#peeta x y/n

[ilguna]

Can you do prompt 11 from aisle 1 with peeta or finnick? Like reader or whoever u choose is almost killed in the games then they get yelled at n stuff🩷🙏

☼ bloody flowers (Peeta Mellark) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, blood, ehh gore, weapon use. peeta’s mean.

wc; 2.3k

prompt; 11. yelling at them because they thought they’d lose them.

notes; no katniss, roles for mockingjay are reversed.

—

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” You tell Peeta and Finnick, breaking the silence.

Finnick is on his feet, slowly wading further into the saltwater, carefully rubbing it on his skin to ensure he’s got all the poison out. He barely looks over his shoulder to acknowledge what you’ve said, nodding. He’s having a hard time speaking, his throat is raw from the amount of fog he breathed in.

As you get to your feet, brushing the sand from your skin, Peeta looks over at you, eyebrows drawing in. “Let me make the hole first. You stay with him, you’re better friends.”

“That’s not…” You shake your head, but he’s heading into the jungle, knife in hand.

When you turn your head to look at Finnick—afraid that he’s heard what Peeta said—you can’t find him immediately. You shuffle forward in the sand, eyes searching the water. You spot him beneath the surface, easing your anxiety.

With that, you leave him be. You trust that he won’t accidentally drown himself, since he’s the best swimmer out of your group. And he’s going to need some time alone, after losing Mags to the fog in the jungle.

It was quick, you didn’t even have time to intervene. Finnick saw that you were struggling to carry Mags down the slope, after the two of you had switched, because Peeta was entirely too heavy to be leaning on you for support. In the brief break you took to regain your strength, Mags kissed Finnick goodbye and walked straight into the fog.

What happened didn’t register until Finnick was pulling you to your feet, ordering you to grab one side of Peeta, so the two of you could work together. You don’t have to say anything to Finnick to know that he’s hurt, the look on his face alone is a dead giveaway.

You find your melted jumpsuit strewn in the sand, alongside Finnicks and Peetas. It had been ripped off of you by Peeta, who was so desperate to get you in the water, that he’d forgotten how much it’d hurt being submerged. It could’ve been worse, you weren’t covered in nearly as much of the fog as Finnick had been.

You crouch next to Peeta’s suit, flipping it over to find the mockingjay pin still holding on tightly. You unhook it from his clothes, and move to pin it to the front of your undershirt to hold onto it for him. You then reach to touch the gold necklace to make sure that it’s still hanging around your neck.

The floatation belts seem to have not been affected by the fog at all. They look brand new, actually. You pull it around your waist, buckling it back on. As much as you’d wish to leave it, you’re not the best swimmer in the alliance. Peeta and Finnick are far better, which is why they’ll feel comfortable enough to leave theirs behind.

You stand again, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the soreness throughout your body. And then, you reach to pull the hair tie out to let your hair down, which has been severely damaged by the fog. Barely touching it, clumps come out, stuck between your fingers. The sight is only slightly nauseating. You comb your hair the best you can, watching as the collection grows. When it seems to have slowed, you pull your hair back into a ponytail, and fling the dead hair into the trees.

Speaking of which, Peeta’s found a good one ten yards in from the beach. You can hardly see him through the trees, but the sound of him drilling is unmistakable. You keep an eye on him the best you can, but Finnick splashing around is distracting.

He stretches, slowly, testing his limbs to see if they’re working properly. Gradually, he begins to swim, which is mesmerizing to watch. It’s nothing like the way you were taught to. There’s a rhythm, a pace. He dives, surfaces, rolls like a log of wood in water. He sprays from his mouth, and then he’ll sit underwater for minutes at a time.

When he finally comes back up, he looks better than he did earlier. He pushes his hair out of his face, walking in your direction.

You offer him a smile, “Feeling better?”

“Considerably.” He says, eyes finding the pin on your tank top. He touches it, squinting slightly. “Left the token, huh?”

“He knew I’d grab it.” You wave him off. “Let’s go help him, he’s going to need the spile.”

Finnick leads the way into the jungle, you follow behind him, fiddling with the necklace. He holds the trident to his side, the pole bouncing off his thigh when he takes steps too hard. You briefly look away to pop the locket clasp open, suddenly afraid that the fog might’ve damaged the delicate photos inside. You slam straight into Finnick’s back, having to catch yourself on his shoulder.

A question raises on your tongue, but he presses a finger against his lips to keep you quiet. He looks upward, into the branches that belong to the trees that hang above you lowly. You follow his gaze curiously, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of what’s been watching you.

You press your lips together, your left hand falling from your necklace, and your right readjusting the sword in your hand. There’s a mass of orange monkeys weighing down the branches. More than just five or ten, there’s easily two dozen, sitting there, waiting for one wrong move.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them. There was a pair of them right after you’d escaped the fog, Peeta had pointed them out. Those ones retreated, not wanting anything to do with the three of you. These ones don’t have any intentions on leaving.

“Peeta,” Your voice wavers slightly, Finnick glances at you. You take a breath, “I need your help with something on the beach.”

“Just a minute (Y/n). I think I’ve just about got it.” He tells you, still occupied with the tree. “Have you got the spile?”

“I do, but we’ve found something you might want to see.” You murmur, noticing how the monkeys are reacting to Peeta’s movements. They don’t care if you move. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

“I don’t want to lose the tree.”

“We won’t, we’ll be right back.” You tell him, motioning for him to come toward you.

He lets out a sigh, but listens. You chew on the inside of your cheek, listening to the noise he’s making. Still, the monkeys don’t move, because that’s not what causes them to be aggressive. He’s only five yards from the beach, when his movements become stiff, eyes darting up for a second.

It’s enough. The shrieking begins, as the monkeys all begin to move at an impossible speed to jump at him. They slide down vines, leaping large distances, fangs bared, claws shooting out. One word comes to mind.

“Mutts!” You snap, shoving past Finnick to get to Peeta.

You swing the sword carelessly, hitting the vital parts of the monkeys the best you can with the amount flying out of the trees. When you make it to Peeta, the two of you switch weapons, him slapping the knife into your hand for you to take so he can begin to do real damage with the sword.

Peeta’s got a better technique, bringing down almost as much as Finnick is with the trident. He’ll spear the mutts, and then fling them aside, off into the trees. The three of you form a triangle formation, trying to kill them efficiently. Only, you can’t keep up with your knife, they’re forced to cover you.

You feel a pair of teeth sink into your thigh before Peeta’s slicing through the throat, forcing the jaws to unhinge. The air grows heavy, from the trampled plants, the scent of blood, and the musty stink of the monkey mutts that hound you.

Peeta swings at one of them, and instead of landing the hit, the monkey secures the sword, and throws it into the trees, permanently making it out of the question. Then, it grabs a tight hold of Peeta’s arm, and swings him out of the formation, in the open. Where another monkey spots this, sprinting for the kill.

You begin to run for him, throwing the knife at the mutt that’s racing you. The mutt manages to dodge the attack, and you’re about to throw yourself at Peeta to save him, when someone else beats you to it, first. A woman materializes out of a tree, screaming loudly as she throws herself into the monkey, arms wrapping around its body.

It sinks its fangs into her chest.

Finnick’s trident hits the monkey with such force that it makes a loud squelching sound when the trident collides with its body. The mutt releases its jaw, Peeta kicking the body off.

“Come on, then!” Peeta shouts. “Come on!”

The mutts don’t seem to be interested anymore, retreating into the trees the same way they had done before. You reach to grab Peeta, hands shaking, when he suddenly points toward the beach, eyes hard.

“Go.”

Your mouth pops open, eyebrows drawing in, but you don’t argue, walking the five yards out of the jungle, onto the beach. The two boys follow behind you, with Finnick carrying the woman, who you’re able to recognize as the morphling from District Six, when you get a good look at her.

Finnick lays her in the sound, and Peeta follows behind him with your knife. He kneels next to her, cutting open the wetsuit that covers her chest, revealing the four deep wounds. Her blood is slowly emerging out of them, staining her skin. You’d say she’s fine, if it weren’t for the damage the monkeys did inside of her body.

She’s gasping for air, struggling to breathe. This could mean a punctured lung, maybe even her heart. Her skin is shaded a sickly green, sagging to reveal each one of her ribs. This is caused by years of abusing the pain medication.

She takes your hand shakily, squeezing tightly to ground herself. You lean over her, moving the hair out of her face.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says before walking away.

Peeta settles in the sand, voice soft, “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

She stares at Peeta, hanging on to every word.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.”

Her breathing is growing shallow, calming, dying. Her free hand dips into the wound on her chest, touching the blood as she swirls it on her skin, the same way she had in the Training Center.

“I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air.”

She lifts up the bloodied hand, painting a flower on Peeta’s cheek.

“Thank you,” He whispers. “That looks beautiful.”

Her face lights up, as she makes a small squeaking sound. And then her hand falls back onto her chest, giving out her last huff of air. The cannon fires. Her hand loosens in yours.

You sit there in the sand, watching as Peeta carries her into the water, carefully settling her on her back. She floats toward the Cornucopia, and when the Gamemakers are sure she’s a good distance away, the hovercraft appears to take her away. The claw drops, carrying her into the night sky, and she’s gone.

You get to your feet when Peeta comes back your way, but with the look on his face, you’re not exactly eager to touch him.

“What were you thinking?” He asks you. “Running at me like that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Your mouth opens as you shake your head. “I—the mutt was coming right for you, I thought—”

“You thought what, (Y/n)? You were going to kill it with this?” He asks, holding your knife out for you to see. It’s stained red, sand sticking to the blood that refuses to dry. “Oh no, that’s right, you threw it at the mutt.”

You stare at him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, not okay!” he shouts. “Were you even thinking?”

“I just—”

“I don’t need you trying to be the hero.” He tells you. “I had it handled.”

“I’m sorry, Peeta.”

“Don’t do it again.” He says, shaking his head. “It’s hard enough keeping you safe when you’re not running into danger. So don’t start doing it on purpose.”

“I won’t.”

He looks over your face, judging whether or not you’re being truthful, when his eyes dip toward your chest. His face smooths, holding his hand out, palm up. “Give me the pin.”

Wordlessly, you unhook it from the cloth and place it in his hand. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

“That’s fine.” He says, closing the distance between the two of you. He directs your chin up carefully, raising his eyebrows. “You know I love you.”

“I know.” You whisper. “I’ll be more careful.”

He presses a kiss to the middle of your forehead. “That’s all I ask.”

—

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!! everyone is welcome to join :)

#ilguna #peeta mellark #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark oneshot #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x yn #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta imagine #peeta oneshot #peeta fanfic #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #peeta x yn #thg #the hunger games #anon #ask #3k celebration #requested #angst

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Sweet Delights

Peeta Mellark x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a slow work day in District 12. With rain pouring down outside, who can blame you for wanting to indulge a little? Everything's fine so long as no one walks in... right?

Tags: Pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, pet names, reader has AFAB body/female pronouns, switch!Peeta, switch!Reader, edging, female fingering, teasing, count down, orgasm denial, blow job, face fucking, public sex, someone walks in, dirty talk, Peeta's a freak but he's sweet about it, praise kink if you squint, mentions of eating out, cum swallowing, cursing, post-Mockingjay but that's not really relevant, no reader orgasm this time around. Once again, I'm probably forgetting something.

Notes: I have to say, I did not expect Peeta to win the poll! And not to worry for everyone else, I'll get to all those characters eventually. (Derek girlies, I see you and I love you.) Thank you for your support on the last one, I hope you like this one too! Bon ABBA teeth.

•°《▪︎♡▪︎》°•

Peeta loves surprises.

Giving them, receiving them. If it's unexpected, Peeta is practically bouncing off his chair to figure out what to do with it.

It made everyday life sweeter. Slipping a note into his apron pocket when he wasn't looking for him to discover, finding a million more hidden in my apron. Little drawings hidden amongst everyday things, like the wildflowes Peeta likes to draw and place next to my powders and perfumes. But best of all surprises were the little pastries we would make when the days were slow and the other was watching the front of the bakery. Usually using scraps, because Peeta detests wasting food, but always delicious nonetheless.

The best innocent surprise, I should say.

Today was an especially slow day. Rain pounding down in District 12, making the roads thick with mud. It's a blessing for the hot ovens that fight against the cold seeping through the front windows. Although they're helping me more than Peeta, who's up front perched at the counter, insistent as always that someone needs to be watching the shop. "We won't hear the bell over the rain," he'd said.

I knew better than that. There were tells when Peeta wanted a surprise. He'd never just ask for something, always fearing rejection. Of course the minute I opened my mouth he was ready to do whatever I had even intrusively dreamed of so long as it meant love and praise. But to ask for himself? It's a whole different matter. So when he is insistent I work alone in the back, I understand that this is his own silent way of asking for some sort of surprise. And with the way his broad shoulders look in that pale yellow knit sweater, who am I to deny him?

I'm not one to deny him anything, quite frankly.

The best surprises of all are when we sneak up behind the other, always starting so innocently. Maybe while one of us is baking, maybe while one of us is simply dressing. With the quick slip of a hand, it doesn't take long before the other is panting and begging for release. Not that we always give it to each other.

Peeta liked sneaking up on me in private. Usually when I was in the back baking.

"What are you working on?" He'd usually ask.

"Custom order," I may answer with a smile. He liked my smiles, always said so.

"What are the details?" He'd ask. He'd put his hands on my lower back, rubbing soft enough to not disturb me while still working out some knots.

Then I'd prattle off details. This one is for so-and-so down on whatever-street-or-corner, they'd like a cake.

"For the Harvest Festival?" He'd ask. I'd nod, still focused on my task. "How many orders do we have for the Festival?"

