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╰┈➤  𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧!

my drabble/one-shot requests are now open! here are my fandoms and guidelines!

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fandoms i write for:

the hunger games

the old guard

marvel (occasionally)

characters + ships i write for:

the hunger games - anyone, but everlark are my faves!

the old guard - literally any of the characters!

marvel (occasionally) - sam wilson, bucky barnes, sambucky, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, peter parker, the eternals!

these are the fandoms and characters i feel most comfortable writing, but I’d love to write for more fandoms like arcane, bbc’s merlin, the witcher, acotar etc! if you’d like to request a character that isn’t on this list just drop me an ask or leave a message in my inbox! 

what i like to write:

hurt/comfort (a personal fave)

angst (with a happy ending!!)

fluff!

whump

character studies

what i WON’T write:

dark!fics + non-con/dub-con

dd/lg relationships

incest

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HOME IS WHEREVER YOU ARE TONIGHT𖥔 ݁ ˖๋࣭ ⭑🌱🌲

Fluff request: sleepy katniss demands to be carried by peeta

Word count: 1.3k

cw: none!

ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ

It's late afternoon and Peeta is showing Katniss how to make muffins in her kitchen. He's talking her through the steps, carrying out each action slowly so she catches it, when Katniss begins to look around the room.

Save for the flour on the countertop, it's spotless. Everything is in order - the space is leagues away from the mess it was when Peeta first found her after his return from the Capitol.

Katniss can’t help but feel a little proud of how far she’s come since then.

“Still with me, honey?” The sound of Peeta placing the baking tray into the oven pulls Katniss out of her thoughts.

The girl hums noncommittally as Peeta's hand moves to frame her waist - brushing over where her stomach is far softer than it was all those months ago; warm and filled with food for the first time in forever.

He pulls her away from the countertop easily.

"What are we doing?" Katniss's voice is light- almost unrecognisable when she thinks back to the hoarse mess it once was.

Peeta pulls her close so that their chests are pressed together and her head is resting against his collarbone, "We're dancing, sweetheart."

(Katniss is hesitant to call it 'dancing', but when she looks up, Peeta looks so blissful and at peace, that she decides to keep her mouth shut.)

She and Peeta move around the kitchen slowly, bodies pressed together. There’s a smudge of flour just above his eyebrow, and Katniss knows that there’s probably some on her face too. But then Peeta sweeps her up in his arms; one arm around her back, the other under her knees as he spins her around and Katniss finds that she couldn’t care less.

Neither does Peeta apparently because the boy leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her lips like he hasn’t a care in the world.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” he whispers, placing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “What’s on your mind, Kat?”

Katniss just shakes her head, nestling further into his arms. "Nothing really. What's on yours?”

Peeta hoists her a little higher up kissing her again sweetly. When he pulls away there’s a sunlit smile adorning his face.

“You’re on my mind. Always are.”

Katniss rolls her eyes at this but the way her heart starts thudding quicker in her chest is near impossible to miss.

“I love you,” Peeta murmurs then, and it’s so casual, so easy, that Katniss can’t help but feel a little envious of his openness. She smiles back and dips her head.

“You’re a sap.”

Peeta kisses her temple swiftly and grins, “Only for you, sweetheart. Only for you.”

ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ

That night, dinner is warm muffins and milk on the couch. Katniss’s legs are in Peeta’s lap as he chatters to her about his morning at the bakery.

The girl is only half listening so Peeta’s words wash over her easily - she focuses instead on the way his soft blonde hair curls a little at the nape of his neck and his blue eyes light up when he laughs. When a badly stifled yawn escapes her, the boy cocks his head and smiles.

“Tired?”

There’s no point lying to him, so Katniss doesn’t even try.

“A little.”

Peeta takes her mug from her hands and places it on the countertop before crouching in front of her.

“C’mon then. Let’s get you upstairs.” He brushes her hair back and Katniss leans into the touch, covering his hand with her own so it cradles her face.

“Carry me?” Tiredness can make Katniss Everdeen incredibly bold sometimes, and the girl can't find it in herself to care.

With anyone else, she’d be nervous about asking something like that. But this is Peeta, so when her request registers, the boy smiles softly and nods.

“Always.”

Placing an arm around her back and the other under her knees, Peeta scoops Katniss up into his warm arms for the second time today, carrying her upstairs with such care that Katniss thinks she might just be seconds away from melting on the spot.

He sits Katniss down on the bed in their room and gets back up, moving to rummage through their closet.

“You’re sweet when you're tired.”

Katniss sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation and Peeta snorts, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“I take it back - you’re fearsome.”

And then he’s laughing, and peppering her face with tiny kisses and Katniss giggles too - a small girlish sound that she woulnd’t have been caught dead making a few years ago - pushing him away gently as her face warms.

