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mostofthingsmostofthetime · 16 hours

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As previewed in Snippet Sunday a non-Hijacked District 13 AU

Reunion

Peeta.

Alive and well — maybe not well but alive and here. Away from Snow. Safe. Here. With me. In a minute I can touch him. See his smile. Hear his laugh.

Haymitch’s grinning at me. “Come on, then,” he says.

I’m light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He’ll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven’t dared let myself consider until this moment.

Peeta’s awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I’m disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can’t quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet, and moves toward me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for me, too.

He’s thin. Reminiscent of the dying boy I found by the stream, yet his embrace still engulfs me. I wrap my arms around his waist. It’s not enough and I rub my hands up his back until I can touch flesh. The nape of his neck is clammy, but it doesn’t stop my palms from resting there, nor do the damp matted locks deter my fingers from caressing his hair. My nose is buried in his chest, where the antiseptic and plastic scents of the hospital are masked by the stench of blood, sweat, and chemicals. If he smelled of cinnamon and dill I would know this was a dream, so I breathe him in as more proof of his existence. I turn my head, nuzzling my ear to his chest, finding the quick but steady drum of his heart; My new favorite sound.

After some time, Peeta pulls away. A strangled whine escapes my lips and I grasp the front of his tattered shirt, clinging so he can’t move far. He doesn’t mean to, instead he gently cups my face in his hands, tilting it up. I lick my lips, expecting him to kiss me, but he only stares down at me. I realize he’s still emerging from the gas as his pupils adjust and his dazed look turns to one of intense concentration. “You’re real,” he finally whispers, letting his forehead sink to mine as his eyes flutter closed.

“So are you,” I croak out. I reach up to touch his face, tilting my own up further for a brief press of lips. I move next to his jaw where I’d first kissed him a year ago, then to his cheek, next to his ear, then his palms. A constellation of kisses telling the story of past suffering.

I switch my attention to the fresh wounds, dotting feather light kisses to the path of cuts and bruises, willing his pain away.

Haymitch clears his throat and Peeta’s eyes fly open. He blinks rapidly, before catching sight of our mentor and leveling him with a glare. His hands encircle me protectively, “Annie and Johanna?”

“Rescued as well.”

Peeta releases a small breath, “how are they?”

“We saw them on our way through,” I interject. “Annie’s with Finnick and Johanna was headed to surgery.” I think of Johanna, emaciated, unconscious, with no loved ones waiting for her. I swallow back a sob and grip on Peeta tightens.

He looks down at me, frowning as he absorbs what I’ve said and comes to a similar conclusion. He averts his attention back to Haymitch, “You’ll be there when she wakes.” It’s a statement, not a request.

Haymitch nods his assent, reaching out to give Peeta’s arm a squeeze before turning to leave, “good to have you back, kid.”

“We’ll talk later,” Peeta’s voice is firm. My resentment towards Haymitch has all but vanished, his is still fresh.

Peeta looks back down to me, lips twitching in the smallest of smiles. I thought I had exhausted them all, but tears prick the corners of my eyes.

“Excuse me, Mr. Mellark,” an unfamiliar voice comes from behind me and I whip around, assuming a defensive posture between Peeta and the source of our disruption. The youngest of the trio of doctors stutters backwards a step.

Peeta steps out from behind me. “Yes?” he addresses the doctors. I grab for his hand and lace our fingers.

The man looks between us wearily, “We’d like to complete your exam so we can begin a treatment plan. Miss you need to leave.”

Anyone who thinks I’ll willingly go now that I have Peeta back must be mad and I tell the doctor as much. Peeta’s hand locked firmly in mine reassures me of our shared resolve.

Another of the doctors, an older woman with frown lines and a tight bun steps in, “we let you have your little reunion as a courtesy, but now it’s time for us to do our jobs. Protocol dictates that only a family member may be present outside of regular visiting hours. Until then you are not authorized to be here.”

Dread pools in my stomach at the mention of family, instantly replacing my fury at the woman. I hadn’t let myself imagine more than these first few minutes. Now I’m wishing Haymitch hadn’t left so he could be the one to deliver the news. But one glance at Peeta’s face tells me he already knows. I’ll be damned if I leave him now.

I square my shoulders, “I am his family.”

“That’s not what our records indicate,” The woman says unmoved. The two other doctors behind her look down at their clipboards, leafing through pages. They won’t find anything there, but then a memory of something Peeta told Caesar echoes in my mind:

‘And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.’

I latch onto the idea, “I’m his wife.”

The woman purses her lips and the other doctors shoot each other nervous glances.