"A good bit, it's our busiest time," I'd always say with a bright, soft tone to my voice. He'd chuckle, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck and pressing his hips against mine from behind, usually revealing his hard on.

"So, how many orders this year?" He'd ask. His hands would work at a knot, his breath hot on my neck, and his hips would roll ever so slowly against mine, taking his time to build both of us up.

"Ah, I think- I think 12?" I'd say, trying to focus on both him and whatever I was making. Cake. Right. Stir.

"12?" He'd ask. His cock would be deliciously hard, grinding against my clothed cunt just a bit harder as his hands would return to my hips, steadying me against him. "That's pretty good."

"Double digits," I'd say brightly, my voice breathy as I struggle more to focus. Cake. Stir. Hands, not hips.

But I'd always do hips instead, leaning back and tilting my head ever so slightly so he can see my enjoyment.

"You need to stir," Peeta would gently guide in my ear. My back would press against his front, his chin now resting on my shoulder.

"I know," I'd say softly. I didn't know shit.

He'd chuckle, one hand slipping to my front to cup one of my breasts.

"Need to get those orders out," he'd remind me. "You always seem so stressed about being on time."

"One of us has to be," I'd say. His hand on my hip would find the band of my pants, slipping past them and teasing me, sliding his fingers against my wet folds.

"Pick up the whisk," he'd instruct. My hands would shake as they obeyed, moving from being splayed across the marble counter to resume my task.

"Stir slowly," he'd say. His large fingers would slip over my entrance, coating himself in the thick lube now dripping from me. "You want to make sure the texture's correct."

It took such mental energy to balance the two things. Especially when he would finally sink in his middle finger, always going knuckle deep and twirling it around inside of me, making sure to leave no spot untouched. His other hand would pinch and pull at my breast, giving special care to make his fingers replicate the feeling of his soft lips wrapped around my sensitive nipples.

"What's the next order?" He'd ask. I could feel myself dripping down his hand, and I knew he loved this. Peeta would do whatever he could to make sure I was wet, even when he wouldn't go any further than simple teasing. I think he liked the idea of me always being ready. Not that he would assume. He always started out slow, and if I ever said no it was never a big deal. He'd simply continue talking to me and go on with his day perfectly fine. But if I was willing, he'd always massage or do whatever until he could feel my arousal himself. I think it's why he likes eating out best. Especially when I'd talk him through it, usually promising to cum down his throat while tugging his soft blond hair. His eyes would grow wide and soft at that, his whimpers increasing as he'd fuck me quicker with his tongue, grinding himself against whatever. It was a beautiful mess he'd turn himself into, desperate and begging silently as he clutched my hips.

"The what?" I'd ask breathlessly. I was tight around him, focused on how slow and sweet he was pumping in and out, twirling and wiggling his finger inside of me. His other hand slipping under my shirt, and his lips sucking gently at my neck, careful not to leave bruises.

"The orders, sweetheart," he'd gently remind me. "What's the next one?"

My lips would part, eyes fluttering shut as I tried to remember. His middle finger would pump out and then pump back in with the addition of his pointer finger, tearing a soft moan from my throat.

"Shh," he'd gently whisper. "We're at work."

He liked this little game. Ramping me up, forcing me to behave a certain way so to not tip off customers. If Peeta wouldn't immediately be arrested for it, something tells me he'd simply fuck me in the front room, bent over the register counter during business hours and just act like it's a normal thing. Such a sweet boy.

"I- ah- need to look at the book," I'd say. He'd roll my nipple between his two fingers, his other two fingers pumping slightly faster as his lips suck at the spot just under my ear.

"You have such a good memory though," he'd say. "You can remember. Just think."

That's a lie. I have a horrible memory and we both know it. But if I say I can't, he'll pull away. Sweet and gentle, he'll go get the book and place a million kisses on my cheek before leaving me to my work and dizziness.

Next order. Next order. That's easy. It's a tart with cream on top. Cream. God, I'd like his cock in my mouth right now.

"Next order. Come on, pretty girl. I know you know it," he'd softly encourage.

"I know it," I'd moan, my head tilted back and resting on his shoulder, fucking his fingers instead of working on the cake. He feels so good, so warm and protecting. Simply smelling the traces of dill and cinnamon baked into his skin made my mind shut off, my eyes growing tired from the feeling of safety.

"I know you know it," he'd say so sweetly. "You're smart, pretty. And you've got a delicious cunt I'd love to fuck over and over if I could," he'd say softly, placing warm kisses on my neck between each point. I was panting openly now, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to remember who ordered what.

His fingers curled inside of me, making rapid 'come hither' motions fast enough to steal a soft, sudden cry fron my lips. Peetas mouth found mine, swallowing my moans and giving me some of his own.

"I may have to count down, sweet girl," he'd warn me. His fingers had found my g spot, hitting and rubbing it at rapid speed. The cuff of his sweater is soaked from me, his hand sticky and coated. I shake my head quickly, moaning and gripping the counter as best I could to keep myself standing.

"I can remember," I whimpered. Peeta laughed softly.

"I know you can, sweet girl. But look at you, you're a total mess." His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes taking in my current state. "I can't have you all dumb back here during work hours."

He's sweet but he's cruel. God, he's cruel!

"I think there's berries in it," I stammered.

"Ten," he's start patiently, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"N-no, wait! There's- There's berries and there's..." I'm completely making this up. I have no clue what's next.

"Nine," he continued, knowing this.

"That's not fair, you started low on purpose!" I whined.

"Eight." He wouldn't argue. I was right.

"It's got- got cottage cheese frosting." I'm so close, so awfully close. I can feel myself clenching around him rapidly, my pussy swallowing his fingers quicker and quicker as I climbed closer towards the edge.

"Seven." Oh, God. This motherfucker.

"Six. Come on, good girl. You can do this," he'd encourage sweetly, kissing my cheek and trailing to my collarbone with said kisses.

"They wanted flowers on the top. Violets, I remember that!" That detail is actually true, surprisingly. The candy violets were always easy to remember because I loved them so much.

"Five." His other hand kneeded my breast, admiring the soft flesh and running his thumb over my stiff, aching nipple repeatedly. "Four."

"You're speeding up," I whined. "This isn't fair."

He let out a soft 'aw,' apologizing and speeding his hands to bring me closer to the edge.

"If you can come before one, I'll fuck you right here," he promised. "You can come before one, can't you?"

I nodded stupidly, moaning and panting as I sped up my hips, slamming down on his hand repeatedly. Cake details be damned, this is my mission now.

"Three." I'm so impossibly close.

"Two."

"Wait a minute, slow down-"

"One."

With one final, cruel, hard thrust of his hand he slips away, leaving me to almost crumple to the ground and opening my eyes to blink stupidly, trying to process what just happened.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dry hand cupping my cheek and looking at me carefully with his sweet, hazel eyes.

A long, soft whine escaped me, batting my lashes as I lean against him and whisper as many 'please's as I can, pressing a dozen kisses all over him. He laughed softly, returning the kisses with whispered 'I love you's.

"Let me go get that book," he'd said. And that was that until that evening when he made up for it like he always did.

Now I was carefully removing a tiny apple pie made from leftovers meant specifically for Peeta. The rain was as bad as ever as I entered the front room, Peeta leaning on the palm of his hand while he struggled not to doze off. His long lashes flutter softly, his lips pressing against each other and his jaw a bit tight.

"Hi sleepyhead," I whisper, sneaking up behind him. He started a little, turning to look at me with the sweetest smile he has.

"Hi," he says cheerily, his voice just a touch gravely. His eyes glance down to the small treat in my hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is," I say, placing it in front of him. "Figured you could use something to warm you up. It's freezing up here."

He chuckles. "It's not that cold," he says as he picks up the fork I'd placed next to the tiny pie and began scooping some up.

"Liar," I teased. "You're shivering."

He shifts in his seat slightly. "Not from that," he says, a small blush growing on his cheeks. He takes the first bite, then another, smiling and leaning his head against my shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," he says softly. He leans in for a kiss to which I happily oblige, cupping his jaw with my left hand. His lips taste sweet, the sticky apple and cinnamon tasting delicious on him. I swipe my tongue across his lips, stealing a soft moan from him as he allows my tongue access to his mouth, melting in my hands. His hand dropped the fork, accidently missing the pan and instead hitting the counter, but neither of us care. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to silently ask me for more.

My other hand trails down to his lap, finding one of his hands already there, palming his stiff, clothed cock through his pants.

"Is this what you were doing when I came up?" I ask softly, pulling away from the kiss only a bit. He chases me, biting at my bottom lip to drag me back to him. That's a yes, then.

My tongue explores his warm mouth, tasting him while my hand traces the outline of his dick, pressing and flicking against the tip. He whines, bucking softly into my hand, desperate for more.

"Can you stay quiet?" I ask him, pulling away again. This time my hand on the back of his neck grabs his golden locks, holding him still as I look into his eyes. His cheeks are red as well as his lips, kiss swollen and damp. His breathing is heavy, his eyes blown out. Barely touched and already a beautiful mess.

"Huh?" He asks, his voice higher than usual as he tries to focus. His hand grasping my wrist, making sure to keep my hand where he can buck against it.

"If I asked you to, would you stay quiet?" I repeat gently, teasing him with kisses by leaning forward and pulling away. We both liked this.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Anything?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Anything."

Alright.

I press a quick, admittedly sloppy kiss to his lips once more before dropping to my knees and slipping under the counter. His brows furrow in confusion before he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't!" He whispers frantically. "What if someone walks in?"

"That's why I asked if you could stay quiet," I say patiently. "Can you?"

He bites his lip, obviously unsure. His eyes dart between me and the shop door, thinking.

"We can wait," I offer genuinely. This seems to be the deciding factor.

"I'll be quiet," he promises eagerly. "I've got a pie I can shove in my mouth if I can't, right?" He jokes, his smile crooked and eager as his hands work quickly to begin freeing himself. He's excited alright.

"Right," I say, taking his hands away and undoing the buttons on his pants myself. "Just keep watch of the shop, alright sweet boy?" He nods, placing his arms on the counter and trying to resume his position.

I slip his cock from the confines of his clothes, pressing a soft wet kiss to the underside along a thick vein. A quiet whine escapes him, his hand covering his mouth. I'm not truly worried about him being quiet, no one is going to come in here during such bad weather. It's just an edge to help work him into a frenzy, knowing full well he never stays quiet. I'd thought I was vocal when we started our relationship, but Peeta easily takes the cake.

His cock is warm, half hard against my lips that trail his veins. My tongue slides from his tip to his base, barely any pressure on his skin. Grazing always works best to start out with. When I reach his base I lap at his skin, blowing soft, cold air against the wet spots to make him squirm in his chair. I focus on his base for a while, sucking, licking, blowing. Ever so gently I even bite just the tiniest bit, enough for him to notice the edges of my teeth along his red, pulsing cock. His voice is soft, panting quietly.

My tongue trails slowly up his cock, exploring different ridges and spots that make him whimper quietly, working my way back to his tip which is soaked with thick, warm precum. I wrap my lips around him, swiping the moisture away with my tongue in one round sweep. I relish in the cry it tears from his throat, the dozen little apologies he whimpers immediately after. His hand covers his mouth, and the other trails down to gently cup the back of my head. I smile around him, swirling my spit around his tip as I suck gently, pressing my tongue against the underside of his dick.

His fingers play with my hair, unintentionally tugging it and apologizing as he does. I simply squeeze his thighs and begin lowering myself, taking him until his tip hits the back of my throat, taking deep, even breaths to fight off the gags that threaten to escape me.

It's when my nose buries in his soft, curly hair at his base that the bell of the front door rings.

"Hi!" Peeta says a little too quickly, a little too brightly. "Welcome to Mellarks Bakery. How may we- I help you today?"

I'm frozen, his hand gripping my hair out of anxiety. If I pull away, we'll be done. If I stay here, Peeta may very well have to make good on his promise.

Although, acting has never been a challenge for him, has it?

The customer is describing a custom tart she wants made, then pulling out a long list and prattling about this, that, and the other thing. Her accent clearly shows her as a Capitol transfer, and these orders always take forever given that they still have a hard time releasing the concept of not over indulging. But this time I don't plan on complaining.

My tongue begins to move slowly, rubbing carefully along the bottom of his cock while I watch his face carefully. He's smiling at the woman who's still going down the list, his eyes glancing at me to confirm this is what we're doing. With a small nod from me, his hand casually covers his mouth once more and he resumes focus on the woman, his other hand now guiding my head slowly, carefully.

He pulls me to the tip of his dick, working me back and forth slowly on just that spot. My tongue works quickly, my lips wrapping around him tightly to help create proper suction around him while I suck.

"Do you have pumpkin?" The woman asks.

"W- what?" Peeta asks, clearing his throat. "Oh, pumpkin. I'll admit I'm running a little low, it's been a popular request since we don't grow them locally. I've requested more but I don't know if they'll be in in time, so if you want something that uses it you'll have to get it-" his voice cracks as I deepthroat him again, swallowing around him quickly before returning myself to his tip. He clears his throat. "You'll have to reserve it right now," he finishes. I can see him quickly scoop up some of the pie, shoving it in his mouth and trying to hide his blush. It's lucky for us how oblivious Capitol born citizens are.

His hand guides me faster, focusing on fucking his tip near the back of my throat since we both know full well how hitting the back of my throat isn't an option. We can't risk any noise gagging may cause since it may not be covered up by the soft music playing on the shop speakers, a gift from Beetee for the reopening.

