#Everlark fanfiction

[bbrooklynbabe]

i can't read anything that isn't purely HEAVY everlark. even though they are endgame, but she kiss gale at some point? pass! peeta from the past having a girlfriend? i won't read! threesome? never in a million years!!!!!!! i get physically sick, i'm NOT exaggerating

[chateaumarmontt]

I’ll probably edit this one*

Just some Everlark fluff

enjoy💝

It’s been almost a month since Peeta came back to 12. We spent that time with each other, it was healing but hard at the same time.

I try to understand my feelings for Peeta. I know I love him, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be in a relationship. How could I think about that when so many people died? I’m ashamed for the way I feel when I see Peeta in his garden, his blonde curls covering his forehead and a little part of his temples. I’m ashamed of how much I love the way his blue eyes flicker whenever I compliment his cheese buns… And now, he’s lying next to me, mouth open, his face squashed against the pillow.

Without even realizing, I put my hand in his hair and play with it. Peeta murmurs something without opening his eyes, so I let myself study the boy with the bread a little longer.

“Katniss, I can feel you staring”, he says, smiling.

“No, I’m not”, I reply, suddenly greeted by the blue eyes I know so well. Peeta raises an eyebrow and I groan:

“So what if I was staring?”

“Nothing, it’s nice. I like when you stare at me.”

His hand wraps around my waist, bringing me closer to the warmth of his body. I could stay like this all day, Peeta’s chin on the top of my head, my fingers tracing circles on his clavicle…

“Hey, who’s Naomi”, I ask.

A few days ago, a blonde girl came to Peeta’s house. She was tall, slim and had the aspect of a healthy person- her cheeks rosy red, her skin a little pale. I can’t say I was jealous when I saw her talking to Peeta, or when Peeta opened the door, smiling at the sight of her, or when she went into his house and spent almost 2 hours there… fine, maybe I was a little jealous, but I’d never admit it to him.

“How do you know…”

“I heard you talking to her last week. I had my window open and yeah… Not like I was spying on you!” I wasn’t completely lying. Naomi’s high pitched voice was what drew my attention.

“Oh, she’s Rye’s wife… was”, Peeta replies, a sad smile on his face, “I try to be nice to her since, you know, she has no one but her baby and her brother in law.”

I feel stupid for asking. How could I believe Peeta would be seeing anyone else? After all we’ve been through, he wouldn’t leave me…would he? We’re not officially together, so he could be seeing someone else and I’d have no right to judge him. The thought of not sleeping next to him and another person feeling the warmth of his strong arms drives me insane.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

I look up to see the blonde boy smirk. It’s better than seeing him sad, but I still roll my eyes:

“Yeah, right”, I blush and try to bury my face in his neck so he won’t notice, but his fingers bring my chin up so that I’m looking into his eyes again.

“Oh, my God, you are! You’re blushing”, he laughs.

I sit up straight and hit him playfully:

“No, I’m not!”

Peeta raises an eyebrow and I can’t help a little smile:

“Shut up.”

“Come here”, he says amused, now sitting up and pulling me into his lap, “It’s adorable when you’re jealous.”

Our faces are so close… too close. I can’t give in, I can’t do this to Peeta, I don’t deserve his love. He saved me so many times and all I did was hurt him.

“No one else ever called me adorable, Peeta”, I barely whisper, closing my eyes, so that I can’t be tempted by him. God knows I can’t keep myself together when he looks at me with those puppy eyes.

“No one else really matters”, he says, his warm breath lingering over my lips, making me lick them without realizing.

“Peeta…”

And it happens. I can’t control myself, my hands around his neck, I bring him even closer to me. It’s the hunger I’ve felt before, the hunger that makes me behave like a selfish animal. And I am selfish for bringing him into this, for not letting him get the life he deserves with a normal girl, not a fucked up 19 year old that’s been through the Games twice and started a revolution… but God, did I miss him on my lips.

“Katniss”, he pulls away, gasping for air. I take the opportunity to look at him again, like I did this morning: his curls are even messier than usual. This satisfies me because it was my hand who did that. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen, his chest going up and down, trying to get more air. I can’t help but imagine Peeta with nothing on, lying in my bed in the morning. My cheeks must be burning like crazy and I mentally scold myself for thinking about it.

“Did you hear me”, Peeta asks amused, bringing me back to the present moment.

“What?”

“Kiss me again?”

[vasilissadragomir]

Us Among the Living Chapter 13 out now on ao3!

enjoy this long ass chapter!! y'all deserve it. this is a very everlarky chapter in this everlark fic so if you're here for the everlark you will not be disappointed!

also i'm working through all the comments!! i appreciate them so much thank you for sharing your thoughts with me it's why i write this fic <333

also happy passover friends!!

