#everlark drabble

[afriendstolovers]

Hi there! :)

It's been long years since I last wrote anything for Everlark, but my Hunger Games obsession came back in full force after reading Sunrise on the Reaping and somehow I got inspired enough to write again. I didn't know what to title it, so I guess it will remain untitled lol. Also: please excuse any mistakes as English isn't my first language and I'm the one who did the beta work.

There's a little reference to this lovely drabble from one of my favorite authors ever here, by the way, because everything she writes is gold and her fics also deserve credit for my burst of inspiration.

Well, without furder ado, here it is! I hope you like it!

• • •

When she opens her eyes, there’s shy sunlight coming from outside through the open windows along with a gentle, fresh spring breeze that blows the curtains like a gentle caress. Under the covers, she barely feels anything other than the warm presence of her husband, arms wrapped around her middle and face perfectly fit in the curve of her shoulder, his rhythmic breathing a ticklish and comforting reminder of his peaceful sleep. She wants to move before doing something like accidentally giggle, but to relish in the rarity that is waking up before him and being able to watch him lost in quiet unconsciousness is enough to convince her to stay still.

As the birds sing to welcome the new day, she loses herself in his features for what are either minutes or hours or even an entire lifetime: straight, freckled nose, long, gold eyelashes and soft, marked skin – he is so beautiful and he loves her and it feels so unbelievable that he’s chosen her once again despite everything. It feels right that they both found their way back together.

Sighing in pure contentment, her fingers absentmindedly find their way through blonde curls, running between them in soothing moves the way she knows he appreciates. She feels the smile against her collarbones not much later, not a bit surprised to notice there’s a mirrored one on her lips.

“Morning, my love”, he breaks the silence, voice husky and sweet. “You were staring, weren’t you? I could feel it.”

She snorts, gray eyes full of mischief facing blinking crystalline blue ones. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t?”

“Not really”, he admits, adjusting his body so they’re face to face. “But whatever you say, I guess.”

She grins. Then, she kisses him. A long, impossibly tender kiss saved for days like this, when she’s feeling especially grateful and, like he says, more romantic than usual.

“Katniss, my Katniss”, he whispers when they part, a prayer of sorts that stops everything until all that exists is just them and that blissful kind of hunger that never truly ceases.

“My Peeta”, she claims back in between vows of adoration and promises of eternity, tears falling from her closed eyelids and a breathy sob escaping her lips as the burst of delirious happiness inside her explodes.

Later that morning, there will be cheese buns for breakfast because she’ll ask and he can’t really deny her anything. Lunch with Haymitch will be a little late and their old mentor will complain he’s hungry before handing this month’s gifts that Effie sent, watercolors for Peeta and a couple of knitting yarns for her. The afternoon will pass by as they work on their books side by side, sipping chamomile tea and sharing thoughts with each other. At night, she’ll eat squirrel stew and a slice of strawberry cake for dinner before having a cold shower and laying in bed again. Surrounded by her lover’s safe embrace, belly full and heart serene, she’ll be reminded that life can be good and that it can also get better, one day at a time.

[notsocooljess]

“Whatever”

this is a little drabble/outtake for a fic that i’m currently working on but can’t really seem to find a place for it to fit in with the storyline.

katniss and peeta try to define their relationship a year after peeta returns back to district 12 following the war.

“Haymitch referred to me as your ‘whatever it is that I am’ today,” I say as I nestle my head into the center of Peeta’s chest, getting ready to sleep.

“Did he?” He asks as he wraps his arms around me, and I nod. He hesitates a moment before asking, “Well, what do you want to be?”

I furrow my brow and ask, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I could be your ‘friend,’” Peeta starts, and already I hear the teasing thick in his voice, “but I think we kiss and sleep in the same bed way too often for that one. I mean, how many friends do you know who share a house?” He looks at me with a grin, and I respond with an eye roll and a smile of my own.

“I could be your ‘boyfriend,’ but it feels like we’ve been through a little bit too much for that one, right?”

“Go on,” I say, never wanting him to stop talking when he’s able to run on with a joke like this.

“We could go with ‘partner,’ but it’s a bit too reminiscent of ‘ally’ for my taste,” he states, and I nod. There’s no further explanation needed.

“I could be your ‘husband.’ I mean, we both know more than half the country still thinks we’re already married, but I wouldn’t want that because,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “believe it or not, I have a keen ability to make really good bread, and I will be damned if people think I had a toasting without the perfect loaf,” he continues. At this point, I’m really laughing while he smiles down at me.

“Or, I could be your ‘lover,’ which might actually be the most accurate title.”

“Why, because we were ‘star-crossed lovers’?” I ask drolly.

“No, because ‘lovers’ implies we’re having a lot of sex.” In response, I smack his arm while he guffaws.

“Alright, alright,” he begins while wiping away his tears from laughing too hard, “well that’s all I can think of. You got anything?”

I look up at him. His blue eyes are shining brighter in the moonlight with the help of his happy tears, and as his eyes find mine again, an easy softness covers his features. He is perfect.

“So one day you’re gonna give me a toasting with the perfect loaf?” I ask. A smile spreads across his lips.

“The absolute best one. A perfect golden brown crust that’s crispy and buttery and herby. The inside will be nice and soft.”

“Will there be fruit and nuts?”

“If that’s what you want.”

I smile. “Then how about after that happens, you can be my husband. But until then, we know that I am yours and you are mine and we are whatever it is that we are.”

He smiles back at me, and I blush, because after a year of doing whatever it is that this is, I will never get used to how much I love it.

“I love you, my whatever,” he says, holding back a laugh as he goes to kiss me on the cheek.

“I love you, too, my whatever,” I say, unable to stifle my chuckle like he could his.

We hold each other close as the crisp autumn air fills the room. My eyes are just starting to drift closed when Peeta asks, “So, I guess this means ‘lovers’ is totally off the table then, right?”

[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."

[adsosfraser]

Hello!! 👹👹👹

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

enjoy catching fire divergence with our everlark babies <3 👹

"I don't know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don't notice much because they're so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks." I find my own eyelashes nearly tangled up with his. I'm so caught up in tracing the curve of the light dazzling through the infinitesimal strands that I don't notice our noses are nearly touching until I feel the bridge of his press up against me. Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks into my eyes so suddenly I almost jolt out of my skin. But I hold firm in where I'm sat, curious to see him and feel him again this close. His eyes are as perfect and crisply clear as those late spring days, unburdened by the typical grey rain clouds that come with the occasional spring showers. He's about to say something when I push myself forward, greedy and impulsive in my pursuit. Our nest up in my room is cozy and snug, like our cave that shielded us from the outside world of impending death. I press my lips against his, reaching my hand to the nape of his neck for something to hold. I feel safe and warm, like Peeta is his own personal sun and his lips are spreading life into mine. When I feel that thing again, that want for more, I pull back, my cheeks burning with embarrassment at my selfish act. The sleep syrup has long passed through my system. My actions are from a mind not imbued with sedatives and the like. Peeta looks as if he's trying to contain his confusion, joy, and dismay all at once. He licks his lips, flicking his gaze down to my own before staring back up at me. "You know, that's the first time we've ever kissed without cameras zeroed in on our every move." He's allowing me an out, a way to explain myself or brush the kiss off entirely with a quip. I squeeze his hand in mine, bringing it up to brush a kiss against it. I offer a small smile, uncertain still. ""Yeah." I agree. "Our whole relationship has been tainted by he Games. Normal was never a part of it. "Nice for a change.""

this was such a quick turn around I'm so proud of myself like I really wrote this within minutes of getting the ask 🐿️

thanks for sending in the prompt @atelierlili 🩷

from this ask game

[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.”