His pace is fast, faster than it should be. He's close, smiling at the woman and acting as though everything is normal. His large vein throbs, precum spilling out of him with each new thrust into my mouth. My hand reaches to press two digits against the soft spot behind his balls, a sensitive spot that makes him cry and squirm.

His jaw tightens as I do this, his eyes darting down daggers quickly. I can hear coins on the counter, Peeta accepting the list and opening the register. With the loud 'clank' springing forth from the older device, he takes the chance to slam my face down fully on his cock, his fingers making the coins loudly shift around as he gives the customer her change. Tears spring to my eyes from the sudden force, swallowing around him as I focus on my breathing to recover. He promises the woman he'll do what he can and wishes her a good day, and she coos sweetly. She reaches across the counter, patting his cheek and calling him a sweet boy before turning and walking out of the bakery, the bell chiming at her exit.

Peeta looks down at me, smiling brightly. "Hi," he says with a newfound excitement.

I moan around his cock. He gets it.

"You okay?" He asks, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. I make an affirming noise, trying to smile. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks, his thumbs swiping away the small tears dangling from my bottom lashes. I shake my head, swallowing around him. He moans softly, his grip tightening.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you like it when I am, don't you?" He asks, beginning to slowly pump his dick in and out of the back of my throat. I moan happily, taking him as easily as I can.

"You know how hard it was not coming down your throat with that lady in here?" He asks. "I had to edge myself so that it wouldn't become known how much I like fucking your throat."

My cunt throbs at his words, his closeness making him willing to be more rough. He starts fucking my face in earnest, tearing noises from both of our throats as he loses himself.

"Can't do that again," he pants. "Next time I'm just taking you. I don't care who walks in." He's moaning openly now, his cock abusing me. I can feel him throbbing, twitching. There's enough precum it's all I can do to focus on swallowing and breathing.

"Show this whole District how much I love you," he babbles. "I'll eat you out on this fucking counter, I don't give a fuck."

I press my heel against my clit, grinding into it to relieve some friction as my hands steady my body against his thighs. The chair underneath of him creeks horribly. If anyone walked in now, I don't even think we'd have a small second to hide what we're doing.

"I love your fucking pussy," he rambles, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Love your fucking mouth. You take me so well. So eagerly."

I moan around him, spit dribbling from my mouth, hair stuck to my face. His balls slam against my chin, his wet curls pressing against my nose as he face fucks me like a rabid animal.

"I'm gonna cum down your throat," he announces. "Then you're gonna cum down mine. Again," thrust. "And again," thrust. "Until we don't even have to make dinner from how full we'll be." Goddamn, he's close.

His hands are rough, gripping my face. "Rub your tongue harder," he commands. I do, putting as much pressure as I can on his throbbing vein. He moans loudly, leaning forward and clutching my head.

"I'm coming," he pants, his voice high and tired. "Fuck, I'm coming-!"

His warm, thick load shoots down my throat, filling my mouth so much I cant breathe if I want to swallow it all.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises. "So sweet and good, eager to make me cum." His face is pressed against the cool counter, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. His thumbs stroke my cheeks at different paces, small whimpers escaping him as I milk him dry with my mouth, making sure not a drop is left behind. When he's fully softened, I place a small kiss on his tip before tucking him back in, rebuttoning his clothes and patting his thighs one more time.

It takes a moment for me to rise, my joints stiff and my mind scrambled from the abuse it had just suffered. I stumble a little as I stand, Peeta's weak arms collecting my body and bringing me into a warm embrace.

"You're wonderful," he whispers, resting his head against my chest. I chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his messy hair.

"So are you," I say.

He looks up at me, flushed and smiling at me with the most wonderful, lazy look on his face.

"Your turn," he says, finding a new wave of surprising strength and placing me on the counter.

"Peeta, we're still open," I giggle, batting his hands away.

"I know," he says. "Did you think I was joking?"

He stares at me, smiling and eager as he begins to part my legs.

This is going to be a long night.

•《♡》•

Whoever gets second place on the poll is who I'm writing next. Feel free to send in requests for characters/scenarios! See you next time, you degenerates <3

Masterlist

#josh hutcherson #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #the hunger games peeta #peeta mellark #thg peeta #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #peeta smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch

[squoosheez]

Lavender Haze

Peeta Mellark x Reader

summary: You wake up in the bed of none other than Peeta Mellark. Frantic that you’re gonna miss your train, you recall the events of the previous night.

setting: The last night of the victor’s tour. It’s the after party and you’re completely wasted, so Peeta takes you up to his room to get cleaned up.

pairing: Peeta Mellark x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, drunk sex/dub-con, p in v, reader’s an absolute menace

notes: i didn’t put too much effort into this but i hope it’s not horrible 😭 short n sweet ig

word count: 3.1k

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

socials: ao3

You feel your head pound as you down your second Advil of the day. It’s quite evident now that you should not have gone to that after party. Another reason to support your claim is the fact you don’t know where the fuck you are.

Usually, you would’ve called yourself an Uber by now, but the pounding in your head was enough to make you stay just long enough to locate the nearest pain medication. You scan the room, trying to find any sign of where you may be. It’s definitely in the Capitol. Yesterday was the last day of the Victor's Tour, and the train doesn’t leave until.. well today. You feel panic start to set it.

The train. You completely forgot how important it was to know where you end up the morning of the after parties. The train. You spring up from the barstool and sprint back into the bedroom from whence you came.

Your heart pounds as you attempt to gather all your things. The tight, black, sequin dress you wore last night paired with some black stiletto heels. You don’t remember much, but you remember they hurt. You fumble around, reaching for your bag and not really bothering to change your clothes. That will definitely stir up your fans.

You move groggily around the room after you pick up all your belongings. As you start to make your way towards the door, you see the handle turn and hear a set of keys jingle on the other side. You take a step back as the door opens to reveal none other than Peeta Mellark.

You let out a sigh of relief as you run into his arms. He shoots you a confused look, but embraces you in his arms anyway. Before he can get a chance to speak, you drag him to the ground. He lands on top of you gracefully, giggling and laughing without knowing why.

“Oh, Peeta. I was so scared I was gonna be late, and I think I slept with a stranger last night.” You groan into his shoulders. Your words cause a piercing laugh to escape Peeta’s lips. You look up at him in confusion.

“It wasn’t a stranger,” he remarks. It all comes flooding back to you. You can’t tell whether to be relieved or panic even more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment as you think about the consequences of your own actions.

You gently slam your head against his marble countertops and make a loud noise that can only be described as a wail. Your dramatics are not making Peeta feel any better about the situation. He is sitting on the couch, watching the screen attentively while you rethink your entire life decisions.

Through all the blurred vision and distorted noise you recall happened last night, you finally start to remember what exactly had happened after the party.

It was a normal after party, except much more extravagant. It was the after party after you visited the presidential mansion. The party with the president was nothing less than over the top, but it still seemed very strict. You had to put on a good show and pretend like you were enjoying yourself the whole time, despite experiencing quite the opposite.

The after party was much more laid back. More drinking, less talking. You danced until your legs couldn’t hold you up, which ultimately led to Peeta carrying you up the stairs and to his bedroom. His bedroom?

He laid you on the bed and started to run you a bath. You squirmed around trying to decipher whose bed you were in. You heard the running water and decided it’d be nice to take a bath. That’s when you felt the vomit stirring up in your stomach. And in just a second, it’s out of your stomach and ruining Peeta’s brand new sheets.

He immediately rushed into the room and lifted you up, trying to keep you from completely coating yourself in puke. He sighed hard and had you sit on the toilet while he cleaned the mess you so generously made.

Alcohol poisoning was not unfamiliar to you, with all the parties in the Capitol, this was a normal occurrence. Peeta doesn’t enjoy cleaning up after you, but you’re his best friend, so he puts up with it. Though, you’re almost as bad as Haymitch at this point.

Once he’s finished stripping the bed and putting a set of fresh new sheets on it, he returns his attention towards you. You’re mumbling something barely audible and Peeta gives you a laugh in response. Due to your puking incident, he didn't want to put you in the bath first. He grabs the shower head off of the shower and ushers you into the shower.

You whined, thinking you were gonna get a bath. Before he gets the chance to ask you, you’re struggling to discard your clothes. Your shirt is stuck on your arm, and he just giggles at your useless attempt. His hands help to lift the shirt above your head, revealing your curvy figure and shimmery skin. You murmur something about staring and he gives you a forced laugh in return. He then softly asks you if you can remove your pants, in which you have no shame in doing. It makes his face grow red and his ears grow hot.

He turns on the water, and allows you to rinse yourself off at first. This quickly goes to shit when you try to spray him in the face. He wipes the water from his face, and discards himself off his sopping wet shirt.

You’re a giggling mess as Peeta hoses you down, your body barely being able to stay up against the wall of the shower. Once Peeta decides he’s gotten all the puke off, he escorts you towards the bath. Your body sinks in and the warm water feels so good on your skin.

Peeta reaches over to grab a clean plastic cup. He scoops up some water and instructs you to close your eyes. He pours the water over your head, wetting down your hair so he can wash it. He squirts a bit of shampoo onto his hand and rubs it gently into your scalp. He does the same with the conditioner on the ends of your hair. He takes the cup again and rinses the suds out of your hair. You look up at him every now and then, giving him a beautiful smile that always gives him butterflies.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says as he finishes rinsing the last of the soap out of your hair. You grab a bar of soap and begin to rub it over your body, but you get tired halfway through. You place the soap on the side of the bath closest to him, assuming he would take it and finish scrubbing you.

His breath hitches. He looks at you with a disappointed look on his face. “I can’t help you here. You can do it,” he encourages. Obviously, since you’re drunk, you take this statement as he doesn’t want to help you and wants to leave you here completely defenseless. Tears well up in your eyes and you choke on your tears. Small sniffles can be heard as Peeta immediately tries to comfort you.

He whispers reassuring words in your ear as you continue to cry. He decides against making you wash yourself and just helps you out of the bath. He grabs a towel and dries off your hair before wrapping it around your body. You shiver at the cold air hitting your wet skin, but you’ve stopped crying. So that’s a plus.

His hands guide you onto his bed, most of the guests have already left. The music volume has decreased greatly and only faint conversation can be heard. Peeta just hopes no one comes up here with you laying in his bed.

For some reason, you’re still wide awake. You wait to feel Peeta’s warmth climb into bed beside you to fall asleep, but he’s taking way too long for your liking. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and make your way over to the closet. Without even bothering to ask if he’s in there, you pull the door wide open to reveal Peeta’s almost naked body. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers while he tries to pick out a pajama shirt.

Your cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of red. He quickly shuts the door back and throws the first shirt he sees over his head. When he opens the door again, you’re sitting in front of the closet with tears running down your face. He immediately crouches down to be on your level. He wipes a tear from your cheek and speaks softly. “Hey, It’s okay. You wanna head to bed?”

You nod and let him pick you up and carry you onto the bed, placing you there gently. You feel your body relax as he climbs into the bed next to you. He allows you to lay your head on his shoulder as he turns the TV on. He watches as you drift off into a soft sleep.

Later in the night, Peeta awakes to find you moving around in your sleep. Tossing and turning, mumbling words that he can’t quite make out. It’s not until he hears you breathe out his name that he comprehends what’s happening. He curses under his breath.

Your body is facing him, the towel slipping off your figure as you continue to squirm around. He debates waking you up or just letting you enjoy your dream. He takes a deep breath in, feeling his own arousal building in the pit of the stomach. It feels so wrong to watch you like this, so he wakes you up.

You hear his voice whisper gently and your eyes flutter open. You let out a whimper of disappointment when you realize your dream is finished. The disappointment slowly fades away at the sight of Peeta. You smile and place a messy kiss directly on his lips. His eyes widen at the action.

He lets the kiss linger before breaking it gently. Your eyes are fixated on his lips and his biceps. You let out an involuntary whimper in the absence of his lips. All you can manage to say is name.

Peeta groans against the crook in your neck. His breath is warm against your cold skin and it sends shivers down your spine. You can still feel the lingering effects of intoxication as his hands travel up and down your body. You allow his eyes and hands to explore every inch of your body he can as you indulge in the sensation.

“Peeta,” you whisper softly. His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Yeah?” He says quietly. You bite your lip as you feel your arousal swelling in your lower stomach, heat radiating from in between your legs.

“Touch me,” your voice shakes as you look up at him with pleading eyes. His expression is tense. He wants it so bad, but it feels wrong. He wants you to want him when you're sober. He wishes you would ask him these things when you’re not drunk.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Almost every time you get drunk Peeta cleans you up and holds you close and you try to get in his pants. Every time, he tells you no. Usually you take it pretty well, but for some reason you seem extra emotional today. He fears what may happen if he denies your request.

It’s an inner conflict for a moment before you decide to take matters into your own hands. Your hands travel down from his chest to the band of his boxers. He bites his lip as your body moves in closer. The towel is slowly slipping off your frame and it’s much different from how you looked when he was bathing you.

There’s a hunger in your eyes. Dark and cold. Your lips connect again and you can still taste the traces of tequila in his mouth, he’s far less drunk than you are, but the taste makes you long for more. You completely discard yourself off the towel. You have zero intentions of dragging this out.

You flip around, landing on top of him. Your hips straddling his thighs like they were made for him to be in between them. He’s completely taken aback by your movements, and he doesn’t even try to stop you anymore. You grind your hips against the growing bulge in his boxers, soaking them with your dripping arousal.

Peeta mumbles curses every now and then while you continue to grind relentlessly into him. You pull him in for once last sloppy kiss before he takes matters into his own hands. He pulled you towards him, immediately suctioning one of your nipples into his mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. You let out a loud gasp as his hand roams freely on your body. They make their way to your throbbing clit, giving it the long awaited attention it deserves. Your back arches and you let out another loud moan at the action.