“I know you watch the games down here. You must have seen the interviews. We’re married, he said so himself.”

“Yes, I’ve seen all his interviews. He’s had a lot to say recently.”

My nostrils flare and I’m deciding whether to lunge at her or just volley a slew of insults, when Peeta speaks, “Could you give us a minute?” He steps in front of me, saving the doctor from bodily harm while never letting go of my hand. “You should speak to Haymitch Abernathy on the matter in the meantime,” he says, neither confirming nor denying my assertion. Regardless of his feelings towards our mentor, Peeta at least trusts him to know how to handle this.

The doctor stares at us for a long beat, before giving a terse nod, “We’ll be back as soon as we clear this up.”

The door clicks and Peeta turns towards me, an unreadable expression on his face. So I parrot his words from so many weeks ago, “Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

#everlark fanfiction #everlark #thg #the hunger games #mockingjay #mj #the hunger games fanfiction #thg fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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mostofthingsmostofthetime · 23 hours

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So @jhsgf82 asked me to everlark the movie Which Brings Me to You, and I wrote out a synopsis with no intention of writing it. Anyway, after finishing off my last WIP, I was going to wind down by reading Funny Story by Emily Henry, and I can not get into it… so I wrote this drabble instead. Katniss and Peeta as two cynics engaging in a disastrous wedding hookup…

“How are you feeling?”

Katniss hasn’t even lifted her glass of Riesling before she’s asked the question. It’s her Aunt Maysilee, but not in a familial way. “Aunt” as in her mother’s friend, since Katniss was a kid, and now, even at 30, they’re still carrying on with the charade.

Katniss takes a sip of her wine. “I’m well,” she says.

Aunt Maysilee inches a step closer than necessary and lowers her voice. Nothing like a wedding to facilitate the juiciest of gossip.

“It isn’t too late,” Aunt Maysilee says.

“Pardon?”

“To tell him how you feel.”

“Who?”

Maysilee leans close enough for Katniss to smell the powder of her foundation. “Gale,” she says.

Katniss chokes on her wine.

They’re both invited guests at Gale’s wedding to someone who is most certainly not Katniss.

“We’re just friends,” Katniss says, which is a far more diplomatic response than what initially comes to mind: Are you out of your fucking mind?

“We’ve all been saying you’re destined for one another. Ever since you were kids and you’d be following him around.”

“It’s never been like that,” Katniss says, taking a long pull from her drink while her eyes scan the room for an escape.

They’re at some historic cottage in the mountains just outside of town, where the trees are dense and lush. Both bride and groom love the woods. Katniss does too, but again, she’s not the one getting married.

The ceremony is running late, so the cocktail hour in the parlor has started early, and people’s inhibitions are already too loose for comfort. Katniss wishes the DJ would start up some obnoxiously loud music to help drown out the conversation. Or at least they could pass around some hors d’oeuvres to soak up the alcohol.

“He’s like my cousin,” Katniss emphasizes. In fact, she calls his mother Aunt Hazelle, and in her case, she actually means it.

Just last night at the rehearsal dinner, Katniss had been helping clean up, and Hazelle had pulled her aside to say she wished she had a daughter just like her.

“Don’t let Posy hear,”Katniss had joked. Hazelle already had a daughter.

“You know what I mean,” she said. Katniss hadn’t, but now as she empties her glass of wine, she thinks she does.

Everyone has lost their minds.

Katniss scans the crowd for her sister, who would make a wonderful buffer. She orders another Riesling and excuses herself from Aunt Maysilee.

Prim is nowhere to be found, and Katniss is on a direct collision path with Aunt Effie (by marriage in this case) who is potentially the worst gossip of all. She hasn’t seen Katniss yet. She’s still gushing over another guests wardrobe. It should be noted that Aunt Effie is the only guest in attendance wearing a hat, and the hat is large enough to block the sun for every guest in attendance.

Aunt Effie begins to turn in Katniss’s direction, and Katniss cringes, concerned that the brim of her hat may take out an expensive looking wall sconce.

Katniss reaches for the nearest doorknob and ducks inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

It’s the coat closet, which was probably a cellar at some point, until the building was turned into an event venue. There are three coat racks lining the walls, and a man crouched away in the corner.

She jumps at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” She demands.

He looks up at her sheepishly. It’s at this moment she realizes that she knows him. It’s Peeta Mellark. Which leads to more questions. Why would Peeta Mellark be at Gale Hawthorne’s wedding?

As far as she knows, Gale and Peeta have never spoken. Hell, she was in the same class as Peeta from grades K through 12, and she’s not even sure they’ve spoken. Their town was reasonably small, but the cliques ran deep.

