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mylittlepooka · 1 year ago

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Unravelling the Pact - Part I

After back-to-back missions, you and the boys finally get some downtime. Enjoying the nightlife on Coruscant, a stranger is all too willing to dance with you, leading to the boys making a decision that will change everything. Pre-Echo. Two-parter.

Pairing: All Batch x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Word count: 3.6K.

Warnings: dancing with a stranger in a club, grinding, possessive Batch (but in a non-toxic way), bickering brothers, small insult from a stranger, flirting, pet names, communication and consent are sexy, discussion of reverse harem, first kiss, roaming hands, I guess this counts as friends to lovers?

A/N: This was meant to be a piece for Kinktober, for the moresome prompt, but it ran away with me so....enjoy! I'll also die on the hill that Tech and Cross are tube twins, and that Wrecker is a smart/emotionally intelligent man.

This can be read as a stand-alone or as a prequel to Painted Pretty.

Part two – COMING SOON.

The loud music drowned out the sounds of the city outside, the dancefloor vibrating under your feet from the heavy bass as you moved to the beat.

Nearby, tucked in a booth, the boys kept an eye on you. Dancing wasn’t really their thing, especially after the string of back-to-back missions you’d all been running, but that hadn’t stopped you from wanting to let loose a little more. You’d dragged them out of the hotel, having splurged a little on some rooms with comfortable beds during this period of shore leave, knowing you all needed some R&R.

You’d found an okay-looking club where the boys didn’t draw too much attention – they didn’t look like Regs, which opened up a world of new possibilities, especially once they donned their civilian clothes. Drinks were decently priced, and the floor wasn’t sticky, both of which were a win in your books. You could feel the weight of their gazes on you occasionally, but you paid them little mind. That was their prerogative if they wanted to be sourpusses and stay in the booth.

A year you’d been with them, traversing the galaxy, trying desperately to keep them safe. As their civilian handler, you fed them missions and made sure they came back in one piece – the Kaminoans couldn’t have anything happen to their prized experimental unit, after all – and surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for them to warm up to you, for you to become one of them. The black Aurebesh ‘99’ Crosshair had inked on your wrist six months ago, while the others crowded around and watched, was a constant reminder of that.

“Uh oh, incoming,” Wrecker grumbled, eyes watching as someone made a beeline through the bar towards you.

All eyes at the table snapped in your direction. Hunter’s jaw clenched, Tech’s fingers tightened around his datapad, Wrecker sat up straighter, and Crosshair’s eyes narrowed at the man approaching you.

Clammy hands on your waist spooked you a little, and you turned to find the culprit. “You look a little lonely out here.” The man who’d approached you spoke. He was a little taller than you and couldn’t be more than a few years older, with tousled blonde hair and green eyes. His smile was warm, as was his body as he pressed closer. “Dance with me.” He insisted, shifting behind you, sliding an arm around your waist to pull your back to his chest and your ass to his crotch, the pair of you now moving to the beat.

At the booth, the boys bristled. Downing the last of the Corellian whiskey he’d been nursing, Crosshair stood. He could only make it one step in your direction before Hunter stopped him. “Vod.” His older brother's voice made him groan, turning back to face the table.

Hunter shook his head. “We agreed not to interfere.” He points out.

Crosshair grits his teeth. “He’s got his hands on her.” He hisses out, sparing a glance over his shoulder in your direction.

“And she doesn’t seem to mind,” Hunter states, even though it kills him inside to admit it. He was trying not to listen to your fluttering heartbeat or the flirtatious words being whispered in your ear by the stranger, but you were like a damn honing beacon, and he couldn’t tune it out.

“I mind,” Crosshair answers sharply, narrowed brown eyes focused on his oldest brother.

Hunter sighs quietly. Crosshair’s distrust of outsiders and his jealous streak had always been an issue. It was a miracle he’d taken to you so quickly a year ago - Hunter had been sure they’d go through countless handlers as the war progressed.

