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an everlark smutty drabble inspired by an anon prompt:
Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥
since I was cleaning out my inbox today I decided to try and write this. NSFW themes ahead. Read with caution, and pay attention to the prompts specifications.
We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed.
He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.
He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine.
He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though.
“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.
“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice.
Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him.
“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.
I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love.
“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought.
He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace.
“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now.
“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason.
Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic.
“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.
Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly.
“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more.
“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop.
“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this.
I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring.
“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks.
“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body.
“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely.
We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him.
I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him.
“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still. We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed.
There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again.
His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.
“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in.
I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple.
“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again.
He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris.
“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me.
Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me.
“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply.
I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh.
“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response.
‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden.
He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing.
Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me.
“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up.
He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.
“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone.
I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress.
“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me.
“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt.
My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him.
“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again.
I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta.
“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts.
“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release.
“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up.
I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face.
“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise.
His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me.
I let out a broken, choked noise.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—”
His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge.
I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets.
I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can.
Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time.
We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably.
“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.
I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this.
“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable.
He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more.
“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment.
“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#lemonluvanswers#the hunger games#everlark smut#sub/dom vibes#nothing too crazy
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ROLE REVERSAL: More Hijacked Katniss AU (Alternate version of the lunch room scene)
"Your bread used to taste better." She says conversationally, as if she just wants to contribute something to the lunch room discussion, but her eyes cut to him and stay there. Narrowed and waiting for his reaction. All around them, their table grows quiet. Finnick stops separating Annie's carrots and peas on her plate. Gale's head snaps up from where he had been determinedly staring at his garlic/squash soup and shoveling it into his mouth dispassionately. And Haymitch cocks his head in her direction attentively. They are all watching her. This is the most she's said to him in days since their last botched interaction.
Peeta, though, keeps quiet as per their mentor's advice. Holding back a million things, he could say in reply. Like how District 13 only keeps the barest of ingredients in stock to make their food. No spices or herbs to add flavor. No add-ins like fruits or nuts or even butter can be spared from their spartan like rationing. Their ovens are also huge and dont heat to temperature evenly. They are for making large quantities of food fast and easily, not for slow cooking breads. Everything that has come out of them so far is either overcooked and dry or still slightly doughy in the middle. He can't seem to get them to produce a decent loaf no matter how hard he tries. They are nothing like the bakery ovens he is used to.
He gives her only a half shrug in reply, and the corner of her mouth twitches up in a near smile that sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn't like that look.
"Then again, maybe your bread was always shitty. Maybe everything you do is mediocre at best, like those kisses in the cave and those kisses on the Victory Tour, and Snow just messed with my head to make me think you were better than you are." She says the words, and they drip with undisguised malice.
The comment hits him square in the chest. Like a punch to the sternum. Just like she intended, no doubt from the way her gray eyes are glittering with hungry anticipation. They way she wants to hurt him and watch his reaction is so personal that it's vindictive. He never knows quite what to say to her when she does it. On one hand, it's better than when she's ignoring him completely. Like the way she treats Gale. As if he barely exists, and isn't even important enough to warant her disdain. He is like a nonenitity to her, a mild annoyance she occasionally frowns at when she can be bothered to acknowledge he even exists. Peeta can't imagine being that inconsequential to her after everything they've been through together. On the other hand, when she speaks to him, now it's excruciating. She's a sharp pointed weapon, as deadly accurate with her aim as she ever was, only now she uses her words instead of her arrows. Every time she opens her mouth, he's left feeling like a wounded fawn, shot through and left bleeding on the forest floor, heart pumping and blood racing in fear and desperation as she stands over him in violent triumph. He tries not to react to her words. Tries not to show how deeply she cuts him. Getting defensive only spurs her on he's learned. Because the more he struggles, the more she enjoys it. Like she knows, he'll bleed out faster because of it. He won't be able to keep his terrifying emotions in check. His broken heart will ooze from him and land in a puddle at her feet. Something for her to drag her boot through in disgust before she closes in for the kill.
A weezy chuckle breaks through the silence that has decended around the dining table, and it's their mentor who speaks while everyone's eyes are glued to the two of them.
"Of course, his bread used to taste better. You were in love with him. Everything in the world is better when you're young, stupid, and in love."
Peeta watches as the weight of their mentor's statement lands. Anger and something like embarrassment flash in her eyes. She scoffs, but two twin spots of color rise high on her cheeks. Evidence that the well placed volley has hit its mark.
Peeta exhales slowly. Fighting the urge to defend her and himself. It's a hard to break habit. And he knows that the urge to protect her will serve no one right now. She would hate him all the more if he even attempted it.
On the other side of his instinct is a strange kind of satisfaction at seeing her thrown off balance for even a moment.
Haymitch's words are a kind of vindication, and her reaction is further evidence, but the feeling that it leaves in his soul is bittersweet. Because it rings soundly true in a way that is simple and irrefutable. She did like his cooking once. Couldn't get enough of it, in fact. And she did love him in some way. She must have. The way she hates him now all but assures it. But Haymitch's use of the past tense when he talks about her feelings for him makes a place inside Peeta's chest ache with a sad longing that he fears will never completely go away.
Because she doesn't love him anymore, and now all that is left of their once profound connection is this. This cruel exercise in bloodletting that he really should walk away from but can't.
"I never loved him." She spits out, and if Johanna were here, she'd say something snarky and sarcastic about how Katniss is still a shit actress.
"That's what Snow wants you to think." Finnick says, looking squarely at Katniss, even voiced and confident in his words.
She sneers at him, opens her mouth, but Haymitch cuts her off.
"You did, and you still do. You're the only one who can't see it. Then again, even before the hijacking, you were pretty slow on the uptake. Still got the intuition of a fucking rock. Guess it's nice to know they didn't change everything about you." Haymitch says, words slipping out quickly, and punctuated by a loud burp that leaves a lingering stench of garlic.
It makes Peeta's nose wrinkle, and in the time it takes for him to shake his head to try and dislodge the smell from his nostrils, she bolts.
All he can do is stare at the empty space she had been sitting in and wonder if they will ever be able to have a normal conversation again.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#the hunger games#Golden Cages#Hijacked!Katniss#thg au#angst#hurt#no comfort#just ouch
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Hi! Ohmygod your drabble of Katniss going down on Peeta for the first time was ASTOUNDING 🔥 🥵 Truly love your work for this couple!!
If it isn’t too much, could I request a drabble! Maybe one with some more dirtytalking!Peeta in the post-mj universe? Maybe from the same vibe as the other drabble wherein K finds out how much she LOVES dirtytalking!Peeta? THANKS A BUNCH!! LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU ALWAYS!! ❤️
Ok, here goes nothing!
He ran a finger down the middle of her lips tracing around the outline of her mouth back and forth.
"Open up sweetheart," He requested, voice low and husky.
If it had been anyone else in the world she would have refused. But this was Peeta. He was the exception to all of her rules.
She slowly opened her mouth and flicked her tongue gently against the skin of the pad of his finger, gentle but eager. At her easy compliance, he pushed his finger in just a little ways and she latched on and started to suck.