Peeta places the shirt she’s been wearing to bed on the comforter beside her before stepping away and beginning to change out of his own clothes.

Katniss makes a halfhearted effort to get changed before flopping backwards on the bed.

“I’m too tired.”

(She’s not really, but the sound of Peeta laughing in response makes her heart soar.)

“Do you need some help?” He comes over and gestures to her legs, or more accurately, the sweatpants she’s still wearing.

Katniss nods, and Peeta kneels in front of her, pulling the sweatpants down her legs easily.

She’s struck by how normal it feels. The domesticity of it all - the sweet intimacy of his actions. There was a time when Katniss would have shied away from his featherlight touch but tonight she finds herself revelling in it.

“Arms up for me, sweetheart.”

Katniss obliges and Peeta pulls her shirt off, replacing it with the one he’d left beside her.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She’s shocked by how much emotion her voice carries, but Peeta just grins down at her.

“Always.”

Then, he pulls back the comforter and helps her slide under. Katniss doesn't protest at all - just lets him tuck her in and press his lips to her forehead as she shuts her eyes.

She’s almost in the warm embrace of sleep when she hears Peeta shuffling around the room, bare feet padding against wooden floorboards quietly.

(He has always been heavy-footed, but she can tell he's trying to make as little noise as possible).

"I'm so proud of you, Katniss. I'm so, so proud of you all the time, sweetheart. I should probably tell you more often."

It dawns on Katniss then that he must think her asleep, and her suspicions are confirmed when his soft voice drifts across the room and wraps itself around her like a lullaby.

Katniss can almost hear the smile on his lips as he mumbles.

"You're real pretty, you know that, Katniss? Real pretty. Leave me breathless all the time. I wish you'd see it too. You are so, so beautiful." His voice is closer now, and Katniss feels his hand brushes featherlight against her cheek as he speaks.

"I wish you'd let me paint you. I'd put flowers in your hair, maybe daisies?" A soft snort follows, "Who am I kidding, you'd never let me do that."

He lies down next to her then, wrapping his arms around her waist easily and moulding himself around the curl that her body forms.

Katniss knows, she knows, that she should say something back. Thank him for his words, maybe. Tell him that she's proud of him too. Everyday.

But it's Peeta who has always been the one with the sweet, loving words. A boy practically brimming with soft, kind reassurances and easy proclamations of devotion. Katniss on the other hand has never been very good at finding the right words and knowing when to use them or at explaining how she feels.

Still, when she hears his breathing even out, the words fall out of her mouth - whispered under the moon’s watchful gaze as Peeta sleeps. Katniss takes the hand that’s on her waist and brings it up to her lips - dusting a kiss over his fingertips.

“I love you too, Peeta.”

Post mockingjay drabble prompt if you're not too busy 😜😜 I've read so may fics where katniss is insecure about her scars and peeta helps her overcome that insecurity, but I've only come across maybe one or two fanfics where peeta is insecure about his prosthetic etc- and I really wanna read about that. Who better to ask than the Fandom's top drabble author

It's easily the hottest day of the summer by far. The sun is setting as I leave the house, and somehow the air is still liquid.

I'm on my way to town to get Peeta from where he's working on building the new bakery. He said he would be home late, that it was a big and physically taxing day, but I don't want to wait any longer. I miss him.

I pick flowers as I go, and by the time the square comes into view, I'm holding a handful of wildflowers and daffodils.

Peeta is lost in what he's doing and still working hard when I get there. He has his back turned and his shirt is soaked with sweat, which is no wonder - he's got long pants on when, guaranteed, the rest of the District wore shorts today. It's the only way to survive heat like this.

"Hi," I say, making my footsteps extra loud so I don't spook him.

He turns around and his eyes light up when he sees me. "Oh," he says. "Hey." He wipes the sweat from his brow and stands up straight, placing his hands on his hips as he looks around. "Wow. It got late."

"Come home," I say. He's alone here, the rest of his team has left for the night, and there's no reason to stay any longer.

"Alright," he says, then clears the area, locks up the tools, and walks with me down the path that leads back to our house.

"For you," I say, handing him my homemade bouquet after we've been walking for a few minutes.

He grins and thanks me, then slips a purple cleome behind my ear. I do the same for him, tucking a black-eyed Susan behind his left, and a pink butterbur behind his right.

We walk hand-in-hand the rest of the way home, and when we get there I put the remainder of the flowers in a mason jar with water.

Before he can even get upstairs, Peeta strips off his soaked shirt and hangs it over the railing. I turn to look at him, pause my flower arranging, and say, "Weren't you hot today?"

"Boiling," he says, standing there with a sweaty, gleaming chest.

I scan his body slowly, not because of the way it ignites everything within me - although, it does - but because I'm studying his attire. "Shorts would help," I say.