[mollywog]

Complicated

They've finally made it to a place where they’re stable enough that he doesn’t need to spend every Sunday out in the woods. The girls have stopped outgrowing their clothes and with the spring, Katniss’s morning hauls bring what they need for the week. He still loves it beyond the fence, but after years in the mines, six days a week, even a favorite pastime can make a man weary. So lately he’s forgone his hunts for time on the porch rocker.

But this morning he’s back in the woods at his wife’s insistence. She’d said she was worried about Katniss in an unusually cryptic way that suggested she wanted him to judge for himself. Katniss and Ruth are both headstrong, two peas in a pod, though he knows better than to speak it to either aloud. As a result, the tough conversations come better from him.

He’s paid particular attention all morning, but can’t seem to pinpoint the source of his wife’s anxiety. Though she has only just turned eighteen, Katniss seems to have grown into a woman overnight. Or maybe this has been a long time coming and he’s missed it in the dim light of evening. If anything, she seems to be alight from within.

It isn’t until it’s time to dress their kills that he understands his wife’s concern. Katniss’s glow vanishes, replaced by a palid green hue before she loses her breakfast behind a bush.

Shit.

He crouches beside her, his water flask in hand, “let’s sit down and talk Catkin.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t need the particulars, just a few questions,” Where her mother would lecture and fret, he knows there’s no use in the would’ve/should've - what’s done is done. “How far along?”

“Not long, but I’m keeping it, if that’s what you’re after,” she says, clutching her midsection protectively.

He nods, “and you know who the father is?”

“Of course,” she snaps and he’s glad to see she’s still got fire despite her exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize you had a boy. Does he know?”

“Not yet.” He lets his silence speak for itself. “It’s complicated,” she adds defensively.

“Is he free?”

“One final reaping. Same as me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Is he free?”

She scowls, “No papa, he’s not married nor bound.”

He tisks, “Then I can’t figure what could be so complicated about it. Unless you don’t think he’ll do what’s right? Or maybe you don’t want him?”

She sighs, “it’s not that either,” she rubs her eyes, “I’m gonna tell him, but if I do it now he won’t want to wait to get married and that would ruin things for him.”

“Hmm, Is he a fool?”

“What? No!”

“If you trust him, you should tell him. If he respects you, he’ll heed your concerns. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it all out. If not, you'll always have a home with your mother and I.” He means it, but he feels ten years older than he had just this morning, with the thought of their present security gone.

“Thanks papa,” she says, and he smiles despite his concerns. “I’ll think on it.”

Their trip to town is made in silence as he tries to imagine the man and the circumstance but comes up blank; not even a guess.

Their first stop is the Mayor’s, then Cray’s, then the butcher’s. He stands back and watches Katniss handle the trades. It fills him with pride.

When they arrive at the bakery, she falls in step behind him, and he takes the hint to lead. He’d bet she’s looking for a buffer if the baker’s witch of a wife is around, but fortunately for them one of the sons answers today; the youngest if he recalls. “Is your father in?” he asks.

The boy straightens, “Yes sir, but I’ll be handling trades from now on. Come summer, I’ll be the new baker.” The kid’s eyes flit to his daughter then back to him, “I just got word that my loan was approved. I close on the bakery July 5.”

“Really?!” Katniss’s voice catches him off guard and he turns to find her open delight at this seemingly trivial piece of town news, before she drops her eyes to her bag. He looks back at the boy who’s still beaming at his daughter and the pieces fall into place.

‘It’s complicated’ - hadn’t that been what Ruthie’d told him all those years ago when he’d asked her to marry him? He supposes it might have been even more so if her parents had been considering selling her the business and she’s been expecting his child.

The pair regain their composure enough to complete the trade, though neither quite successful at hiding their giddiness.

“Complicated huh?” He says as they walk back towards the Seam, “let me guess, a little less complicated come July 5?”

“Maybe so.”

He hums, “just don’t wait till then to tell him.”

What If?

[endlessnightlock]

Regencylark! Part one of maybe three?

Based on the prompt, Evening, submitted by @mollywog

Under the weary gaze of Plutarch Heavensbee, Esq., Peeta Mellark completed his perusal of Uncle Haymitch's last will and testament and, thoroughly shocked by its contents, cast the document aside. "Can he actually do this?"

Heavensbee shrugged. "I'm sorry to tell you, my boy, he most certainly can. While you shall retain the title, either way, the money was not entailed with the estate. No matter how eccentric Haymitch may have been, he was in his right mind until the end."

Steepling his fingertips beneath his chin, Mellark frowned. "Well, this is a bit of a shit."

Heavensbee, sensing the beginning of a lengthy conversation on the tale end of a journey already fraught with disasters at every turn that resulted in him only arriving two days before the deadline set forth by the will (god rest his soul, though Heavensbee would have some choice words for the man if they were to meet in the afterlife), made himself comfortable in the ancient wingback chair next to the fire. He took a sip of the brandy Mellark's man poured out for them, forcing himself not to shudder. The drink was not of a good quality.

The situation was certainly a bit of a shit. It was apparent to anyone with eyes that Mellark was in no way prepared to take over the estate without additional funds to aid in its upkeep. If Heavensbee were to guess, the young man barely kept up the expenses of this house.

Heavensbee coughed several times, an indication that they had no time to dilly-dally. Mellark finally looked up. "Have you no lady of a particular acquaintance who is wife material?"

The younger man frowned. "One would think so. Unfortunately, one would be wrong. My whole life, I have made an effort to avoid society." He shuddered as if the idea of balls and theater gatherings and garden parties made him ill. "I assumed when the time came that I must take a wife, it would be after I had possession of Lord Abernathy's title and funds."

"How about, er, a special friend? Someone you keep company with regularly?"

"I have no mistress."

Heavensbee was beginning to sweat. This was going poorer than he'd anticipated. Mellark made it sound as though he were a hermit or a monk. "No local woman? A pretty village widow?"