[tetheredfeathers]

I have this headcanon that Katniss is a very good poet/writer. Her thoughts have always been so poetic, like who the hell calls a boy she fake loves "dandelion in the spring, that means rebirth instead of destruction" like be fr. And at the end of Mockinjay she says something like I make a list in my head of every good thing I've seen someone do.

Post mockingjay she spends her days in the woods writing for hours and hours. It's good therapy for her as well, she writes about Prim, Rue, Cinna, Finnick, Boggs, Peeta's father. Sometimes she writes down her nightmares, fears, the arena, her time in District in 13.

But mostly she writes about Peeta, how she is so afraid of loosing him, and that she's so grateful he came back to her. She writes about how nice it feels to run her fingers through his blonde curls, and his eyelashes oh my eyelashes, miss girly has 5 whole pages dedicated to his eyelashes. She writes about his strong arms, how they ripple when he's kneading dough and how he effortlessly lifts her into his arms like she weighs nothing. She writes and writes and writes.

One day Peeta eyes her notebook curiously, he sees her with it all the time but never has the guts to ask her what's in it. One day he finally gives in and asks her, and Katniss blushes furiously before saying 'just some stuff I wrote'. He asks if he can see it, and she reluctantly hands it to him, it's not that Katniss minds letting him see it, she's just a bit shy. Peeta immediately starts crying right through the first couple pages, Katniss gets all nervous and asks him if she wrote something wrong. He cries even more at that and reassures her that nothings her wrong just that her words are beautiful he can't help it.

When he reaches the more later part of the book, he gets all cheeky and teases her about how badly downn she is for him. She get's all defensive and pretends to get mad and leave. He pouts and apologizes 'I'm sorry birdie, come here'. He wraps his big strong arms around her, carries her upstairs and he makes love to her all night long.

Later he smirks to himself and says 'I can't believe I ever thought that Gale stood a chance'

[thesweetnessofspring]

Of course there's grief when, after a long life of love and pain and recovery, Peeta finally goes on to the thereafter.

Their children expect their mother to be devastated and inconsolable. No one has ever seen a wife love her husband as deeply as the huntress loved the baker.

But resting in her old rocking chair where many a baby had been soothed and a twilight hour spent in companionship, Katniss's wrinkles crease in a smile and she says, "He got his wish. He died as himself."

[slippingawayfromreality]

Caesar is me, when I find a new good canon-close Everlark fanfic on ao3 😅

[atelierlili]

In-Panem/Not Reaped Everlark AUs

Got asked to give some fanfic recommendations for In-Panem/Not Reaped Everlark AUs so here we are. Most of them (if not all of them) are gonna be fluffy and happy tbh because i can't take my pookies being hurt ):

Completed:

A New Path (138k words) by Endlessnightlock

The day after aging out of the Reaping, Katniss crosses paths with Peeta. She thanks him for the bread and to her surprise, a tentative friendship begins.

One of my favourites. I love the direction the author took with this story. Always made me want more!

Go Slow, Peeta (20k words) by Oakfarmer

The era of the Hunger Games has come to an end. How Everlark slowly happened anyway.

This was the one that started it all for me. Short, simple and to the point! A classic in my opinion.

Nothing Owed for a Gift (10k words) by orphaned account

Lately, Merchants have taken to flirting with unwitting Seam folk as a joke, sometimes going so far as to ask them out on a date. I've even heard of a couple instances of a Merchant asking someone from the Seam to marry them, and then laughing hysterically when the poor recipient says 'yes'. So, when Peeta Mellark approaches me after the reaping, red with nerves and pushing his lips together as if he's trying very hard not to do something like laugh, I'm immediately wary. Peeta can't possibly be asking me to marry him for real. ... right?

Urgh. Literally one of my favourite one-shots.

Inevitability (44k words) by Xerxia

What if? What if Peeta and Prim hadn't been reaped?

Definitely not the fluffiest fics in the list, but Katniss absolutely SHINES here. And Peeta stays very true to his character as well. Absolutely worth the read.

It Takes A District (55k words) by MTK4FUN

Thinking her mother is dying, Katniss Everdeen marries Peeta Mellark to keep her sister out of the Community Home.

I love this fic. I don't know what it is, but there's something about it that makes it standout on its own.

Katniss Everdeen Is Not A Stalker (241k words) by MegaAuLover

Katniss as a little problem, she can't stop looking through Peeta's window, trying to find a way to pay her boy with the bread back but as time goes on she realizes she wants more. But there is a problem the District is flooded with Peacekeepers and everyone faces danger as the Capitol tightens its reigns on the district. Can love bloom in the middle of adversity? Or will it shrivel in the face of surmounting danger?

This is the one. Easily one of the bestest AUs imo. Very long read- but I will be naming my first born after the squirrel. The Everlark relationship here is A+++.

Incomplete/Ongoing:

( I know its weird to recommend incomplete fics, some these ones are legitimately my favourite fics and think are still worth the read.)