A strange look crosses his face and he shrugs, offering no verbal reply. Then, he tells me he's going upstairs to take a shower.

I linger in the kitchen for a moment after he leaves, wondering what that expression was about, his quiet discomfort. It only takes a moment until it dawns on me - he's self-conscious about his leg.

I set the mason jar down and think of how he never wears anything other than long pants - not ever. Not to bed, not to work, not to relax around the house. I can't remember the last time I saw bare skin lower than his waist, not even on his feet. He wears socks at all times, no matter what.

I furrow my eyebrows as a lump appears in my throat. I don't know how I didn't notice this sooner.

There was a time not that long ago when I did everything I could to hide my burn scars and skin grafts, but the way Peeta loves me through them chased that phase away. Now, I can wear shorts to town like I did tonight without thinking twice, even though my legs are mottled and jagged still.

Resolute, I ascend the stairs and change clothes while Peeta is still in the shower. I put on a light and airy t-shirt of his that I wear to bed often; it hangs to my mid-thighs and smells just like him. I have my nose pressed to the shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent, when he comes into the room.

He's already wearing pajama pants, like I guessed he would be, but no shirt. I can't help but notice the way he's scratching his left leg, near the knee. The skin is probably irritated - it needs to breathe. It's needed to breathe for a long time.

He smiles when he sees me. "Hey, pretty," he say, then kisses the top of my head before sitting beside me.

I don't lean into him like I normally would, though. Instead, I get up as soon as he sits down and kneel in front of him, and he gives me a flustered look.

"Katniss-"

"Please, let me," I say, both hands poised at the bottom hem of his pajama pants. I make firm eye contact and say it again. "Please."

Ever-so-slightly, he nods, so I move forward. First, I take his socks off and fold them, placing them back in the drawer he got them from before his shower. Then, I take my time in rolling up his left pant leg.

Inch by inch, the titanium is exposed. It's cool to the touch, which is soothing under my fingers, but his skin around the knee where the leg connects is hot and chafed.

"Oh, Peeta," I say, then reach for the lotion on the dresser behind me.

"You don't have to do this," he says. I look up and his expression is muddy and unsure. "I know it's not pleasant. I don't like looking at it, either. I can do this myself."

"I'm not bothered by it," I say honestly. "I'm not bothered by anything of yours."

He swallows hard and says, "You're sure?"

"It's a part of you," I say, then press my lips to the round of his knee. I look up at him and smooth my hand over the seam between his skin and the artificial leg. "Your skin is all dry. Can I take care of it?"

He nods and bends forward, his fingers working expertly to release the hold that the titanium has on what's left of his leg. After he removes it and sets it to the side, he can't look at me - he turns his head and closes his eyes, and when I touch him, he actually flinches.

So, I go slow. I rub the lotion between my hands and coat his stump with it, which seems to bring him a considerable amount of relief. I was right - the skin was parched, but the lotion helps almost right away.

After the first layer is on, I blow a stream of cool air onto his skin, and he flinches again.

"Katniss," he says quietly. "Why are you doing this?"

I take his hand and lace our fingers together, which is what finally gets him to look at me. When he does, I see that his eyes are glistening with tears.

"You would do it for me," I say. "You have done it for me."

In the low light, I watch a tear roll down his cheek and quickly disappear. I stay down by his legs and put another layer of lotion on, then help it dry again by blowing on it.

"Keep it off tonight," I suggest softly.

"You don't mind seeing - feeling..." he begins, but loses his words.

"I don't mind anything," I assure him. "It's you, Peeta. I love every part of you."

He chews the inside of his cheek and nods, then agrees when I suggest he take off the suffocating pajama pants too. When he lies next to me, his body can breathe and soak in the weak breeze coming in from the perpetually open window. It must feel nice.

I pull him into my arms before I close my eyes and, unlike how he usually does, he doesn't direct the lower half of his body away from me. For the first time, we fall asleep with not only our top halves pressed together, but our legs tangled up under the sheets too.

where do we go from here?

summary:

Her body has become an expanse of jutting angles and hard corners after weeks of not taking care of it properly but the boy doesn't seem to mind as he envelopes Katniss into his warm embrace. If he holds her tight enough, the Girl on Fire thinks that her flames might just wink out of existence.   

Right now? Nothing sounds lovelier.

or

Katniss struggles with disordered eating habits. Peeta helps her through it.

A/N: this is literally just a vent piece for me, i dont think i’ll even post it on ao3 (at least, not until i feel like im in the right headspace to give an idea / a story like this my full attention). What Katniss experiences in this drabble will not be relatable to everyone who has ever had to live with disordered eating because oftentimes experiences of the sort are very individual and personal. I wrote this with my own experiences in mind.