Frustration flashed in Crosshair’s eyes. “She’s ours.” He states.

“We agreed.” Hunter leans forward in his seat, silently imploring his brother to sit back down and shut up. Ever since they’d been old enough to talk, they’d formed pacts. And when you’d joined them, a new pact had been added to the list.

Pact 52. None of them would make a move on you, regardless of the fact they wanted you.

Your comfort was paramount, and they didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.

“You’d be fine if she went home with him?” Crosshair spits the word like it's poison, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the stranger you’re dancing with, whose hands are grasping at your body as if he’s known you his entire life.

Hunter doesn’t have a comeback for that. He wouldn’t be okay with it. Not at all, in fact. But you’re a grown woman and he has no say in what, or who you do. If you want to spend the night in a stranger's bed, all he can hope is that you’ll leave your tracker on, insist he wraps it, and comm them if there’s a problem.

“I would not be fine with it,” Tech interjects, his eyes shifting between his brothers, datapad long forgotten on the table.

Hunter huffs. “We made a pact. When she joined, we agre-“

“Kriff the pact.” Crosshair spits, cutting Hunter off. “She’s not going home with him. He doesn’t know shit about her.” He presses his palms to the table as he leans down, the booth tucked away enough that no one can hear their conversation.

The boys fall silent, each remembering the first and only time you'd gone home with a stranger. Shore leave was hard to come by, and you spent most of it with them, but you’d been up at the bar, chatting away with the barman, when you’d been approached. Hunter could still remember hearing the guy flirt with you; Wrecker could remember how he’d reached out to touch your arm. He’d bought you a cocktail you hated but had politely drank, Crosshair had noted, and you’d chatted for a little while. Then you’d disappeared with him, Tech’s datapad pinging a few minutes after you’d left with a message not to wait up for you.

And in the morning, you’d come back to the Marauder smelling of that stranger, with a small hickey on your throat that you’d tried desperately to conceal. It had nearly killed them.

“And what happens if she doesn’t want us, or only wants one of us? Could you handle that if it’s not you?” Hunter sighs as he leans back in his seat. This wasn’t a new debate – they often bickered about it – but it had never been this charged.

Fear and jealousy rage inside of Crosshair. He didn’t want to think about that. You were theirs, and you wanted them just as much they wanted you. It was a fact.

“I-I don’t want her to go home with anyone else either.” Wrecker finally pipes up, looking awkwardly between his brothers and you. You’re still dancing with the stranger, laughing at something he’d said, eyes closed as you grind back against him. Wrecker feels an odd coil of anger in his gut that someone else has their hands on you. It’s a new feeling for him, and he doesn’t like it.

“All in favour of dissolving Pact 52.” Crosshair throws down the mantle, glancing between his brothers. He was tired of holding back.

Tech lifts his hand a little in agreement, Wrecker following suit. But for it to be dissolved, there had to be complete consensus.

All eyes turn to Hunter, who’s staring at Crosshair like he’s gone crazy. His youngest brother could sometimes be stubborn and hard-headed, but he’d never called for a pact dissolution before. Tearing his eyes away, Hunter watches for a second as you dance with the stranger, taking in the way his hands are starting to creep down your body, how close his lips are to your neck. Fire rushes through his veins. “Go and get our girl.” He growls out his agreement, eyes swinging back to his brothers.

Crosshair smirks in satisfaction, standing back up to full height. Dropping his toothpick onto the table, he’s on the move again, slinking through the crowd in your direction. Tech follows hot on his twins' heels, tucking his datapad back into its pouch on his belt.

Hunter sighs, watching them go, not entirely sure whether he’s just agreed to the self-destruction of his squad or the best thing to ever happen to them. All he knows is that he and his brothers are selfish and don’t want to share you with anyone else. He turns his focus to Wrecker, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“They can break the ice. If it don’t work and she don’t want us, we can blame them.” Wrecker explains with a grin. He wants so desperately to go to you, to put himself between you and the stranger, to feel your body pressed against his. But he also doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he’ll sit back for now and let his younger brothers do all the leg work.

