tulipfantasieslibrary

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haymitch carrying lou lou and hiding under a group of willow trees so the capitol can’t take her body right away, to years later, katniss singing the meadow song to a dying rue which starts with the line, “deep in the meadow, under the willow”

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Haymitch and his ducklings

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painter | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

request: I saw a tik tok of someone painting on their s/o back and now I can only imagine peeta doing that

this is singlehandedly the cutest thing on this planet. i am absolutely sobbing. ♡

summary: peeta ran out of canvases, but can't he just make you a canvas?

cw: the sweetest fluff you'll ever read.

wc: 1.2k

type: ❀

"Baby!" your boyfriend, Peeta, called from the other side of your cozy home inside Victor's Village. "I ran out of canvases!"

He was coming down the hall with his box of art supplies under his arm, a soft blanket slung over his shoulder.

This wasn't the first time he had run out of canvases.

"Can you be my canvas?" he begged, setting his box down at his feet where you stood looking out the window.

It was a brisk summer day, a light wind breezing through the windows and the glowing yellow sun setting in the distance, casting a pale orange glow throughout the large windows in your house. The sky was a pale blue, fluffy, white clouds spreading across for as far as you could see.

You sighed happily, looking toward him and nodding your head.

A large smile spread on his face, and he proceeded to set down the blanket on a small clear area of the living room.

"Turn around!" you yelled, giggling at his startled reaction.

"I'm turning, I'm turning!" he said, spinning on his heel and making a dramatic cover of his eyes with his hands.

You began to take off your shirt, throwing it off to the side before you moved your hands to your back.

"You act like I've never seen you naked before," Peeta said, scoffing as his shoulders slouched, the click of your bra coming undone breaking the silence as you tried to come up with a smartass comment.

"Well, we're not doing that now, are we?" you asked, getting on your knees and laying down, your now bare back hitting the cool air and turning your head to face him.

He turned around, sitting down to your right and pulling his nearly falling apart cardboard box of paint toward himself.

"We need to get you another box," you said, your eyes meeting his big, blue doe eyes.

"I know," he nodded, pulling out a thicker paintbrush with an incredibly long wooden handle and setting it next to his leg, pulling out a plastic palette piled at least two inches high of old paint.

"Two things," you began, utter confusion coming out of your mouth as you gave him a weird look. He hummed, looking up from squeezing his paint onto the palette. "One, who the hell needs a paintbrush that long, and two, why haven't you cleaned off your palette?"

He paused, pondering the question before coming up with some snarky comment.

"I personally don't know why the paintbrush is so long, but I do know why I haven't cleaned it off," he squeezed a small portion of a brown onto his palette over a pile of greens, blues, and purples. "It's too much work."

You scoffed, turning your head back and placing your chin on your hands folded in front of you.

The first stroke of paint startled you.

"That's cold!" you squealed, your shoulders arching back as he began to paint a large stripe above your hips.

He set a hand gently above your butt, the waist of your shorts pulled down so he had room to paint.

The stroking of the paintbrush was easing, it had a slight peace and relaxation to it when you had eventually gotten used to the coldness of the paint.

It was quieter now, Peeta focused on his painting and you laying in the sun as his hands working skillfully over you, like a true canvas. He would occasionally pause to get more paint or to wash off his brush, the short sound of sloshing of water and sometimes the sound of his palette scraping on the floor from moving, to which he would groan at and take his hand off of you.

You watched shadows on the wall dance, affected by the beautiful trees and leaves fluttering in the wind outside as he painted along your back, eventually reaching toward your shoulders.

He paused, setting his paintbrush down and moving his hand carefully to your side as to not smudge the paint. He took your hair into his hands, gently pushing it over your shoulder, making sure he had every strand, and letting it go so it fell at your cheek.

You hummed a thank you, and he exhaled softly in response, picking up his paintbrush once again and painting over your upper back.

You felt him going in different directions and organic ways, but you still had no idea what he was painting. His paintings always consisted of something he remembered from the Games, or another form of memory, but they also consisted of nature and beautiful sceneries he had observed.

The few times he had painted on you before, he refused to tell you until you could see it for yourself.

"I'm almost done," he said after awhile of no talking. You could hear the smile and proudness in his voice as he said those three words.

"I'm excited," you said back, not being able to help smiling yourself.

A little bit later, he lifted his paintbrush off of you, the sloshing of water and the sound of the wood hitting the floor. The sun was almost entirely set now, the sky a dusky orange, purple, and blue.

"I'm done!" he said, standing up and groaning as he stretched his limbs.

You stood up carefully, trying not to disturb your hair and covered your chest with your hands. He took hold on your arm and lead you down the hallway to your shared bedroom so you could see in the floor length mirror, covering your eyes as he turned your back to the it.

"Ready?"

"Of course," you smiled.

He uncovered your eyes, and your head immediately turned around to look into the mirror.

Your jaw dropped in awe, a small 'wow' escaping your throat as you admired it.

He had painted a bouquet of sunflowers. The yellows of the perfectly shaped petals contrasted each other, the colors flitting in and out between one another surrounded by beautiful lookalikes. Dark green leaves sprouted from outside the flowers, perfectly crafted and painted with the curves and veins of each little detail. The center of the flowers were stunning, dotted black and brown seeds engulfed in a sea of beautiful oranges, yellows, and browns. The grass and stems below them connected, entangled by one another and painted into an ocean of green grass.

You almost wanted to cry at it's beauty.

"That's so beautiful, Peeta," you breathed, exhaling and laughing in disbelief and amazement.

"I'm glad you like it, you look gorgeous with it," he smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners as he admired your expression.

You moved to hug him, careful not to smudge the painting, your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands met your lower waist.

"I love you," you murmured into his shirt. "Thank you for this masterpiece."

"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispered back, placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

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NATASHA ROMANOFF 🎬 letterboxd series [insp, template]

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on this account we stan everlark, haydove and odesta bc they all deserve better

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Haymitch and Peeta happily in love with girls who can sing:

Snow:

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His first real birthday

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“Not to eat, to hatch.”

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songbird, mockingjay and dove

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“Not to eat, to hatch.”

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The female tributes of the 50th Hunger Games, Louella McCoy and Maysilee Donner (and Lou Lou)

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Happy new Hunger Games book release week to all who celebrate!

Here are some partially book-inspired, partially film-inspired Katniss paper dolls. I’m imagining these as a souvenir marketed at Capitol kids during the Victory Tour, once the 74th Games had become such a hit.

This is part 2 of a little fanart series I’m working on featuring my all-time favorite female characters as paper dolls. Part 1: Keeley Jones (Ted Lasso).

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quick maysilee donner i did today based on her reaping outfit. unsure if i like this hair for her just yet but !!

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Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

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songbird by fleetwood mac is so everlark-coded. argue with the wall

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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.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

Katniss Everdeen :)