Cavedweller (79k words) by Jennajuicebox (last update: 2021-01-25)

Her mother once told her she was brave. A word Katniss wouldn't have chosen for herself. Brave implies that you run headlong into the scary unknown. Brave implies you face the things that want you dead. It dredges up thoughts of conquering armies and swords raised over head. Katniss isn't brave. As much as she would never admit it to herself she is scared out of her wits. She is staring into a gaping chasm, waiting for it to swallow her whole.

I love AUs that explore Katniss otherside of the family so much. As always, the Everlark development here is absolutely heartwarming and delicious. 10/10

On the Threshold ( 97k words) by ghtlovesthg (last update: 2020-06-26)

Nineteen and free from the Reapings forever, Katniss finds a token on her doorstep commemorating her passage over the threshold of adulthood. Discovering the identity of the sender will start Katniss on a road that leads toward life's other milestones.

This is exactly how I envisioned Everlark would get together had it not been for the Reapings. So so so so good. There is just enough here to be satisfied that the fic is unfinished ; w;

hope you find something you like! I always have more if you want more to sink your teeth into <3 Happy readings!

@heartforeyes @the-tiny-fangirl

[brimay]

our little fires

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Chapters: 1/3

Rating: M

Wordcount: 17894

Pale as a ghost, Peeta climbs the steps. It’s so silent in the Square that I hear the wood creak. The tears are streaming down his face now. Curling his hands into fists along his sides, he takes his place next to me. Finally, reality sinks in, crushing me. I’m not going to wake up. They want me to kill the boy with the bread. They want me to kill the boy I love. (or: The Hunger Games but Katniss and Peeta are a couple when they are reaped.)

Read on AO3

[katnissmellarkkk]

tis I with a prompt: I request the first time post war Katniss lets Peeta into her bed again 🥺

-

AN : wrote this the night you sent the prompt but I absolutely hated it until now. I finally got around to cleaning this up a bit and now I think it’s cute? Lemme know, all of y’all, if you like it! And my writing muscles are rusty so send me a prompt if you like, to try and work me out please! Can’t make any promises about what’ll trigger my brain but I can sure try! Anywaysss hope y’all enjoy this lil post-mockingjay-pre-epilogue drabble here!

-

I watch with dread as Peeta scrubs away the last bit of sauce still dried to his plate.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I murmur halfheartedly from where I lean against the counter, watching him.

“It’s rude to not wash your own plate after dinner,” he says, his tone somewhat coy. He’s teasing me, I realize. He’s maybe even flirting with me but I can’t be sure and even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to make of it.

“I never wash mine after eating at your house,” I mumble, mostly to myself. I know he doesn’t care about cleaning off my plate for me. I know that he knows that I don’t mind washing his plate either.

But I don’t push the point and neither does he. Because we’re both stalling the inevitable.

It’s past ten at night and it’s time for Peeta to go home now. This time comes every day and we should be more prepared for it by this point, but every single night when the sun has long since left the sky and you can barely make out five feet in front of you without a flashlight, Peeta walks out the front door and my chest aches, as he disappears out into the night.

Ask him to stay, a tiny voice that sounds weirdly like both Haymitch and my mother — at the same exact time — pressures me.

But my tongue won’t cooperate and I can’t make the words form on my lips and I feel my stomach flip as I stutter out an awkward goodbye instead.

“Goodnight, Katniss,” Peeta says evenly, his face smooth and peaceful and totally level as he reaches out and squeezes my hand before moving to grab his coat.

He’s walking towards the door and I feel the familiar dread — the dread that’s been my constant companion for longer than I care to remember — rise up in my stomach and for a split second I want to reach out and grasp his elbow. For a split second I want to grab onto him and stop him from leaving.

And for a moment I plan to ask him to stay, to come upstairs with me, to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth by my side at the sink, to crawl beneath the sheets and hold me until we hear birds begin to chirp with the morning light. In that moment I plan to ask him to do exactly what we used to do on the train, exactly what we used to do every single night, back before everything between us completely shattered beyond recognition.

My hand drops midair before I can make the contact with his arm but it catches his attention just the same.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires, his face becoming concerned.

“Nothing,” I brush off tightly. Instead of saying what I’m thinking, instead of saying what I want, I just force a smile and lightly graze his hand. “Get home safe.”

At that, he shoots me a bemused look. “I live three houses from you. Somehow I think I’ll be fine.”

I nod and chuckle as he leaves, as he disappears into the night, making the shortest of journeys home, unwittingly leaving me to dwell in regret for all the things I wish I’d just come out and said.

As soon as the door shuts between us regret the size of an elephant lands on my chest.

And I know, without a doubt, this is going to be one bad night for me.

-

The funny thing about my nightmares is they never lose their edge. Not with time, not with practice, not with comparison. I’ve seen Cato get eaten by the mutts hundreds of times. I’ve watched Clove stab me with her knives and Brutus chase me through the jungle and Enobaria break my neck with one hand, more than I could possibly count.