Hunter chuckles. Taking a sip of his drink, his dark eyes watch as Crosshair and Tech reach you.

Lost in the music, you don’t realise the boys have approached until the man behind you – Trent, you think he’d said his name was – stiffens. “Hey buddy, do you mind?” You hear him bark over the song, your eyes flying open as your hips stop moving, finding Crosshair and Tech next to you. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“No,” Crosshair answers, his fingers tightly wrapped around the man's wrist, prying it from your body. “Scram.” He demands.

The warmth of Trent’s hand disappears from your waist, and your confusion only increases as Tech reaches for you, gently drawing you closer to them and away from Trent.

“Hey, take your hands off her.” Trent has no idea what’s happening but tries to break free from Crosshair’s grip, worried for your safety as you’re pulled away.

“I know them, it’s okay.” You find your voice, raising a hand in a placating gesture. Trent stares at you for a beat, before his green eyes flick to Tech and Crosshair.

“Scram,” Crosshair repeats, low and deadly, as Trent meets his gaze.

Trent swallows. “Eh not worth it anyway.” He frowned toward the three of you, shaking his wrist free before stumbling back into the crowd and turning tail.

Trent’s words sting a little, but before that sting can settle, deft fingers hook under your chin and tilt your head, and your focus is pulled to Tech. “You look so lovely, darling.” He coos over the music, those soft brown eyes of his skating across your face and then down your body, chasing away Trent’s insult.

You blink a few times, brain pausing. Have you died on some remote planet somewhere and been teleported to a different dimension? Pet names weren’t uncommon – the boys had them for you, and you had them for them, but they were never affectionate. They were shortened forms of names and occasionally just a descriptor. And Tech was…flirting?

“This is new.” Crosshair’s voice slinks against your ear as one of his arms slides around your waist, and he presses against your back, right where Trent had been moments before. His free hand smoothes down the curve of your side, across the dress you’d treated yourself to and had delivered to the hotel. Life in armour had made you appreciate the rare chance to dress up.

Your confusion only doubles. “If you two don’t tell me the hell is going on, I will purposefully snap every toothpick between here and Kamino and put viruses on all our datapads.” You threaten.

Crosshair glances up, catching Tech’s gaze. They communicate silently, the strange phenomenon you’d witnessed a handful of times over the last year.

“Will you join us back at the table, please, darling? There is something we wish to talk to you about.” Tech finally answers your question.

Curious, you nod, letting them lead you back across the dance floor to the booth. Crosshair slides in first, Tech’s hand on your back guiding you in next, and then he sits, keeping you safe between them. “Is something wrong?” You ask, now more worried than confused as you look between all four brothers.

“No, cyar’ika,” Hunter answers, the smokiness of his voice making the new pet name sound sinful, and you blink a little quickly at it, unable to control the strange thud of your heart.

Silence sits with the five of you for a moment, the four men communicating with glances before Hunter leans in a little. “Were you planning on going home with him?” He asks, genuinely curious.

The question stuns you, and a small flare of annoyance erupts in your chest. “That’s none of your business.” You answer calmly.

Hunter gives a slight nod of his head, conceding the point. Taking a deep breath, he leans back in his seat and rethinks his approach. “It suits you.” He comments, unable to stop his gaze from dropping, from taking in how breathtaking you look in that little dress.

Heat rises in your cheeks. Another compliment on your appearance. You weren’t used to this – usually, you only received them for your work, for a mission well done. “T-Thank you.” You stammer out.

Satisfaction crosses Hunter’s face. “You’re important to us, you know that, right?” He asks, wanting to ensure that as this conversation progresses, you know they’re not just after frivolous fun.

