchen or with the laundry, and it always bothered me. I guess I’m just sensitive about that sort of thing. And I want to be viewed as an equal.”

Peeta squeezes your hand softly, “I’m sorry that happened to you so young. I know you, sweet girl, you are capable of whatever you put your mind to, and I never intended to make you think I think otherwise. I just, never want you to have to work a day in your life if you don’t want to. I only want the best for you, honey. But I can see how that can feel degrading, so I’m sorry.”

You reach out and peck your boyfriend’s lips gently, “Thank you, sweetheart. I do really love how well you take care of me. Just know, I’m not afraid to do the dirty work. I know this isn’t my place but-”

“It might as well be,” Peeta interrupts, “You may not live here yet, but I always think of this place as ours- the place we’ll someday live as a married couple, maybe with a few kids.”

The biggest, silly grin crosses your face, “I rather like the sound of that, my sweet boy.”

“Even sweeter with the pie I made you?”

You’re pretty sure the kiss you give him answers the question. 

[tulipfantasies]

apple pie and stolen kisses ✩ p.mellark

pairing; peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary; on a crisp winter day, you and peeta decide that you'd want to bake an apple pie. fun and kisses may be included.

characters; brothers (rye and graham in this)

warnings; fluff, reader is said to have a green thumb, reader knows how to bake, established relationship, peeta's brothers are called rye and graham (both forms of flour lol) and it got a bit suggestive (lol sorry).

my notes; new theme colour. i'm in a major block also, you can pry the baking stories from my cold hands, i love them. peeta let me bake with you plss. ignore that i missed the blind baking step shh.

word count; 3.2k ao3

Baking a pie together was your idea; the stolen kisses shared throughout were not.

Not that you minded—you loved it when he’d surprise you with sweet kisses—you just weren’t expecting it.

Just like half the kisses he gives you. Sweet and unexpected.

You appreciate them more on the colder days. Like today.

Winter had finally arrived in District 12, bringing in crisp temperatures and pearly white blankets of snow across the cobblestone paths.

It was truly a sight to behold.

It was one of the seasons that made the dull and lifeless District glisten beautifully. 

Or at least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Others think of it as the worst time of year.

Winter brings many great things: hot chocolate, candles, warm clothes, and, most importantly, apples.

Oh, the crisp and juicy apples.

There’s a laden apple tree behind your house that you’ve been waiting for the drop of the succulent, green apples all year.

Now was the perfect time to collect them.

You spent one half of your morning gathering the ripe and juicy ones off the branches and the other half cleaning them and selling a batch in the Hob like you do every single year.

The vendors in the Hob love your apples, and so does Mayor Undersee—though he prefers your strawberries.

You had to admit you were proud of the garden you kept.

Who wouldn't be?

The rest of the batch was always sent to the bakery, where they could do as they pleased with them.

Your boyfriend, Peeta, has a knack for making the most buttery apple pies or crispy apple turnovers.

Every winter, he looks forward to receiving your apples. This year is no different.

The golden bell above the door chimes, announcing your arrival to those working away in the sweet environment.

The minute you push open the door to the bakery, you are instantly engulfed with the warmth emitted from the ovens and the comforting aroma of baked goods.

No matter what, the bakery always smells sweet and warm—even during the summer.

You had become used to this aspect of the bakery over the years of visiting Peeta and his brothers.

It soon became a comforting aspect to you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Peeta greets you with a grin. “Ah, you got me something, have you?”

You chuckle and walk towards him with a smile. “Apples, like promised.”

“Oh, you spoil me.”

Peeta takes the apples from you, but not before giving you a sweet kiss.

He lets out a hum of approval as he glances over the fresh fruit.

"Ripe enough for your liking?" you ask with a patient smile.

"They could be a bit more ripe, I guess," he replies before looking up with a teasing grin. 

"You're impossible to please," you playfully retort, rolling your eyes.

"I'm kidding," Peeta chuckles before moving over to pull you into a hug. "They're perfect. Thank you, sweetheart."

You stay like this for a few minutes before pulling away just enough to look at each other lovingly.

"Got anything in mind to make with them?"

"A pie sounds good right about now."

‘He’s predictable as always.’ 

The thought of a warm and buttery apple pie almost instantly makes your mouth water. You can already smell the sweet and comforting aroma now.

"That sounds delicious." You praise with a smile. "Do you need a helper at all?"

He gives you a knowing look before chuckling in amusement. "Oh, of course, I can’t make a pie alone. How could I ever bake without my wonderful assistant?"