I’ve witnessed my sister detonate, as if I’m still standing right there, in the city circle of the Capitol. I’ve witnessed it thousands of times since that day. I’ve witnessed it more often than I’ve managed to actually sleep since that day.

And it never gets easier. It never becomes routine. I’m never ever prepared for it.

Instead I’m left paralyzed as the same dreams plague me over and over and over again.

Other things do change though. I used to thrash around, kicking and screaming as the dreams tortured me for minutes on end. I used to wake up, sweat covered and coiled up in my bedding, trapped in a physical sense that only manages to make my dreams even more intense somehow.

But over time something shifted and somehow, between the bomb that killed my sister and taking down Coin and the trial I scarcely remember, the thrashing stopped and the walking began.

For months now, I’ve woken to find myself in strange rooms, in small crawl spaces I didn’t know existed, inside cupboards and beneath beds no one’s ever used in guest rooms I barely recognize.

But I’ve never found myself outside before. Never, in all the time I’ve dealt with these dreams, have I ever once ended up in my front lawn.

Never, in my wildest imagination, did I picture myself waking from my nightmare, facedown in some dirt, ripping grass from the ground as I let out a rabid scream.

“Katniss,” I hear a voice softly murmur, like speaking to an injured fawn, terrified of scaring them away. “Katniss, it’s okay.”

And my lips cry for the voice before my brain fully recognizes it. “Peeta?”

“It’s just me,” he says, and I feel his hands grasp the tops of my arms, gently pulling me upright. “It’s only me.”

I pry my swollen eyes open and take in Peeta’s kind, worried face, mere inches away from mine.

“You’re here?” I croak, still groggy and confused. “What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare,” he explains, thumbing away my tears as more come pouring out. “But it’s over now. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” His hand cups my cheek softly, holding the weight of my head.

I nod plaintively, my body still completely exhausted despite the fact I was just asleep. “I’m okay,” I try to say but all that comes out is a guttural raspy sound and I watch as his face softens even more.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside,” he whispers, offering me his hand.

I take it without question, but find that I’m not upright for long. The moment I’m standing, my bare feet touching the dewy grass, Peeta bends down and scoops me up in his arms.

I don’t question it though. Maybe secretly I wanted him to do that. I definitely didn’t want to wait around to see if Haymitch came outside, asking why I was screaming at this hour of the day.

Peeta carries me into the house as if I weigh as much as Buttercup, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and drops his arms, as if to let me decide the next move. I could either crawl away from him, put some distance between us, or I could remain where I am.

To me, the choice barely takes any consideration.

I curl up closer to him, the images from the dream still too fresh to handle alone. I press my face into his neck and fold myself into him and hope he reciprocates in kind.

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to respond. As soon as I initiate it, he’s there, pulling me tighter, cradling me against him, rocking me back and forth like I’m something precious to behold.

“It’s okay,” he repeats again and again and again, as if we entered a time warp and we’re back on the train, back in the Capitol in our little apartment, sharing a bed, guarding against nightmares we stupidly thought would be the height of our troubles. “I have you, Katniss. I won’t let anything hurt you now.”

I cry into the collar of his shirt, drained and shaking and still half-crazed, feeling slightly better only when his fingers begins to smooth my hair away from my face.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Peeta whispers gently, his hand moving from my hair to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles there to alleviate my trembling.

Time begins to pass. My tears dwindle to nothing. I feel the shaking come to an end. Every last ounce of energy I have left seeps from my body. My eyes grow heavy.

And pretty soon, I feel myself lifted once again, into strong, protective arms, cradling me like a baby as they carry me up the stairs and down to the end of the hall.

I’m tucked into bed gently, with the utmost care. The covers are brought up to my chin, my hair is brushed off my forehead and his fingers lightly dance upon my cheek. But it’s not enough. I still crave more.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, and my voice still isn’t mine, it’s someone else, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants. For who she wants to lay beside her in the darkness.

“Okay,” he murmurs and it sounds like a promise but as he sits down on the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, planting a soft kiss upon the back of it, I know he doesn’t understand what I’m truly asking.

“No, Peeta, that’s not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head, before pushing the covers back. “Can you get in? Can you stay with me?”

I don’t really grasp my word choice and all the underlying meanings until it’s already slipped out and too late to take back again.

But I only have a moment to be filled with regret. Because that’s how long it takes Peeta to slide in beside me.

And as I curl into him, wrapping my leg around his waist, burrowing my face in the curve of his neck, basking in the feeling of utter safety and happiness that I have never, ever found in another pair of arms, he whispers the only thing that could erase my chagrin.

“Always.”

