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tulipfantasieslibrary · 1 month ago

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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.

#𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ my works #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x fem!reader #peeta mallark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta x reader #thg peeta #peeta mellark #fem!reader

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tulipfantasieslibrary · 1 month ago

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Katniss Everdeen :)

#. 𓂃 ᥫ᭡ misc #katniss everdeen #katniss fanart #the hunger games #the hunger games fanart #thg #thg art

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tulipfantasieslibrary · 2 months ago

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And you get a web and you get a web

#. 𓂃 ᥫ᭡ misc #peter parker #peter parker fanart #spiderman #spiderman fanart #marvel

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tulipfantasieslibrary · 2 months ago

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blurb idea!! your children (two girls one boy) plan a dinner date for you and finnick! they have a table set up on the porch and a whole menu (5 and 7 year old’s handwriting) of gourmet meals (grilled cheese and tomato soup) for the both of you. they dress up in their nicest clothes while they play chefs and waiter. i can imagine desert just being two scoops of ice cream and a chocolate chip cookie 😭. but nonetheless, the children receive all of the earned extra cuddles and kisses before bed for their effort🤗.

grilled cheese and tomato soup.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship (duh), finnick and reader have three children (kai, cordelia and marina), set post war, not edited, minor angst at the beginning but it's only for like three paragraphs i promise, other than that, it's just pure fluff <3

word count: 1.4k

Summers are always warm in District Four, and beads of sweat roll down the back of your neck as you sit at your vanity table and slowly but surely add the finishing details to your latest project for work. The window is cracked open to let a breeze in, but even that in itself is warm.

Finnick is folding laundry and putting it away into the wardrobe. As the two of you work away in silence, you can hear the occasional giggle or squeal from your three children, reminding you that they’re fine in the other room.

You’re the first to notice that their laughter has seemed to fizzle out, and dread fills your veins as you pluck the pen from between your teeth and set it down on the table. “Finnick.”

He must take note of the panic in your voice, because he immediately stops what he’s doing. “Are you okay?” He asks, brows furrowed as he maneuvers around the king sized bed and stops at your side. He tilts your head in his direction and coaxes you into looking at him when he tips your chin upwards. “Talk to me.” His voice is steady and even, and it helps ground you.

“I can’t hear them.” You choke out, pressing a hand over your heart. Every single instinct in your body tells you to move, but your feet are rooted to the floor. “The kids. I can’t hear them anymore. I can’t hear them laughing.” You gesture to the bedroom door that leads into the other rooms.

Finnick strains to listen, and he realises that he can’t hear them, either. Still, he remains calm; he knows that freaking out will not prove to be any good for either one of you. “It’s okay. That’s more of a mischevious silence that anything.” He teases, mentally reminding himself that everything is alright. Coin and Snow are both dead. There are no more games. They’re safe now. “Come on. Lets go see what those three are up to.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat and grip his hand. Finnick squeezes once then twice, a silent reassurance that he is there with you.

When you don’t move an inch, he puts a steady hand on your lower back and steers you out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. The sound of childish whispering meets both of your ears and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in the first place.

Finnick offers you a small smile as he slowly feels the dread being pulled out of his body. “There. See?” He presses his lips to your forehead. “It’s all okay. I mean, they might burn the house down if we don’t go see what they’re up to, but they’re okay.”

You laugh and lean into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand. He presses another lingering kiss to your forehead before using his hip to push open the kitchen door and stepping inside.

“Daddy!” Your youngest, Cordelia, screams, and abandons whatever she was doing in favour of running through the length of the kitchen towards her father.

Finnick lets go of your hand to catch Cordelia when she throws herself at him. Hoisting her onto her hip, he boops her on the house, and grins when she dissolves into a fit of giggles. “What have you three been up to, hm?” Cordelia buries her face in the crook of his neck instead of answering, and he lets out a hum. “Something mischevious then, I’m assuming.”

You shake your head fondly and peek your head around the corner, where the twins, Marina and Kai, are wearing their best clothes and arguing over the George Forman maker.

“I should do it!” Marina protests, cocking her hip out.

“I’m older!” Kai retorts with just as much overexaggeration.

“By, like, three minutes! And you’ve never used the grilled cheese maker before.”

“Then show me!”

“You’re seven.”

“So are you.”