TW: disordered eating habits, talk of eating disorders. Please do not read this is if could harm you. 

————————

“You only have to eat what you can manage.”

Peeta Mellark sounds cautious as he puts a plate on the kitchen table and places the food on it (two slices of toasted and buttered bread, an apple, a handful of grapes). Treading carefully around her as if he’s scared she might break. 

There was a time when Katniss would have snapped at his behaviour. Told him to stop treating her like glass when she’s anything but.

Today, however, she finds that she doesn't mind too much.

(It's nice to be treated with tenderness sometimes.)

"I don't know how much I'll be able to keep down." Katniss is truthful with him because she knows by now that lying to Peeta Mellark never gets her anywhere.

"That's okay," he murmurs. "We can always try again later too, hm?" 

The girl nods but thinks to herself morbidly that this must be what decaying is like.

Dirty plates stacked up in the kitchen sink because she can't muster the energy to wash them. Food rotting in the pantry because she can’t bear the thought of even looking at it. When she does eat, the small morsels she's swallowed are retched into the toilet moments later. At night, she tugs or pinches harshly at the skin on her stomach and arms and thighs. Repulsed by the very same body that got her through two death tournaments and a war. A body that keeps trying to protect her, in spite of all the ingratitude she shows it. 

The irony of hating something that has kept her alive for so long is not lost on her. 

But it feels like control and Katniss wants to believe that it is.

(Peeta’s frequent hand squeezes and Haymitch’s worried gaze tell a completely different story, regardless of how hard the girl tries to ignore them both.)

Peeta's arms come around her then. Gently pulling her out of her thoughts and against his chest. Katniss goes willingly, swaying forward and breathing him in deeply - lavender, fresh bread, honey.  

She’s nothing but crumbling dust against the warm pillar his chest creates. 

Skin and atrophying bones that rattle inside of her with every step she takes. Brittle hair, a sandpaper tongue and razor-sharp teeth. Her body has become an expanse of jutting angles and hard corners after weeks of not taking care of it properly but the boy doesn't seem to mind as he envelopes Katniss into his warm embrace. If he holds her tight enough, the Girl on Fire thinks that her flames might just wink out of existence.   

Right now? Nothing sounds lovelier.

Her next words are muffled by Peeta’s soft blue jumper - one she recognises easily after having stolen it enough times.

What she says is; 

“You shouldn't have to deal with all this. I'm sorry. I’m sorry.”  

What she means to say is;

“You shouldn’t have to deal with me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve anything. Sometimes food feels like a privilege. Living always feels like one. I’m sorry, Peeta. I’m so so sorry.”

Peeta seems to hear all the words she can’t bring herself to say. 

 “Katniss, you don't have to apologise. None of this is your fault.”

She laughs at this; self-deprecating. As sharp as a knife and twice as brazen.

I let this happen to me. How is it not my fault?

But she doesn't say it out loud because despite Peeta’s reassuring words, the boy looks tired and sad and Katniss doesn’t want to argue with him and add to the heaviness he carries on his shoulders.

But then, Peeta does something she doesn’t expect. His hands move up so they're framing her face - thumbs brushing over her cheeks lightly. His eyes are cautious blue pools of worry and something sick and nauseating churns in Katniss’s empty stomach upon realising that he’s upset because of her. 

“Sweetheart, you gotta hear me.” he murmurs, ignorant to her thoughts. “None of this is your fault.”

And Katniss Everdeen doesn't really know why, but when she begins to cry, she nearly forgets how to stop. Peeta’s fingers brush away at the tears on her face and he presses his lips to the crown of her head gently. 

“Oh my sweet girl. Hey, hey - it’s alright. We’re okay.” His voice is reassuring as he manouvrers her head to his chest and wraps his arms around her once again. 

“I love you. You’re doing good. We’ll get through this too, Kat. I promise.”

Katniss’s hands just dig into his back as she shudders. Something like a hiccuped sob falling from her lips when his arms tighten around her comfortingly.

“I’m sorry I can’t look after myself better.” 

“It’s alright, Katniss. We’ll take each day as it comes. We’ll do it together, okay?”

And it’s not okay. Not yet at least. Both of them know that.

But when Katniss pulls away from his chest to see Peeta looking down at her with dewey eyes, she thinks that one day it might be.

AN: Okay so I finally finished a drabble again yay 🥳🥳🥳🥳 everyone cheered. I don’t have a ton of comments aside from my usual if you are really nice and you read this and like it and reblog it, I’ll love you forever and send you loves across the internet 🤍🤍🤍🤍. The idea for this drabble came from one of my other prompts actually. I wrote a request a while ago for a non hijacked Everlark reunion in 13 but in the request it also gave the option for role reversal and Katniss being the one captured and rescued. Non hijacked ofc. This also works as a soft sequel to my one oneshot where the roles are reversed and Peeta watches Katniss’ interview in the Capitol from his place in District 13.