“Fuck me, Peeta.” Your words slur together, reminding him you’re still intoxicated. He buries the shame of his desires deep down and gives you a small smirk.

His hands travel down towards your ass, giving it a hard slap (that definitely left a mark). Your chest heaves as his hands squeeze and grip at your ass, and all you can think about is taking him so deep.

“Of course, baby.” He responds, his breath shaky and far from stable. You scoot up to give him room to slip off his underwear. He pulls them down to his ankles and you can feel his erection spring up to hit your ass. You smile as you breathe out another soft moan.

You move back to your previous position, his cock hitting your stomach with every small movement. You give him a couple strokes, watching as his expression grows more needy. Your thumb traces over his slit, earning a lewd whimper from Peeta’s throat. You lean over placing yet another kiss on his neck, sucking a dark hickey on his pale skin.

You position him near your entrance, sliding his cock back and forth between your folds, teasing him ever so slightly. He lets out a hiss as you finally sink yourself down on him. Your back arches as his cock fills you to the brim, legs shaking while you try to hold yourself up.

The room is filled with ah’s and mm’s as you pick yourself up and slam yourself back down onto him. He hits your g-spot, but only softly with very little effort. His hands guide your hips in a circular motion. He grits his teeth as you let out a moan that can only be described and slutty when he slams straight into your sweet spot. Tears well up in your eyes as your hand moves to circle your swollen clit.

Peeta gives your ass another slap, causing a string of profanities to slur out of your mouth. Your whole body feels like it’s floating. The pleasure is unimaginable. His sweaty blonde hair sticks to his forehead and you watch as he fucks up into you, letting small groans escape his lips occasionally. “You’re so tight,” Peeta hisses.

Your moans echo throughout the room, flooding Peeta’s head with the sounds of your pleasure. He feels the bubbling in his stomach grow stronger when he feels your walls clench around him. He curses under his breath and continues to use his hands to force you down on him.

Tears, drool, and sweat drip down your face, creating a mixture that cannot taste good. Peeta doesn’t mind. He pulls you down and connects your lips in a sloppy, wet, unorganized kiss. You don’t know how he manages to do it. He drives you crazy with every movement and you cannot get enough of it.

He continues to pound into you, your knees lock and you let him fuck you as hard as he can. A few shrill moans leave his throat as his climax approaches rapidly. You feel the same, your moans becoming much more erratic and louder. His thrusts become sloppy and less careful. He speeds up and your back arches as you feel his cock pulsate inside you.

“Peeta- I’m gonna, fuck—” you barely manage to give him a warning before your orgasm takes over. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you swear you see stars. Peeta’s face is concentrated, beads of sweat pouring down his chin, needy moans escaping from behind his lips.

He can feel his own orgasm building as you grab onto his biceps for support. It’s all too much and more tears stream down your face as the overstimulation sets in. You feel his body tense up and he pulls out as fast as you’ve seen any guy pull out. He gives himself a few fast strokes before cumming all over your tits. “Jesus.”

Peeta almost collapses on top of you, stopping himself before he accidentally crushes you. He locks your lips in a gentle kiss this time, not as messy or needy as before. He gives your nose and forehead a matching kiss as well. He brushes your hair behind your ears and you shoot him a ridiculous smile. The last thing you wanna do right now is move. You close your eyes as Peeta walks over to the bathroom. You hear the sink running and can only assume he’s wetting down a rag.

You’re right, of course. He places the rag in between your breasts, wiping away any of the cum residue he left there before placing another kiss right in between them. You giggle softly and pull him down towards you.

Your cheeks flush read at the sight of a completely fucked out Peeta Mellark. You feel a little proud of yourself as he swoops in for one last kiss before pulling you closer. You fall asleep knowing you’re in the arms of the man you feel most safe with.

That’s when you’re snapped back into reality. Peeta rushing around the room frantically trying to gather all his things and Peeta calling to alert the two of you the train’s arriving in twenty minutes. Your face is hot and you’re clearly embarrassed at the acts of your drunk self, but Peeta just seems to try to ignore them.

You try to regain control of your thoughts when Peeta breaks the silence. “Everything alright?” His voice is sincere and coarse. Just like it was that night.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

#peeta mellark #peeta x reader #peeta smut #peeta mellark smut #peeta x y/n #alternate universe #you’re besties #lavender haze #wet dream #p in v

[bugcuti3]

Every time Peeta is described as “stocky” with “wide shoulders” a fairy gets its wings 🤭

This is based off a scene from @artdivadej ‘s Hunger Games FanFic called “survivor’s remorse” WHICH I LOVE❤️❤️

#peeta mellark #artists on tumblr #digital art #fanart #josh hutcherson #my art #jhutch #the hunger games #josh futturman #mike schmidt #peeta fanfic #peeta x reader #katniss and peeta #thg fanart #thg #peeta x y/n #peeta is my wife #Peeta

[yakulin]

You made the bed ..

a/n: I sorta wanna make this a series! I’ll think about it, hopefully I don’t loose interest! Also this is not proofread :o

Prompt: Peeta helps you with grieving after the war

After the war your prayers and begging for your family to return safe were fallen into deaf ears, returning back to district 12 has been anything but good.

“You can’t stay in bed all day, come on, get up” Peeta insisted as he went besides you, putting one of his hands beneath your back and the other beneath your legs as he picked you bridal style. Although his own family didn’t survive either, he was still trying to live in the present, and you just couldn’t anymore.

“Just a few more minutes” she begged, but he denied. Taking her off to the kitchen and sitting her down on one of the chairs. “You can’t be like this forever, please just try, not for me but for yourself” Peeta asked as he pecked your cheek before setting down a plate of food. Her eyes were dull, they had lost their sparkle long ago but something about them recently felt different. “I’m just tired” she insisted, but he knew it was more than that

“You’ve been tired ever since we got back from district 13, you know it’s more than that now.” He stated, walking to the kitchen counter as he began to make you coffee. “You know.. caffeine does nothing to me right?” You reminded, he set his hands down flat on the counter. “Yeah.. I’m just..” he began, his composure dropping. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for making him go through all of this, he had his own problems as well, was she just making it all about herself?

“I’ll try it.. its been a while since I’ve had it, maybe it’ll have a different affect on me now” she insisted, staring at his back as he continued to make the coffee. She looked back down at her plate, grabbing the fork as she began to eat the vegetables he had cooked.

He soon walked over and placed the coffee next to her plate, he watched as she ate. She swallowed her food before speaking, “I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have you worry about me like this” she said, refusing to look at him in the face. “Don’t apologize” he said, taking the fork from your hand as he began to feed you.

Haymitch was right, you truly wouldn’t ever be able to deserve Peeta, not in a single universe, life or timeline.

Once you had finished both your food and coffee. You noticed that coffee still had no effect on you, unsurprising outcome but you couldn’t help but feel guilty about it.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen the garden outside” he noted. “You want to go see it with me?” He added, she hesitated to answer as she looked everywhere but him. It had been a while since she’d been outside at all, hunting was no longer needed for them to get food. She hadn’t even touched her bow, it was most likely collecting dust somewhere around the house.

“Sure” she said, finally making eye contact with him. Standing up from the chair, her posture sluggish and tired. She really didn’t want to go, in fact all she wanted was to lay in bed but she can’t stand being so neglectful of him.

He lead you outside towards the garden, he had planted the flowers himself. It was obvious he was rather proud of it. “They’re beautiful” she sighed out, as she crouched down slightly as she touched the flower petals, leaning in close and smelling them. She smiled lightly.

Peeta couldn’t help but smile as you smelled the flowers. “Yeah they are” he responded, not focusing on the flowers of his garden at all but instead how perfectly the sun hit your features, the small but still yet visible smile on your face. How he’s missed it.

#thg x reader #thg peeta #thg rp #thg #thg series #x reader #peeta supremacy #peeta mellark x reader #peeta x reader #the hunger games peeta #i love peeta #peeta mellark #team peeta #peeta x y/n #peeta x you #peeta my beloved #the hunger games #jhutch #josh hutcherson #josh futturman

[gtgbabie0]

-Peeta Mellark x reader

{You and Peeta bake… more or less}

It’s short and sweet, Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The sun was beginning to set, its warm orangey light stretches over the horizon and filters through the kitchen window, peaking through the curtains as Peeta works the dough under his palms. You were meant to be helping, but instead, you stood admiring him as he works under the warm evening sun, the light dusting against his skin.

Peeta can feel your eyes on him, and he smiles to himself turning to you. “Are you gonna help me, or just keep ogling at me?” He chuckles as he continues to knead the dough under his palms.

You scoff shaking your head as you snap out of your trance. “I was not ogling… I was admiring there’s a huge difference” you tell him, flicking some of the flour up at him as he tries to dodge it. You reach over to pick up another pinch of flour but his hip nudges against yours, pushing you away gently as you giggle.

“Hey… there are rules to the kitchen you know?” He says, looking over at you as his blond hair falls just above his eye, you reach over to push his soft locks away and he gives you an appreciative smile.

You frown softly, deciding to humour him. “Oh yeah, and what are the rules?” You ask, watching him as he washes his hand before turning back to you.

“Well for one… no ogling at the baker and secondly no throwing ingredients” he smirks as you roll your eyes shaking your head softly, he picks the dough up carefully placing it in the bread pan.

There’s a comforting atmosphere that blankets over the pair of you, it’s in the smell of the freshly baked bread and the way Peeta looks at you. It’s everywhere hidden within the walls of the house and stored in the pictures that are displayed.

You stand beside Peeta as he washes up the dishes while you dry them. “Could you get that baby?” He asks softly, his hands still scrubbing the bowls as he nods down to his sleeve that has fallen down to his forearm, you reach over to pull it back up to his elbow and he whispers a small ‘thank you’

The pair of you finish up with the dishes, waiting for the bread to finish cooking. The pair of you sit on the sofa. Your head rests against his shoulder as you lean into his warm touch. His hand slips into yours, and his thumb caresses your palm gently. It’s hard to fight the sleep that creeps upon you, especially since he’s warm and gentle, everything about him soothes you.

“Don’t fall asleep angel” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he feels your body lean further into him. His hand soothes against your arm, trying to keep you awake, but it has the complete opposite effect.

“M’not… I’m wide awake” you mumble, sleep lacing through your tone and Peeta can’t help but chuckle. Before he can respond the timer is ringing from the kitchen, and the smell of bread travels through the house.

Peeta stands up, stretching slightly before looking back at you. “Stay awake for me baby” he says as you sit up giving him an unconvincing nod before he disappears into the kitchen.

It doesn’t take long for him to come back with a plate of warm golden bread. He places it on the coffee table, breaking a piece off before handing it to you, with a hopeful look that flashes through his eyes as he watches you take a bite.

“It’s perfect… as always” you smile, reaching over to take another piece of the sweet-tasting bread.

“You know there’s another rule to the kitchen,” Peeta says, sitting down next to you on the sofa with a knowing look.

There’s a soft smirk that adorns your lips as you turn to him, raising your eyebrows slightly. “Mhm… and what’s that?” you ask.

“You gotta pay the baker” he smiles and you roll your eyes, shaking your head softly as you whisper. “Right of course how could I forget” leaning to press a gentle kiss to his lips, his hand resting against your cheek as his fingertips graze along your jaw.

You can’t help but smile against his lips, breaking the kiss as he pulls away with a soft look in his eyes… as if you were everything he ever needed and truth be told you were.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

#peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark drabble #peeta mellark blurb #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark oneshot #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark fanfiction #peeta x reader #peeta x y/n #peeta x you #peeta fanfic #peeta imagine #thg peeta #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fluff #the hunger games peeta #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fic #the hunger games #peeta my beloved #thg fanfiction #thg fic

[seduzist]

can I please request a blurb of what if the roles were reversed during Mockingjay PT 1 and 2 where the reader was taken by the Capitol instead of Peeta and when the reader is rescued, they are hijacked to be afraid of Peeta? I would imagine Peeta would try his best to help the reader remember what’s “real” or not real and be incredibly patient during this process :) tysm

you looked at the boring looking food on your lap, no much colors and not very appealing like the ones in capitol, but still much better than no food at all.

when you were about to eat - with the one arm that wasn’t tied up to the hospital bed, you heard the door opening, immediately turning the attention mode inside you, looking directly at the door, trying to be ready for any possible danger, but how could you, tied up to a hospital bed like a criminal?

peeta comes in, pain in his eyes watching your state, deep eyes, with so many pounds lost, black and purple bruises all over your body, dry lips and a scared expression on your face, it almost made him cry, but the boy keeps his composure and took a deep breath, coming closer to you.

your whole body entered the full defensive mode, and of course peeta noticed that, even though he couldn’t believe when katniss and haymitch told him snow turned you in a weapon, that he changed everything you knew about peeta, about your love for him, that you were confused and scared, that you were supposed to fear him, to kill him, now, he knew deep inside that was very possible for capitol to do such a cruel thing.

“y/n…” he whispers, feeling his own voice fail.

“i don’t want you here, who sent you here?” your voice sounded harsh, confident, threatened.

“i… i just wanna talk to you, i’ll be quick, i promise you.” everything he say is a lie. you told yourself. a lie can’t hurt me. you let him proceed. “i know what happened, i know what they said, that i don’t love you, that i’m the monster.” tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he spoke. manipulator. “but i’m not, you-you don’t remember but i love you, and you love me too, y/n.” he stops for a moment, waiting for you to say anything, but nothing comes out your mouth, your expression doesn’t even change a bit. he sighs. “it’s okay, i just wanted you to know that i’m not giving up on you, i’ll help you remember everything, and i know that you’ll love me again. you’ll remember what’s real or not.”

when he was about to leave, trying his best to stop his tears from flowing down, he heard your small voice.