"Alright, alright, you don't need to be sarcastic," you huff before joining in with his chuckles.

You shrug off your coat, already feeling warm from the oven's warmth, and wander into the back to hang it up.

You don't even wait for Peeta to lead you to the kitchen. You know your way.

"Hey, I see you’re back again," Peeta's second oldest brother, Rye, greets you with a smile. 

"Hey, Rye," you greet back as you pick up a spare apron and slip it over your head. "Have you been busy today?"

"No." He responds with a shrug, picking up a tray of baked goods. "Saturdays are always quiet."

Of course, Saturday at 5 o'clock is a quiet time for the bakery.

"Where's Graham?"

"He's out with his girlfriend today," Rye confirms calmly. "Don't worry, I'm on a break soon; you and Peeta have the place to yourselves for a while."

You chuckle before washing your hands with warm water and soap thoroughly.

"But just because I am gone doesn't mean any funny business can go on," Rye says sternly.

"Relax, Rye." Peeta's voice comes from the doorway as he places the apples on the table. "We are just making a pie."

Rye lets out an unconvinced hum while narrowing his eyes at his brother. 

Peeta holds up his hands.

“I swear, just baking,” he insists while Rye shakes his head and walks off. 

You watch him walk off for a few minutes before turning to Peeta with a grin.

“Shall we?”

“We shall,” he responds with a nod. “Do you want to handle the dough or the apples?”

“The dough,” you announce with a firm nod.

You love picking and eating the sweet apples, but peeling and coring them is a nightmare.

Well, to you, it is. You strongly dislike that part of baking an apple pie.

“Alright then,” he agrees as he picks up the sack of apples like they weigh nothing.

‘Show off.’ 

You didn’t need to be told twice what is best to do first. You know.

Weigh the flour, butter, and sugar and add them to a large mixing bowl.

Peeta admires you for a few minutes before getting on with his task—the apples.

Sure, making pastry wasn’t your favourite, but it was better than peeling and coring the apples.

You two worked in a peaceful tandem the entire time.

You were mixing the egg with the crumbly mixture when Peeta leaned over the table.

You hadn't noticed him until you felt his lips on yours. Sweet but chapped.

“What was that for?” you ask with a chuckle.

“Just felt like it, sweetheart,” he shrugs and peels the apples.

“Oh, you just ‘felt’ like it?” You hum, forming a dough.

“Precisely.”

You glance up at him with a loving smile and a fond shake of your head.

‘Trust him.’

“You know, if you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask for one.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You playfully roll your eyes and smile at his response. “Just get back to peeling the apples.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He says, mocking a salute with a small smirk before returning to the apples.

Now it was the part where you got your hands—the dough.

And it was also the time that Peeta decided to steal more kisses.

It was always so sudden like he was trying to catch you off guard.

You were busy kneading the ingredients to form a dough when you felt his lips on your temple.

And then your cheek, your forehead, and finally your lips.

One kiss. Two kisses. Three kisses. Four.

Each one that he plants on your face says one thing. I love you. I love you so very much. You’re my entire world.

His silent words fill your body and soul with so much soothing warmth.

’You’re my everything, sweetheart. My reason for breathing: my first thought in the morning and last thought in the night. I am wholeheartedly yours.’

He’s devoted to you, and he’s never been afraid to show it. 

He murmurs those words any sliver of a chance he can grasp.

“Peeta!” You exclaim with a laugh while gently swatting him away with your messy hands. “What are you doing?”

“What? I suddenly can’t kiss my girlfriend?” He responds, feigning an innocent look. His grin gave him away.

“Yes, you can, but we have a pie to finish,” you remind him lightly.

You spent the next few minutes carefully rolling out the dough (to the dish size) and pressing it down so he can put the sweet filling in.

Peeta slid the pie dish into the oven once the apples and remaining pastry were on top.

And, surprise, surprise, Peeta plants another kiss on your cheek.

You playfully swat him with a giggle.

He scrunches his nose playfully as parts of the dough cling to his cheek.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He asks with a smirk.

Your eyes widen once you click on what he is doing. “Peeta, no—”

His hand dipped into the flour sack to throw the handful over you.

The flour mingles in the air and covers every surface in the kitchen. 

You included.

You let out a gasp when a fine cloud of white hits you in full force. 

‘Oh, well, that’s just rude.’

“Peeta!” You exclaim in surprise, wiping the flour from your face.

“Surprise kiss!” He announces before planting his lips on yours.

You let out a surprised noise before melting into the kiss, which he kept going for a good minute or two.

No surprise there.