Oh and also, yes I have the next chapter to Katniss and Peeta bonding in Catching Fire coming up soon, don’t worry. 😊 Anyways without further adoooo :

summary : role reversal, Katniss is the one kidnapped and rescued in Mockingjay. Everlark’s reunion. No hijacking. Might write a part 3 to this. 😉

-

It’s after midnight when they come back. Gale is still being held in his quarters on lockdown. A light punishment, all things considered, after his scuffle with Boggs upon hearing of Coin’s rescue mission.

Moreover, upon hearing that Coin’s rescue mission didn’t include either one of us. In her eyes, neither me nor Gale belong on Katniss’ extraction team and there was no argument to be had. She had officially decided long before we received the memo and she was, of course, the judge, jury and executioner of Thirteen.

Deep down, I always knew what her decision would be. I always saw it coming somehow. I haven’t liked Alma Coin since the first moment I arrived in Thirteen. Ever since my first meeting with the woman there was something inhumane about her. Something off-putting to me. Something disingenuous and unfeeling and oddly familiar.

And it went beyond just my dislike for the woman. It went far deeper than that. There was just something about Coin that was downright impossible for me to trust. Something about her made every survival instinct in my body go on alert like a bright red siren.

And she could see it too. Right away, she could see I didn’t like her. And just the same, from that first meeting on, she made it abundantly clear she didn’t like me much either.

Gale, on the other hand, was well respected by the president of Thirteen. He was one of her “most promising soldiers” — which I outright told him sounded like no compliment to me. Not when coming out of her mouth — and as a result, her dismissal of his demand that me and him be allowed onto the mission came as a stinging betrayal.

I don’t know what Gale’s going through at the moment, furious and bitter and confined to his quarters until the mission is declared officially finished, but I can’t imagine it’s much worse than what I’ve been feeling in the last few hours, sitting helplessly beside Finnick with nothing else to do but wait. We filmed propos to be broadcast all across Panem while the soldiers attempt to rescue the captives unnoticed, we’ve tied extensive and intricate knots, we’ve both even tried to sleep and eat and bathe. But in the end, I’m frozen in place, able to do absolutely nothing but merely take up space in this overflowing compound, paralyzed until I know she’s been rescued.

Paralyzed until I know she’s alright. Until I know that she’s here and safe and secure and far, far out of Snow’s reach.

Something tells me if the mission goes south, if the operation fails and Katniss is killed alongside Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta — and every soldier Coin handpicked to retrieve her Mockingjay — this is how I’ll always be. This is what my whole reality will become. Moving distantly from one task to the next, no meaning, no feeling, no life left inside my body to force me to go on.

“A person cannot live without a heart, Peeta,” my father once said. I didn’t realize then how wise he was. How true those words could be. I didn’t realize then that he wasn’t speaking literally. That he understood more about love than I ever gave him credit for.

I wish it wasn’t too late now to tell him I’m sorry. To tell him I’m so sorry. For all the things I never truly heard. For everything about him that I never understood.

-

It’s impossible to miss their arrival. Haymitch is the one who alerts us they’re back, that they’re in the hospital wing and we need to hurry up and get there as fast as we can.

I want to ask him about a million questions. I want to shake Haymitch down until he gives me a definitive answer, until he says that Katniss specifically was saved, that she’s here and alive and alright, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak. The very thought of seeing her again has my vocal cords tied in a knot, nerves suddenly welling up within me for reasons that don’t make sense and I’ll probably never be able to articulate to anyone. Not even to myself.

I follow behind Haymitch, feeling as dazed as Finnick looks. I feel as if my brain has been gutted, like someone came along and tore it apart and stuffed it with cotton.

We walk through Special Forces and take the elevator all the way to the hospital wing. It’s the elevator that moves to the side as well as up and down but the jarring ride leaves my stomach unaffected for the first time.

We are met with complete chaos as soon as we exit the doors. Gurneys are flying down halls and in and out of rooms, doctors and nurses and soldiers are everywhere, orders are being shouted across the vicinity, making it unclear who’s speaking to who.

But then Haymitch comes to an abrupt stop at a random door. Boggs is standing beside it, looking exhausted and bleary and I can’t hear what he’s saying because Finnick is shouting and breaking from the group, running down the hall and out of sight. I make a half-hearted attempt to glance over my shoulder, to see him disappear into the crowd and commotion, to hear a loud crash and then a voice — a female voice — screaming out his name.

But I don’t have the energy to process any of this at all. Selfishly, my focus is gone and I don’t have the capability to take any of the events surrounding me in. Because something within me realizes with extreme certainty that it is her on the other side of the door. And once I realize that, I can’t stand to wait another second.