"Fuck," He breathed out the word in a tortured growl, eyes heavy, lids lowered, his body swaying towards hers.
"You look stunning wearing just my shirt, my finger in your mouth, your cheeks all flushed and eyes wild." He told her, dipping his finger in deeper and pumping it in and out of her mouth in mimicry of the new version of lovemaking she had recently learned. It brought back the sensations of his cock, heavy and hard in her mouth, pulsing with need and tasting like some beautiful forbidden fruit, all salt and musk and Peeta. She couldn't wait to try it again soon and wondered if that's where this little encounter was going but then her thoughts scattered at the feeling of him tracing across her skin again.
His finger slipped out of her mouth, brushing against the corner of her mouth before he continued down the column of her throat, past her collarbone to just between her breasts, their sharp peaks hidden beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
He lowered his head to the point of her straining nipple of sealed his mouth over it, hot and wet, sucking her through the tin material of his shirt. He looked up at her and gave her such a knowing look, full of intention and desire.
A moan tore out of her throat. The space between her thighs was hot and tight, slick and clenching in anticipation.
He didn't leave her waiting for too long. His hand snuck beneath the hem of his shirt and found her easily, fingers parting and sinking into her dripping heat like a hot knife through butter.
"Peeta," She gasped, full of his delicate ministrations, and then his tongue was in her mouth, thrusting in and out slowly, but deliberately in a way he knew drove her mad.
She opened her mouth to him eagerly, sliding her tongue against his, sucking on his bottom lip, and kissing him back with abandon.
He pulled back after he had kissed her senseless and lowered his mouth to whisper in her ear.
"I love the way you sound when I'm inside you. Your voice gets so high and sweet, so desperate. Do you know how sexy you sound? How much it makes me want to just push you against the nearest surface and fuck you? Good and hard? Or maybe you want it nice and slow? Do you want me to fuck you like a gentleman? I'd go slow, but deep. Nice and steady. Over and over. I'd have you begging. I wouldn't go faster until you were nearly sobbing for it."
His words made her clench down on his fingers hard and dragged a needy whine from her throat. She loved it when he talked like this. He always knew the right words to say to make her come unglued.
"Please," She cried out in that high, urgent voice that he liked so much.
"You know what you need to do sweetheart. What do you need to say?" He prompted while his fingers stroked inside of her perfectly, curling up to pet a deep sensitive spot inside of her and she whined again, so close.
"I--" She cut off, breathless, panting, twisting her hips only to have him still her motions in an iron grip, unrelenting and unwilling to let her cheat.
"Say it Katniss." He ordered.
"I need you--" She broke off again, losing her ability to speak coherently when his fingers were playing her like an instrument.
"To do what? Use your words, my love." He encouraged, voice rough and slightly strained.
"Fuck me. Make me come Peeta! Please!" She finally got the words out, her volume at a near shout.
"Of course darling, all you had to do was ask." He said quietly, a throaty chuckle escaping before he lowered his mouth to suck against her pulse point, his fingers speeding up their movements, the heel of his hand pressing harder against her, grinding, at just the right spot until she broke, and hurtled over the edge, with a breathless cry.
It was a quick and brilliant spark that lit up her veins, searing through her nerves and her skin like fire, taking over her until all she could feel was Peeta. His body pressed along her skin, his clean masculine scent invading her mouth, her lungs, his lips on her neck, his fingers wringing the pleasure out of her slowly, torturously, until there was nothing left for her to do but murmur his name in rapture over and over.
"There you go, just like that sweetheart." He said, hand smoothing over her hair and lips pressing against her temple sweetly.
"That was one. How many more do you think I can give you tonight before you beg to come on my cock?" He asked in a conversational tone.
She couldn't answer him. She was still incapable of speech, as the after-effects of the orgasm he had just given her wound itself down slowly.
"Don't worry love, we're just getting started." He said in a reassuring tone as he flexed his hips against her, grinding his rock-hard erection into the tender skin of her stomach.
Katniss looked up at him and smiled.
#lemonluvwrites#thg#everlark#fanfiction#the hunger games#thg fanfiction#smutty drabbles#dirtytalking!peeta#everlark prompts#everlark smut
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Katniss: Then you said that they had to have their Victor, and it made me think. So many thoughts flew through my mind in those few seconds while you were talking. Im sorry to say I wasnt really listening. I was thinking. About the games, about you and me and the rule change, and everything we'd been through. How hard we fought to survive. How many others died and how horrible their deaths were. And I thought if you died and I lived, even if I went home to Prim and my mother, my mind would stay trapped in the arena forever. Everything I had tried to do after losing Rue would have been for nothing. It would have just been for myself. All I would have to show for it would have been own my miserable life. Which I realized was no prize worth keeping if it meant losing everything decent and good about me. Just like you tried to tell me the night before the Games started. I didn't realize it until that moment, I had been too busy trying to survive to digure out what surving would cost. But Somehow, right then, when you asked me to shoot you, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. Not even going home to Prim would fix it. But if we went home together then at least it was something. At least we hadn't completely succumbed. We had kept a part of ourselves, however small, that refused to hate, refused to kill. That chose to protect and save one another instead. None of these thoughts were really clear at the time. They passed by so fast. It was just the vague impression of these things in the moment, all tangled up together like a great knot. But the feeling of all of them working together inside of me, was something I couldn't ignore. I'd never have been able to really go home without you. No part of me, the old me would have survived if you had died for me to win. Which was in its own way selfish, but... anyway. So that's why I pulled out the berries.
Peeta:*looks away thoughtfully*
Peeta: *after a long moment, looks back with tears in his eyes* I...
Peeta: *reaches over and wraps his arms around Katniss, pulling her into a deep hug. Presses his face into her hair.
Peeta: *mumbling* You're not selfish. You're not. Don't say that.
Katniss: *slowly raises her arms and hugs him back* I think I am. But maybe that's OK. Because in the end it meant keeping you. I mean, not that you're mine--I mean--
Peeta: *laughing/crying* oh, Katniss. I'm yours. I've always been yours.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#i just wrote this on a whim#gbt phase#lemonluvwrites#writing#katniss everdeen#the hunger games
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Okay, Chica - A G rated prompt: Katniss gets goosebumps when she holds Peeta's hands.
Thank you to the INCREDIBLE @mega-aulover for this prompt :) I hardly get the excuse to try and write fluff and I have to say I enjoyed the entire exercise!
She'd like to say that getting close to Peeta again was as easy as breathing, but that would be a lie.
It wasn't easy. It was difficult. Full of false starts and awkward interludes and enough unsaid words to fill a shelf of books. Katniss understood this because she knew there was no way to ever truly start over with Peeta Mellark, even if she truly and deeply wished she could erase the past year of him being captured, tortured, and everything that followed until the end of the war.
There were layers of history and trauma in between them, and Peeta wasn't always aware of the context or meaning that colored their interactions, but neither was he oblivious. He felt things and picked up on things and he could still read the room with startling precision.