You place your hands on his cheeks minutes before he pulls away so he can trail kisses down your jawline to your neck.

“You’re affectionate today,” you comment with a sigh while tilting your head back for him.

He grins at your movement, giving his lips better access to your soft skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Missed you so much, sweetheart.”

“I missed you too,” you respond as he backs you up against the counter. “But we saw each other yesterday.”

“I know,” he mumbles, taking your soft hips in his hands. He gently kneads the soft flesh through your trousers.

‘I’m clingy and miss you all the time’ are the words he didn't say but meant.

Normally, in situations like this, Peeta leaves behind purple bruises, but today, he peppers your skin with soft kisses.

Dipping in the waters, but not too far.

“Rye said ‘no funny business,’ y’know,” you remind him, breathlessly. “Behave.”

“I am behaving,” he huffs, pulling away to pout at you. “I’m not leaving hickeys, am I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then, shh, and let me kiss you,” he murmurs before returning to your neck.

You chuckle. “Needy.”

Peeta playfully nips at your neck, but not enough to leave a mark.

“Hey,” you chuckle at his playful nip. “Watch it.”

You could feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your neck. Again. “Goddamn, you’re so beautiful.” 

“Why do I feel this is the start of an onslaught of compliments?”

“Because it is,” he confirms. 

You remove your hands from his face to clean them on your apron.

Each kiss on your neck was paired with a softly spoken compliment. 

’You’re beautiful. My god, you are breathtaking. My gorgeous girl. How did I get so lucky?’

Even after being together for years, Peeta never fails to make you blush or swoon.

His words have magic behind them, you swear. Or he’s just smooth.

“Still don’t appreciate flour being thrown over me,” you comment over his compliments.

“You got dough on my cheek,” he counters, pulling away from your neck.

“Yeah, that was because you were always kissing me.”

He shrugs and squeezes your hips. “What can I say? I like kissing you.”

“Mhm, clearly.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough kisses,” he says before dropping his grip on your hips.

He wipes his hands up and down on his apron to rid them of flour just like you had done.

“I love you,” he whispers affectionately, kissing your lips.

“I love you too,” you reply, just as affectionately. “Even if you do throw flour over me.”

He chuckles in amusement and continues to clean your face. “You asked for it.”

“I did not.”

He grins. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You wouldn’t let him have the last laugh, not on your watch.

“You know, I think you are missing some flour,” you say with a mischievous grin. You poke his cheek. “Hmm, there.”

Like he did, you reach into the flour bag and lift your hand to smear it all over his face.

You break out in the biggest smile while laughing, which automatically causes him to stare lovingly at you. 

His favourite things in the world—your smile and laugh.

“Your laugh is the most heavenly sound,” he whispers adoringly. “I’m so addicted to it I would sell my soul to a Peacekeeper just to hear it again.”

You smile warmly at how lovesick he sounds. “Careful, loverboy, don’t start getting sappy on me.”

Your soppy and sweet boyfriend. How you love him.

He huffs and rolls his eyes but continues to give you a dazzling grin—topic change.

“Alright,” he concludes, changing his tone. “Well, we are even on the flour front now; happy?”

“Very.”

“You look like you just stuck your head in a cloud,” he comments with a grin, motioning to your hair.

“It’s a new look,” you declare. “Flour is all the rage in the Capitol.”

Peeta laughs. “Ah, well, you’d fit right in then.”

You stare at him for a few minutes before joining in with his laughter; it is contagious. He smiles.

Peeta wipes some flour off your face in several delicate motions before leaning in for a gentle kiss.

‘Another one! He’s full of kisses, but God, do they feel like home.’

The kitchen was a mess, but for the most part, that fact remains forgotten as you two enjoy being together. 

Who cares about the kitchen when he's looking at you with so much love in his eyes? 

The kitchen can wait; he made sure of it. Kisses.

His kisses distracted you long enough for the pie to bake until golden.

The kitchen timer chimes eagerly. I’m done! I’m done! Check the oven!

“The pie is done,” Peeta announces after pulling away from you. 

“Mm, I gathered by the timer,” you respond sarcastically, following his gaze.

He pinches you playfully. “Sarcasm, sweetheart.”

You huff and poke your tongue out at him before grabbing oven mitts and slipping them over your hands.

The warmth from the oven and the sweet scent wash over you like a tidal wave the second you open the door.

It smells like home.

“It smells and looks delicious,” you comment as your gloved hands curl around the dish and lift it out.

“Like always, we did a good job,” Peeta replies as he walks over to you. “It does look delicious. Bet it tastes it too.”