When I reach to turn the knob, neither Haymitch nor Boggs stop me. They watch on, both looking somewhat cautious, as I open the door and reveal Katniss sitting on the edge of her bed, with a trio of doctors surrounding her.

She doesn’t seem to notice me at first. No, the doctors are holding her focus, checking her pulse and blood pressure, speaking to her in quiet, hushed voices, writing things down on clipboards.

And then one flashes a light into her eyes and she flinches, shoving the light away violently. Jerking her head away, bringing her palms up to her face, hiding herself behind her hands.

“Katniss,” I whisper, my voice almost inaudible.

One of the doctors places their hand firmly on my shoulder, a clear warning to stay back. But I can’t be deterred and I shake him off without hesitation.

“She hasn’t spoken a word,” another one of the doctors informs me. Unlike their colleague, their eyes silently invite me closer, as if wanting to see what Katniss will do in my presence. As if I’m here as an experiment. “Not even when they rescued her. And she’s refusing to open her mouth for us to check for her tongue.”

Unfortunately I suddenly understand the implication all too well. They think she’s an Avox, that Snow ordered her tongue be removed as a punishment.

In a completely twisted way, that would make sense for him to do. Katniss cannot be the Mockingjay if she cannot speak.

But I don’t have the time to dwell on what-ifs right now. Because she’s right in front of me and even if she lost her tongue, I’m still completely overjoyed to see her here, alive and breathing and in one piece. And out of Snow’s reach.

I get as close to her as I dare — as close as I can get without feeling like I’m about to frighten her — before kneeling down to meet her eye level.

I see her face up close for the first time. I see the bruises that cover all around her eyes and a large gash bleeding across her forehead. I see the angry, pink color to the skin across her nose and the large finger marks dotting her neck. I spot the dried blood in her ears and the corner of her mouth and I can feel my eyes blur over with thousands of tears as I whisper her name aloud, once again, “Katniss.”

When I touch her cheek lightly with the back of my hand, she instinctively flinches. Like a flighty animal, she flinches and throws herself back. She crashes backwards against the exam table she’s seated upon and her eyes flash to mine in terror. Her eyes flash upwards to mine for the very first time since the last night in Quell and I can see the recognition seep right into her haunted gaze.

“Peeta,” she croaks, the word one, my name, sounding so petrified and so unlike herself. “Peeta,” she says again, clearer this time and I nod in confirmation before I even realize it.

“Yeah, Katniss, it’s me,” I promise, bringing my hand up again to brush her cheek. “I’m right here. It’s me.”

This time, instead of acting like it burns, she greedily leans into it. I cup the side of her bruised and battered face and she leans into it, drinking it in like the food and water her malnourished body has clearly been deprived of.

“So she still has her tongue,” Haymitch murmurs and the relief in his voice is palpable to everyone in the room.

“It would seem so,” one of the doctors says, taking a step closer to Katniss and me. “May I?” He asks, gesturing with his chin for me to take a step back.

And I don’t want to oblige, I don’t want to ever let Katniss go again, but it’s not like there’s a lot of room for argument. Haymitch takes a step closer, placing a hand on my shoulder and I swallow hard on the lump that’s built up in my throat as I force myself to move away.

Katniss’ swollen and exhausted — so very exhausted — eyes follow me for a long moment before the doctor touches her chin, maneuvering it in his direction.

She frantically jerks her head away, batting at him with shaking hands, but doesn’t make a single audible sound.

For the most part, she manages to cooperate with their requests. When they tell her to turn her neck or show them her back or lift her arm, she obligates. She does it rather slow and hesitantly, but she does it just the same.

It’s the verbal questions she outright refuses. No matter what they ask, about her pain levels or her hearing or the unsteadiness to her breathing, she doesn’t utter a word. She doesn’t even open her mouth to try.

“She’s not feeling very talkative,” Haymitch finally says, stating the obvious to everyone in the room. At some point, Boggs seems to have slipped out without me noticing. I wonder in the back of my mind what made him flee. If he had a real reason or if this scene before us was just too hard to swallow.

All three doctors act as if Haymitch hadn’t spoke. “I’m going to check your eyes again,” one of them tells Katniss and pulls out a tiny handheld light from the pocket of their white coat. “Try to follow the light,” he murmurs, flashing the beam into her bleary gray eyes, moving it from one side to the other.

But he can only manage this for a few seconds before Katniss shoves the tool away once again. Just as she did before, she violently pushes back against the blinding light, this time knocking it from the doctor’s hands, before cowering away, desperately trying to escape the exam and the doctors and the entire room now.