“Hey, Katniss,” Peeta says. “Just taking a breather.”

“A breather from what?” She says, admittedly, a little on the harsh side. “What are you doing at Gale’s wedding?”

“The bride,” he explains. “It’s Johanna’s wedding too. We’re friends from college.”

Right.

Katniss is struck with a thought. If she’s hiding because half the wedding guests thinks she’s in love with Gale…

“God, you’re not in love with her, are you?”

His eyes widen. “That’s an interesting take,” he says. Peeta has better forethought than Katniss, because when he sought refuge in the coat closet, he came prepared with an entire champagne bottle, which he takes a swig from. “Unfortunately, it’s not that scandalous,” he says. “My ex is here.”

Katniss finds this, nonetheless, intriguing. “Who?” She says. Peeta definitely dated around in high school, but she doesn’t recall him ever with anyone from her circle of friends.

“Annie Cresta,” he says.

The name is familiar. “Finnick’s date?”

Peeta winces. “You know him?”

Katniss doesn’t mention she played a part in setting them up. “So what, your ex is here. You had to know she’d be here. She’s in the wedding party.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He takes another drink. “It’s just…” Katniss sips her wine with bated breath. She is happy for drama that does not involve her. “We’ve been texting recently. Friendly texts.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“Friendly,” he emphasizes.

She cringes. “You’ve been sexting?”

“Not explicitly,” he says. “Just incriminating.”

Her eyes widen. “Pictures?”

He shakes his head with a laugh. “Why would I send her pictures of my dick? She knows what it looks like.”

Her eyes dip down to his lap. No wonder she and Peeta have never spoken. Five lines in and they’re talking about his penis. Her cheeks turn pink, and she empties her glass to cover it.

“I didn’t realize she was seeing someone,” he explains. “So I sent her my room number and said we should hang out.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“What if he saw the text,” Peeta says.

“Finnick’s not the jealous type,” she says with a laugh. “You’ve seen him, he has no reason to be.”

Finnick Odair is a freaking Adonis, the perfect male specimen.

“I get it, he’s real dreamy,” Peeta says flatly.

“It’s not like you’re so bad yourself,” Katniss says before she’s really considered the implications. Peeta’s always been well liked, and, okay, good looking. She should not have had two glasses of wine on an empty stomach.

“What are you hiding from?” He asks, saving her from her misery. His nose wrinkles as he recalls the earlier part of their conversation. “Ew, you’re not in love with Gale, are you?”

“Our family wishes,” she says. She tips her glass back to try and catch the last few drops that are holding out. Peeta offers his bottle, and she takes that as an invitation to sit beside him. It’s only as the mouth of the bottle touches her lips that she realizes she could have refilled her empty glass.

Too late.

“I’m dreading that part of the wedding. The ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ part. There are about half a dozen people who may stand on my behalf. The mother of the groom included.”

“If it helps, I don’t think they actually ask that in real life,” Peeta says. “I mean unless the officiant is jonesing for a dramatic plot device.”

Katniss fills her glass with half the remaining bottle and hands it back. Her Uncle Haymitch is officiating the wedding, and it’s not that he wants her with Gale. He’s just happy to take any opportunity to humiliate her. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” she says.

“You still haven’t answered the question,” Peeta says.

“Hmm?”

“You and Gale.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head adamantly. “There’s nothing going on there.”

“Are you sure?” God, not him too. “It’s just, the wedding was supposed to start two hours ago, and there isn’t a bride or groom to be seen.”

“You think they got cold feet?” She says.

“They definitely got cold feet.” He stretches his legs out to relax in a more comfortable position, the bottle of champagne rests on the inside of his thigh. She’s looking at his crotch again.

“Johanna’s my friend,” Katniss says, sipping on her glass demurely.

“Yeah, and she asked me about you once,” he says.

“She asked you?”

He shrugs. “She knew we grew up together.”

“But we weren’t friends,” she points out.

“I saw enough.”

She narrows her eyes. “What did you tell her?”

“That pretty much everyone had a crush on you.”

“Yeah right,” she says, snorting into her glass of wine.

“It’s true!” He says. He must be drunk, because she notices now that the tips of his ears are red. “I know I did.”

“You liked me?” She says slowly. “You never talked to me.”

“I thought you had a boyfriend,” he reasons.

Her eyes widen when the pieces fall into place. “Gale?”

He makes an obvious looking gesture.

“And you told Johanna this?” His smile is full of chagrin. “Christ, Peeta,” Katniss says shoving his shoulder. “I’ve gone axe throwing with her! She could have killed me!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” He says. “Here, let me make it up to you,” he offers by topping off her glass.