Mr. Mellark stared back at him as if a woman were an alien concept.

"Anyone? Christ man, a scullery maid?"

There was a polite-sounding knock on the drawing-room door. It was Mellark's man again. The future Lord (perhaps penniless Lord?) made no effort to hide his relief at the interruption in conversation. Heavensbee sighed.

"My apologies for the interruptions, Sir, but you requested I let you know when Ms. Everdeen arrived."

Mellark's face lit up in what seemed genuine delight. "Oh, wonderful. Heavensbee, do you mind a short interruption in our conversation? It is not necessary to dismiss yourself. Simply a small matter to take care of."

No, Heavensbee certainly did not mind the appearance of an unmarried woman at the present time. "By all means," he said. Once Mellark's man was dismissed and the two were once again alone in the drawing room, he began his inquiry with delicacy. "Ms. Everdeen?"

"The local gamekeeper," Peeta explained, rising to his feet. Heavensbee followed. "It is a bit untoward having a young woman in the position, but her father before was renowned for his skill."

"Does Ms. Everdeen have a good reputation?"

"Oh, the best as far as I know. She is well-loved in the community. Highly respected. Not given to drink or men. She is quite an attractive woman," Mellark admitted, chewing the corner of his lip in contemplation.

Hope simmered in Heavensbee's belly at the younger man's admiration for any woman, romantic or not. A lot of good marriages began out of mutual admiration. Love was free to blossom in such situations.

"Tell me if you would then. This Ms. Everdeen---she is unattached?"

"I'm not subject to village gossip, Heavensbee. I do not know Ms. Everdeen well, except that she has a mother and sister in her care."

Heavensbee had to restrain himself from smacking Mellark in the back of his head. Simply in the interest of knocking some smarts into the young man. "So Ms. Everdeen is a young, attractive woman, most likely unattached, with an unmatched reputation."

"What are you getting at?" Mellark asked, setting his drink aside.

"My boy, do you not see? When one is in a pinch, such as you are, the deadline for your nuptials is tomorrow evening, and Ms. Everdeen sounds like your best option for a wife. If she is willing."

[liberalk1tsch]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out for my favorite horny everlark writer

it’s the way i had to rein myself in and force myself to stop writing so as to not publish blatant porn on my blog💀 my reputation precedes me

hope this is degenerate enough for ya

from this ask game ! 💖

context: nights on the train, katniss finally getting the second kiss that she wanted in the arena, except there’s nobody to stop them (genuinely nobody this time; i will never forgive suzanne for finnick interrupting the beach scene), aka what could’ve happened if katniss’ unreliable narration wasn’t so unreliable

“Well that was —”

“— awful,” I say, flopping down on one of the myriad of plush velvet sofas in the open air train car.

Peeta takes off his suit jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair before joining me on the couch. “Yeah.” He sighs and leans back, running a hand through his hair. “You okay? You were getting a bit shaky back there.”

I hug my knees to my chest in the hope of finding some semblance of comfort. “As okay as I can be, I guess,” I say sullenly.

He opens his arms in silent invitation and I scramble to his side of the sofa, nestling into his chest. We immediately assume the position that is quickly becoming a habitual embrace for us, his hands finding their homes on my waist and around my shoulder as I huddle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

I relax into his touch, inhaling what feels like the first full breath of air I’d taken since this morning, breathing in him. It’s strange, I think, how the person who incites the most uncertainty in my life has somehow become the only one who I truly take comfort in. It’s only ever temporary, of course, but it’s my only source of refuge on this nightmare of a trip. My only source of refuge anywhere, if I’m being totally honest with myself.

I look up at him, only to find those midnight blue eyes already staring at me. For some reason, I blush. “What?”

“I’m just . . .” he trails off, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Really glad we have each other through everything.”

“Me too,” I say, my voice small. “I don’t know how I’d ever get through this without you.”

He smiles. “It does help,” he says, “having you here to distract me a bit.”

“You find me distracting?” I ask teasingly.

Peeta glances away bashfully. “You know how I feel about you.”

I push myself up slightly, placing my hand on the center of his chest, just over his heart. “You’re not too bad of a distraction yourself.”

“Are you saying you find me distracting?”

Now it’s my turn to look away. “Maybe,” I say, not quite able to meet his eyes. I’m suddenly very focused on tracing whorling patterns on his chest.

I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “What about me is so distracting for you?”

I stay silent.

“I thought we were friends, Katniss. I thought we were supposed to be honest with each other from here on out,” he chides with a playful smile. “At least tell me what you’re thinking.”

I bite my lip and steel myself to meet his gaze. He’s right. I did promise to be truthful with him. But I fear the truth will only make whatever this is between us even more confusing. “I’m thinking about the fact that we’ve never kissed without being in front of a camera. And I’m wondering if it’s different, if we’re different.”

Peeta has the nerve to look surprised. Maybe a little amazed too. “Oh? And what would you do — y’know, hypothetically — if you were to act on those thoughts?” he asks.

He’s doing that thing he does. Reminding me that it’s my choice. That every single thing we do without an audience is entirely up to me, that he’ll respect my wishes no matter what he feels for me. He’ll indulge my flirtations, but won’t ever push us further than that, especially not physically. That’s all on me.

It’s so annoying.

I narrow my eyes at him, shifting myself up so that I’m fully sitting in his lap now. My legs are sprawled across the couch, my dress riding up around my thighs. Keeping one hand on his chest, I slide the other slowly up to his face as I feel his heart race. My fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, flutter over his cheek and faded freckles. The growing flush developing there. Until I come to his lips.

I’d never really thought about it too much, but they really are lovely. Perfectly round. Unbelievably soft.

Peeta’s favorite color deriving from the sunset makes sense, I think. His eyes are the divine, dark blue of the night sky closing in. His hair the final golden rays of a sleepy sun. His lips are the precise shade of bright pink that stains the horizon and makes onlookers stop to watch in awe. He doesn’t just like sunsets, he is the sunset.

“Maybe something like this,” I say, leaning in slowly and pressing my lips gently against his. The kiss is soft, trepidatious. A question of sorts, a tentative invitation.

I pull away slightly, my lips hovering just out of reach.

“So,” he says breathlessly, “any different?”

“Incredibly,” I whisper. I hesitate a moment. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then don’t.” He stares at me intensely under lowered lashes.

Every thought, every fear goes out of my head in an instant when I kiss him, and this time he’s ready. He tangles a hand in my hair, sliding the other to my lower back and pulling me firmly against him, causing me to make a noise of surprise against his mouth. Everything between us had always been relatively tame, nothing we wouldn’t be okay with our families — let alone the entire country — seeing. But this, this is different. This is us without a camera or anyone to witness us, and we are fervent and heated and borderline feral in our desire for each other.