And I can’t stand back any longer. Just as when I heard her cry out during the night on the Victory Tour or she was trapped with the jabberjays in the Quell — or all those times she was publicly interviewed from the inside of Snow’s mansion — I instinctively try to get to her, try to reach her and protect her, the moment I realize she’s in pain.

She blindly grapples for me, like she knows I’m there before I even touch her, and within a moment’s passing, she’s in my arms, wrapped up and secured tight in my embrace. Where it feels like nothing and no one else can touch her. Not without going through me.

The doctors here in Thirteen are quick, I’ll give them that. They are fast to back away, clearing my path just in time to avoid a collision. I can hear them murmuring quietly amongst themselves. Too low for me to hear, demanding too much effort for me to even try.

Haymitch clears his throat then, muttering something I also cannot understand — because he’s choking up, I realize as an afterthought. He would never admit it but he’s becoming overwhelmed with emotion — and following the doctors out the door without more preamble.

With everyone else gone, Katniss finally lets out an audible cry. It sounds almost animalistic to my ears, like it’s been boiling inside her the entire duration of time she was trapped in the Capitol.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to her, sitting down on the bed, pulling her to me, holding her on my lap. I revel silently in the familiar feeling of her laying her ear against my heart. “It’s okay, Katniss,” I say again, knowing these empty words are not going to do much more to help her now than they did even before Snow captured her.

She stays against me for a long time, her breathing uneven while her tears relentlessly dampen my shirt. “Peeta?” She mumbles faintly, sniffling as she pulls back from my hold.

“Yeah?” I wipe the tears from her bruised and bloody face, as gently as I can, doing everything in my power to be tender. To not to add to her pain at all.

“Are they going to come for me?” She asks, her voice as small as I’ve ever heard it, her big, bloodshot eyes looking like they hurt. Like they sting so badly, from the inside out.

And though I don’t know who she’s referring to, I don’t know who specifically she’s afraid of, or who she thinks is about to break into an underground military compound, I know exactly what she needs to hear.

“No,” I promise, putting every emphasis I can on that one single word. My eyes bore deeply into her’s, assuring her of my sincerity. “No one is going to touch you again. Ever.”

Her eyes glaze over though and I catch a glimpse of the girl I know. The girl I know so well. “You can’t promise that, Peeta,” she murmurs, her tone darkening with every syllable.

And I hate it. I hate so much that my plan to die for her in the arena failed, that I failed, that I failed to protect her from Snow.

I hate what I let him do to her.

And then the promises are pouring out before I think better of it. “Yes, I can,” I say, a fire sparking to life within me. “No one’s going to come for you, Katniss. No one. I will not let them.” I touch her chin lightly, holding it, urging her to make eye contact. “Okay?”

She nods slowly, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. And there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing I can do to make her believe me, to make what happened to her in the Capitol okay.

“Peeta,” she murmurs softly after a stretch of silence. She leans her head against my shoulder again, even more lethargic now. “Can we sleep?”

My brows knit together in surprise, wanting to ask her more, wanting to know who hurt her and what they did and every last detail about what she went through. But I can’t do that. Not to her, not right now, when she looks so exhausted.

My hand instinctively reaches up to tuck her hair behind her left ear, repeating the motion several times until her eyes fall shut. I feel a wave of gratitude spread throughout me as her expression relaxes a little from the simple gesture.

“Yeah, we can sleep,” I say, guiding her to lay on the hospital bed, already made up and waiting for her.

I plan on just getting her situated and sleeping before slipping out but Katniss has other plans. And she’s very adamant about it too. She uses all the force still left in her body to tug me towards her, making it clear she doesn’t intend to fall asleep without me.

“You sure you want to share your bed with me?” I ask as she pulls my arm beneath her head, using it in place of her pillow. Like she used to do on the train at night. “They don’t offer much bedspace here in Thirteen.”

She doesn’t respond to my question, doesn’t even acknowledge it, but I don’t press her further. Instead my hand moves to touch her cheek, to cup it again. To feel that she is here with me now, that she’s real. That she survived what surely would have killed anyone else in her place.

When she speaks again, it’s not a reply to my question. Instead it’s a confession of sorts, like I’m the only person in the world she trusts and the only one she can tell this to and she has to get it off her chest or she’ll explode.

“Peeta?” She whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired.”

“I know.” My voice is barely above a breath now, sensing that she’s not finished yet. But she waits for my prompting to keep going, her eyes full of storm clouds as stares past me, at the blank wall behind my head.

“So tired,” she says again, as if it’s a chant she’s repeating to herself and no one else. “I’m so tired. And sometimes I get so angry.”

-

Heyy 😊, maybe it's too much but I think these would go well together for everlark

your fingers slowly running through their hair

+

their face buried in your chest

+

patiently hearing them venting out their frustration and tiredness of the busy day

AND IT ALL HURTS (BUT IT’S FINE)

cw: none!