“your favorite color is orange.” he looks at you, a smile starting to form on his lips. “real or not real?”

“real.”

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #the hunger games peeta #thg peeta #peeta x reader #peeta smut #peeta mallark x reader #peeta x y/n #peeta x you #peeta mellark x you #x fem!reader #fem!reader #the hunger games #maddy’s thoughts

[cloudywriting05]

enjoy the silence. ｡˚⋆☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆ peeta mellark. {1}

→ THG peeta x fem-reader 3 parts.

→ 1, 2, 3

→ may be grammar errors

→ tw: mainly fluff, mentions of anxiety, some 18+ content, partial smut etc.

→ summary: you and peeta are the district 12 tributes for the 74th annual hunger games. you have severe anxiety, and peeta knows how to calm you down, somehow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

You stared aimlessly out of the window hoping, wishing, something or someone would come and save you from your situation. Looking down at the Capitol buildings, inside of the apartments, wondering what your life would've been like had you been one of them instead. Your eyes continued to wander.

The Capitol looked peaceful at night, but it did not bring you an ounce of comfort. You knew you were going to die in that arena in 8 days, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The thought of your own gruesome death made your heart speed up, along with your body temperature. Your breaths became quicker and suddenly you found yourself holding your chest, begging yourself to stop the incoming attack.

"Hey."

The familiar voice startled you. You turned around and met eyes with Peeta, your fellow tribute. "Oh, hey. What're you doing in here?"

"I just wanted to check in on you, you seemed really out of it at the table."

"I'm fine, I'm just– I'm thinking right now."

"About what?" He asked, still standing in the doorway.

"Come here and look at this." You said. He silently agreed and made his way towards you. He propped himself right beside you and stared out the window patiently.

"What am I looking at?"

"Look at those apartments. They get to go to sleep at night knowing they'll never have to experience what we're about to go through, I'm mad about it."

"Some people are just born lucky and ignorant. They don't have any original or real life experiences and, I'd rather die in the games than like that."

"They're gonna watch me die in a couple of days." you felt that pit in your stomach again by the end of the sentence. Your body tensed up and your heartbeat sped up without any hesitation. Your inhaling got louder and suddenly your hand was right back on your chest.

Peeta's head shot towards you, "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna die." You dropped to the floor in a squat and held the sides of your head. You couldn't contain your tears and within an instant, you were a mess. Your head buried between your thighs, and every realisation hitting you like a brick in that exact moment. You were gonna die, and every way that it was possible would not stop running through your head.

You felt arms embrace you. "Listen to me, breathe, it's okay."

"Peeta, I'm gonna die."

"No, you're not. I promise you, you're not. Sh, sh, look outside for me." His hand caressed the top of your head, encouraging you to follow his words. Your watery eyes opened to the view of the Capitol once again. "It's quiet, the entire Capitol is silent. It's never like this."

You sniffled quietly, he was completely right. "It never is, they made so much noise when we came."

"I know, it's silent for us. Enjoy it while we can." You peered up at him, he was already glancing down at you.

It was never like you, never in your character to randomly kiss anyone but in that moment, in that time; it felt right. You slowly leaned, hoping to God he would lean right back. And so he did. You felt his lips press softly against yours. You pulled away suddenly and sprang to your feet as fast as you could.

"This is insane."

"What? Did I do something? I'll leave, I'm sorry." He apologised, his eyebrows furrowed.

"No, it's fine, Peeta. You didn't do anything, it's me. I just kissed you after barely speaking to you back home, it's selfish and weird of me."

He picked himself off the floor right after and stood across from you. "Selfish, how? I've wanted that to happen for the past seven years of my life. Don't act like you don't know how I felt about you before we got here, I made it clear."

"I know, and that's why it's selfish. I don't wanna kiss you because of the situation we're in right now, because I know I wouldn't be able to bring myself to do it back home. It's not like me, Peeta."

"I know how you're like. You would panic over what bread to choose back home for your family. All I could think about while we got here is if you were gonna panic and die on me in the train. Look, If you need space, I'll step out, okay?"

"No. Stay here with me. Please?"

"Always."

Within minutes, you were resting on with Peeta. Your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. His heartbeat calming yours. You didn't want to think about how this was temporary, or the wasted opportunities back home. You were here with him now, he calmed you down and now you're okay.

"Peeta."

"Yeah?" He replied.

"Can we try and win?" You asked. Not for your district, not for anyone, but because you wanted more nights like these. In his embrace, talking to him like this.

"Of course, of course."

#peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #thg #thg series #peeta x reader #peeta x y/n #peeta x katniss #peeta smut #the hunger games peeta #josh hutcherson #Spotify

[pixiexdusts-world]

Incorrect Quote

Finnick: I sleep with a gun under my pillow.

Katniss: I sleep with a knife.

Peeta: Both of you are pathetic.

Finnick: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Peeta: Y/n.

#incorrect quotes #incorrect thg quotes #the hunger games incorrect quotes #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games peeta #the hunger games movie #the hunger games #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #peeta x y/n #peeta x you #peeta x reader #peeta the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick x peeta #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #katniss everdeen x you #katniss everdeen x reader #katniss x you #katniss x y/n #katniss x reader #katniss x peeta

[soulofapatrick]

Steadfast Sanctuary - Peeta Mellark x Female Reader 

Summary: You have a nightmare and Peeta is there to help you through it

Words: 1.8k

Y/N’s POV

The arena unfurls before me like a macabre canvas, a haunting tapestry of memories etched in pain and survival. The 75th Hunger Games, that unforgiving stage that nearly claimed my existence, manifests once again in vivid hues. My fingers tighten around a makeshift blade, a crude and desperate attempt at defence, carved from a jagged shard of metal.

Cannons echo in the distance, a grim symphony marking the fate of those who dared to seize resources from the cornucopia. Each reverberation pounds against my chest, the rhythmic thud of a heart burdened with the imminent spectre of doom. I falter at the edge of a stagnant pond, its waters a murky mirror reflecting the desolation that surrounds me. The feeble rays of light filtering through the canopy paint a sickly sheen upon its surface.

In an eerie dance, the water coils and rises, a grotesque ballet choreographed by unseen forces. Twisting tendrils form macabre visages, grotesque echoes of fallen tributes—faces contorted in anguish and despair. Their silent screams pierce the air, an icy grip seizing my veins with terror. Desperation propels me to turn away, to flee this haunting spectacle, yet my feet betray me, ensnared in the nightmare's merciless hold.

From the depths emerges a spectral hand, skeletal and ethereal, reaching out with phantom fingers extended—an invitation or a warning, I cannot discern. Its silent plea beckons, a macabre summons to join the chorus of the departed. Horror seizes my senses, a scream clawing its way from the depths of my throat, a cacophony echoing through the desolate terrain.

Abruptly, I’m torn from the clutches of that harrowing vision, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat. Reality feels tenuous, a delicate thread woven between the tendrils of the dream and the anchor of the present. Peeta's voice pierces through the fog, a distant lighthouse guiding me back to the shores of wakefulness. Struggling against the dream's residue, I attempt to tether myself to the present, to sever the haunting tendrils that cling mercilessly to my senses.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe,” Peeta’s voice, a soothing melody, washes over me. His touch is gentle as he brushes strands of hair from my forehead, a gesture both comforting and grounding. I struggle to anchor myself in the present, to shake off the lingering tendrils to that haunting dreams. 

My fingers instinctively seek purchase, clutching at Peeta’s arm as if its the sole lifeline tethering me to reality. His presence is a steadfast anchor amidst the storm of lingering terror. With each word, his voice seems to carve a path through the fog, gradually guiding me away from the haunting remnants of the dreadful dream. 

Peeta responds to my struggle with unwavering patience, coaxing me gently to sit upright. The coolness of the room contrasts sharply with the lingering hear of the nightmare, but his touch is a comforting warmth against my skin. His steady guidance helps regulate my breathing, his had a reassuring weight on my back, rising and falling in rhythm with erratic gasps for air. 

As I attempt to wrestle free from the tendrils of fear that cow around my consciousness, Peeta’s calm presence remains a beacon of solace. His gaze, a soft azure amidst the shadows, holds a silent promise of safety and understanding. 

“Hey, baby, focus on your breath,” He murmurs, his voice a soothing whisper against the chaos in my mind. His hand rests over mine, guiding it gently to his chest, urging me to feel the steady thud of his heart. I press my palm against the comforting rhythm, seeking refuge in the tangible assurance of his existence, a living testament to the present. 

In synchrony with his heartbeat, I attempt to steady my own tumultuous rhythm, finding solace in the simple act of feeling his pulse beneath my palm. Peeta's unwavering presence and the reassuring cadence of his heart serve as a lifeline, gently guiding me back to the calm shores of wakefulness.

Peeta makes a move to rise, perhaps intending to give me space or fetch something to soothe the residual tremors of the nightmare, but a sudden surge of panic grips me. Instinctively, I tug at his arm, a silent plea not to leave my side. He hesitates, his eyes reflecting concern and empathy, before heading my unspoken request. 

As Peeta hesitates in response to my unspoken plea, I feel a surge of panic, a silent but urgent need for him to stay. His eyes, pools of concern and empathy, seem to comprehend he unspoken turmoil within me. Without a word, his decision is made. With a tender understanding, Peeta shuffles closer, his movements deliberate yet gentle, as though he’s afraid I might break. He eases into the bed beside me, our bodies naturally gravitating towards each other. There’s a subtle, unspoken language in the way we fit together, an effortless dance of limbs finding their perfect place.

As he envelops me in his embrace, I'm cocooned in a warmth that transcends the physical. His arms, a fortress of safety, draw me closer, and I instinctively respond, seeking solace in the proximity of his comforting presence. The faint scent of freshly baked bread still lingers on his skin, a familiar fragrance that intertwines with the essence of safety and home. His breath, a gentle rhythm against my hair, mirrors the steadiness of his heartbeat, both a symphony of reassurance.

In this shared intimacy, I'm reminded of the depth of emotions I harbour for Peeta. The way his mere presence can quell the tempest raging within me reignites a myriad of feelings—gratitude, affection, and a love that had never truly faded, only lay dormant beneath the surface. As we squeeze closer together, his closeness sparks a familiar warmth within me, reigniting a flame that had never truly extinguished. The subtle brush of his skin against mine, the synchronised rise and fall of our breaths, kindles a fire of emotion—a reminder of the bond we share, resilient in the face of trials and nightmares.

Peeta's face, bathed in the soft glow of the room, holds an ethereal quality, a blend of concern and tender reassurance. Without conscious thought, I find myself gently pulling back, yearning to see the familiar contours of his features—the sincerity in his eyes and that gentle curve of his lips. 

As I meet his gaze, his eyes, a reflection of concern and unwavering support, seem to hold an unspoken understanding. There's a magnetic pull drawing me to him, an inexplicable need to bridge the gap between us, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. 

My hand rises, guided by an instinct I can't fully comprehend, and caresses the softness of his cheek. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips, a canvas that has weathered its own storms, yet bears a resilience that captivates me. The gentle brush of my thumb over his bottom lip elicits a hitch in his breath, a subtle reaction that sends a shiver through me, awakening a stirring within. Something stirs deep within my chest at the vulnerable tenderness reflected in his eyes. His breath, caught in a moment of anticipation, hangs between us, charged with unspoken emotions. The way his gaze softens, the way his breath hitches at my touch—it's as if the connection between us hums with an unspoken language, a dance of emotions that transcends words.

In the delicate interlude between us, a silent understanding blossoms, an unspoken dialogue that resonates deeper than words could convey. The air crackles with anticipation, a palpable tension that hangs between our shared gaze and the tender brush of my thumb against his lips. 

Without warning, Peeta leans in, a gentle yet decisive movement that bridges the last remaining space between us. His lips meet mine in a soft, tender kiss—a gesture brimming with a depth of emotion that transcends the physical realm. It’s a caress, a whisper of reassurance, and an affirmation of something profound that stirs between us. The touch of his lips against mine is a gentle awakening, a surge of emotions that floods my senses. His kiss feels like a delicate embrace, a promise of unwavering support and affection. It's a tender affirmation that I am something valuable, something to be cherished and loved, sparking a warmth that radiates from the depths of my being. 

His hands find their place with a tender certainty, one cradling the curve of my cheek with a tenderness that belies the rough calluses and strength beneath. The other settles at the small of my back, a grounding touch that speaks volumes of protection and stability. Despite the softness of his touch, there's a subtle roughness to his hands, a testament to the hardships endured—a reminder of his resilience and determination. 

As our kiss lingers, the warmth of his touch and the gentle pressure of his lips convey a myriad of unspoken sentiments. It's an embrace of shared solace, an unspoken promise of standing together amidst the turmoil. In this intimate connection, I feel not just desired but truly seen—a profound validation that ignites a longing for more, a yearning to deepen this unspoken bond that seems to resonate within every fibre of our beings. \

As our kiss softens into a tender embrace, Peeta draws me closer, enveloping me in the warmth of his arms. I lean into the comforting stronghold of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my cheek—a rhythmic reassurance that anchors me in the present moment.

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, a gentle caress that speeds volumes of his unwavering care and affection. It's a silent vow etched in that tender gesture—a promise of steadfast support and enduring presence in the face of whatever challenges lie ahead. With a whisper barely audible, he reassures me, "I'll always be here, for you." His words carry the weight of a solemn pledge, resonating with a depth of sincerity that brings solace to the uncertainties that once lingered. 