That hunger I’d once felt in the cave was nothing, no more than a light pang; I didn’t realize until now how utterly starved I’ve been for his kisses. Not gentle pecks nor a delicate caress, but impassioned and insistent kisses — the kind that spark up that warm feeling in my chest that quickly pools in my core and spreads through my whole body. The way that only Peeta can make me feel.

I twist around to straddle him without ever breaking our lips apart, reveling in the taste of him and the way our lips mold together perfectly. His kisses are ravenous and demanding, his hands equally assertive as they roam my body, holding me tightly against him, ensuring there is no space between us.

I probably shouldn’t be doing this. It’ll only make our already complicated relationship more ambiguous. But I don’t care. All I can think about is the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his hands, his hips and how I want more.

[oolhan]

our little games

Wordcount: 1.7k

| Post-mockingjay. Peeta and Katniss making up their own guessing game with pastries that he brings home every night from the bakery |

No warnings! It’s literally a fluff fest following my realization about what Peeta and Katniss smells here and @mollywog’s replies conceiving a sudden birth of this prompt. Lol. This is my first time writing for everlark and I kid you not I oiled up my rusty writing skills from lit classes. Thanks also for @distractionsfromthefood for your support! Unbeta-ed, but enjoy!

It started when I came home early from the bakery, surprised to find Katniss curled on the couch covered with her oversized hunting jacket. She looked up from the arm rest and her cheeks were red and dry with tears. Nothing surprising, honestly, it’s just one of those days. I automatically walked up and knelt on her side, forgetting to take my shoes off in the foyer.

“Who is it this time?” I hushed, giving attention to her black strands clinging dry on her cheeks, softly flinging them aside while her head rested on the arm rest.

“Dad…”

“In the woods?” I glanced at her father’s hunting jacket she used as a blanket and carefully move it to wipe her tears, tucking its collar under her chin.

“No, couldn’t get past the door…”

“Okay, do you want to stand up now?”

“No…” A silence.

“Stay with me though?” Ah. There it is. Yeah, alright. Always.

She scooted on the couch to give me space and I obliged, lying down cramped with my shoes still on, faces inches from one another.

“What do you want for dinner?” I whispered, caressing her brow with my thumb. I’ll never get tired brushing her face this way.

She scoffed a smile. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” my eyebrows shot up. Pancakes for dinner?

“Yeah, you smell like maple,” she chuckled, her eye wrinkles right under my thumb.

“Probably because of the maple butterscotch brownies I made for Sae’s granddaughter today,” I murmured, tracing lines on her nose. “She said she didn’t know what maple tastes like,”

“That’s so Peeta of you to do,” she grumbled, mustering all seriousness with her brows. That made me snort.

“Yeah, well.”

“I want those butterscotch stuff now.”

My smile got wider.

----

The next day, I set aside some of the cupcakes I frosted for the seamstress’s kid’s birthday to bring home for Katniss. I never got to take my shoes off when she wrapped her arms around my neck, her face on my chest, the boxed sweets held on my free arm as I put the other over her.

“Hello, again,” I say, giving her a kiss after leaning back. “I’ve got you something,”

I hid the blue box behind me, smirking at her head tilting in curiosity. “You have to guess it first!” I played.

“Is it food?”

“Mhm.”

“Cheese buns?”

“No, I just made those for you two days ago.” I chimed. Her and her obsession with cheese buns.

“Those butterscotch brownies?”

“Unfortunately sold out,”

“Wait,” She reached for the front of my jacket, sniffing it. Then she’s whiffing off my undershirt, my hands, my chest, my neck. I tried not to shiver when her nose pressed under my earlobe.

“Buttercream…”

I tried not to grin.

“Cupcakes?” She eagerly tugged on my jacket.

“Oh, Katniss,” I chuckled, presenting the box wrapped with a simple red bow. She unties it and quickly picks the one with green frosting.

“This would be dessert after venison!”

----

After that, I practically came home everyday bearing random pastries for her to guess. I never get my shoes off in the foyer when she hauls herself on me and give my daily hugs.

“Ooh, something creamy today,” she quipped, leaning back from my undershirt. “Is it a cake?”

“Not even close.”

“Tarts?”

I shake my head.

“Something with custard?”

“Probably.”

“Custard pie?”

“Warmer,”

“Egg pie?”

“Warmerrr,”

��Ice cream? Vanilla cake with cream frosting?” She tugs on my jacket repeatedly, almost shaking me to give up my answer.

“Sweetheart, you’re cold again.” I tried not to laugh at her growing impatience when strands from her braid fell on her face, the box still unreachable behind me, and my free arm curling those anrgy locks between my fingers. Her eyebrows are beginning to crease the way they do when she gets close enough to Haymitch’s geese.

“What is it, Mellark?” Oh, I love nothing more than seeing her scowl.

“Guess, Everdeen. Or I’ll eat this alone after din—” She cut off with a grasp on my head and a kiss on tiptoes.

“Tell me now, Mellark!”

“That’s coercion!” I teased. She leaned up for more pecks, but I backed away chuckling.

“Peeta!”

“Alright, let’s make a deal. Guess this right with three tries, or give me a kiss every time you bite to it.” I challenged, plastering an impish grin.

“How am I supposed to guess it? All pastries have cream!” Her eyebrows are close to meeting now.

“Oh yes, minced meat pie is creamy.”

“Is it minced meat pie?”

“No, it’s not savory.” I clued in, getting impatient myself. I didn’t even take my shoes and jacket off and we’ve been playing this guessing game for minutes now.

Just pick the latter and let me kiss you.

She crossed her arms playfully, “Screw you, Mellark. I’ll take the second option just because dinner is getting cold. Now give it.”

“Groundbreaking choice.” I thumbed her annoyed forehead and unraveled her angry arms, revealing the box from behind and untying the red ribbon.

Her creases came back when she saw the hidden pastry.

“How is bread pudding close to a pie?!” She exclaimed, all angry tone and yet she’s pinching off a piece from the pudding. I made some batches up from the stale ones.

She bites through the pinched bread. I took the first peck.

----

It became a routine. Coming home at dusk. Stomping my shoes on the foyer. Her arms clinging briefly, nose sniffing, her guessing every item right, a peck on the lips, a dinner and a dessert.

“You smell dill and garlic today,”

“Did it cling that strong?”

“Doesn’t matter. I like it, it’s soft, like a little savory treat.” She murmured in my ear, rendering me still when she softly nipped my earlobe.

She never does that.

Her arm swooped under my elbow, taking the blue box from my hands and revealing a bed of focaccia sprinkled with dills. “Hmmm,” she moaned through her bites and I fought the urge to kiss that crumb off on the side of her mouth.

Is she trying to kill me?

I coughed, brushing off her innuendos and finally taking my shoes off.

----

Assuming her favorite days were cinnamon and buttercream, she does more than just short kisses whenever those days come. The soft bites on my neck and earlobes happens only when I come home smelling like it. That’s the time I sink down my fingers in her hair a little deeper or my hands grip her hips a little tighter.