You laugh from where you’re standing and their little heads whip around so fast that you wonder if they gave themselves whiplash. “Technically speaking, neither of you should be using that. It’s too dangerous. And get off that chair before you break a bone, please, Mari.”

Marina does as she was told and uses her brothers shoulder to steady herself as she clambers back down with a huff. She stirs a pot with something inside of it, while Kai tries his best to distract you with his award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

Kai tugs on the bottom of your sweatpants. “Mommy.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Come with me.” He demands. You raise a brow. “Please.” He adds, and you relent, letting him take you by the hand and lead you out of the kitchen. He collects Cordelia and his dad on the way to the back door, and then he pushes down on the handle and opens it, pushing both Finnick and you out onto the patio.

Golden fairy lights have been poorly strung up around the wooden bannisters that allow you a bit of privacy and a linen tablecloth has been draped across the patio table. Two chairs are perched on either side of the table, instead of the usual five, and an unlit candle is positioned in the middle.

Cordelia’s chewing on her fingers, but takes them out of her mouth long enough to say, “Ta-da!”

You look around incredously, trying to take in the transformation of your back patio. “What’s all this for, hm?” You ask as Kai pushes you to sit in one of the chairs and then moves to do the same with his father. Finnick laughs but goes willingly, settling in the seat opposite you.

Kai stands up straight before shooting his little sister a pointed look and gesturing for her to stand up and get off of their father’s lap. Cordelia pouts but does as asked, sulking next to Kai. “We have made you dinner.” He announces.

Finnick arches an eyebrow and glances at you from across the table. You shrug, instructing him to go along with it. “Is that so?” Kai nods earnestly. Finnick leans forward in his chair, rests his chin in the palm of his hand, and indulges his son. “So, waiter, what’s on the menu tonight?”

Kai pulls a crumpled pad of paper out of his pocket and you stifle a laugh into your hand. Kai looks at you, not impressed in the slightest. “It is not funny, Mommy.” You school your expression and nod to let him know that he has your full attention. Finnick snickers. “We have tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

You gasp dramatically. “No dessert?”

Kai rolls his eyes, ever the moody one. “That’s a surprise, Mommy.” He says as if it was obvious.

“Oh, yes, silly me.”

Kai pretends to look at his non-existent watch. “I got to go.” He takes Cordelia’s hand and leaves without another word.

You and Finnick break into hysterics the second your children are out of earshot and you reach for his hand across the table. He brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses your wedding band. “Well, at least we can’t say they never did anything for us.” He muses.

You laugh. “No, I suppose we can’t.”

The both of you sit in a comfortable, loving silence until Kai, Cordelia and Marina come out with a bowl of tomato soup and a bread roll for each of you. Cordelia sneaks back onto her dad’s lap, robs his bread roll, and munches away on it happily.

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters under his breath about how, “Its impossible to find the staff these days,” before marching back into the kitchen.

“I swear, that kid is an old man reincarnated,” You giggle.

Finnick hums his agreement and blows on a spoonful of soup to feed Cordelia.

As promised, the next course is a grilled cheese sandwich that is practically as hard as a rock and disintegrating in your hands. Nevertheless, both you and Finnick reassure Marina that you prefer it that way.

Cordelia spills the secret on dessert, but the two of you promise not to tell Kai and Marina that you know. Both of you put on your best surprised faces when two scoops of vanilla ice-cream and two chocolate chip cookies are served, and the kids are none the wiser.

Finnick gives the three of them a well-deserved massive slice of chocolate cake and a mug of hot cocoa each for their effort. You and Finnick take them to the beach to burn off some energy, and when you come home, they crash out, but not before getting the cuddles and forehead kisses that they earnt.

#ˏˋ𝜗𝜚 fic recs #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #blurb #the hunger games #thg #fluff #so sweet

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tulipfantasieslibrary · 2 months ago

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I need Katniss and Peeta to start more handmade books made specifically so they can hand them down to their kids. A baking book, a practical guide to hunting book, a music book, a painting book. Just everything, in a book. For the kiddos!!!