In the cocoon of his embrace, I find a sanctuary, a haven where vulnerabilities are embraced and fears are gently soothed. The reassurance in his words echoes a profound truth—a comforting reminder that amidst the chaos of our world, I have found a sanctuary in his unwavering presence, a safe harbour in the tempest.

Peeta's promise lingers in the air, a beacon of unwavering support that alleviates the shadows of doubt. In this tender moment, wrapped in the shelter of his arms, I feel a renewed sense of strength and an unspoken resolve to face whatever trials await—knowing that his steadfast devotion will always be a guiding light through the darkest of times.

The Hunger Games Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#hunger games #the hunger games #catching fire #the mockingjay #Peeta Mellark #Peeta Mellark x reader #Peeta Mellark x you #Peeta Mellark x y/n #Peeta Mellark fluff #Peeta Mellark smut #Peeta Mellark angst #Peeta Mellark hunger games #peeta x reader #Peeta x you #Peeta x y/n #Peeta smut #Peeta fluff #Peeta angst #josh hutcherson

[ilguna]

|expired medicine!|

peeta mellark, 89. 💚

☼ castaway (Peeta Mellark) ☼

warnings; swearing.

wc; 2.8k

prompt; 89. castaway au

—

The weather this past week has been nothing short of hot and miserable. No matter where you go, or how many layers you take off, you can’t escape the heat, much less the humidity. After being out here so long, you think you would’ve learned that, but you can’t help hoping this year’s going to be different.

It’s summer again.

You used to like the summertime, and spring too. You liked the way the world around you would slowly come back to life after a particularly harsh winter. The barren trees sudden were full and green, the flowers opening up to blossom, and warm rain on cool nights.

Every summer, you would go somewhere new between school years. You’d take programs to learn during the months you had off from college. They were great opportunities, you could furthen your research, while also learning a new culture and exploring a country you wouldn’t have imagined going to otherwise.

It was hard to like it the first time you did it, but by the time you got back home in Panem, you couldn’t help wanting to go across the ocean again. You missed it, the life you left. So, the following year you reapplied with friends, and you kept doing it until the accident happened.

Well, it’s safe to say you won’t be traveling ever again.

You adjust the handmade bag on your shoulder, swinging it further back to slip through a shortcut you’ve started to imprint off of this path. The original path is nice if you’re trying to go to the other side of the island, but you’re looking for the beach nearby.

It would probably be easier if you ripped up the plants. You don’t have the energy to do that, though. You’d rather they learned naturally after being trampled on a couple hundred times. You have been walking down this area more often, and it’s because there’s been a sudden influx of driftwood, which you’ve been in need of.

You could always try to take down trees, the issue is that it’s time consuming without a useful weapon. You have large rocks that have taken you weeks, if not months, to sharpen to use to descale fish efficiently. You’ll be damned if you dull it—or worse, break it—from swinging it into tree bark.

With the beach in sight, you begin to pull your bag off to set in the shade to keep your water from becoming warm. The second you step foot into the treeline, you stop to stare at what’s on the beach, laying between sand and water.

It’s a person, a man, actually. He’s got blonde hair that’s sticking to the top of his head and his neck. A shredded white shirt, torn black slacks, he’s miraculously still got both his shoes on. He’s pale, his lips are a gentle shade of blue, you watch as his chest rises and falls.

He’s alive.

You move forward, brushing the hair out of your face to get a better look at the boy that’s washed up on the beach. In all your years of being here, you’ve never come across another person, or had one show up at your doorstep.

Just by looking at him, you can see that he’s begun to get sunburnt. There’s no telling how long he could’ve been out here for. The redness on his skin is a pretty telling sign that it’s been a good few hours, as early as this afternoon. Despite this, he’s cold from being in the ocean water.

You reach for his wrists, which are slippery and difficult to get a good hand on, but you squeeze tightly anyway. You try to use the sand as leverage to pull him, because he’s certainly twice your body weight, judging by how tall he is.

It takes several tries to get him through the sand, with it being so resistant against you dragging him. Once he’s in the shade, you don’t care nearly as much. You lay his arms back at his sides, standing over him to get a better look, as if you’ll be able to recognize him.

He could be anyone, from anywhere. There’s a good possibility, he won’t even speak your language, and that’s assuming he’s going to wake up after inhaling that much water. Still, you’re not going to leave his side, not until you’re sure he’s going to be okay.

Besides, he could be someone important for all you know. He’s dressed well, leading you to believe he could have money, or people that care about him. Really, it doesn’t matter to you, as long as he has a chance of getting you out of here. You’ll do anything to leave this island.

You take the bag off your shoulder, setting it down next to a rock. You climb on top of said rock, reaching to grab the fork of a tree, pulling yourself between. You climb a few feet up, until you’re able to reach one of the branches that hold the large leaves.

You fold it in half, placing it between your lips, and carefully make your way back down to solid ground. You’ve gotten fairly good at climbing trees. If you can’t take one down, you’ll sure as hell climb up to snap off a branch you’ve been eyeing. There���s been a few times where you’ve hung from a stubborn branch and almost broke your ankle from the height you’ve fallen from.

When you’ve gotten back to the rock, you sit down and fold the leaf to make a fan, which you use on you for the first couple of minutes, before turning it to the man on the ground. The color has already begun to return to his lips, by the time he wakes, he might even be dry and sweating. It’s funny how boiling heat works like that.

You sit there for easily an hour, watching the waves roll onto the beach, retreating, and coming back a couple seconds later. You periodically check on the boy, making sure that he’s still breathing. There’s a few cuts that you’ve noticed, between his chest and his legs, there’s about six. They’re fairly shallow, should be an easy heal. You don’t think any of them need to be stitched, which you’re thankful for, because you definitely don’t have the supplies for that.

You look down to check on him again, and find a wide pair of eyes watching you. You pull the fan back, offering a smile, which vanishes quickly because that’s not exactly the right move. He’s got to be confused and scared, a random girl fanning him with a tree leaf isn’t exactly what you’d like to see after waking up damp and covered in sand.

“Hi,” You murmur, moving back on the rock. “Sorry, I was trying to keep you cool. That sunburn’s going to be a pain.”

His face twists, he moves to sit up. He doesn’t speak to you, reaching to touch his chest, wincing when he sticks his finger in a cut. He eyes the holes in the shirt, glancing at you briefly.

“I didn’t do that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You tell him. “You showed up like that. All I did was pull you out of the water.”

He ignores you, looking at the trees, then at the beach, and then out to the water, which he doesn’t tear his eyes from for a long minute. “Where—“ his voice is hoarse, he clears his throat. “Where am I?”

“You’re on an island.” You reach for your bag, getting to your feet.

“What time is it?”

You make a face, “I can’t answer that. I don’t know what day, month, or year it even is. It’s been a while since I had access to that type of information.” You open the bag, pulling out your canister of clean drinking water. “Here, drink, you’re probably dehydrated. There’s no telling how long you’ve been out there.”

“No,” his face twists, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s the only drinkable water on the island.” You tell him, tucking it back into your bag. “But suit yourself, you’ll become thirsty soon enough.”

He doesn’t make any move to get up, you press your lips together. You don’t want to stand here all day, and he’s being resistant. You’ve got other plans, which include checking the traps on the west side of the island before the sun goes down.

You click your tongue, which is partially by accident, as you turn around to head into the trees to go back to base.

“Where are you going?” He calls behind you.

“Home, I came out here for driftwood, and you’re afraid of strangers.” You look at him through the trees. “You can follow, if you want. I don’t bite. Just watch where you step, there’s traps around for the animals.”

This inspires him enough to get up. You lead the way through the narrow path, that you’ll force to grow wider in time. Or maybe the boy behind you will, considering the fact that he’s trampling through the area without a care about noise.

You glance at him over your shoulder, curious to see if he’s purposely stepping on everything that he can, and find that it’s the way he walks. He looks like he doesn’t have a single clue that he’s the loudest living thing in here.

“What’s your name?” He asks, not being able to handle the silence.

“(Y/n).” You murmur, not bothering to tell him your last name.

It has no significance anymore. Hell, your name now doesn’t even mean anything to you. The only time you use it is when you’re talking to yourself condescendingly when you’ve done something stupid that could’ve gotten you killed.

It’s quiet for a couple of minutes. “Aren’t you going to ask who I am?”

Oh, you didn’t think about that. “Sure.”

He sighs, “Peeta Mellark.”

Huh, interesting name. You think you knew someone back at the university that had the same name. It’s unique, you didn’t think you’d run across someone with the same name again.

“Are you someone important, Peeta?” You ask.

“Well—I wouldn’t say that.”

“Do you have people that care about you and happen to be rich that could afford pouring money into finding you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “No, not really.”

You grind your teeth. The first person you’ve seen in years, and he’s not even someone important. You’re never going to get off of this stupid island, are you? You’re going to be stuck here till the day you die, and now you have someone else to take care of.

This could’ve been it. He could’ve been the one thing that got you out of here and back to normal life. You could see your family again, be able to celebrate the holidays. You’d reunite with your boyfriend, even if he did move on from you. You could be with your friends again!

You could really scream right now.

“Why?”

“What?” You snap back, impatient.

“Why were you asking?” He asks, not paying any mind to your tone.

“You’re stuck here with me.”

“What?” He asks.

“You’re never getting off of this island. The sooner you accept that, the better. I can’t believe I just got my own hopes up. I should know better.” You mutter, shaking your head.

When you don’t hear him walking behind you, you stop to turn around. Peeta’s face is screwed, the corners of his mouth turned downward. “That’s not true.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Peeta.”

“We can light a fire on the beach, they’ll see the smoke. They’ll come looking for us.”

“You don’t think I haven’t tried that?” You ask him. “I’ve done all of it. I didn’t get rescued, why should I think that it’ll be any different for you?”

His lips part, “How long have you been out here?”

You shrug, “Three years, possibly more. I’m not sure. I don’t have a calendar or a cellphone. I go by the seasons.”

Peeta takes a breath. “(Y/n), it’s July, in the year twenty twenty-three.”

Your face smooths over, eyes drifting away from his face while you think back. Your lips are moving, but there are no words coming out, counting silently. When did you get here? What year was it?

“Four years.” You murmur to yourself, turning around to keep walking to your home. “Has it really been that long?”

“What’d you say?” Peeta asks.

“April… no, it was March. It was the end of March going into April, we had an early summer that year because the school year started the beginning of July. They wanted to do construction on the academic buildings before we started getting rain.” You let out a breath. “Four years.”

Peeta’s caught up to your side. “(Y/n), where are you from?”

“I was a university student at Sacred Heart in Capitol City. I was going abroad for a spring program to study in Spain with…” You trail off, pouting.

With your boyfriend and your friends. The ones you told that they had nothing to worry about when they expressed how much they hate flying over open water like this each time you go in the summer. You promised them that dramatic crashes like that only happen in movies or once in a blue moon. It’s not common for planes to malfunction.

You remember being with your boyfriend when one of your friends got stuck in her seat. He told you to get off the plane and he’s find you outside. When you got out there, the current was too strong, the flight attendant couldn’t bring you inside of the boat.

If it weren’t for your life jacket, you would’ve drowned. You’d be dead, there wouldn’t be any life on this island. You still have it, you’ve kept it safe, using it when you fantasize about building a boat and drifting into the ocean, where someone finds you and rescues you.

“You were part of flight 147, weren’t you?” Peeta asks, his enthusiasm showing through. “(Y/n) (L/n).” You blink in surprise at the mention of your full name. When you jerk your head to look at him, he realizes how odd that was of him. “Sorry, I just did a report on you to the company I work for. We went to Sacred Heart together. I knew Gloss.”

“That’s nice.” You swallow. You try not to think about your boyfriends name if you can help it. Peeta does look to be about your age, it’s crazy how you went to school at the same place and now you’ve ended up here together.

“I’m an aeronautical engineer. The plane you were on is still a mystery—“

“Thank you, Peeta.” Your tone is harsh. “I think that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry.” He says. “Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I reached out to your family while I was doing my research. If it helps any, they’ve still got hope that you’re alive. They just don’t know where to look.”

“And Gloss?” You ask.

“I have no idea.”

You hum, not saying anything else to him for the rest of the walk, which isn’t that far. You can see the shack that’s taken you months to build properly, through the trees. You have a fire pit, but it’s several feet away to keep from accidentally lighting it on fire. It’s happened to you before, and it was devastating.

Needless to say, in the winter it’s brutal. This is why you like the summer,

“This is it.” You tell him, “I have clothes, the luggage showed up before you did. I didn’t think anything of it, it happens once in a while.” You enter the shack, brushing the dried hanging vines out of the way to hang up on a hook by the door. “And I can clean those wounds. If you want to wash yourself of the saltwater first, I understand. I can bring you to the stream. I don’t have soap, of course.”

You turn around, expecting for Peeta to be right behind you, but he’s standing outside of the doorway. Your eyebrows twitch, “What are you, a vampire? You can come inside.”

He lets out a laugh, stepping inside, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Your generosity. You don’t know me and yet—“

You wave your hand. “Don’t think about it too much. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point. These are the things I wish I had when I got here.”

Peeta’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really think we’re stuck here?”

“I’d like to hope not.” You tell him. “Even if we are, we can make it work. I’ve gotten fairly good at this.”

He smiles.

--

this is part of my 3k celebration!!

#ilguna #peeta mellark #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark oneshot #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x yn #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta imagine #peeta fanfic #peeta x reader #peeta oneshot #peeta x you #peeta x yn #peeta x y/n #thg #the hunger games #fluff #3k celebration #anon #ask #request

[peachydarlingz]

Lavender Fields || p.m

Pairing- Peeta Mellark x fem!reader

Warnings- none. fluffy fluff fluff.