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

I decided to write this little Everlark piece, based on this post of mine yesterday:

It happens suddenly. First the thunder, then the rain. It shatters against the roof and the windows, drowning out all other sounds. Peeta grips the back of his chair and his eyes take on that distant look that tells me he’s been transported back to the darker times, back to the Capitol. I sit still, unsure of what to do, staring at his bowl of lamb stew that now sits on our wooden table untouched as little tremors take over his body. What can I do? I want to go over, to wrap my arms around him, but he’s said before that sometimes he just needs time to himself – so I don’t. After half an hour, I’m about to stand up and go around the table to him when he gets up shakily and says he needs some time to himself. He walks away, mumbling something about water and Johanna and screams.

I sit tense in my seat, my own bowl gone cold, and stare at the rain clattering against the window. Peeta had opened the window earlier in the day, to let in some fresh air. Because I’d refused to go out today. Because it had been too difficult to even get out of bed. Until Peeta had scooped me up in his arms and carried me downstairs half an hour ago, despite my weak protests. He said he’d not gone out of his way to get this lamb stew for it to be wasted. Now the rain drips in through the top opening in the window and pools on the ledge. I’m reminded of the rain dripping in through the cave in the first Games. Huddling against Peeta in the sleeping bag, trying to absorb his own warmth into myself as the cave grew colder around us. My inept attempts at flirting with the good-natured boy with those blue eyes that settled and unsettled me. Those kisses that twisted my insides with something warm.

Before I know it, I’m up and moving. Pushing the chairs away from the table, putting our bowls into the little oven to reheat. I muster up all the strength I can to push the table closer to the sofa that sits a few metres away. Once it’s close enough, I grab the blanket off the sofa, draping it over the back of the sofa and the table, creating a sort of canopy, like the one Peeta made to protect me from the rain in the cave. Peeta’s art books prove to be sturdy enough to weigh down the blanket corners on the table to keep it from slipping off. I then strip the sofa of its cushions and carefully place them under the canopy and the table, creating a soft floor we can sit on. More blankets thrown in on top. The lamps from the kitchen counter and outside in the hallway then make their way into my den, casting a soft glow inside.

I’ve just retrieved the bowls from the oven and placed them inside my little makeshift cave when Peeta comes back into the room. He looks weary, tired. Once he sees me bent down under the blanket, the bowls of steaming lamb stew, his face takes on a quizzical look. “What—” “I thought maybe we needed to… escape to our cave for a little while,” I hold out my hand, inviting him to join me. He raises his eyebrows at me, ruffles his hand through his wavy blonde hair before he crouches down and follows me under the canopy. I snuggle in closer to him, throwing one of the blankets over us, and then another one to make sure Peeta’s legs are covered. I carefully place our bowls on our laps.

“Eat up,” I say, looking up into his tired eyes. He gives me a soft smile, the kind that always melts my insides with its warmth, before he picks up his spoon. We eat quietly, listening to the rain pouring down outside. Periodically, Peeta scoops some of the dried plums out of his own bowl and adds them into mine. I accept them with a smile, realising just how hungry I’ve been after a day of staying huddled in my own bed. After we’ve fully emptied our bowls, Peeta reaches up outside our den to place them onto the table above. He settles back inside, stretching out to lie down, his head propped up by cushions. I instinctively lie down next to him, draping my leg over his and resting my head against his chest, feeling its steady rise and fall. His arms tighten around me and I can feel his breath tickling the top of my head as he bends his head down into my hair. “So… how about that kiss?’ I laugh before I make myself rise up enough to see his grinning face, look into those blue eyes that have come back from the distant place to seek out my face. I feel his lips smile against my own as I lean down to kiss him.

[promptseverlark]

THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED ANYWAY CHALLENGE

TWHHA challenge is BACK!

“This Would Have Happened Anyway” Challenge for Winter ‘24

Katniss says it at the end of Mockingjay:

“But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.”

So let’s explore “What ifs” and send your fics. The theme this time is MARRIED BEFORE/DURING/AFTER CATCHING FIRE 🔥this obviously will change OR erase canon Mockingjay.

Pairing: Everlark

Type: Fan Fiction or Fan Art.

Words: Over 1000 words (drabbles, one shots or short multi chapter are welcome, we would like to have submission completed although it isn’t mandatory)

THEME: MARRIED BEFORE/DURING/AFTER CATCHING FIRE 🔥

Deadline:

1. You can confirm your to participation until Dec 10th (in Tumblr, answering this post and tagging @publiusao3 ) and you will be granted access to the collection to submit your work.

2. You can submit your fics up to Dec 30th midnight (CET time!)

3. Collection will be live Jan 1st 2024 as anonymous

4. Writers will be revealed Jan 10th

@publiusao3 @thgfanficlibrary @thgfanfictionlibrary

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Katniss feeling insecure one random afternoon after seeing Peeta interact with some pretty girlies and asking him later that night all quiet if he thinks she’s pretty 🥺

I meant for this to be funny and then it turned out... not funny. Oh well. Enjoy some post-Mockingjay not fluff but not really angst??? No warning tags on this one.