#. 𓂃 ᥫ᭡ misc #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #the hunger games #thg headcanons

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tulipfantasieslibrary · 2 months ago

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An Angel

|| ao3 || an: first Johanna fic!! requests are open! ||

summary: You suggest a sleepover to Johanna after she tells you about her nightmares. She realizes she may have feelings for you. (wc: 957)

After the loss of almost everyone she ever cared about, Johanna had promised herself that she would never again let someone come that close to her heart again. To spare both that person and herself of the pain that came along with simply knowing the victor. So Snow would never have the opportunity to hold someone’s life over her head just to get her to do the sick things he made the other victors do.

But, then she became friends with Blight. And Finnick. And the girl who ran the market Johanna frequented. And, surprisingly, Haymitch. And then you. You who were always sweet to her, even when she tended to be a little scary and closed off sometimes. You who were determined to break down the walls Johanna had built around herself to avoid ever getting hurt again. You who slowly became one of her closest friends.

“You know, it’s not the end of the world if you let someone in,” you had told her one morning when you followed her to the market.

“It sure feels like it,” she had responded, because to her, it did. She was scared of ever letting someone back into her world just to have them be ripped away from her once again. Instead of the usual nightmares she had of her reliving her games, she recently started getting some involving the people she started calling her friends. Nightmares of Finnick dying, of Snow capturing you, of a peacekeeper killing her friend from the market. All because of their association with her.

When Johanna first mentioned the nightmares to you, the first thing you could think of was to have a sleepover with the girl. “I don’t like the idea of you waking up all alone after that,” you had told her. And something about the way you smiled at her after saying that made her say yes.

“If you get a nightmare, wake me up, I promise I won’t mind,” you told her as you both got ready to go to bed.

“Okay,” was all she could reply as she watched you fix your hair. Something about it made her feel all warm inside, but she couldn’t decide what it was.

The next morning, Johanna couldn’t help but notice how peaceful you looked as you slept. How pretty you were, even with the small strands of hair covering your face. She wanted to move them out of the way, but she knew she couldn’tever cross that line. She didn’t want to lose one of her only friends to something as silly as a crush. Of course she had to go and get a crush on one of the few people that ever treated her as if they weren’t afraid of her.

“Good morning,” you quietly mumble, opening your eyes and meeting Johanna’s brown ones as she quickly glances around the room, acting as if she hadn’t been staring at you this whole time.

“Morning,” she mutters as you try to hide your laugh at her reaction to being caught. All she does is roll her eyes and get out of bed, as she asks what you would like for breakfast on her way out of the room.

“You didn’t have any nightmares last night?” You ask as the other girl begins making pancakes for the two of you.

“No,” Johanna mumbles after a minute, taking her eyes off the pan in front of hers to meet yours. “That’s probably the first time I’ve had a full night’s rest in forever,” she says with a small smile as you smile back at her.

“What can I say, I’m a miracle worker,” you joke as Johanna finally takes her eyes off you, focusing back on the breakfast.

“Guess so,” she whispers, still smiling. Something about you made her feel nervous and giddy inside. Like a teenager finally asking out their crush. “You should probably sleep over more if you’re gonna rid all my nightmares away,” she jokes, looking up to see the sun shining on you in a way that made you look nothing less than angelic. Maybe that's what you were. An angel sent here to rid her of her nightmares. To make her feel things other than sadness, pain, and anger.“You look really pretty,” she whispers before she can stop herself.

“Thanks,” you say, glancing to the side with a smile. The way she was looking at you was almost too much. Almost.

“I mean it,” she replies, unconsciously taking a step forward. As if something other than reason was controlling her brain. Something like affection. Adoration. Infatuation.

“You’re really pretty too,” you reply, as you stand inches away from the other girl. Your closeness with Johanna was anything but friendly.

“Can I ask a possibly really stupid question,” she asks as you just nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” you reply as she cups your face with both hands, meeting your eyes for any sign of you having second thoughts. When she finds none, she leans in and presses her lips against yours as she finally kisses you.

“Do you smell that?” You ask after, reluctantly, pulling away from the kiss when you smell something burning.

“Hm?” She asks before her eyes go wide with realization as she runs to the stove, turning it off as she curses “shit, shit, shit.”

“Shut up,” she mutters with a smile as she hears your laughter. Though, she doesn’t really mean it. She likes the sound of your laughter. She imagines it’s what an angel’s laugh would sound like.

“Make me,” you reply as she double-checks that the stove is off before moving to kiss you again. Breakfast can wait till later, right now Johanna has an angel to kiss.

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