He remembered odd snippets sometimes, and the major events of their history together but the day-to-day workings of their relationship (which was still stuck in some strange place between cautious allies on good days and distrustful antagonists on the bad ones) seemed to puzzle him at first when he came back if not downright confuse him.
He legitimately didn't understand why Gale hadn't come back to District 12 with her after she had been exiled.
They got into it one night after seeing his face pop up on the nightly newscast. He asked questions with an internal compulsion that she had come to recognize. It was an extension of his 'Real or Not Real' mechanism.
The coping strategy he defaulted to when something just didn't sit right in his mind. And she knew that it was finally time to tell him why Gale hadn't come home, why she hadn't wanted him to accompany her back, why it might be better if he just stayed away indefinitely. Or at least until the still razor-sharp pain she got inside her chest every time she thought of him lessened somewhat.
So she told him about that day outside the president's mansion. She told him about the bombs and about what Snow said in the rose garden. About Coin and her tests of loyalty at the victor's meeting. She told him about Gale and Beetee's bombs and how no one knew for sure how it had happened, who had given the authorization, or what design they had used.
But the implication hung heavy in the air as it had that day that Gale had come to bring her the final arrow to end the war.
"So that's why he's not here." That had been his only reply. Katniss had nodded, not looking at him, lost in her thoughts about how far they had all come from the people they had once been three years ago.
Peeta had taken her silence and had wadded through it, unafraid to confront the dark waters that threatened to drown out the moment of honesty between them.
"There are a hundred reasons why he's not here." Katniss finally replied looking at him and finding his blue eyes dark, sad, and full of that special kind of empathy that never felt inconsequential, or cheap. Even as lost in his own mind as he tended to get sometimes, Peeta's reactions to other people's pain were the same as they used to be. Pure and noble, and not stemming from any misguided sense of pity.
His hand reached over to cover hers, and he enfolded her own small hand into his grasp. Goosebumps spread from the place where his skin touched hers.
"I'm so sorry Katniss." He said, tone even and quiet. "We were all forced to do horrible things in the games, and in the war, but that really is something terrible to try and come back from. But maybe with time you and he could—"
"There's no coming back, Peeta." She said cutting him off.
"But, if you could find it in your heart to forgive me after I tried to kill you then surely you and Gale can work this out. You two have been through so much together."
Katniss nearly recoiled at not only his words but the earnestness with which he said them.
"Everyone's been through a lot these past two years. You included. I don't need to work out anything with Gale. He can stay right where he is for the foreseeable future."
"But you love him," Peeta said quietly, but his eyes were confused and his brows were pulled down and tight together.
She shook her head slowly at him, recognizing immediately the familiar tone of his voice. It usually preceded a barrage of questions in the real or not real vien.
"No, Peeta. I don't. Gale was never the one I loved. Not like that. "
"Well, my memory isn't the most reliable but from what I've pieced together about you two before the games, and then everything that came after, I was sure..." He trailed off and she reached out and hesitantly placed her hand over his. He looked down and frowned slightly, but in a way that illustrated his confusion.
"I wasn't. When I came home after the first arena all I wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been before, clear-cut and easy. But I couldn't go back. And trying to feel something for Gale beyond friendship was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. I just didn't know how to let go of that part of my life, where all I needed was my bow, the woods, my sister, and my best friend. I might have loved him once, the way you love someone who is like family to you. But I was never in love with him. I've finally learned the difference between real and not real when it comes to that. " She said it with such surety, such conviction, and the way she stared at him. It was like her gray eyes were trying to press some kind of message into him.
He looked startled by her words at first, then he blinked, and it was like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.
Well, maybe not for the first time. There had been many moments where the secret and mysterious nature of the inscrutable Katniss Everdeen was revealed to him in snapshots and quick glances. Like catching sight of something that arrests your eyes right before the door snaps shut.
But looking at Katniss at that moment Peeta knew the door wasn't going to close this time.
No, the warmth of her hand in his, and the look in her eyes told him that this time the door was open for him, as long as he was brave enough to walk through it.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#writing#the hunger games#lemonluvanswers#fluff#gbt#gbt phase#real or not real conversations
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗
oh so fun! Thanks for including me!
The Both of Us -obviously because it's the most popular of my stories and is a fix-it fic. This one is super self-indulgent and as close to canon as I can get while giving Everlark their happy ending sans hijacking. They are so married in this it's ridiculous.
2. Some Loves Bloom Like Flowers, Ours Burns Like the Stars -incredibly romantic and angsty! This is the soulmates/soul marks Everlark canon divergent AU that nobody asked for but that ended up being pretty sweet if I do say so myself.
3. So Pure -A little pre-Quarter Quell Everlark smut. It starts because of the infamous elevator scene and heats up quickly. The ending is bittersweet but in line with THG canon.
4. Make Me a fun little Modern AU drabble that I still like to revisit every now and then! I still need to add a part three so that K + P can finish their smutty fun ;)
5. The Holiday Stand-In -More modern au fun! There's plenty of crack and sexual tension plus a recreation of the 74th hunger games, except with snowballs. Read for a good time!
And there they are! My 5 favorite fics! They are all rated M or above so read with caution. Ya'll know how Ms. Lemon loves her lemony scenes ;)
#lemonluvanswers#lemonluvwrites#top 5 fics#thg#everlark#thg fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#everlark fic#fanfiction#the hunger games
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The Designation Games (Links)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
For anyone who wants to catch up on the story 😉
#The Designation Games#Tdg#everlark a/b/o#omegaverse#thg#fanfiction#thg fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#a/b/o dynamics#thg a/b/o fanfic
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Ok, so this idea just would not leave me alone. I told my husband about this idea for a three-chapter Everlark modern high school AU and he really liked it and told me I should write it. So, here is the first part.
August
Junior year
Panem HS
Another year, another seat in the back of the class next to the window. Another bland teacher introduction followed by the passing out of the class syllabus. Then come the dreaded icebreakers.
Never mind that we live in a town of less than 3,000, or that our graduating class will have less than 200 members if every one of us manages to make it through the next two years of high school. And forget the fact that we’ve all been in the same grade together since kindergarten. Every single year our teachers insist on forcing us to ‘get to know each other’.
If I don’t already know the favorite season and holiday of the person sitting next to me by now I probably never will. (It’s Delly Cartwright, and hers are summer and Christmas respectively)
But everything about this class, about this day, hell, probably about this entire year will be completely predictable. The brains, like BT Latier will work their asses off to get top grades, and the sportos like Cato Anderson will try to copy their homework and cheat off them during tests. Girls like Galinda ‘Glimmer’ Franklin and Clove Moretti will ignore the no cell phones rule and regularly update their Twitter and Instagram during the lecture and will only get called out about 40% of the time.
The rest of us will just muddle through, hopefully paying enough attention to pass the exams and avoid remedial tutoring in the library with Ms. Trinket who, contrary to first impressions, is not a vapid airhead who wears too much makeup and hairspray but in reality, is a total hard ass and does everything in her power to make sure the kids she tutors pass their classes. My life is all about reducing stress and hassle, so I’ll be avoiding her at all costs this year. Besides it’s much easier to just pass the first time around than have to deal with the fallout from failing.