“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.” - Catching Fire, Chapter 15 “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” - Mockingjay, Chapter 16

It takes me longer than usual to finish trading with the new butcher. She’s originally from Ten and came here after marrying a soldier from Thirteen. She refused to live underground any longer and he tried living in Ten, but felt too exposed and jumpy in the flat plains of that district. Twelve was their compromise. But I haven’t had the chance to build the kind of rapport with her that I had with Rooba.

Rooba. I make a mental note to ask Peeta to draw her for the memory book tonight. We’ll both have memories of her that need to be recorded.

When I finish with the butcher, mostly satisfied with the cuts of deer meat and the coin I walk away with, I make my way over to the bakery. Usually I’d help Peeta close for the day. I got lucky catching the deer so close to the fence, but it still took time for me to bring back enough help to drag it to the butcher.

Surprisingly, there are still a handful of customers in the bakery. Unusual, this late in the day. I hasten my steps, thinking Peeta might want some help getting rid of the chatty customers, and seeing me after a hunt usually does the trick.

As I reach the window, though, I slow my pace. It’s not just any customers. It’s the Lassiter girls. They moved here after the war with their father, who used to be the head foreman at a perfume factory in District One. Apparently someone thought his skills would translate well to running a medicine factory, because that’s what his job here is. And his five daughters -- Neroli, Dior, Ambrette, Clary, and Opal -- aged twenty-four to sixteen, spaced two years apart down the line, are each just as beautiful as the last. Gossip holds that they each have a different mother, and while there’s been no confirmation from their father on that point, they’re each so strikingly different in looks and coloring that it wouldn’t surprise me.

They’re currently clustered near the counter, a bouquet of undoubtedly sweet smelling flowers. Their dresses a rainbow of eye-catching hues in expensive looking fabrics. All I can do is snort as I think of how dull and dingy their clothes would’ve been if they’d lived here when there was still a coal mine. But their hair, although different shades, all gleams in glossy waves and curls and curtains of shimmering silk in the bright lights of the bakery.

I hear Peeta’s laughter then, followed shortly by the twittering chorus of the Lassiter girls’ giggling. Ugh. They cannot be serious. Not my Peeta.

None of them are married yet, and there’ve already been several District Twelve men turned away from their front door step with dazed looks in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe they’d actually dared to propose to one of the Lassiter girls. And while this group ambush of my Peeta gives me an idea of what sort of partner they might be looking for, it’s unacceptable.

I push through the bakery door and attempt a smile. Neroli sees me first. The oldest, and by far the smartest of this bunch, our eyes meet and her lips curl in a smile. She’s dressed in a dark, forest green dress. Her dark, almost black hair swept to one side, into a long, sleek ponytail. There’s no denying that she’s stunning. Long, sooty black lashes frame her pale eyes that I’ve never been able to decide if they’re blue or gray. Some part of me knows that if I were somehow more beautiful, I might look like her.

Neroli glances at Peeta, then back at me. She inclines her head slightly towards me, and I’m not certain what she means until she speaks.

“Father will be wondering what’s keeping us,” she announces to her sisters. “Come on. Get your purchases and let’s leave these two turtle doves alone.”

She still pauses to say something to Peeta before she and her sisters clear out, but the glance she throws my way before shutting the door behind her makes me think that maybe Neroli and I might’ve been friends under different circumstances. When I finally manage to look at Peeta, he’s head down in the cases, cleaning them out.

“Lock the door for me? How was your day in the woods?”

“Not bad,” I tell him as I throw the bolt. “I got a deer.”

“That’s great!”

“Put this in the cold storage while I sweep?” I hand him the package from the butchers and he hands me a broom across the counter. It’s one of my usual chores and it isn’t long after that we’re headed home. But all through dinner, I can’t get the image of the flock of Lassiter girls twittering around him out of my head. 

I distract myself after we clean up the kitchen with the memory book, telling Peeta about the deer today and how things went with the new butcher. We share a few memories of Rooba while he sketches her and I write them down in draft. We manage to finish her page and seal it into the book before it’s very late.

And while Peeta showers with me, and stands next to me while we brush our teeth and get ready for bed, he somehow feels distant. As I lay down and watch him as he carefully removes his prosthetic, I can’t help but think again about the Lassiter girls.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmurs as he turns to me, slipping his legs under the covers and cupping my cheek in his palm before kissing my lips once, softly.

“Goodnight,” I respond and blink when he turns out the light and lays down.

But I can’t get comfortable. And behind my closed eyes, I see a still ravaged Peeta, the hijacking reversal barely even begun. His knuckles pale as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him and restraints holding him down, safely away from me.

“You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty.”

I huff out a heavy breath and jam the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, trying to push the image out of my brain. He’s laying right here beside me. He kissed me and called me his love just minutes ago. What Peeta and I have puts the stars in the sky and the poets’ words on the page to shame with its depth and significance. That’s far better than some superficial beauty.