They’re sitting close, and when they hold the bottle and glass between them, their foreheads are touching. She feels a jolt of something pleasant at the contact, and makes no attempt to move away.

His eyes lift to meet hers. He’s always had the nicest eyes. They’re this gorgeous shade of blue, which is only accentuated by his long, thick eyelashes. She wets her lips.

“So you two have never,” Peeta says carefully. She shakes her head, although she’s not sure why the news is so important to him. He clears his throat and drinks from his bottle.

She settles back against the wall and sips from her glass. She’s past the point of a good buzz, and heading toward something dangerous. “I can’t finish this,” she admits. He takes the glass and empties it in one gulp.

“I’ve got an idea,” she says turning to face him. Her chest grazes his arm in the process, and it’s impossible to ignore because his eyes immediately dart to where they’re making contact. She takes in a shallow breath, which comes off as “heaving bosom,” if the glazed over look in Peeta’s expression is any indication.

“Huh?” He says dumbly, his brain cells obviously impacted by both the alcohol and diverted blood flow.

“I’ve got an idea,” she repeats. “To divert attention from our current situations.”

He bows his head slightly and his nose brushes against her bare shoulder, and, wow, okay, that felt pretty nice too. “Yeah, me too,” he murmurs, and she can feel his lips on her skin as he forms each word. He’s nuzzling her neck now, and she’s tipped her head aside to allow it.

“We can pretend to be each other’s date,” she manages to say around a sigh.

He chuckles against her throat, and holy shit. She grips the nape of his neck to hold him there. “Seems a little desperate,” he says.

His breath is hot against her cleavage, and it’s not like her dress is low cut, but the way her back is arching toward him, it’s definitely enhanced.

“What do you suggest?” She asks.

“Let’s skip the wedding.”

“And do what?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

And then they’re kissing, her mouth plying beneath his as he licks his way past her lips. She moans, audibly, which she would usually find mortifying, except then he’s pulling her into his lap, and they’re both struggling to push her skirt up her thighs. His fingers dig into her ass, tipping her hips forward.

Fuck! That feels good.

She’s just started to grind against his erection through his pants when the door snaps open.

“Occupied!” Peeta shouts, but the intruder is undeterred.

Katniss extracts herself from Peeta’s embrace and stands, coming face to face with her Uncle Haymitch. Worst possible outcome.

“I couldn’t find my jacket,” she says.

“I doubt you’ll find it in his pants,” Haymitch deadpans.

Peeta steps beside her. “We were just…”

“I don’t care,” Haymitch cuts him off. “The wedding is off. Everyone will be coming for their coats, so I suggest you look for your jacket elsewhere.”

“We weren’t…” she starts to argue, but realizes it’s futile. She storms out of the coatroom.

Peeta is hot on her heel. “Are you going back to the hotel?” He has the nerve to ask.

“Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah?” He says, clearly confused. “Barring the interruption, I thought things were going pretty well.”

“The wedding was called off!” She reminds him.

“I doubt that had anything to do with us hooking up.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

The parking for the manor was limited, so they’d arranged a shuttle service between the hotel. Unfortunately, the shuttle wouldn’t start up again until after the reception was scheduled to end, and guests were desperately inflating Uber surge pricing, while the maid of honor was negotiating a new shuttle schedule with the limo company.

Katniss stops short when she sees her Aunt Effie emerge from the Uber line.

“Katniss, my goodness, you’re still here!” She says, absolutely aghast by all the scandal. “We thought you’d left.”

“Why?” Katniss mistaking engages.

“Presumably to run away with the groom,” Peeta offers over her shoulder. “Home wrecker,” she elbows him in the ribs.

“Come now, darling,” Effie says waving her over. “There’s a car on the way.”

The last thing Katniss wants right now is to be surrounded by her gloating family members, salaciously speculating over how things ended. Especially what role Katniss played in it. Which, she did not. Too bad her alibi is that she was drunkenly hooking up with a near stranger in the coat room.

“I already have a ride,” she says, gesturing to Peeta.

In his defense, Peeta puts on a brilliant performance of acting sober. He gives a responsible looking nod, then waves as they climb into the SUV that’s just pulled up.

As the car pulls away, Peeta muses, “What do you think they do with all the food after one of those.”

She moans with more enthusiasm than when they were fooling around before. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#thg drabble #everlark fanfiction #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #thg fanfiction

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mostofthingsmostofthetime · 23 hours

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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?”

#peeta mellark #thg #thg fanfiction #katniss everdeen #everlark fanfiction #everlark #the hunger games

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