So I inwardly roll my eyes at the whole charade of introductions and do my best to try and look only mildly bored.
When it gets to my turn I don’t bother standing up.
“My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m 17. I’m stubborn and good with a bow and that’s pretty much it.” I say dryly, and it gets a few chuckles.
After that, the spotlight of my peer’s attention moves on and no one spares me a second glance. Which is exactly how I prefer it. Everyone here already knows I’m not very interesting. I hate the whole school spirit scene, and I’m not in any clubs or on any committees. The last time I was voluntarily a part of something, was five years ago. I quit track in middle school so I could spend more time hunting in the woods to supplement the money from my father’s income that we lost after his death. I’ve gotten so good at it that Mr. Abernathy, the owner of the local sporting goods store, took me on as a seasonal hire last summer. I parlayed that summer gig into a year-round job that helps keep food on my family’s table, and shoes on my little sister’s feet.
My life is a series of responsibilities and expectations that my classmates could never relate to. And their lives are a carefree existence of parties, dances, and soap-opera drama that I have no interest in.
They live in their little bubbles and I live in the real world and we will go on co-existing in this way until graduation breaks the cycle.
I zone out of the rest of the class. We won’t do much work today if at all, so I allow myself the small indulgence of looking out the window and planning for this year’s hunting season which is set to open up for archery on the first of October.
That leaves me only a few weeks to finish getting the permits and stock up on the needed supplies.
This year will be harder than the years before since I’ll be hunting alone. My best friend and hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, graduated and left for Maryland this past summer. He’ll be in Annapolis, training to become an officer and a marine while I’ll be up to my elbows in wild turkey and white-tail deer.
Even though I’m happy for him, I can’t help but feel saddened by his absence. Now there will be no one to watch my back in the woods. No one to help me carry a hundred or more pound buck back if I manage to bring one down like I did two years ago.
The only thing I can think of is maybe asking my boss, Haymitch if I can borrow his truck and if I can rig up a travois then—
The bell rings and I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the shuffle of feet and the whoops of excitement and laughter that my classmates let out at the sound of the last period ending.
I pick up my old hunter-green JanSport, that’s due for another patch of duck tape soon, sling it over one shoulder and make my way to the door.
My exit is delayed by the clump of jocks jostling each other playfully around the doorframe. I breathe out an annoyed huff as I wait for them to pass.
One of them, one of the kinder ones, turns around and shoots me an apologetic look, bright, clear blue eyes shine back at me for a moment before his friends call his attention and pull him roughly behind them. A piece of folded-up paper falls out of the side pocket of his backpack in the midst of this and lands at my feet.
I swoop down to pick it up and my mouth opens to call out his name but the words died on my lips before they can slip off my tongue.
I catch sight of something completely unexpected when I automatically glance down at the paper in my hand. It's the letters K.E. inscribed neatly on the corner that spark my curiosity and prompt my hand to open up the folded paper to see what’s inside.
I lose my ability to speak, to even think for a moment because it’s me.
I’m staring down at a picture of my own face, straight dark hair pulled back into an unseen braid that hangs down my back, while a few stray pieces fall around my eyes, framing an oval-shaped face, dark brows perch surreptitiously over slanted grey eyes and a straight nose above a generous mouth that’s for once not tilted down into a frown, but is instead caught in a relaxed position, not quite smiling but something like the ghost of it, is settled on my lips. And my head is tilted to the side, curiously.
I have no idea when he caught me making this expression. Maybe when I was looking out the window? When did he draw this? Why did he draw this? Is this some sort of practice for art class? I think he takes Ms. Portia’s intermediate art class at the same time I take shop. I’ve seen him going into that wing of the school because it’s right across from the shop building. Maybe he’s just practicing his life study skills. Maybe he’s taking turns drawing everyone in our history class.
I move forward and stick my head out the door, calling out, “Peeta,” but the hallway is empty.
I look back down at the drawing in my hand and fold it back up carefully, before slipping it into the most secure pocket of my backpack, thinking I’ll give it back to him tomorrow.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#the hunger games#high school au#modern au#Paper Hearts
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Not that you're taking drabble requests, buuuut...
James Arthur's song "Naked" seems very Everlark, and I'll bet you could come up with something awesome for it. If not, I feel like it's great inspo.
Just sayin'! I'll see myself out now. ;)
Katniss held her breath as she crested the hill that lead to her father's lake.
She knew he'd be there, waiting for her just like his note said.
What she didn't know was that he'd already be in the water waiting for her.
She looked down at the trail of clothes that led to the lakeshore.
The first, a plain white T-shirt. The thin kind Peeta favored for working at the bakery during long hot summer days. The kind she had taken to stealing and sleeping in because they were so comfortable.
Then, a pair of boots, tossed off haphazardly a few feet from each other. The double-knotted laces were pulled uncharacteristically undone.
One gray sock lying over a rock. The sight shouldn't have affected her, but an image was forming in her mind.
A thick pale chest dusted in faint blond hairs....a broad back decked with freckles moving over strong muscles.
A pair of tan trousers crumpled and left to lie precisely where they had fallen stirred up images of solid calves and thickly built thighs covered in dark, curly blond hairs.
The odd shiver rolled down her spine, half anticipation, half trepidation. They'd spent the night wrapped in each other's arms and had shared much of their bodies but not everything.
There had been obstacles.
It had taken him years to wrest control of the bakery from his mother after his father had died. He wanted to be his own man, with his own livelihood to offer when he inevitably asked her to marry him. Katniss had refused for years to sign any official papers at the Justice Building, despite knowing he was the only one she could ever see herself sharing her life with. Even after they toasted in a private ceremony she refused to fully consummate the relationship until she was sure the Hunger Games had been abolished for good.
Tonight was different.
It had been a year since the current government had signed a decree outlawing anything like the Games from ever taking place on Panem soil again.
It had been four years since she and Peeta had toasted.
And this morning they had signed the papers at the Justice Building that made everything official.
It was time. Past time, really for this.
And with that thought, she began to disrobe.
She prodded gently at the last item of clothing with her bare toe. Her plain white cotton underwear lay atop his navy blue boxers.
The sight made her smile just a little.
She looked out into the water where she could just make out his shape. He was floating on his back lazily, hands braced behind his head. His torso was shining wet with small puddles collecting along his sternum and navel.
The things she wanted to do at the sight surprised even her.
Especially when her eyes dipped lower to trace the rest of his naked body that he proudly left on display for her to see.
She licked her lips absent-mindedly as she took one step forward and warm summer lake water lapped at her ankles.
She saw the moment he noticed her. Saw the way his eyes caught on her bare skin and dragged down with agonizing intensity across every inch of her.
She stood there for a minute, just letting him look at her, as she looked her fill at him in return.
It was a promise. She was done pretending she didn't need him, all of him, with her, beside her, inside her giving her everything she always swore she could do without.
She could do without so much. But not him. She needed him and what's more, she wanted him. She wanted the promise of everything they could build together, with their hearts and their naked bodies finally surrendering to each other after so long of only giving each other half of what they really wanted.
The wait was over.
It was time for her and Peeta now.