And yet the words still slip past my lips.

“Peeta,” I whisper, and he hums in response so that I’m not sure if he’s fully awake or not. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

There’s a few seconds of silence and then I hear the sound of the sheets rustling as Peeta turns over to face me.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s just a question,” I say and smack my hands down onto the bed, right at my sides. They’re still clenched into fists and I try to hold back the sudden, ridiculous tears welling up in my eyes. Because his hesitancy to answer tells me what I need to know. How stupid of me to ask.

“Katniss, honey,” he breathes and moves through the dark, pulling me into his arms. “You will always be as radiant as the sun to me,” he tells me and I snort, wishing I’d never told him that phrase or how I’d once used it. “No, I’m serious. Katniss, you take my breath away.”

“But I’m still not particularly pretty. At least not as pretty as Neroli Lassiter, am I?” I poke and I can feel his frame stiffening besides me.

“No. Oh no, no, you can’t believe what I said that day, Katniss.”

“But you were right. I’m not very big.”

“And we both looked like shit that day because we’d been through too much shit. That doesn’t mean I meant it, Katniss. You have to know I was… I was trying to hurt you that day. Hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. Because I thought you’d used me, chosen Gale and the rebels, and left me to die or worse in that arena.”

“I know,” I say and finally manage to turn over into his embrace, burying my face in his chest as he caresses my back and whispers a hundred apologies for his careless words. I inhale his scent and let his hands soothe me.

So when he slips his fingers beneath my chin, I let him lift my face to his. I close my eyes and savor the brush of his lips against mine.

“You once told me that I had a weakness for beautiful things,” he whispers. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I answer without pause. I can smell the horses and feel the warmth of Cinna’s glowing ember costume. I can see Peeta in front of me, radiant and beautiful, and smiling in amusement at my assessment of him. “But you don’t have a weakness for beauty. Only an eye for it,” I remind him.

“So yes, Neroli Lassiter is a beautiful woman--”

“And her sisters?” I prod and I can feel Peeta smiling against my lips as he kisses me once.

“And her sisters are, too. But you’re the only beautiful person I have a weakness for. No one else has left a lasting impression the way you have.”

I can’t help but smile stupidly at the repetition of his words from the cave. The reminder that somewhere amongst the acting for the cameras, we always had at least a sliver, a taste, a fraction of or at least the roots of something real.

“I’m still a goner for you, Katniss Everdeen, real or not real?” he whispers, and I already know the answer. I know what he wants me to say, because it’s true.

“Real.”

[tetheredfeathers]

I hate when Catching fire set fanfics have Peeta telling Katniss that he double knots his laces, sleeps with his windows whatnot. What's so special about those moments is that Katniss quietly notices them herself and Peeta doesn't realize. Making Peeta say it makes it so forced and unnatural ughuuhuh.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Post-epilogue Everlark family. Inspired by a conversation I had with a little one. Rated T for theme.

On the walk home from school, the boy is quiet, letting his sister monopolize Peeta's ear. He doesn't even stop to examine a bug or an interesting rock, or to say hello to the shopkeepers they pass. Peeta listens to their daughter, who chatters about the jump rope tournament coming up, and how she and her classmates compare to each other.

Thankfully, the boy's teacher had phoned Katniss and Peeta to let them know their son would be getting the first lesson about the Games. And that would always include the old star-crossed lovers, the baker and the huntress. The children had to be assured that such atrocities were over, and their story central to that ending.

Katniss waits anxiously in the bakery, helping a customer pick out a box of pastries. Peeta takes the kids through their normal routine of heading to the back and getting a snack, while Katniss finishes with the customer and flips the sign over to "closed" just a little earlier than usual.

Katniss first looks at their son, sitting on a stool at the counter and somberly pushing around an apple slice, and then to Peeta. He gives a quick raise of his eyebrows and a shake of his head, indicating a lack of response from their son. The boy has always been the quieter of their two children. The girl had come back home with a million questions when she learned about the Games, but the boy is taking the opposite approach.

"Hey bud," Peeta says, taking a seat at the counter next to him. "Your teacher told us you learned something hard in school today."

He looks up at his father with discerning gray eyes, older than his six years and gives a short nod.

"I'm learning long division," the girl says. "That's harder than anything he learns."

"You learned about The Hunger Games today," Katniss says. She stands next to Peeta, an arm wrapped around his shoulder and he puts his arm around her waist. "Your teacher told us."

Their daughter closes her mouth, pressed in a line. When she first came with her questions, Katniss and Peeta had been sure to have her promise not to tell her little brother, not until he was old enough to know.

"No one else's parents were in The Hunger Games," the boys says. "Only me."

"You're right," Peeta says. "Here in Twelve and in your class, only you and your sister have parents who had to go in the Hunger Games. There are a few other people whose parents were in the Hunger Games, but most of them are grown up now and live far away."