Today, I grasp her braid a little stronger, my arm roping around her backside, giving her neck some nips of my own. I breathed her in, taking a whiff of her own scent—woods, sweat, something feminine, and entirely Katniss—wishing I could store away some of her in this manner, freezing this moment. I let her lift my head and kiss me senseless, mouths meeting, tongues twirling.

“I, uh, frosted someone’s wedding cake today,” Taking a peck on her nose, I tried to catch my breath when we break away.

“requested something with cinnamon and buttercream frosting,” I sighed, brushing off her brow, noticing her now diluted eyes. I failed to bring anything home because of those three tiers.

“Good for them,” she breathed.

“Couldn’t bring home anything,”

“Good for me,” She gulped and collided our mouths again. She took my shoes off along with my jacket. Dinner got cold that night.

---

Fall had a slow welcome. It was a seasonably cold day when she doesn’t push herself to me after I opened the front door. Disappointed, I took off my shoes and head to the living room, finding her standing up from near the fireplace when she noticed me. Our memory book laying on the carpet along with some papers.

“Hey you,” her cold form wraps around mine and I tried not to ask her what’s wrong too quickly.

“Guess?” I quipped, pecking her red cheeks. Did she just come back from outside?

“Butter cookies?” even with her wavering tone, she was right. Although I don’t point out the way she hid a small choke when she hugged me.

“You okay?” I let out warm breath on my palms, placing them on either side of her face and this time I felt her visibly holding her breath, her nose scrunching. “What’s wrong? Who is it this time?”

“No, no episodes. I just… I was nauseous the whole afternoon and tried to walk it out. I think I just miss them,”

“Hm. Come here, let’s warm up,” I led her to the fireplace and sat down together, the memory book lay open in front of us.

“Actually Peeta, I think I’ll prepare dinner.” She suddenly stood up, giving me a kiss on the forehead before heading to the kitchen. That was uncharacteristic of her.

But I didn’t question it. Not yet.

I started to wonder when she doesn’t meet me in the foyer anymore. Our guessing game slowly turned from minute hugs to silent smiles. It was when I brought home some seasonal apple pie that she couldn’t hold back a gag when she tried to hug me.

Doesn't she like apples? Can’t I recall if she hated apples?

“God I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gag at all. I just, I don’t know, it just smells sour.”

“I baked them fresh this morning so they’re likely not foul. But yeah, okay, I’ll just drop these off to Haymitch—”

“No, Peeta, your hands. They smell so apple-y.” Her expression was a twist of scowling and being disgusted. I sliced dozens of apples today so the scent clung too much even when I washed off with some soap.

“Sweetheart, we chopped all day at the bakery, the smell will last for some hours I think,”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why, I always liked apples,”

“It’s okay, let me give these to Haymitch and then I’ll scrub off in the shower.”

----

The next day I brought home some of the extra orange cake slices, dreading she’ll also hate these.

They were never put down on the table.

She devoured three slices in minutes.

Also gobbled my orange scented fingers.

----

Still mildly unhappy we didn’t return to our guessing games after a week, I didn’t bring anything with me today. I was taking my shoes off when I saw her beaming by the couch, her face tinted red with anticipation and she looks like she’s about to cry.

“What? What is it?” I rushed to her in my loose shoes and jacket still on.

“Peeta, I think I know why.”

Eyebrows crinkled. My hands on her elbows.

"You know I always love what you make but...

Her fingers fidgeting. Her blushing cheeks and silver stare the only things registering in my mind.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

She guessed right.

[everlarkism]

You voted, I delivered! Just a small drabble of Katniss getting injured while hunting and Peeta takes care of her. Short and sweet, I apologize for my rusty writing, it’s been a while.

Katniss returned home with a few scrapes on her hands and a limp after a hunting session. Usually she had an animal with her, but not this time. She was on a trail with a lot of tree roots that were above ground, took one wrong step and tripped. Once inside, the bow was hung up on a rack and the quiver of arrows were resting against the wall.

“I’m home.” She exclaimed, walking into the living room and leaned into the doorway. Peeta was folding a page in his book and getting up to greet her.

He furrowed her brows, noticing Katniss had no game with her. “No luck?”

She sighs, shaking her head,”I fell. I could always go back out later.”

“Are you alright?” His voice is full of worry as he gently takes her hands into his own, but pulls away as he sees her wince. Katniss turned them over, revealing the small scrapes on them.

Already, the boy was heading to the bathroom for the first aid kit. “No way you’re going back out there, Katniss.”

“But-“

“No.”

Katniss sighs, carefully making her way over to the sofa and sitting down. Why did she even bother to argue? This girl could have a bruise, and Peeta would be worried like this - but that’s the thing she liked about him, he always cared for her. He just never wanted to see her hurt in any way possible.

He returned to the living room and crouched down, placing the first aid kit on the floor. “Do you think you fractured your ankle?” He asks, starting to remove her boot and sock.

“Peeta, I swear I’m fine.”

Her ankle was swollen and not bent at an odd angle, so it must’ve been a sprain - nothing more. He still ended up wrapping it with an elastic bandage so it could reduce the swelling at least. Once the foot injury was dealt with, he sat on the cushion next to Katniss and asked to see her hands. She laid them flat, palm upwards so he could examine. There ended up being splinters, which he carefully took out with a pair of tweezers and disinfected the scrapes then bandaged them up too.

“Didn't know you were a doctor and a baker.” Katniss teased, a smile forming on her face. “But thank you, Peeta.”

“Learned from the best.” He replied, packing away the equipment,”We take care of each other… It’s just what we do.”

“So, doc… What do you suggest now?”

“To rest.” Peeta gestures to her bandaged ankle,”You’re not hunting until that is healed, I’m afraid.”

“Are you saying you’re going to be the one to hunt?” She jokes.

“I’d never dare to take the Girl on Fire’s place.” He shook his head with a chuckle,”Now let’s get you to bed, hm?” Peeta stood and carefully picked Katniss up in his arms, bridal style.

[toastyeverlark]

Katniss rolled her eyes as he approached her with a playful grin on his face. She couldn’t wait for filming to finally wrap up, Peeta Mellark was the worst co-star she had worked with thus far. Fans had been excited to see them together when it was announced that Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen would be starring in the new romcom Dates Before Dates together, which would be based off a hugely popular bestselling book with the same name. 

Katniss couldn’t understand why. She thought they weren’t good together, at all. He was too charismatic - too charming for her.

“Hi,” she managed, looking up at him before looking down at her script. 

“Hey Katherine,” Peeta plopped down on the seat next to her and pulled the script out of her hands. He probably would have called her Kat Piss if she didn’t glare at him every time he approached her. 

“Give it back. I have a difficult scene I need to practise.”