She slipped into the water and swam out to meet him, bare-skin, naked soul, and full heart.
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#implied smut#just a little drabble#anticipation#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen
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The Mockingjay Cries at Midnight
So, here I am again with another weird Everlark Christmas-themed story. This time I decided to go way-waaay out of the box and try a Christmas/mystery/thriller. Yeah. I know. Should be fun lol. Very festive. Hope you like the first 2 chapters.
Chapter One: The Journalist and Slippery Slope
The winding roads were icy and seemingly endless. Not another car was in sight on the lonely stretch of highway he was traveling. His legs had lost feeling from continuous driving, and his fingers were starting to feel a bit numb too, but not from lack of movement. It was the seeping cold that seemed to pervade everything, despite the heater being turned up to full blast in his old Jeep Cherokee. Bing Crosby’s velvety voice was “Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum,”ing along on the radio, and Peeta Mellark was humming along off-key in a desperate effort to stay awake.
He had been driving for too long, he knew that, but he was very near reaching his destination. He was used to going to uncomfortable lengths to get the story he was after. He had done this before many times. Wisconsin for instance, he drove 9 hours in the rain to make it to Steven’s Point, and it had been hell on his back but he got there, and he got his story. They had to run second and third prints to keep up with the demand. And in Villa Ridge Missouri, he had to stake out an abandoned stretch of road for two days, but he got the story on that one too.
This one would be just like all the rest. A little discomfort, a little lost sleep, but ultimately worth it in the long run once he printed a full expose about the mysterious murders that rocked a little no-name town fifty years ago.
“I am a poor boy too…” His voice warbled tiredly as his eyes searched for the mile marker that would tell him where to turn, but there was a steady sleet building outside and it was getting harder and harder to see in the worsening weather.
He was looking for number 113 and going by the map he was forced to use after he lost GPS service, it was bound to be around here somewhere.
“I have no gift to bring, Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum” He had already passed exit 18 aways back. That meant 113 was coming up any minute now.
“That’s fit to give a—shit!” He caught sight of the reflective marker with the numbers 113 and tried to turn, half a second too late and much too sharp, but the tires couldn’t find purchase on the slick road on such short notice.
The car started to hydroplane.
“Fuck, FUCK!” Thinking quickly, he did what all the experts said was best, which was to turn into the spin.
But he was going too fast. The row of snow covered trees that lined the highway like silent guardians blurred and drew closer in his vision.
Suddenly he couldn’t remember what was so important that he drove out to the middle of nowhere a few days before Chrsitmas to find. Surely it wasn’t this. A quick and violent end on an icy road with no one who even knew where he was this time of night.
Only his editor knew where he was headed and she probably wouldn’t report him missing for days.
All of these thoughts flew into his mind and flew out just as quickly, as fast as the old jeep spun out of control and headed for the treeline.
The last thing he saw was what looked like a woman.
A woman in a faded ruffle dress, with long dark hair, standing on the side of the road. Almost close enough to touch. Time seemed to slow-and stop altogether as she held his gaze. She had a sad, forlorn look in her large brown eyes, that were almost pleading with him. It looked like she was trying to say something, but he couldn’t make it out. It seemed important if the desperate look she was giving him was anything to go by, and he thought that look would be impressed upon him forever should he live past this terrible night.
Then the car made another revolution, and she was taken out of his sight.
Quicker than a blink everything was back to the breakneck speed of reality as the car careened completely out of control. Then there was the sound of breaking glass, the impact of wood on metal, and the sharp flash of pain that radiated through every inch of him.
And then all was darkness.
Chapter 2: The Angel with the Permanant Frown
The beep-beep-beep-beeeep of her minitor almost caused her to knock over her peppermint tea. Almost, but Katniss Everdeen caught the tipping cup at the last second and righted it. She unclipped the mini-monitor on her belt loop, nicknamed ‘minitor’ for short by all the local EMT’s and held it up as the device beeped its special four note tone again. It was the tone reserved for immediately life-threatening situations and it meant she didn’t have a minute to lose.
She grabbed her truck keys off the top of her desk, tossed on her coat, didn’t bother with her hat or gloves, and threw open the door to the office of the local quick-mart.
“Sae! I got a call!” She hollered as she rushed past the woman ringing up customers at the counter.
“This time of night?” The grey haired older woman asked in surprise as Katniss flew by.
“Rules are whoever gets the call has to head to the garage! Call Darius to cover my shift if you need extra security! Or Rory if need someone to help close up!” She shouted over her shoulder as she ran out, the chime of the bell ringing loudly behind her as the door snicked shut.
Panem county was one of the smallest counties in the continental United States. The small townships of the Seam, Hob, and Panem Town proper, or just Town, as the locals called it barely drumed up a population of 4,000 residents combined. The only EMTs the county could afford to keep were volunteer ones, and they didn’t have regular shifts or wait at the station like their big-city counter parts. When someone called 911, dispatch paged everyone within a certain radius of the emergency. Special pre-recorded tones caused their minitors to beep loudly, alerting them to the emergency.
They had different tones for ‘urgent response’, ‘potentially life-threatening’, and ‘immediately life-threatening’ situations. The call she received was the former. Luckily everyone at dispatch knew where to find her on a Tuesday night.
She usually picked up a couple shifts a week working security down at old Sae’s quick-mart. The nights were long and tedious and she spent the majority of them watching the security cameras in the office on the look out for shop-lifters or teens trying to buy beer with fake IDs. Nothing serious, at least, nothing she couldn’t handle with a stern look and few sharp words.
But this—this was a not not nothing. She hadn’t had a call this serious…maybe ever.
Working at Sae’s put her within a mile of the garage so that meant she was going to be one of the first responders to make it there. She needed one other person with her before they could leave, as per the rules. More licsenced EMTs could show up and could ride along but they would have to get there before the ambulance took off.
Her train of thought refocused as she pulled up to the old garage that housed the only ambulance and two working fire trucks that serviced the entire county. She pulled into the closest spot and hopped out down from her truck, ice crunching beneath her boots as she hurried into the garage.
She was indeed the first one to arrive and she busied herself with pulling on her EMT uniform, getting the ambulance ready to go, making sure the tires were inflated, and chained properly for ice and snow, and turning on the engine and checking that the tank was full-which it was, thankfully.
Just as she had finished taking a quick inventory of the medical supplies in the backseat she heard a voice call out from the entrance.
“Always first to answer the call huh, Catnip?” The voice of her oldest and best friend, Gale Hawthorne rang out clearly amidst the rumble of the ambulance’s engine. Of course he would be the second one to the garage.
“Early bird, and all that yada yada,” She replied as she shut the back doors and strode out to the front. Gale was already shrugging off his old coat and pulling on his EMT coveralls.
“Hurry up will ya? Any longer and the stragglers will start to show and then we’ll have to let them ride with.” She shouted as she tossed the keyes to the bus over to him before she pulled open the passenger side and slid in. She didn’t really dislike the other EMTs but her and Gale had been friends and partners for years. They had a system and they knew each other like the backs of their own hands. She preferred working with him if she couldn’t work alone, and adding other EMTs just complicated things.