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Katniss realises there's something wrong with Peeta the moment he steps through the door.

Shoulders slumped, blonde hair messy, he shuffles into the living room and offers her a halfhearted smile.

"Hey, sweetheart."

He sounds exhausted, overwhelmed, and his voice cracks horribly when his eyes meet hers.

"Hey."

Katniss reaches out to him from her place on the couch and tugs him down on top of her when he places his hand in hers. The boy goes willingly, holding himself a little upright as to not crush her under his weight until Katniss pinches his side.

"Come closer?” It’s tentatively spoken.

Peeta hesistates. “I don’t want to smother you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

The boy huffs a laugh at this but obliges. Leaning down more heavily until his head is tucked into the valley between her neck and her shoulder and his arms are wrapped around Katniss's frame. He takes a deep breath as the girl starts to rubs his back tenderly. His breathes slowly against her skin, nose nestled against her pulse.

Under her ministrations, Peeta admits, "Today was hard."

And Peeta hasn’t been one for brokenhearted confessions for a while now, so when this one leaves his lips, Katniss has to swallow her surprise.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

He shudders almost imperceptibly in her arms so Katniss raises her hands from his back to card through his hair calmingly. Letting his loose curls spool around her fingers as he sags against her.

“Take your time.”

(To anyone else, the softness with which speaks would sound near foreign, but she hopes that to her boy it sounds like comfort and home.)

Slowly, quietly, after a while of them lying there, Peeta begins to speak.

"I wanted to make a special recipe my dad taught me when I was younger. I've been meaning to for a while now. I thought it would be a new specialty at the bakery,” his voice is muffled in her cardigan. “We used to make it together all the time. Just the two of us.”

Katniss hums gently, encouraging him to go on.

"I even called Delly over so I could teach her it. I was so sure I'd be able to make it-“

He cuts himself off, swallowing deeply and going quiet again for a while. Katniss lets him gather his thoughts. Pressing sweet kisses to the crown of his head.

When he speaks again, Peeta sounds devastated.

"I couldn't remember.”

Katniss's hands don't stop carding through his hair. Peeta’s arms tremble around her waist.

“I couldn’t- fuck, Katniss, I laid out all the ingredients and then realised I didn’t know what the steps were.”

His voice cracks, and Katniss wants so desperately to be able to see his face, but he keeps it firmly tucked away from her. Reluctant to let her see him hurting.

“I was so embarrassed, Kat. And Delly didn’t mind because she’s Delly and she’s my friend, but I was so upset about it. I still am.”

He takes a teary breath in. "I'm so angry with myself. Because I should be better now, right? They said I would be. I should be remembering more things by now.” Then, quieter.

"Why can't I remember?"

Peeta’s upset is an knife to Katniss’s stomach.

“I’ve lost one of the only things I had left of him.”

Katniss’s hands do stop then, moving so that she can cup them around his face and tilt it upwards. Peeta lifts his head from her chest and allows her to do so, pliant under her touch.

Their eyes meet and Katniss’s heart tightens painfully in her chest.

“You haven’t lost him, Peeta.” She thumbs his cheekbone carefully, wiping at the mess of tears gathering there. “You’ve just forgotten. And it’s painful and it hurts, but you’ll get it all back in time. Your memories won’t stay taken forever.”

When Peeta doesn’t speak, Katniss continues.

“And besides, you carry on his legacy every day, Peeta. You rebuilt the bakery. You cherish the recipes he taught you. You are kind and you care for your customers like you told me he did.”

The boy leans back from her more fully and Katniss follows him up so that they’re sitting on the couch facing each other. Her legs thrown over his, chests only a few inches apart. She taps his heart, once twice.

“You carry him here, Peeta. Forgetting one recipe won’t change that.”

Peeta nods like he doesn’t quite believe her yet, but will in time. When Katniss shuffles closer to press her lips against his forehead, he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry for being such a mess,” his voice come out low, ragged.

“Don’t be.” Katniss brushes his tears away with her fingertips. “I always want to hear about your day. Regardless of whether it was good or bad. We can try to make your recipe again tomorrow if you’d like.” she offers him a smile.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Peeta smiles back at her. A proper smile for the first time this evening. And it’s little dim at the edges, reminding Katniss of clouds when they obscure the sun ever so slightly. But it’s a smile nonetheless and so she takes it with open arms.

GIRL ON FIRE, UP IN FLAMES .𖥔 ݁ ˖๋࣭ ⭑🌱🌲

prompt: katniss is whipped instead of gale in cf au where everlark are already together and in love + i request something everlark and extremely whompy.

Word count: 1.8k

cw: violence, trauma, whipping, heavy angst but a hopeful ending, established everlark!

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