Brows drawing downward, you nod. Under the table, you feel Crosshair’s slender fingers turn your hand over, the pads of his fingers gliding over the ink he’d etched into your skin. On your other side, you feel Tech lifting a hand, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of your hair – fallen loose while dancing – behind your ear.

If Crosshair’s touch had given you a rough idea of where this was going, Tech’s actions took it to a new level. It was as subtle as a Rancor in a den of antiquities. A strange sensation settles in your stomach, growing as you glance at Hunter again. The look in his eyes confirms your suspicions, and you swallow thickly.

They want you.

After a year of pining for them, resigning yourself to the friend zone, they want you. A million thoughts and questions rush through your mind, none of them sticking or answered. But if they want you, then there's something you need to say.

“No.” You state, catching the way Crosshair’s fingers pause, all four sets of brown eyes staring at you as you glance around the booth. For a moment, you can’t believe you have these incredible men wrapped around your little finger, hanging on your every word. “I wasn’t going to go home with him.” You clarify, eyes swinging back to Hunter, though you don’t miss the way all four brothers quietly let out the breaths they’d been holding. “Wasn’t my type anyway.” You tack on as your eyes betray you and dip for a nanosecond down to Hunter’s lips.

What would it be like to kiss him? Or Wrecker? Tech? Crosshair?

The fingers around your wrist tighten, and you glance down to watch the action, missing the look that Crosshair and Tech share across you. The air seems to vibrate with unspoken words.

Tech broke the silence, leaning in, his voice a soft caress. “That is excellent news, darling.”

Tilting your head, you glanced his way, taking in all the details you adored – the sharp angles of his jawline and nose, expressive brown eyes, and lips that looked oh-so-soft.

A light bump against your foot pulls your attention away from the genius, eyes darting to where a large boot is pressed against the side of your heels. Eyes drifting up, Wrecker offers you a fond smile as you meet his gaze. Heart hammering, you know you can’t keep them waiting.

Crosshair’s fingers are now skirting around your wrist, drawing lazy patterns as Tech rests a hand under the table against your thigh, fingers splayed and curling around you – steady and comforting.

“It’s your choice, cyar’ika.” Hunter captures your attention, understanding this is a pivotal moment for you all and could change everything. He decides to lay their cards on the table. “We’d like you to be ours. But we understand that’s a lot to ask. We’ve shared everything in life except a woman. You’re the first we want, so there might be bumps along the way – nothing we can’t work through.” He notes. “The feelings aren’t new, either. It’s…well…we’ve wanted you since you joined us.”

All this time, they’ve wanted you, and you’ve wanted them. All this time, you could’ve been... “Then why now?” You question.

“It hurt, thinkin’ you’d be going home with that guy,” Wrecker answers before the others could, a large hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. “And it’s gettin’ real hard to keep pretending.” He shrugs, hand falling from his neck. “But we’ll keep doin’ it if this ain’t what you want. You’re our priority.” Wrecker is hasty to add.

You’d never been someone’s priority before, and it comforted you knowing they’d immediately back off if you said the word. You reach across the table with your free hand, sliding it into Wrecker’s to link your fingers with his. Holding the big man's gaze, you give a small nod. “I want this.” You decide. “All of you.” You clarify, glancing around at the four brothers, watching as delight and surprise crosses their faces. “The feeling isn’t new, either.” You mimic Hunter’s words as a year’s worth of weight lifts off your chest. You know there’s a lot more to discuss and many things to work out to keep things fair, but making your intentions clear is a good start.

Crosshair’s grip around your wrist tightens, and you turn your head towards him. Longing and desire swirl in his hawkish gaze.

You only have a moment to commit his expression to memory before you feel the soft brush of his lips against your own, like the fragile wings of a butterfly alighting on a delicate flower. It was barely there, an exploration of the unknown, but it ignited a spark that threatened to consume you both. Eyes closing, you surrendered to the moment, and your lips met again, this time with more urgency and hunger as the bar's sounds faded.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wrecker protested, scowling at his youngest brother.