Gale caught the keyes smoothly, like she knew he would, and he sent her cocky grin before he followed suit and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Didn’t think you’d be up for letting me drive.” He commented as he strapped in and adjusted the mirror to fit his above average height.
“I wanna be first out when we get on the scene.” She said quickly as she pulled on her seatbelt and then turned on the ambulance radio. It was programmed to tune into the local police frequency and there was already some chatter going on about an accident out on the highway.
“‘Course you do.” Gale said with a shake of his head. She ignored him in favor of listening to the information the dispatcher was relaying.
Katniss’ grey eyes narrowed as she heard more details come through.
Jeep Grand Cherokee 1998 crashed out on the highway—around mile marker 113—One driver spotted inside the vehicle—unconscious
“Hurry your ass up!” She hissed at her partner when she heard the last descriptor. Gale shot her a look, but she didn’t even glance at him. She was staring ahead at the road that waited outside the garage as if she could will herself onto it faster. Without further prodding Gale flipped the lights and the ambulance siren on with a flick of his fingers and then they were off, practically peeling out of the garage in the next second. Under different circumstances she might have chewed him out for reckless driving but the roads were practically abandoned tonight and they needed to get on the scene fast.
Besides, she couldn’t shake the antsy feeling she had since she’d gotten the call. There was something inside of her that was telling her that she just needed to get there as soon as possible.
The drive out to the highway usually took fifteen minutes. Gale got them there in nine.
The ambulance finally came to a stop just a few yards past the mile 113 marker.
Up ahead she could make out the mangled up shape of a jeep that had gone head to head with an old spruce and lost. Unfortunately they weren’t in an ideal position to get the injured party inside the ambulance unless Gale repositioned the vehicle.
“Hey you said you wanted to be first on the scene.” Gale replied with a shrug as he moved to undo his seatbelt. Katniss shook her head at him.
“Stay put and back this thing up properly. Doors first!” She bit out tersely as she undid her belt and cracked open her door. She hopped down and shut the door closed on Gale’s complaints, ignoring him completely as she pulled her EMT pack higher on her shoulder and started to march forward.
Sleet was still coming down heavily, and the road was slippery under her boots but her feet pulled her forward as quickly and surely as a lodestone is drawn to a magnet.
Before she knew it she was right outside the driver side door, looking in on the man who had been behind the wheel. His face was turned toward her and she could distinguish his featured clearly.
He was young, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, he had ashy blond hair that fell in waves over his forehead. She could tell one other thing about him immediately by just looking—he was damn lucky.
The airbag in his car had properly deployed, from her vantage point she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was knocked unconscious, but not dead. The airbag and the seatbelt he was wearing had most likely saved his life, even though he drove an older model jeep and that sometimes meant that air bags didn’t always work like they should. The only visible injury she could see on him was a gash on his forehead.
She needed to get him out of the car though, so she could assess the rest of him, check his torso and legs, but he looked kind big. Not as tall as Gale, but broad and stocky, with wide shoulders that were going to be a bitch to manover out of the mashed up wreck of his car if she guessed correctly.
She tried tapping on his window to get his attention. It would be easier to move him if he was conscious, also he could unlock the doors instead of them having to shatter the window or the windshield and pull him out. But the man in the car didn’t stir. She tapped louder, as she noticed the car’s radio was amazingly still going and it was still playing music.
Very familiar music.
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen
Snow on snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter
Long, long ago
The version playing was a little known and even less played solo sung by a local artist. It brought back the sounds and stories of her childhood. It brought back the knife edge of pain and loss. That beautiful, effortless voice that sailed over the notes and floated down to mesh with the music was a sound so steeped in memory that for a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, she was so caught off guard.
Then there was a pop and a whoosh, the sound of the air bag deflating, and with it the radio sputtered out and died. The disturbance finally seemed to arouse the unconscious driver.
The bluest eyes she’d ever seen blinked open and locked on her. She stood there staring right back at him, caught up in the bizareness of the situation.
Then her training kicked in.
She knocked on the window again and said in her most stern but calm voice, “Sir, you’ve been in an car accident. I need you to unlock your door and roll down the window so I can help you.”
The man stared at her, in confusion for a second, but then his left hand reached out to do as she had asked. The first thing he said to her when the window came down was not what she was expecting.
“Am I dead? Are you an angel? Do all angels frown like that?”
#thg#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#writing#the hunger games#mystery prompt#mystery thriller#christmas#christmas mystery thriller#I answered my own prompt#everlark fanfiction#modern au#investigation#murder mystery#investigative journalist peeta#EMT Katniss#let's get spooky for christmas#lucy gray baird#lucy gray murder mystery
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Hugs! I think you’re great!!
You’re being hard on yourself, but your writing has brought me and others so much joy!!
Go reread your favorite fic you’ve written or sit down and write a fun piece of smut as a treat. 😘
Dear Anon, this sweet post completely inspired me to write this:
If someone had asked me to pinpoint the moment it happened, I couldn’t say.
All I know is that we went into the woods as two survivors who had lost practically everything, except the will to live.
I taught him how to fish, and hunt, and gather plants.
He taught me how to thatch the roof of the bombed out old house by the lake and how to seal the cracks in the windowsills, and how to shape clay and bake it into usable things. Like bowls and cups.
We taught each other how to carry on, and it was easier to face the silence, and the emptiness when you knew there was someone else facing it with you.
.
.
.
.
Those first few months were grueling. It was a race against time to load up on as much game and edibles as we could.
I had to build additional meat drying racks and Peeta had to build a smoker for all the fish we caught.
There was so much work, so much to do. I was the the more knowledgeable of the two of us. So I thought it was my responsibility to make sure we were prepared, ready for anything. I was gruff with him at first. All business and extremely irritable. He never took it personally. In fact he seemed to take it instride. He was good at turning things around. Seeing opportunities where at frist glance I saw problems.
Over time we started to do better, and we got along. We worked together as a team and found solutions to problems I never could have fixed on my own. It started to get easier, and when that happened, it was easy to forget about everything else.
.
.
.
.
Still, touching never came easy to me.
Not after everything I had lost.
So even though I felt like after two months I could name the number of freckles on Peeta’s face because his was the only face I stared at day after day, that didn’t mean I wanted to touch him.
Or him to touch me.
The only exception was when one of us was hurt.
Which happened with unavoidable frequency.
Cuts and scrapes and burns and insect bites had to be cleaned, and closely monitored. Infection was always a danger, even more so in the wild where treatments were few and far between.
I cleaned any wounds he couldn’t reach and he did the same for me.
His hands were so much bigger than mine. Calloused but warm everytime. He always gently bandaged me up and applied salve with a the lightest touch of his fingertip.
So featherlight I almost didn’t feel it.
I asked him once, how he had gotten his light touch and that night he explained about how he used to decorate the cakes at the bakery.
The sad, wistful smile and the suspicious sheen in his eye was enough to have me hurrying to close down the conversation.
Talking about the past never led anywhere good.
So I guess in all honestly there were two things I wasn’t very good at. Touching, and talking.
.
.
.
.