Most people wouldn’t consider Peeta Mellarks smile something to be afraid of, in fact they’d find it charming, kind, soft, like most. But to me, his smile is dangerous. Oh, so dangerous. I would do anything for that smile, and that’s what makes it so lethal. I would do anything for Peeta, and to me, he is fatal.

“Honey, go get dressed I’m taking you on a picnic.” And yet, with his sweet eyes I could tell there was more to his words than he led on.

Oh, but when he looked at me with those eyes, with any eyes as long as they’re his; I can’t help but be entranced. They’re like a sweet symphony I can’t get enough of. He is my favorite song I could never get sick of. And who am I to deny him?

I smile at him, with that sickly sweet smile he pulls out of me every time, without fail. Getting up to get dressed for a cool summer day.

Peeta of course, already has everything prepared; grabbing the picnic basket, blanket, and his sketchbook. With protests to help him, he lets me carry his pencils. I would argue to carry more, but I’m afraid he would take away what little I’m already holding. I’m happy with our unspoken agreement.

I walk hand-in-hand with Peeta, and mindlessly start humming the song he was singing to me this morning. Sometimes, on the nights when he can’t fall back asleep, he’ll go to the study and write. Write anything. At first, it was just his thoughts, and like Peeta, eventually these notes became softer, more poetic. At some point they evolved into songs, and I was always the topic. But God, I was lucky to be his song.

“I love it when you sing. Your voice is like the Ocean, so much depth.” And he’s looking at me with those eyes again, and suddenly I’m a child with a schoolgirl crush.

“I love it when you write. When you write anything Peeta, you’re so versed. Have you showed any of your writing to anyone?”

“Why should I when the only opinion I care about is yours? All my work is about you anyway.”

I just giggle, because that’s all I’m able to do as he often leaves me speechless like this.

Suddenly we stop and all that engulfs my vision is a field of lavender. My body turns on instinct and I fling myself into Peeta’s arms, thankful that he already set the stuff down.

“Baby, it’s so, so beautiful! And it smells so good.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath letting the euphoria hit me. “Thank you so much.” I pull him into a kiss by his neck.

When we pull away, I can swear he looks a little drunk after that kiss, and my knees feel simply weak.

“You’re welcome my love.” He smiles brightly, and that alone is poison.

I help him set down the blanket, getting everything nice and neat before we’re both plopping down. As I reach for the basket to help unload, he motions a ‘stop’ and I pull my hand away.

“It’s a surprise, and I want to see the look on your face when I show you what I brought.”

And again, I’m smiling that sweet smile, that only he can provoke.

He fiddles with the latch speaking a quick, “Close your eyes.” before pulling out all the items.

“Okay, open!” He says drawing out the ‘y’.

When I open my eyes, I’m amazed to see all my favorite foods. “Peeta…” I look up to him, doe eyes prevalent and filled with emotion. “I can’t even express how in love I am with you… Thank you.”

“You express it every day, darling. I love you.” He kisses me. I’m in love.

“I can’t believe this; you must have spent so much time on it.”

Peeta chuckles, “Oh I did, but I did it for the look on your face, and it was everything I wanted.”

“I’m glad.” I laugh and I kiss him again, because in this moment, there’s nothing I could say to make the scene before me more perfect.

I look at the rows of lavender in front of me, and I can’t help but feel like I’m in a dream. A dream that was long and hard to fight for, but such an amazing dream.

I look back as his eyes linger at me, and I can help but get all shy like its our first date all over again. I look down avoiding his gaze, grabbing a strawberry from the container and taking a bite. But my attempt to shake his stare fails. And I liked that it failed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I laugh.

“You’re just so beautiful. So, so beautiful.” And he says it genuinely amazed, like he’s in a museum admiring his favorite work, and he really does make me feel like art.

A/N- This is my first fic! I really hope yall like it hehe. Likes and reposts are very much appreciated :) please dont steal my work

headers by @saradika-graphics

#peachywrites🩷 #peachywritespeeta🩷 #peeta mellark #josh hutcherson #thg finnick #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #mockingjay part 2 #sam claflin #the hunger games fanfic #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta x reader #peeta my beloved #peeta supremacy #thg peeta #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #team peeta #the hunger games peeta #peeta fanfic

[theheartboyshome]

Hunger Games characters reacting to you seeing their imperfections

Gale. Finnick. Peeta. TW: Unedited; mentions of abuse; mentions of bl**d; mentions of violence; implied s*x; mentions of harm

Gale.

Not one. Many. Many scars littering his back, across every hemisphere of his tense muscles and tender bruises. Strokes engraved into his skin, scattered across every slope of his back. Ugly. He hates looking at them. They’re everywhere, it seems. Not faint lines, either. That’s what Gale hates the most. His pain, the reminders of it, are never going away. They’re deep lashes embedded into his body, shiny pink trails that remind him of home. Of how terrible 12 really was. How unfair everything was. He doesn’t want to remember home like that. Not like the painful scars that seem to mark every inch of his back. District 12 was…

He doesn’t want to think about Peacekeepers, especially now that he’s the equivalent of one himself. He doesn’t want to think of all the pent up hurt he had left behind in 12 for him to pick up. Part of him wanted to feel the pain again, if only it would patch the holes he feels inside himself. Like he needs something. And these scars… the pain… is all he needs to obtain whatever it could be.

Gale is standing in front of the mirror stapled into the wall of his room. Not so much preening as he is… examining. He turns his back to the mirror more, straining to see the scars that riddle the plains of his back. He runs his finger along one of them, feeling the shiny repairs contrast with the unmarked skin. His fingers press more firmly into one of the deepest gashes. It doesn’t hurt anymore… which he’s grateful for. He only wishes they’d go away- the scars. He really hates them. The creaking door grates his eardrums, and he turns sharply towards the doorway. He looks around for his shirt, albeit a little frantic.

“Can I come in?” The door isn’t completely open, which was very polite.

Gale pauses, pushing his arms into his shirt sleeves as he glances headlong towards the door. “Yeah, in a sec,” he continues dressing, ignoring the heat that’s rising to his face.

“Gale?”

His shirt isn’t even over his head, leaving his back completely exposed to the doorway. He pauses, turning away from where you stand.

“Yeah?” He calls back in the most nonchalant voice he can muster. He didn’t really intend for anyone to interrupt him, especially not you. “Sorry I-” you look down at your hand sheepishly. “I thought you were just procrastinating.” Gale scoffs; his calm and collected act is completely contradicting his wild heart rate. “Procrastinating? What, from seeing you?”

It’s the Gale you like. Not serious Gale. Not captain Gale. You like youthful, District 12 Gale. You nod, still a little sheepish. “Well, I’m not,” he pulls the shirt over his head, “I was just-” “-changing?”

You interrupt with a knowing smile, although Gale would argue that it’s a smirk. “Yeah I noticed.” He looks down at his hands that are now tucked into his pockets. The scars, fragments of pain left behind from twelve, running the length of his back, deep gashes that would never go away; you had seen them. Gale figured as much. He just really hoped you’d never have to see them again. But of course…

“Gale,” you breath against the crook of his neck. You’re both sitting on his bed, but you were clever enough to let time pass before pressing. It was a week later. “Let me see.” As you chide him, gently- mind, your fingers slip underneath his shirt. Gale sighs heavily. “I don’t know…” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s just… they’re really- uhm…”

You listen patiently, hands stationary at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t… let a lot of people see them.” You chuckle, “I hope not.” And on a more serious note, “I promise to be gentle. You know me.” He does know you, how tender you can be. Reluctantly, he complies. Your hands ride the shirt up his back and over his head. Elegant, gentle fingers run along his spine, so soft that Gale hardly suppresses a shiver. You apologize quietly. He hears you murmuring idle comments- something about cruelty and mistreatment. He already knows all that. The way you describe the scars is different than the means in which he got them. Your fingers trace a particularly long stoke that winds from the top of his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. The soft flesh of your index finger sends goosebumps in the wake of its touch against the shiny scar.

“They’re beautiful.”

Gale almost chokes on air, his jaw tightening.

Heavy silence follows as he tries to comprehend what you said. His scars are ugly. They always would be. “What did you say?” You look up from your trance, seeming a little dazed, “Hmm? Oh!”

You look at his back again, avoiding eye contact. He turns towards you, observing you intently. Your gaze is still downwards, and more color is flaring in your cheeks. “I said: they’re beautiful, because… I- er -I think they are.” Gale’s eyes soften and his face relaxes. He leans forward, capturing your lips in his. You might not know it, but you made him genuinely happy. Maybe the pain and hurt from the scars could be healed.

Finnick

The footprints of lips were all over him; more hickeys spanning across his skin than he could count. Tender brown splotches with defined Cupid’s bows that nestled in the crook of his neck and across his chest and shoulders. Finnick slowly drew his finger across the curves and dips in his skin, letting his thumb rest on a particularly sore spot, rubbing against the print of a fleshy bottom lip. He felt a smile creeping onto the corners of his mouth as a scoff built up in his chest. The smile wasn’t genuine, and the scoff was partially out of disbelief. His latest visitors really left their mark, and he hadn’t been eighteen for more than a month. He averted his gaze to the floor, staring at his bare feet instead of the open scratches and dark hickies that ran across every plain of his upper body. His fingers still rubbed subconsciously on the sorest splotches. The blood dripping down his thigh was probably from a newly created scar. Finnick’s eyes darkened with distaste. There was something about this job that made him feel hollow. The throbbing in his crotch and aching in his muscles were the highlights of his evening. Not that anyone cared- but he really hated the whole thing.

Damp fingers turned on the faucet as he finally mustered the courage to back away from the mirror. The room was chilly, and his legs and body shook as he leaned against the bathroom counter, rubbing his hands until they pruned in the sink. Finnick was aware he was good looking- he had always known that. However, as he stared at his reflection, he was beginning to get the impression that beauty was cruel. There was a soft rapping on the door. Abruptly, he was snapped out of his trance. The knock on the door startled him, and he turned off the water hurriedly, shaking his hands dry as best he could. “Ye-ah?” His voice cracked, eyes swarming with alarm as he looked around for his clothes. Of course...seeing as they were in the other room where he left them, they were completely useless to him. “Finnick? It’s me.”

He recognized the friendly voice, but didn’t intend to let you see him like this. If he was too young, then you certainly were. The bathrobe would do, and as he fastened it, he let you inside. Of course, he couldn’t cover up everything. The dark lip stains that riddled his neck were still displayed to you. He felt an increasing amount of self consciousness, something he doesn’t feel often, as you stared at him with lips pursed and eyes sickeningly blank. “Bad time?” You asked, averting your eyes to the floor. Finnick tried smiling, but once again it felt as plastic as the capital, “Course not. Come in.” He had hardly clicked the door in place and you were already grabbing the hem of the robe. Finnick shuttered the moment your fingers grazed his skin, flinching away from you. “It’s fine...” he breaths, “It’s nothing.”

You nod, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry,” you mutter, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. “You’re-just bleeding.” “Am I?” He chuckles, staring at you with an empty gaze and a tiny smile, “Would you look at that.” His head tilts as he examined the rusty, slightly transparent, liquid that sits on his fingertips.

You eye him wordlessly, your brows drawn together in concern. Finnick doesn’t enjoy the attention at this particular moment. “You need something?” Of course it’s a lame attempt at changing the sore subject, he knows that. He also knows that you’ll be gentle with him. However, the last thing he wants is for you to see him. Not just the hickies and temporary scratch marks. Lines of crescent moon scars where sharp nails drew so much blood he got dizzy mid-session. Rope burns on his wrist and less-than pleasant marks scattered across his body. No, his first “lover” wasn’t pleasant, and his second was hardly better. He didn’t need you to see. To know. “What did they do to you?”

You stand across from him, and despite your lack of contact Finnick’s body still vibrates and tingles. He waves it off, “Nothing really- worth sharing- if you know what I mean...” his gaze falls onto the ground before rebounding onto you. “So- what did you-“

“Finnick,” you cut him off sharply. He blinks, in a daze. “Yes?” You creep closer to him, cold fingers dragging against his skin and underneath the robe. He knows how gentle you’ll be, and he does trust you. But why would he let anyone see something that’s so horrible? Suddenly, the curiosity vanishes on your face. Finnick gets the feeling that now you understand. Your hands are just short of completely undressing him, your face so close to his that he can feel your warm breath. “I’ll take care of it,” you promise quietly, “And you don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want to.”

Finnick holds his breath, staring at you with sober dark eyes. His lips form the tiniest of smirks, his brows drawing together partway as he lets his head sag. It’s subtle confirmation, and he bids you to begin. Cool fingertips begin peeling away at his clothes, and warm palms begin caressing his most tender muscles. “Just be gentle, kay?” His trembling voice cracks slightly.

You nod, “I will be.”