Hunter held out a hand, silencing him. Dark eyes focused on your face, and then on the way your shoulders dropped as you relaxed into the kiss, how your chest rose and fell a little quicker with each breath, and the gorgeous curve of your throat as Crosshair used his free hand to tilt your chin for a better angle to deepen the kiss. Senses tuning in on you, Hunter picked up on your rapid heartbeat. His nostrils flared, your sweet scent coming into focus even under the layers of other smells from the bar. With every second the kiss continued, your scent became sharper.

Catching Tech and Wrecker’s eyes, Hunter tipped his head toward the rest of the bar. The three brothers pushed out of the booth in sync, leaving you in Crosshair’s capable hands while they grabbed your jacket from the coatroom, flagged down a taxi, and settled the tab at the bar.

Lips still pressed to Crosshair’s, you gasp at the feeling of a warm hand on your back, reluctantly pulling away and opening your eyes, turning to see who’s touching you. Your gaze lands on Tech just as Crosshair’s lips find purchase on your jaw, trailing down your throat. A whine of pleasure slides out before you can stop it, and you watch as Tech swallows thickly at the noise, offering out a hand to you.

Shakily, you take it, enjoying the contact as your heart races, every nerve alight as you’re guided out of the booth, and you hear Crosshair grumble as he slides out after you.

“You only got away with that because you are the youngest.” Tech chides him, though the bite to his words is lacking. If anything, he’s jealous his brother took the opportunity before he could. In return, Crosshair offers him a trademark smirk, placing a fresh toothpick between his lips, not at all remorseful.

The two of them escort you through the club – Tech leading you by the hand with Crosshair bringing up the rear, the warmth of the sniper's hand pressed against your lower back.

As you step out into the city, your jacket is placed across your shoulders before you can feel a pinch of chill, strong hands guiding you towards a taxi Wrecker had flagged down, the gentle giant holding the door open for you.

The five of you cram in. Hunter is pressed to your right, Wrecker to your left, while Crosshair and Tech take opposite seats. A tanned, tattooed hand lands on your right thigh as the taxi pulls away and into the night sky, deceptively soft fingers drawing slowly up to the hem of your dress, the red fabric pushed aside oh so gently as those same fingers curl around your body and hold on to you.

You’re so caught up watching Hunter’s hand roam across your body that you’re startled ever so slightly as Wrecker’s large paw starts doing the same to your left thigh. A low chuckle from Tech has your eyes flicking across the dimly lit cabin, catching the wisps of amusement and desire on his face.

“That little heart of yours is racing, mesh’la.” The smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice ghosts against your ear as he leans closer, making you feel like you’re about to combust. You have no idea how this will work or how the night will end. What you know is that you trust them implicitly and can’t wait to have your hands on them.

#the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #star wars the bad batch #spicy adjacent

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 4 months ago

Note

Re: your tags about the spicy asks

There is practically NO foot fetish Everlark content 😢

I just know Peeta would love massaging, kissing, and worshipping her feet

I'm slightly concerned what it says about my life at the moment, that this is what came out while attempting to write literally anything this week. I'm personally not that into feet, but hey! There shall be no kink shaming here. Anon, may I present, slightly more angsty than you probably wanted, foot fetish Peeta. I do have ideas for later, less angsty scenes, if anyone is interested. (Side note, the ask references the tags on this post from several months ago, and of course my inbox is STILL a hot mess so yep.) Enjoy, my funky thirsty wenches!

****

With a beleaguered sigh, Peeta slams his bathroom cabinet shut and peers through the frosted glass window, out towards the darkening sky. His hair is still dripping on his shoulders and he’d prefer not see Katniss again until tomorrow’s training session. Today had been particularly grueling, with Katniss pushing back at every one of his demands. To the point that he couldn’t decide if he’d rather give her a good spanking as punishment for all her sass, or if he wanted to drag her somewhere more private and shut her the fuck up by shoving his tongue down her throat and kissing her speechless.