You smile proudly as you set the pie dish down on the countertop.

The brief cooling process now begins.

“Jeez, it’s a mess in here!” A voice exclaims from behind you.

You both whip your heads to see Peeta’s eldest brother, Graham. You grin sheepishly.

“What on earth were you two doing in here?” Graham huffs as he glances around the messy kitchen.

“Making a pie!” You chirp as you motion towards the hot pie. 

“Yeah, it looks like it,” Graham replies. “You’ve got flour in your hair, missy.”

“Oh.”

“You got into the flour bag again, didn’t you?” Graham asks, not looking amused.

You’d like to say that this is the first time Graham (or Rye) has found you both covered in flour, but it's not.

Not by a long shot.

Flour ‘fights’ happen more than either of you would admit—a lot more.

“Uh, maybe?” You reply, shaking the flour out of your hair.

“One of these days you should be banned from baking together.”

Peeta snorts in amusement, knowing that baking together always ends in a mess.

He also knows there is no way he’d allow them to ban the both of you from baking together. He’d beg to let you bake with him.

“Where’s the fun in that, Gray?” He teases before moving to grab a cloth.

You follow his actions by grabbing a nearby broom.

“You two better hurry up,” Graham says.

“Why?” You ask as you drag the broom across the pile of flour.

“Ma is on her way home from her errands, and you know what she gets like with mess.”

Peeta shivers at the thought of his mother’s wrath. No one wants to be on the receiving end of it.

“Noted,” he replies, scurrying off to put away the remaining ingredients. 

Now that the pie was finished, you had one mission: make sure the kitchen was spotless before she returned.

The two of you only retreat upstairs when the kitchen is immaculate and the pie is cool.

You were draped over the couch, your legs on Peeta’s lap, while you enjoyed your well-earned pie.

It was perfectly mouthwatering.

The crust was soft and buttery while the filling was sweet with the right amount of cinnamon.

You let out a hum of contentment. “Mm, it tastes delicious as always.”

“You doubted that it would?” Peeta asks with a smirk of amusement on his lips.

“No, I’m just stating the fact here.”

“Mhm,” he hums, shaking his head and taking another bite of his pie. “I guess you’re right.”

“There’s no guessing; I am right.” You insist confidently.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he chuckles as he puts his fork down. “Especially with that confidence.”

“No one can,” you grin before changing the subject. “I like knowing my apples are being made into something delicious.”

“Yeah?” Peeta murmurs with a nod; he picks his fork back up.

“Yeah,” you echo quietly. “I know that they aren’t going to waste and others are enjoying them.”

He hums in agreement as he takes his last mouthful of pie. Delicious.

You follow after him in taking your last bite before standing up to take the plate to the sink.

It’s bad enough the bakery was a mess before we cleaned it; I doubt they’d be happy with dirty dishes.

You hand Peeta a soapy plate to dry just as Rye storms into the apartment with a huff.

“Ma is in a mood,” he announces grumpily. “Steer clear of the devil; she may burn you alive.”

You and Peeta glance towards each other and then at Peeta’s brother, who is storming into his room.

The door slams, causing both of you to wince. She’s gotten under his skin.

“When is Ma not in a mood?” Peeta grumbles as he puts the plates away.

“Perhaps we should stop baking together like we do.”

“Are you kidding? No,” Peeta denies with a firm shake of his head. “I love baking with you.”

“I love baking with you too,” you deem with a gentle smile. “But surely you don’t want to keep getting in trouble with your mother.”

Peeta shrugs. “I’ve been dealing with her since I was young; I can handle it.”

You can’t deny the relief you felt when he turned down the idea of no longer baking together.

You love baking with Peeta; it’s one of your favourite pastimes to do with him.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with her, but I am glad you still want to bake with me.”

“Of course, I do,” he concludes with a smile. “I love baking with you. I love spending time with you. Full stop.”

You chuckle. “I love spending time with you too,” you say affectionately. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he responds just as affectionately. 

Baking with Peeta may always end up in a mess and with consequences, but it’s all worth it just to spend time with him.

There’s nothing better in the world than being right there next to him as he smiles lovingly at you.

The stolen kisses make it all that extra bit better. How you love him.