That first winter came and went and we scraped by.
It was uncomfortable being cooped up for long stretches of time, but we made do.
When lake thawed, and the snow melted, and all the world came alive again we were a few pounds lighter, and a few shades paler, but not much worse for wear.
Peeta immediately started building back up our woodpile, now that it was possible to spend longer amounts of time outside without freezing the tip of your nose off.
He started making plans to build more shelves inside the house so we could store more dried meat and food.
“Come next winter, we’ll be better prepared.” He said with determination.
I didn’t argue with him. Or tell him how I was used to losing much more weight in the winter time back when I lived in the Seam.
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Spring, real spring made itself known a few weeks later. With soft showers springling over the earth and tender shoots bursting out of the ground, seaking the sun that had come out to play once more.
Giving life and ligh to a world that had had enough darkness for a season.
When the rains let up, I tugged Peeta out of doors with a grass-woven basket in hand and told him to gather up every dandelion and borage and wild bit of lavender he could find. And then I taught him that you could eat them.
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Summer followed spring and brought a heat that was perfect for swimming.
Peeta admitted shyly that he didn’t know how to swim. So I spent the summer teaching him.
Long afternoons floating under the hot sun lead to a deep tan for me and a moderate sunburn for him.
I had to apply salve on the back of his neck, his shoulders, and the tips of his ears.
It wasn’t quite as difficult as I thought it would be.
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.
.
In the fall season, at summer’s end, when the cold air blowing down from the mountains hit the still-warm water of the lake, a steamy fog would rise across the surface of the water. Enveloping the ground in a hazy mist.
It was easy to imagine we were the only two people left in the world on days like that. Maybe we were. The only thing we really knew for sure was there was no home to go back to. All we had was what was ahead of us and what we built for ourselves with our own two hands.
Every morning, no matter the weather, Peeta would go outside to check on the supplies, and if the woodpile were low, he’d set to work filling it up again.
I would watch him from the one intact window of the lake house as I sipped mint tea from a rough-hewn mug he had made for me out of clay. I’d watch him from the window, the only one we hadn’t boarded up in preparation for winter, and I’d hum quietly to myself, something with no words and no set melody. Just whatever came to me.
Peeta’s feet would be swallowed up by the mist and sometimes, depending on the thickness of the fog, his upper legs and hips would be too.
But not his torso. Or his arms. Or his face. Those were still visible. And my eyes would trace the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his broad back. How his arms would smoothly and effortlessly swing the axe down. How sweat would dampen his collar and the ash-blond waves would stick to his forehead.
He made quick work of the wood most days.
He had strength in his hands. The kind that could inflict real damage if he were ever inclined. But I knew his heart was not inclined towards cruelty or shows of strength for showing off’s sake.
As much as he liked to joke, and play, Peeta was an introspective kind of soul. He had unspoken principles that he exuded. Things he never talked about but lived by just the same. He made them known in the way he spoke, in the way he walked, worked, and above all, in the way he cared.
For everything. For the house, and the things we filled it with. For the food and supplies we gathered. For the lake, the plants, and even the animals.
Everything had a place and a purpose and he learned how to live off the land with a quiet kind of enthusiasm and respect that surprised me. I had not expected him to adapt half as well as he did, and certainly not as quickly.
But after a few months, Peeta started to thrive.
He didn’t complain about the hard work, or the inconvenience, or the solitude.
He got up every morning and stepped outside the door and took a few seconds to just breathe.
And in those five seconds, he looked freer than I had ever felt in my entire life. And then he was ready to go. Ready for any task, any trek, any objective.
Except walking quietly. That was the one beginner skill he never seemed to master no matter how much he tried. But it was ok. I’m better at hunting anyway.
It was hard not to resent him just a little bit for enjoying the wilderness maybe even more than I did. Which was ridiculous, but I had a long history with these woods, and by all accounts, Peeta had grown up his whole life in town. It shouldn’t have been so easy for him.
And maybe I felt a little territorial at first. The woods were supposed to be my thing. My place. My sanctuary.
The woods had given me joy and adventure when I was a child. They had given me life when I was a young starving adolescent. And now that I returned to them a grown woman they were no less harsh or dangerous. But they were still stunning. They were still the place where I felt I could best be myself. Where I could drink in the clean air and expel any worry that didn’t have to do with hunting or foraging. Or making sure Peeta didn’t wander too far from camp when he went in search of new colors for his homemade inks.
I learned little by little to share the woods with him, in all their grandeur, in the same way, my father once shared them with me.
And in the quiet hours of the morning, I could get away with just watching him bask in their natural brilliance for a few minutes. Uninterrupted. Without self-consciousness creeping in because he was always too absorbed to notice.
So I was free to notice things about him.
Like how there seemed to be entire worlds hidden away inside of him. His eyes would take on a special look of focus when he examined a plant, or when he looked at a bird, or a rock, that I could spend hours trying to analyze, but never figure out.
Or how sometimes the autumn sunset would hit his hair just right and for a second it would look softly dazzling, with warm colors like a fading fire.
Or how when the weather was clear and the sky was cloudless, the lake would look like a pristine jewel so untouched and startlingly blue that the only thing more beautiful was the way it was almost an exact match for the shade of Peeta’s eyes.
Or how all the world was quiet when I watched his strong gentle hands at work. Chopping wood. Setting a fishing line. Hanging up herbs to dry. Painting spots of color on the back wall.
All the world felt new when I looked into his eyes.
And here, in the fierce wilderness where my father taught me to love the plants and the trees and every growing thing, I started to love the thing growing silently, steadily, between Peeta and me.
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The night was full.
Full of the deep dark quiet that fell over everything that needed to sleep when the sun went down.
Full of the night time symphony of the wide wild woods we called home.
Bull frogs croaked, crickets chirped, owls hooted. And in the distance, wolves or wild dogs howled.
Peeta always made sure we had enough wood to feed the fire the whole night and I always made sure that the lantern was ready.
We kept the door barred, to keep out any unwanted predators.
But the only thing we couldn’t keep out completely was the dreams.
Dreams of a different life, full of the song of different voices, different faces, and life long since past. When I dreamed those kinds of dreams I often couldn’t fall back asleep. I knew Peeta had dreams like that too but after he tried to talk about it once, we got into such a big fight that he never brought it up again.
So, yes, the nights were full. But often they left me feeling empty.
.
.
.
.
He stopped pretending to sleep through my nightmares during that second winter. He started waking me before they could go on too long. Often he wouldn’t say anything, as he looked down at me, he’d just heave this big breath, like there was so much he could say, or maybe wanted to, but he wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear him say it. So he just stayed quiet. Propped his back up against the wall next to my sleeping pallet and just stayed. Watching over me.
I allowed myself to be sleepy, to let the exhaustion take over when he was near. I rested my head on his shoulder. Folded the old threadbare blanket I had salvaged from my old home over our legs, and closed my eyes.
The dark didn’t seem so dark and the nightmares didn’t feel so inescapable when he stayed with me.
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We traded stories of our childhoods, never naming names but we both knew who they were about.