Peeta

It reminds him of a paint spill or something of the like. Dark purple, underlying tones of red; colors that are normally beautiful to him suddenly aren’t. The grooves and dips in his hands are stained purple-black, from his fingertips to his knuckles, some even extending to his wrist. Peeta scolds himself. He doesn’t even think to apply any sort of medicine to his hands, or cool them off in water. His able fingers are rendered sore- useless. He knows the burns will leave a mark, they’re sure to. It’ll just be another imperfection, he reasons. Another freckle, another scar, there’s no difference. That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway. Peeta is sitting at his kitchen table, rubbing the outline of one of his burns with a gentle thumb. His gaze is vacant and hollow, lips slightly parted, like he’s concentrating. Which, he is; he’s concentrating on the contrast between the plump flesh of his finger pad and the coarse burn that covers his knuckles and fingertips. He only got these burns recently, and wasn’t intent on letting anyone know. He had quite a few old burns on his hands and wrists- they had turned into pink scars that reminded him of sunbursts. Peeta never would be vain. Another imperfection, that’s all scars were to him. But for now, the dark burn only reminded him of his stupidity, and caused him discomfort throughout the day. He turned his head to the front of the house, hearing the screech of the screen door and quickly averting his gaze. He had taken to drawing imaginary shapes on the table, and began doing it then. It was an excellent distraction. His eyes didn’t waver from their target; his gaze was solely fixated on his cramped fingers working their magic. He didn’t look up to the doorway when you appeared, and despite knowing who it was, nothing could deter his intent stare for the moment. Dark eyes that followed the stroke of his hand against the dark oak tabletop. It wasn’t until your voice coaxed him out of his own inner musings that he focused on anything other than his imaginary house. You had a very— hooking voice. Had you said nothing, Peeta might not have given you a second glance. “Peeta?” You call distantly. Your voice sounds thick at the moment. Distant... but packed with emotions so raw that Peeta is forced to look your way. “Huh? Uh- hi! He smiles. There’s nothing fake about the smile; nothing fake about the cheeriness in his voice. Yet somehow... he gets the impression....

“Something wrong?” He asks. His brows draw together. He’s always been expressive— gently animated, that is. You nod, leaning casually on the doorframe, a small pail of soapy water weighing down your shoulders. “Yeah, actually,” you begin with an easygoing- open tone. “I was wanting some help with washing the bathroom-”

“Oh... yeah! Totally,” He replies, sliding out of his chair. He extends his hand out to take the bucket; offering help that you can’t refuse. “Thanks.” “No problem-“

Then you notice the sudden tautness of his jaw, and he releases a tiny hiss, clunking the bucket to the floor. “Very helpful, Peeta.”

“Yeah- Sorry...”

He starts ogling his hand, running his index finger down the tips of the opposite fingers, scouring the surface for any signs of agitation. His pretty eyes hover over the pink burns and he begins to frown even deeper. He at first, he doesn’t realize that you’re looking over his shoulder, and when he does he can tell that you in fact do see the rotten burn on the backside of his hand, and that at this point he really can’t hide it from you. Yet, he’s Peeta, and doesn’t want you to worry, so he’ll try anyway. “How about I meet you in the bathroom, I just-” “-Peeta.”

You cut him off in such a gentle voice, your eyes flickering to meet his gaze apologetically, that he shuts up immediately. Once again he finds himself asking: just who the hell is this person?

You stare somberly at skin shining a silvery pink. Your lip quivers as you pause for words, “When did you burn yourself?” “I-dunno...” he sort of jumbles his words together, his sheepishness apparent, “I can’t really remember.” You give him a hard stare. “Mellark.”

He tries smiling at you, shrugging his shoulders, anything to get you off his case. Yet, you’re persistent.

“Can I take a look?” You ask inquiringly. He complies. Your hands reach out to his own, the contact of each other’s skin sending a tingle of goose bumps rippling up his arm. Your eyes roam over his hands; the dips, the curves, the pink burns and the pale skin. Peeta concentrates on your fingers that line the edge of his fresh burns. Your thumb rubs along some other cuts and burn scars. He bites his lip, relaxing the knit in his brow. “They’re just some old scratches,” he tells you softly, his brown eyes flitting up to meet yours. “Nothing really to look at.” You nod silently. You pull him back into the kitchen, past the empty dining chairs and oak table, over to the sink. “Okay Peeta. Let’s take care of these-”

“No- No, (Y/N)...” he whispers with a smile. “You don’t need to take care of me. I can do it myself.” “Embarrassed, Mellark?” He smiles wider, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Just a little.”

End.

#Angst #fluff #hunger games angst #Hunger games fluff #Hunger games x reader #Post-war #pre war #peeta and finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x y/n #finnick #finnick odair #gale hawthorne #gale x y/n #peeta mellark #Peeta #peeta x y/n #Burns #implied torture #tw implied abuse #implied sex #THG #thg finnick #thg x reader #HG #hunger games trilogy

[strawwritesfic]

One-Sided District 12!Reader x Peeta Mellark: Moon

Summary: Now there really is nothing left, if you ever did have anything at all.

Rating/Tags: T (Peeta/Katniss (or one-sided Peeta/Katniss, depending on how you look at canon); implied Katniss/Gale; Katniss/Peeta/Reader; set during Catching Fire; pre-Reaping; childhood friendship; non-consensual kissing; not canon compliant; angst)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Notes: Yeah, I’m pretty sure this shouldn’t be set in winter, but I only ever read Catching Fire once and never watched the movie so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tag List: @imaginesfire​​

Moon

No one ever said that life was fair. Long hours of grueling work, broken homes, stillborn babies, raging illness, and want of food were all commonplace in Panem’s District Twelve. Some families had it worse than others; your mother constantly reminded you of how well-off yours was compared to most. You understood. Really, you did. "Focus on the good and not the bad" was your life’s refrain–but how were you supposed to keep that up when your only consistent bright spot was fading away?

They knew. Your entire family knew: your parents and grandmother and your three little brothers. In the frizzy, flashing lights of the television set, they turned to stare at you, waiting, watching. You could feel their eyes on you, though you could not tear yours away from the screen. 

Again. It was happening again. You shouldn’t have had to deal with it once, let alone twice! Nausea and nerves battled in your stomach; your brain seemed stuck on that one word: Again. Again. Again.

“…thank God,” you heard your grandmother say, as though from a great distance. “That’ll keep the boys out of the Reaping for another year. Thank God.”

“Mother,” your father began, but you were already on your feet. 

Your fists shook at your sides. You could not scream. You would not scream. Grandma was right; the boys and you would be entirely safe for once. The fear of the arena could be put off for one more year. But at what cost? At what cost? 

You turned on the spot and headed for the door entirely in silence.

“Where are you going?” asked your mother.

“Out,” you snapped.

No one tried to stop you. They knew where you were going. You slipped outside into the frigid streets. The hullabaloo from earlier–and the announcement, you supposed–kept everyone else at home. All was quiet, except your thoughts.  Those raged back and forth between relief at your family’s safety and absolute despair at the reason behind it. 

Would you really trade the lives of yourself or your brothers in exchange for one boy? This boy? The boy that never in twelve long years had eyes for you? Maybe. Love was stupid like that. This love was stupider than all the rest. The very idea that you would give up the people that loved you for someone that never had--! The idea itself made your very skin feel hot enough that you hardly noticed you were shivering. You wished you could do something, anything, to change things. But you couldn’t. You were powerless.

“[Name]?” 

You looked up. He was there. Peeta was crossing the snow-covered field between the Victor’s Village and the rest of town, and he did not have to ask why you were there. 

“You heard,” he said as he caught sight of the look on your face.

The moon lit up the snow surrounding him, making his hair glow gold. Peeta was so beautiful. He always had been. You had already thought that beauty lost once. How could you do it a second time? A sob burst from between your chapped lips. 

He blanched. Before you could do something to stem your sudden rush of tears, his arms were around you, his voice murmuring in your ear, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“No!” 

You shoved him away, breathing heavily. This was worse. Peeta comforting you was infinitely worse. Maybe he understood that much; he stayed a foot away to watch quietly as you tried to compose yourself. Eventually you could manage words: 

“You can’t go, Peeta.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

“Haymitch could go. He’s a Victor, too. It doesn’t have to be you.” 

Peeta said nothing, just stared at you with his forehead gently furrowed. There was pity in his eyes. And why shouldn’t there have been? You could hardly see him through the water stuck to your eyelashes and snot was freezing to your upper lip. Just as he had understood you well enough to know why you were coming to see him when you’d hardly spoken to him since he got home, you knew what Peeta’s silence meant. 

“You’re going to go either way, aren’t you?” you asked.

“I’m not going to let Katniss go back there al–”

“Katniss!” you shouted, and your voice seemed magnified in that vacant space. 

You were so damn sick of Katniss Everdeen. What had she ever done to Peeta except break his heart? Sure, she’d brought him back home, but only to distance herself and spend all her time in the woods with Gale Hawthorne doing who-knew-what. The Capitol ate up Katniss and Peeta’s romance, you got that, but why couldn’t he see how much she didn’t care? How much you always had? 

“Peeta, if you go out there again with her, for all I know you’ll end up married to her!”

Peeta’s face had slowly grown expressionless as you screamed. By then it was nothing more than a blank mask. “Probably.”

Your heart cracked in two. “Peeta,” you whispered. 

He was kind enough to let you press a mittened hand to his cheek. Everything that had been slowly falling apart since the seventy-fourth Games felt like it was now crashing down on you. Last year, you had cried yourself to sleep after the Reaping, certain that you would never see Peeta again. You couldn’t handle waiting for him to die a second time. 

“Run away, Peeta.”

He cracked a smile that looked about as broken as your heart felt. “You’re not the first person to suggest that to me today.”

His family wouldn’t. They didn’t care. Only one other person would have reason to tell Peeta to get away–and you refused to consider her input. 

You put your other hand to Peeta’s opposite cheek so that you were cupping his face. You were close, so close, close enough that your barely audible words passed steam across his nose and mouth. “We’ll go together. Please, Peeta, we can–”

“I’m not going anywhere without Katniss.”

“She doesn’t love you.”

“I know.”

The heat came back. You didn’t know who you were maddest at: Peeta for ignoring you for so long, Katniss for stealing him away by being everything you weren’t, or the whole Capitol for being the cause of all this to begin with. If you didn’t let the boiling in your chest out somehow, you were going to explode. 

In a manner of speaking, you did explode. Peeta was closer to you than he had been for months, and in your moment of fury, you didn’t care about being safe. You slammed your lips against his, moving one hand up to tangle in his hair. The kiss was wild, heated as the blood in your veins–but only on your part. Your partner froze for a split-second, then respond by trying to push you away.

“[Name]. [Name]! Stop! Stop!” 

At last you pulled away. The kiss might have only lasted for five seconds, but you were panting for breath. 

Peeta hastily began to press his hair back into place with his mouth half-opened. “Are you crazy? They’ll kill us.”

"They" was the Capitol, President Snow, the enforcers sent to District Twelve that very afternoon. Your newfound lack of caring still burned inside you so that you scowled at him through the silvery dark. “Are you concerned about your life?” you snarled. “Or hers?”

“How about your life? Do you think I want you to end up like Gale? Or worse?”

“What do you care about me? Katniss is all you care about. Run home to her, why don’t you? Make sure no one has dragged her from her bed!”

“You’ve been my best friend my entire life, [Name],” Peeta said. His voice had grown quiet again. He looked almost hurt at your suggestion that your long-established friendship didn’t matter–but suddenly you didn’t care much about that, either. You hurt all over, and you didn't mind if you made that hurt bleed onto everything and everyone around you. “Even if I don’t love you–”

“Katniss doesn’t love you, Peeta!” you cried as the chill in the air began to break through your armor of anger. The tears rushed from your eyes again. “She barely likes you. Why can’t you see that I–”

“You love me,” he broke in. His gaze became fixed on the prints your thin boots had made on the snow. Then he looked up and you saw that the pity in his eyes was gone. “I know. You’ve made that clear. You’ve made that clear a thousand times before tonight, [Name], and I’m sorry, but…”

He didn’t finish that sentence; instead, he started to stride backward the way he had come. 

You knew what he meant. It wasn’t that he had to protect Katniss. It wasn’t even that Peeta had to protect you. The only love Peeta had ever felt was for Katniss, and he was going to die for her even if she didn’t feel the same way. 

You reached out imploring toward him. “Peeta.”

“No,” he said again, and the tone of his voice told you how final his word was. Still, he blinked and paused. Once more you could see how sorry he felt for you, though it wasn’t sorry enough to get him to change his mind. “Stay home tomorrow,” he told you firmly. 

You opened your mouth to protest, but Peeta was already walking away again. 

One last sentence drifted back toward you on the chill breeze: “Stay safe.”

What’s the point? you wanted to shriek after him. But you couldn’t. The fire inside you disappeared entirely, put out by a sleet of anguish. Your voice was gone in the sobs now ripping from your throat. 

Peeta was gone. He wasn’t coming back. You were never going to see him again, except on television, except as a corpse on display. You fell back onto the snow and let yourself cry yourself hoarse in your darkening world. 

Soon, you would have to go back. You would have to go back home, and you would have to pretend that everything was okay. The trouble was now you would have to go about playing normal without Peeta–without the one thing in your life that had ever made you feel like things would ever be okay.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #challenge fic #one shot #request #hunger games #catching fire #peeta mellark #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x y/n #hunger games x reader #hunger games x you #hunger games x y/n #catching fire x reader #catching fire x you #catching fire x y/n #hunger games reader insert #catching fire reader insert #peeta mellark reader insert

[deadric-diggory0624]

Help pls

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coryo snow #snow lands on top #peeta if it wasn't for the baby mellark #hunger games fanfiction #peeta x y/n #peeta mellark x you #coriolanus x you #smut #fluff #angst

[linaisokay]

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE A FIC OF THE READER (female y/n) BEING TRAPPED IN THAT PART OF THE ARENA WITH THE JABBERJAYS & PEETA TRYING SO HARD TO GET TO HER (like the actual scene from the book/movie) PLS I NEED SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR !!!!!

#the hunger games #hunger games #thg #thg series #the hunger games katniss #the hunger games peeta #thg katniss #katniss and peeta #peeta x reader #peeta x y/n #peeta x you #hunger games fic #hunger games fanfiction #fanfic request #fanfic