But none of that would’ve worked, he knows. So he simply made her do forty extra pushups and run five extra laps around the village.

After quickly towel drying his hair, Peeta throws on some clothes and searches his kitchen for something to take as a peace offering or trade. He baked cherry hand pies just that morning when he couldn’t sleep, so he warms up half a dozen of them before wrapping them up. He trudges three houses down the row in Victor’s Village and sheepishly knocks on the Everdeen’s door. He’s looking down when the door opens, and so it’s her feet that he sees first. A bandage wrapped around one toe and a poultice strapped to her right heel.

He’s hurt her, he realizes with a twinge of guilt. He should offer to rub her feet, to at least soothe some of the aches he’s caused.

“What do you want? I’m not doing more pushups,” Katniss says. Her words propel his eyes up to hers. They glitter with the tension boiling between them, and Peeta bites back a snapping remark about how he’s only trying to do everything he can to make sure she survives again. She can thank him later.

“I’m not here for you. I’m here to see your mother,” he says. Something flickers in Katniss’s eyes and she draws back into the house, holding the door open for him as he quietly thanks her and enters.

“Anytime,” she says, her voice thick with sarcasm. As he brushes past, her eyes drop to his hands and her nose twitches. “Are those for me?”

“They’re for your whole family,” Peeta corrects.

“Does that include Katniss’s cousin?” Gale emerges from the kitchen, shrugging his shirt back on, and Peeta averts his eyes, suddenly wishing he’d waited a little longer to come over. He knew Gale was still stopping by after working in the mines, so Mrs. Everdeen could keep track of how his back was healing. But Peeta would rather not witness this sweet, domestic scene.

“You’re not really my cousin, so no,” Katniss says as she takes the bundle of hand pies and peers into the wrapping. “Oh. there’s so many. I guess you can have one.” She hands the pastry to Gale, who eagerly accepts it, and Peeta shuffles his feet nervously. The action seems to remind Katniss that he’s even there.

“Mom! Peeta’s here to see you!” she shouts.

“I’m right here,” Mrs. Everdeen says, sounding exasperated as she too emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a cloth. “Oh, Peeta. So nice to see you.”

Peeta attempts to smile at her. “He brought these,” Katniss says, her next words pricking his ire. “They smell incredible, but if he thinks a few tasty pies are gonna make me enjoy all those push ups--”

“Actually,” Peeta cuts her off and snatches the bundle out of her hands, “you probably shouldn’t have any of these while you’re in training.”

Gale snorts as Peeta hands the pies to Mrs. Everdeen. And the way Katniss’s eyes turn petulant, the way her lip quivers, almost makes him feel like the barb is worth it. Until her eyes flash with anger and harden again.

“Fine. But you can’t stop Prim or my mother from giving me one when you leave.”

“How can I help you, Peeta?” Mrs. Everdeen interjects, cutting their squabbling short. She ushers him into the kitchen as he tells her what he needs. He tries to focus on what Mrs. Everdeen is saying to him, what she’s asking of him. But his eyes and attention keep straying to the hall, where Gale holds the hand pie in his teeth while he’s buttoning up his shirt.

Jealousy sinks its teeth into Peeta as he surreptitiously watches them. He knows he’s not the best looking guy in the district. Gale has him easily beat on that account, but she couldn’t even stand to see Peeta when he was on death’s door. Anything someone might find sexy or attractive about him wouldn’t have mattered then, but here she seems perfectly fine talking to Gale as he lazily works the buttons through their slots. Honestly, could the guy be any more of a slow dresser? It’s ridiculous, really.