“What scene would be difficult for you?” Peeta laughed, scanning the page quickly. Then he smiled one of those playful, deadly attractive smiles that Katniss hated seeing. 

“What?”

“This shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“What?” Katniss reached for the script, but he pulled it out of her reach.

“We could practise together, if you’d like.”

Katniss turned pink as she realised what scene he was talking about. She had forgotten about it, being preoccupied with rehearsing her current scene. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to be having a party. 

“I was going to ask Bella if we could change it,” Katniss tried to seem as nonchalant as possible. She couldn’t allow him to tease her about it.

“Change what?” Peeta brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I think it’s perfect.”

“I am not kissing you,” she swatted his hand away like a fly.

“What could be so bad about that?”

“Everything. I hate you, you hate me, we should not be kissing.”

“I don’t hate you. We’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other in like five different ways over the course of sixteen episodes.”

“We don’t mean that. It’s Olivia and Jack who mean it.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

Katniss stared at him, wondering if he was joking or not, but he looked so serious it made her feel nervous.

“Katniss! I need you here for a minute.”

Katniss was beyond grateful for the interruption. She practically ran over to the director, almost tripping over a cord on the way.

“Woah, relax. Can’t have Olivia having a sprained ankle out of nowhere, can we?” 

Katniss laughed awkwardly. “Um, what was it you needed me for?”

“I guess you were discussing the kiss scene with Peeta?”

“Oh, actually, Bella, I wanted to talk to you about that too.”

“Good. Now, we are going to have this scene at the old coffee shop where Olivia and Jack first met, instead of at Olivia’s house. Just a change in the script that I thought you should know. I’ve informed Peeta already.”

“Oh, okay, but - ” Katniss tried to continue, but Bella quickly shooed her away.

“Okay, I have to discuss Avery’s scene with her now.”

Katniss didn’t want to chase after her - Bella was lovely, but she was a little scary when she was busy, and Katniss didn’t feel like bothering her with what seemed like a childish gesture now if she were to bring it up.

Peeta smiled amusingly at her as she returned to her seat sulkily. She took her script back from him.

“So, are we practising?”

“No,” Katniss said curtly, starting to walk away. “I’ll deal with it later.”

“Is it because you don’t know how to kiss?” he asked teasingly.

Katniss immediately whipped her head around and clapped her hand over his mouth.

“What are you saying? Of course I know how to kiss.”

Katniss felt herself turning red. She hadn’t had any kiss scenes throughout her whole acting career until now, and none in her real life either, but she wasn’t about to let anybody know that.

Peeta gently pulled her hand away from his mouth, “None of the films you’ve been in had you kissing anybody at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve watched everything you’ve ever been in. Even A Window in Paradise, even though everybody said that movie sucked.”

It was true.

“Not you, though. You were the only one I liked in that movie.”

“Don’t think that you complimenting me every five seconds will make me change my mind about kissing you.”

He got up from his seat and slowly leaned in towards her. “So I have a chance?”

Katniss hoped he couldn’t hear how loud her heart was beating. It was like her heart was threatening to push out of her ribcage. 

Peeta’s face got dangerously close to hers, until they could feel the heat of each other’s breath on their faces.

“I need to pee,” Peeta pulled away just as Katniss closed her eyes and ran towards the restrooms.

[afriendstolovers]

Hey! :)

Here's the summer drabble. It's the shortest so far, but I think it might be my favorite. Now there's only autumn left and I'm already working on it; meanwhile you can read spring and winter and enjoy this one!

As always, excuse me for any mistakes as English isn't my first language and I'm my own beta reader. I hope you like it!

•••

She feels his gaze all over her, mapping each and every visible freckle, scar and birthmark as if her body is uncharted territory and not his very own homeland. It has a good kind of numbing effect on her, the silent, shameless worship, leaving her limbs weak, her mind dizzy and herself entirely at his mercy.

There’s no use in pretending to ignore it, though she still tries – focusing on brushing her hair seems to be one hard of a task, such as braiding it, and it feels like a win when she ties the ends of the strands and lets the brush rest on the nightstand.

Through the mirror, she searches for his eyes and says, “I don’t know what to wear.” Fresh out of the shower for what must be the fifth time that day, what with summer’s humid air insisting on clinging to her skin like a thin blanket and leaving her sticky with sweat and so very stressed because of it, no piece of clothing feels comfortable enough.

She turns to fully face him and the intensity of his staring takes her breath away, electricity taking place in her veins.

“Just come here”, he commands in a whispers and her entire body buzzes as it comes alive.

She drops the towel. It wasn’t even really covering her anyway.

[oolhan]

GOOD FOR HER THAT OTHER GUY IS TEN MILLION TIMES HOTTER

A little Everlark drabble to get me in the summer frame of mind. Link to the post that inspired this located at the bottom of the story. Not beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. I haven’t written this trope yet and kind of wanted to, so …Happy Reading!

The crowd yells and Peeta glances over his shoulder at the field momentarily, joining the cheering while Heyward slides into second a moment before the catcher’s throw reaches the baseman. Then he turns back and finishes the climb to row 15. At least he’s only missed half of the first inning. Confusion wrinkles his brow as he reaches the row indicated on his ticket and his friends wave, greeting him with cheerful shouts, Finnick with a sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry, man. This was the only way I could get us all in the same section,” he admits with a shrug.

Peeta’s eye sweep over his friends packed in a row in the midst of the sold out crowd then across the aisle to the lone empty seat separated from his friends by the steep stairs and the metal handrail running up its center. He suppresses a sigh and lowers his body into the vacant seat. So much for a relaxing evening catching up with his friends at the ballpark. Just before his rear hits the plastic seat, the woman assigned to the spot next to him glances over and Peeta nearly drops his beer.

Keep reading

[thesweetnessofspring]

Post-war Everlark drabble. Rated T.

I wake with Peeta at the end of our bed, gripping onto the brass bedpost, hunched over and breathing deeply. He's in one of his episodes. After three years of therapy they are fewer and farther between, but they still happen.

I crawl out from the covers and make my way to him, flattening myself against his back. I stroke the back of his hands and then up and down his arms, waiting for him to come out of it. I start to worry as it goes on for several minutes–much longer than it's been for quite some time.

I start to talk to him in soft tones, letting him know that I'm here and he's safe.

Slowly, his grip relaxes and the muscles in his body underneath me ease. His breathing retains its deep nature and then he's letting go of the bedpost. My arms slide up his and around his torso, feeling his heart underneath my palm.

"We protect each other. Real or not real?" he says.

"Real."

"We live together. Real or not real?"

"Real."

He pauses and takes a few more deep breaths before he asks, "You love me. Real or not real?"

"Real."

I hear the speed at which his heart is still beating and the way he's still tense around me. We've been working on talking to each other more about what's bothering us, but Peeta can still keep so quiet about it.