[levithestripper]

romantic headcanons with peeta mellark

masterlist

warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader.

length: 1k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

notes: rewatched the movies again and you can guess what happened from there.

peeta with a crush is singlehandedly the cutest thing you’ve had the privilege of witnessing. he’s super awkward around you, practically tripping over his own feet before he discovers his confidence.

his favorite date activity is picnics! he enjoys sitting under a shady tree and watching the clouds roll by, soaking up the sun’s rays with you by his side. more often than not, he’ll fall asleep there too. hands behind his head, one knee in the air, chest slowly rising up and down.

peeta is the biggest cuddler you’ll ever meet, hands down. sitting together? he has an arm around your waist and his head on your shoulder. sitting across from each other at a table? you can feel his knee pressed against yours. walking together? he laces his fingers with yours every chance he gets.

you’ll find yourself with more forehead kisses than you know what to do with. not that you’re complaining.

he teaches you how to dance! when peeta was little, his mother would put on a record and dance with him in the living room. there weren’t many records—or record players—left in district twelve, so his mother took great care of her small collection. his favorite was a love song by elvis presley. he nor his mother knew anything about the artist, but it didn’t stop them from getting lost in the singer’s words. years later, peeta plays that same song when teaching you how to dance. listening to the lyrics now, with you in front of him, peeta finally understands what elvis had been telling him all this time. he really can’t help but fall in love with you.

this boy is the biggest sap in the entirety of panem. he handmakes you cards, drawing cute doodles around the words he writes. sometimes you swear he’s making up new ‘holidays’ just as an excuse to make you a card. he looks so cute when he says, ‘did you know today is hug your partner day? the capitol declared it a national holiday!’ so you can’t help but go along with it.

not only does he create new holidays, but he also says random days are ‘national [blank] day.’ in the mellark household, mondays are ‘national breakfast in bed day,’ wednesdays are ‘national sleep past noon day,’ thursdays are ‘national kisses day,’ and sundays are ‘national candlelight dinner day.’ you’ll never admit it, but secretly, you love it when he uses excuses like ‘national kisses day’ to kiss you more than he already does. you tease him about it all the time, but it only backfires, as peeta gives it right back.

it doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been dating, peeta will still flirt with you like it’s the first time he’s laid eyes on you. he’ll lean against the closest piece of furniture, chin resting in the palm of his hand, proceeding to use only the cheesiest pick-up lines he could think of. you play along, of course, something you’re more than happy to do. the game ends when peeta asks you out on a ‘first date,’ and he cheers when you say yes.

you can always tell when peeta wakes up from a nightmare. he presses himself into your side, his head on your chest or pressed into the crook of your neck.

peeta will hurl compliments at you all day, but the minute you give it back to him, his face lights up like a strawberry. at the start of the relationship, he had a tough time accepting praise, regardless of what he did to receive it. he’d always subtly deflect it somehow, saying it was ‘no big deal, really!’ or ‘don’t mention it, anyone would’ve done the same.’ with your help—and a never-ending wave of admiration—peeta slowly grew more comfortable accepting the accolades he deserves.

if it wasn’t obvious, he loves all things domestic. something he loves about it is when he has together-alone time with you. each doing your own thing in the same room, silently keeping the other company while they work.

i’ve said this before, but peeta has multiple sketchbooks filled with drawings and half-finished sketches of you. peeta never tells you when he’s sketching you, claiming he prefers a ‘candid, more natural’ look to his portraits. once he fills a sketchbook, you’ll cuddle up next to him as he eagerly shows you everything he’s completed.

peeta’s love language is physical touch, acts of service, and gift-giving! (if that wasn’t obvious enough already). you almost regret telling him your favorite dessert/meal because peeta ensures you’ll never go without it, cooking/baking whatever it is whenever you mention you have a taste for it. you can’t help but love it and him.

as for physical touch, if it wasn’t clear before, peeta’s a top-rate cuddle partner. but his love for closeness manifests itself in different ways, too. back rubs, for one, are a prime example. he starts at the base of your neck, having just finished running his hands through your hair. from there, he rubs down the ridge of your spine, his thick, calloused fingers hitting the best spots every time. it never fails to turn you into a pile of mush, something peeta is (not so secretly) proud of.

with gift-giving, don’t always expect these extravagant, over-the-top presents that cost more than either of you make in a year. if he knows there is something expensive you’ve been yearning for, he’ll save up some cash to surprise you with it. typically, you’re gifted things like a bouquet of flowers, a new book, or something interesting/unique he found at the hob. you’ve slowly begun to fill a shoebox worth of stuff he’s given you over the years.

after you get out of the shower, under the guise of ‘helping you dry your hair,’ he’ll brush through it, detangling any knots still present. to be completely honest, peeta was playing with your hair more than actually drying it. you’re not in any place to complain; you do the same thing to peeta after his showers.