“Here you are,” Mrs. Everdeen says, her voice cutting into his thoughts as she presents him with another jar of the ointment she’s been making for their sore muscles. She gives him the instructions for it again. By the time she’s done and Peeta has thanked her, Gale has thankfully left, and Katniss is no longer in the foyer.

It’s all too much, all of a sudden. His throat dry and the edges of his eyes wet with unshed tears. Ridiculous. He knew. He knew what he was doing when he made his deal with Haymitch. He knew what he was doing when he started their robust training program, pushing Katniss at every turn. Pushing her away.

He knew that in the end, Katniss and Gale would be happy together. It shouldn’t bother him this much, seeing the truth of it now.

He’s in such a hurry to get out of the house, he doesn’t see the shoes until it’s too late. He trips and stumbles, crashing into the wall. Mrs. Everdeen gasps and rushes to his side. Embarrassment burns on his cheeks as he rights his leg, grateful that at least he didn’t drop the glass jar of ointment.

“Katniss!” Mrs. Everdeen screams. “I thought I told you to clean this up yesterday!”

“Clean what up?” Katniss asks from upstairs. Peeta sets aside the jar and winces at the sharp shot of pain, but he kneels next to Mrs. Everdeen as she scoops up a pair of shoes and several rather smelly, dirty socks.

Katniss’s socks. The ones she’s been wearing at training. There’s so many of them, she must’ve just been removing them by the door and leaving them there for days.

She bounds down the stairs and stops only part way down, eyes narrowing at them.

“I was going to get to it,” she says.

“Well you almost killed Peeta with your mess,” Mrs. Everdeen snaps.

“Almost?” Katniss asks and tilts her head, looking at him as he stands there with his hands full of her dirty socks. “Shame. I’ll try harder next time.”

Mrs. Everdeen apologizes to him and snatches up the socks from his hands. One falls to the floor, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she walks over to Katniss and shoves the entire pile of dirty socks and shoes into her daughter’s hands. She’s busy berating Katniss, and Katniss is busy trudging back upstairs and rolling her eyes, snapping back that she just wants a few minutes to relax!

So neither of them notice Peeta bending over and pocketing the stray sock. His palms are sweaty and nerves kick in as he snatches up the ointment just as Mrs. Everdeen returns to him. An awkward apology and thanks again for the ointment later, and Peeta finally manages to escape.

He breathes deeply as soon as he's about thirty feet away from the house, and then he shoves his hand in his pocket. His fingers rubbing at the stolen sock.

By the time he shuts himself alone in his house again, Peeta’s breathing heavily. Hurtling into the bathroom, he sets the ointment on the counter and grips the edge of the counter, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Why did you do that?” he asks his reflection. Has he really grown so desperate for any bit of softness from Katniss that he stole her rank sock?

He’s no stranger to dirty, smelly socks. He grew up with two brothers, after all, and he was on the wrestling team. But this… this theft scintillates him in a way he can’t explain. Retrieving the sock, Peeta holds it up in front of his face, wondering how on earth he’s going to return it. How could he possibly explain this?

He takes a deep breath again, attempting to calm himself. But inhaling the pungent aroma emanating from the sock does something to him. Something wicked and dangerous, he knows, even as he groans and brings the sock closer to his face.

Peeta nuzzles the garment as he sniffs it. He imagines washing her feet, massaging soap between her toes and cleaning off the sweat and grime he caused with his heavy demands. He imagines wrapping her feet in a soft cloth and gently drying them, applying healing balms to her blisters and sore spots. Helping her into a pair of warm socks so the medicines can be better absorbed into her skin.

And it isn’t long before an undeniable arousal presses insistently against his pants. With a tortured groan, Peeta shoves the sock into one of his drawers. He ignores the erection as he gets ready for bed. Ignores it as he lays awake for far too long, given how early he’ll need to be up for training tomorrow morning.

#words are peetas thing not mine #smut doesn't happen but it's kinda smut adjacent???#well aren't you a spicy anon #anonymous #look at that ask

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