I pull back to scoot to his side and look at his face. He's weary and pained, and I want to take it away from him.

I kiss his cheek and wind my arm through his. "Peeta? What is it?"

"I've just...I've been thinking," he says, gaze forward and away from me. "When the episodes come, I have so many words in my head that I'm trying to use to make sense of who you are. And when it's bad, I get confused."

Ally. Friend. Lover. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Some of the terms Peeta had once used to describe me batter around in my head. Who knows what others he had never said? And it hurts to think that there are still moments he's not sure what I am to him.

"It might seem silly," he says, "but sometimes I think if I had one word I could tell myself, one word I could use to ground me in what's real, maybe the episodes could get better."

"That makes sense," I agree.

"What do you think I should use?"

Other people have thrown around words to describe what I am to Peeta and he to me. Lover. Girlfriend/boyfriend. Partner. Sweetheart. It hadn't mattered to us. We'd never defined ourselves to each other before. We'd gone from friends to sleeping in the same bed to making and professing love, and finally living together. I'd never cared for those terms others had used, none of them fitting everything we meant to each other. Now for the first time, Peeta's asking me to tell him what it is I think I am to him, to help him come back from these frightening episodes.

Only one word clicks into my head as the right one.

"Wife," I say.

His confusion grows deeper and he shakes his head. "We aren't married."

"Is that all?" I ask, a smile growing on my face. "We can take care of that."

"You would...marry me?" His voice is in awe and somehow my smile still grows wider.

"Real," I tell him. And then he scoops me up in his arms and peppers kisses on my mouth, my cheek, my jaw.

"Wife," Peeta says, low and husky in my ear. "You're my wife."

"Mmmm," I hum as his lips kiss my neck and he touches me, eager and heated. "And what a lucky wife I am."

[adsosfraser]

first kiss

an in-panem, no games everlark oneshot

wc: 2222

Today is the first day. The first day I’m allowing Peeta to go steady with me. We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for the better part of two years now, until I finally crossed that line last night when I leaned in and pressed my lips against his at the Harvest Festival.

Just the thought of it makes me giddy with joy and a blush colours my cheeks.

Of course Madge won’t let it just slide when she sees it.

“What has you all hot and bothered Everdeen?”

My head whips back from Peeta’s vacant seat in the back to Madge’s to the right of me. “What?”

Her eyes trail back to Peeta’s seat and a smirk blooms across her face. It’s honestly terrifying. The maniacal joy in the search for my misery and embarrassment clashes with the cherubic face dotted with freckles and lined with corn silk blonde hair. Oh no.

“Or should I say who?”

Before she can begin the true teasing, I’m saved by our history teacher Mrs. Earworm. There’s a first for everything I suppose.

Last night surely taught me that.

It’s hopeless to even try to focus on the lesson. Though I do have Mrs. Earworm to thank for the consistent background noise that is her droning voice to set up the backdrop of my thoughts and tune out everything.

He’s in a dark green shirt, my favourite colour. I’m in my father’s old sweater and the only pair of jeans my mother owns. I really tried to find an outfit that would make me look beautiful for Peeta, and I wanted to wear his favourite colour, but I could only find the deep red sweater with specks of burnt orange. Throughout the night, I pinch my cheeks to bring colour to them like the girls in Town do with their makeup tins of blush.

Peeta leans closer to me, his breath crystallising in the air with mine in a giant satisfying puff. We sit on a bale of hay off to the side, tuckered out from all the dancing. The sun is long gone and only a few stragglers remain, swaying close together as a slow song plays from the fiddle. No one blinks an eye at us, already too far gone in their drinks or simply not caring about two teenagers dallying out at almost one in the morning.

His hand twitches and lands on my hip. The lanterns and fairy lights above blur everything into a softlight, and cast a halo through his pale messy hair. My heart races as he places his other shaking hand onto my hip and licks his lips. I know he’s staring at mine because I was staring at his not even two seconds ago.

Is this what my mother felt like? Drawn into my father like a moth to a flame?

I want his light to flood into me. I don’t want to capture it in a jar but I want to let it flow in both of us, so we can bask in it together. If he’ll allow.

As I raise my hand to brush away a lock of blonde from his eye, I smile at the small indentations left by the hay in the palm of my hand. Peeta smiles too, not knowing my reason for it, but wanting to share in it all the same. I know I react the same all the time.

It’s impossible not to smile when Peeta’s happiness shines everywhere around him and blocks out even the clouds.

His hand strokes my cheek and I lean into his warm skin with a shiver and close my eyes. I didn’t even notice his hand begin to travel from my hip until I felt his touch, too focused on the sight of his lips and eyes. I let the feeling of his warmth spread through me with a smile and place my hand over his, hoping to give him the same.

“Can I kiss you Katniss?”

I nod shyly, my cheeks blushing an even darker shade of red than I thought possible. They’ve been in a perpetual state of red ever since the Harvest Festival began. Or well, ever since Peeta walked down to my shack of a house in the Seam to escort me to the square, the whole time my hand held safely within his own.

“Yes.” Please.

His short bursts of warm breath puff against the seam of my lips. I close my eyes again. People are supposed to close their eyes when they kiss, right? Madge says it’s creepy to have guys staring straight into her soul.

I inch closer to him, connecting our hips and knees together so they’re flush against each other and there’s no space between them. Except for the fabric of our clothes. His top lip lightly brushes my bottom one and I sigh.

Everything is new and strange but I also feel like I’ve done this a thousand times with him before. I bring my other hand to the nape of his neck, tugging on the curly strands there. We pull apart, but not for long. I stare into his eyes that twinkle under the lights and surge back into him. My leg nestles between his thighs now and-

The harsh crash of a book against my desk nearly sends me into a heart attack. My hands startle away from under my chin and the finger that was on my lip drops to my side.

“Oh it must’ve been good.”

I look back to Peeta’s desk and it’s still empty. My heart drops at the sight but I try to ignore it. I’m just being silly. He probably is running late from the early morning shift at the bakery his brothers no doubt pinned onto him because of last night. I cringe at the thought. I never want Peeta to be in trouble because of me.

“Shut up Madge.” I hiss at her and clumsily gather my things to scurry out of the room.

I can hear her cackle echo behind me until I slip out through the door. I never knew she could cackle like that but I’m not surprised. She’s as special as me, even if she is a Merchant.

My pulse shoots straight up like the game with the hammer and the bell at the Harvest Festival. I don’t know how my poor heart handles me these days.

Peeta is looking directly at me over the shoulder of one of his friends. The circle of boys laughs at a joke he says and I smile at the way his eyes crease with humour. I like down at myself. I’m in a worn-down sweater darned with all different colours and patchy corduroy green pants. I frown down at my muddy boots and tuck back a strand of hair that came loose from my braid back behind my ear.