The boy scrunches down, eyes on his plate. Katniss knows this boy and how he works. She works in a similar way, thoughts becoming dangerous without being spoken out loud to have someone help straighten out.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Katniss asks. "Anything you want to know?"

"Did you kill anyone?" the boy asks, glancing up through pale lashes.

"Yes," Peeta says. "Neither of us wanted to. Never, ever."

"Were they bad guys?" the boy asks, desperation in his voice.

"No, bud," Peeta says. "No, they weren't."

Not most of them, Katniss thinks, her final arrow in Coin's chest flashing in her mind, but they were keeping things simple for their children until they were older.

"They had no choice," the girl says, sitting up straight in her stool. "Momma and Daddy wouldn't kill anyone if they didn't have to."

The boy's lip wobbles, though he ducks his head to try and hide it underneath his mop of blond curls. Katniss slides her arm off of Peeta and holds their son to her, pressing his cheek to her breast. She wishes she could take this fear and ache away from him, knowing how heavy it rests on such a little body. She would take his pain onto her own, if she could.

"I don't wanna kill anybody," the boy wails in his mother's arms.

"Oh, baby, you won't have to kill anybody," Katniss says. "There are no Hunger Games anymore. Daddy and I made sure of it."

"My teacher said there was a war," the boy says, his grip tight on the back of his mother's shirt, his words muffled between fabric and one squished cheek. "Didn't people have to kill then, too? What if there's another war?"

"We don't think there will be another war," Peeta says.

"But what if there is and I have to kill somebody?" the boy asks. "You and Momma had to. That means I might, too."

There was no reason to believe Panem would succumb to the horrors it had when the baker and huntress were young, but there was always that what if, that chance history's cycle picking up again. It haunted both Katniss and Peeta still.

"It's scary to think something like that could happen again," Katniss says, brushing their son's curls out of his eyes. "But remember the game we play together?"

"The good things game!" their daughter bounces in her seat excitedly and her brother lifts his head to turn and look at her, light coming back to his eyes.

"Yes, the good things game," Katniss says. "That's what we can play when we get worried about bad things in the future."

"Let's play the game now," Peeta says. "Only the good things we think about will be about you, bud."

The boy squishes his shoulders inward, his chin ducking to his chest in bashfulness, but the slight lift of the corners of his mouth let them know he's pleased with the idea.

"What about me?" the girl demands.

"We'll do you another day, baby," Katniss says. "For now, let's focus on your brother."

Their daughter is less intrigued by this, hand now propping up her chin against the counter.

"Let's see," Peeta says. "There's no one better at catching tadpoles than you, that's for sure."

"Or such a help when we have to clean up the kitchen," Katniss says.

"And you're so bright and curious," Peeta says. "You ask questions I've never had before."

"And so friendly to all of our customers that come in."

Their daughter jumps in, "You help get us free candy from the store."

"Free candy?" Peeta asks. "Well that's just about the best thing to the two of you, isn't it?"

Peeta gives their son a tweak on the nose and he laughs, glowing at the game revolving around him. They share a few other good things about their son and brother, until if he's still worried about having to kill anyone like his parents, it's far from his mind. The boy tucks into his snack and then he and his sister are off playing.

Peeta can sense the worry coming off Katniss with the way her brow hangs heavy over her eyes, and he draws her to him from behind, kissing where her neck and shoulder meet.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," Katniss sighs. "I just hope we weren't lying to him."

"I wasn't," Peeta says. "He really is the best at catching tadpoles."

"I mean about what he's worried about."

"We weren't lying. We don't think he'll need to, but..."

"Right. The 'but.'"

"Maybe we need to play the game ourselves," Peeta says, turning Katniss around so they face each other.

Katniss sighs, putting her arms around Peeta's neck. The game gets tedious and long for her, but she's always willing to start off with her first good thing.

"You," she says. "Saving me with that bread."

And Peeta returns his first good thing. "You. Coming to find me in the arena."

They usually banter back and forth all of the good things they'd done for each other, purposefully leaving out the messy complications of their early relationship and only remembering what made them fall in love in the first place. But today, Katniss skips ahead.

"You," she says. "Helping me talk to our little boy about this."

Peeta gives her a kiss, then says, "You. Having the courage to carry and birth and raise our children."

And all they can do is hope they can do enough to protect their children from their fears coming true.

[brimay]

afterburn (companion pieces for 'our little fires')

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Chapters: 1/? Rating: M Wordcount: 10907

Tears glisten in Peeta's eyes, perhaps because of the smoke, perhaps because of me. He shuffles to the largest window in the hall, finally close enough to give me a glimpse of what he’s carrying. A loaf of bread. Burnt bread. Without hesitation, he tosses it outside, giving it to the roaring rain as he once gave it to me. And I know. He still loves me. I wonder if it pains him. (or: a glimpse into Katniss and Peeta's relationship after the events of our little fires.)

READ ON AO3