The shame is instantly gone once I catch Peeta’s smile again. My grin is so broad I fear it might split my face as I wave sheepishly at him. He keeps staring. And talking. And staring. His eyes squint, most likely with another laugh incoming.

I feel stupid waving my arm for almost thirty seconds with no acknowledgement and slap it down against my thigh.

And he rounds a corner out of sight without even a nod of his head to me.

Oh.

I thought he was different. I thought I was different.

So he only wants me under the light of the new moon. Where no one at all can see us under the dim stars. His dirty little secret.

My chest aches with a pain I never knew was possible before. Like someone reached straight inside and held my heart hostage with their inhumane grip. My heart sinks right through the floor under my feet, under the foundation of the school and deep in the dirt. I sniffle, but quickly shut that down. I’m angry. I’m pissed. I am not sad. He doesn’t deserve that from me.

Madge respects my need for space and quiet, sensing my complete change in attitude as I sit down next to her for our next class.

I don’t even know why I do it. Apparently I have no respect for myself and want him to trample all over me whenever he pleases. Or maybe I just want to yell at him, unfurl all of the hurt and anger that simmers in me and unleash it at him so we’re both stuck with it. I linger under the oak tree we always meet at after school for another second. A second too long it seems. Because he’s right on time.

His face looks far too cheery at the prospect of being with me. It just won’t do.

I turn on my heel, crossing my arms over my chest and ignore him. See how you like it, Peeta.

He catches up with me far too quickly, grabbing the crook of my elbow and forcing me to stop in my tracks.

“Hey, pretty girl, what’s the rush?”

“Why do you care?”

“Huh?!”

“You know some of your friends are still out here.” My head swivels to gesture around the schoolyard. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen slumming it with a Seam slut.”

“Katniss what?”

“Oh don’t pretend like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. I have some pride, you know. I’m not going to waste my first kiss on someone who doesn’t even recognise my existence but thinks he can

“What are you talking about? I didn’t see you at all today until now. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to come into history and I needed to use lunch to feed the pigs.” His brows furrow in confusion.

I have to admit, he’s a pretty great actor. Maybe the Capitol would make an exception and welcome someone district into their ranks.

“I was right in the hallway after history. You sure were having a good time with your friends it seemed. Enough to stare straight through me even when I was waving at you for a minute like an idiot and not even give me the basic decency of acknowledging my existence.”

He frowns and turns me closer to him, both his hands on the outside of my elbows.

“Katniss, I didn't see you.”

“You didn’t see me or you didn’t see me?” I still want to be mad at him but it’s difficult with how miserable he looks, especially when his blue eyes are weighed down with everything he feels.

“Honestly I didn’t see you, I truly am sorry Katniss.” He explains sheepishly to me.

“Hmmm.”

I rip open my zipper and tear a piece of plain paper from deep in the bowels that is the pit of my bag. I’ve seen my mom do this test enough to understand what to do. It’s simple enough, really.

“Stay put.” I uncap the marker and walk slowly away from him, squinting myself as I approximate the distance that was between us in the hall. I scribble a letter onto it as I hold the cap in my mouth and press the flimsy paper against my palm. “Now what does it say?”

I hold up the card to my chest.

“Um… little d?”

I look at the letter in my hand and frown. An uppercase B is definitely not a lowercase d but they are similar enough.

“Hold on.” I call out to him.

I flip the paper and scribble a giant A with the marker and hold it up.

“T?” His response raises up at the end in an uncertain voice.

I shake my head with a teasing smile. As I approach him, I wag my finger back and forth at him and place the paper in his hand. The other hand is reserved to hold mine and he squeezes it in relief at my acceptance of his affection and attention now.

“You sir, need glasses.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I can see perfectly fine Katniss. I don't need glasses.”

“For most things, yes, but my little baker boy I’m sorry to say you definitely did not pass the eye exam today.”

He sighs, looking up from our linked hands into my eyes with a timid smile.

“It’s just-” I nod, encouraging him to say what’s on his mind. “If I admit it then it’s real. I really thought it would go away on its own somehow.”

I smile at the notion and shake my head at him again. Bringing our hands up to my face, I press a kiss to his knuckles.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure this out together. Maybe someone in the Hob will have glasses in good shape.”

I don’t have to say it and he knows it as well as I do. His mother would never buy him a pair of glasses.

Peeta reaches around my waist, pulling my body flush against his and I tuck my head under his chin.

He breathes into my hair. “I’m sorry my eyes didn’t capture your magnificent beauty in the hall today. But you really are so pretty today and everyday.”

“Apology accepted.” I grin up at him. “You know how you can make it up to me?”

He leans into me with a grin, of the same mind as I am.

[mollywog]

🫖 Regency everlark... But one of them is a servant/cook/maid(?)

Thank you for playing nonny and @melodypowers65 (who also requested 🫖)

Your addition reminds me of Over the Mountain by @thesweetnessofspring (Victorian Everlark) and this snippet by @farfromhome87 if you haven’t read them yet!

And while I was trying to work out a different spin on your request, I began thinking of Miss Taylor/Mr. Weston (because all roads lead back to Emma (someday I’ll have written everlark into every couple in the book (though making them Mr. And Mrs. Elton would be a challenge..)))

Rue peers through the crack in the drawer room doors, suppressing her exclamation as Mr. Mellark sinks to one knee.

Everyone had said that Mr. Mellark would never marry. Mr. Mellark, who had been alone so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied either in his business in town or among his friends here, always acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful—Mr. Mellark need not spend a single evening in the year alone if he did not like it. Oh no! Mr. Mellark certainly would never marry.

But Rue had known— ever since that fateful day years ago when Mr. Mellark had stumbled upon her music lessons and heard her new governess, Miss Everdeen, sing— she’d known he was besotted.

She’d done her part to promote the match— making it her duty to invite Mr. Mellark often to Elevton, giving many discreet encouragements, and smoothing little matters along the way.

She cannot pinpoint the exact moment Mr. Mellark became dear to her tutor, but she observed Miss Everdeen’s regard for him grow over time until their love was as certain as the wildflowers in the spring.

The only obstacle remaining had been the want of a proper home, which was lately remedied by the purchase of a little estate nearby he had always longed for.

Despite her assurance, Rue still holds her breath, watching the woman, who’s now more friend than governess, as she blushes and nods, a radiant smile spreading across her face.

Rue has made many matches, but this— this, is surely her greatest success!

She’s certain Miss Everdeen, when she recounts the offer to her later, will give many small particulars that suggest her acceptance was purely a rational choice: Mr. Mellark’s good temper and easy manners, his estate’s close proximity to Elevton; but Rue knows reason has little to do with it as she watches her friend and bride-groom elect in tender embrace.

She turns from the door with a satisfied smile. With any luck Mr. Thresh will join them this evening so she may boast her newest triumph!