His favorite was the one I told him about two sisters who loved each other beyond measure and how they found ways to make each other smile no matter how poor they grew. He said he admired how tirelessly the older sister worked to provide for the younger, even going so far as to use her money from the first buck she ever shot, to buy her younger sister a goat for her birthday.
“Was the goat still wearing the pink ribbon?” He asked when I told him about how the younger sister used her healing knowledge and her goodness to bring the goat back from the brink of death.
“I think so.” I answer. “Why?” I ask, curious.
“Just trying to get an accurate picture.” He says.
He tells me stories about a little boy who grew up with two older brothers, who were always pulling pranks and getting into scrapes. He talks about how the little boy loved painting and art but hardly found the time or the materials to practice except on special occasions when someone would order a fancy cake from the family’s bakery.
Then the world would come alive for the little boy, who reshaped it into something beautiful with tiny images created out of sugar and fondant and food coloring.
But he had to be very careful not to waste ingredients or the fire-breathing she-dragon who ruled the kitchen would punish him for being wasteful. Often giving him only the stalest bread, the kind that was practically moldy, to eat.
“I always wondered if you ate cake and cookies everyday.” I admitted quietly, after his story was done.
“Oh, no.” He says, stifling a yawn. It’s late, and we’ve stayed up longer than usual, just talking. “Hardly ever, unless we got invited to the same celebration where the cake was being served. Practically everything we ate was stale. That’s why my father was so keen on buying your squirrels and berries. Sometimes that was the only fresh food we saw all week.”
He snuggles down closer, burying the side of his face against the side of my head. In my hair. I fall asleep dreaming about what it must have been like to have enough food but only be able to eat other people's leftovers.
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One night he tells me the story about a little boy who fell in love with a girl who had a voice like a sunrise. He tells me about her mother and father who had a love so true that it crossed boundaries, divides, and prejudices just to exist. He paints the boy’s father as a footnote of unrequited love. And the girl as this beautiful free spirit who never looked at the little boy twice, at least not until they were the only two people left in the entire world—
“That’s not true.” I interrupt, voice thick and choking with emotion.
“Are you crying? Katniss, please don’t cry.” He pleads. “I’m sorry. I never should have brought it up. I know you don’t like talking about the past, and these kinds of things and —”
“But I did.” I protest. “I did see you, that day with the bread, and every day after that.” I tell him, tears streaming down my face.
“Did you?” he breathes, voice softer than a whisper. As fragile as the moonbeams floating through the open window. Then, in a stronger voice, “You don’t have to say that, to try and make me feel better. You don’t have to spare my feelings.”
“I knew you were strong. You could throw a hundred-pound sack of flour over your head like it was nothing. Ever since 8th grade. You came in second in the wrestling tournament. And I knew you were smart and good with people. You always knew what to say in class and you had so many friends at school. I saw you, Peeta. I always meant to say thank you for the bread but—”
I’m cut off by him leaning in and resting his forehead against mine. I watch him take in a breath and heave it out. A light shudder passes through him.
“I never needed a thank you, for the bread. I never needed anything at all. I just hoped that it helped you in some way. And if it did, that was enough for me. Katniss I never could have dreamed that you’d notice all those things about me.”
He looks at me he’s just discovered something wonderful and completely surprising. He smiles that smile of his. The one that’s so genuinely sweet with just the perfect hint of shyness. That smile does things to me. It makes more words tumble out.
“I know a lot more now. You’re a painter. And a baker, even if the only bread you can make now is acorn flatbread. You never use berries to sweeten your tea, even when they’re in season. You always double-knot your shoelaces. You always sleep with the window open-”
His hands cup my face, his warm breath ghosts over my lips. He looks into my eyes for permission, but all I can think before I touch my lips to his, is that this would have happened anyway.
This is always where we were heading, Peeta and I.
Even if we hadn’t been the only ones left, we would have gravitated to each other.
Because I need him. I need him like air. Like water. And yet it’s more than survival. It’s more than just the way my body yearns, and hunger ignites in my veins in an entirely new way.
It’s the warmth and heat of being touched by someone that knows me, perhaps better than I know myself. He has memorized every facial expression and every errant sound from the grumbling of my stomach to the way I cry out for him in the dark.
But the sounds I make when he puts his hands on me, are not cries of fear. Distress, maybe, but only because I never, ever want him to stop touching me—ever.
And I don’t want his mouth to stop kissing me, except after he makes me fall apart with his tongue and then everything is just a bit too sensitive for a little while.
But that’s ok because then it’s his turn and oh, there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing the person who means the world to you come completely unglued at your touch.
Peeta’s never been as exquisite as he is when he’s completely bare and open to me, yearning, straining, for his peak. And even though it's clear that neither of us has very much experience with these kinds of things, what we do know is each other. Every breathy moan and deep sigh is a map to guide us to each other’s pleasure.
It may be new, and it may be scary at first, but it's us, and that makes it okay. To get lost in the sensation. To lose ourselves in each other, chasing the stars that burst beneath our very skin.
For all the thrumming pulse of passion that drives us, when it happens it’s still sweet, and slow. Like the bud turning towards the sun. The ice thawing from the tree branches. The animals coming out of their burrows and nests and waking up to a world of sunlight and possibility. It’s the thing that exists inside all creatures after they’ve braved the darkest of winters and come out the other side.
The feeling of death giving way to life. The past to the future. Fear letting go, and being replaced with something else.
The hope that life can be good again, despite our losses. That we can go on.
I know now that what I need is not the detachment of life without touch, severed forever from my past and divorced from the idea of family. I need the dandelion in the spring, the vibrant, enduring promise that dawn will come and make the world new, and us along with it.
What I need is him.
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So when Peeta asks me in the morning if I love him, I say I do.
#thg#thg fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#lemonluvanswers#everlark fanfiction#everlark smut#nonexplicit smut#I wrote this for fun#self indulgent#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen
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PROMPT REQUEST!! ❤️❤️
[Post-mj, growing back together]
katniss goes down on peeta for the first time?? Bonus if she asks advice from johanna beforehand and johanna being johanna, goes into explicit detail causing katniss to panic HAHAHA LOVE YOUR WORK ❤️❤️❤️
bonus pt. 2, if Peeta returns the favor 😏
Alright anon. I’ve been working on this all week. So I hope you like it. Also this song I Was Born to Love You by Ray LaMontagne was the track I picked for this fic. The lyrics:
You’re the only one I can talk to
The only one I can really read
I know you give because you want to
Don’t you think its time to let yourself receive?
really resonated with me when I was writing this story.
The Only Opinion That Matters
"And then what?" Katniss asked in a choked whisper.
"Well, once it's in your mouth there are only a few things to worry about. First of all, try not to choke. You don't want to take too much at once, especially on your first try. Just fit however much feels comfortable in your mouth. Remember to leave a little room for thrusting. He may get excited if it feels really good. If that happens, and it's too much for you, pull back a little and use your hand to cover the rest. Use a rhythm you already know he likes in tandem with bobbing your mouth up and down. It's basically like giving him a hand job while using your mouth to stimulate the head of his penis. You've jacked him off before right?" Johanns asked very matter of factly.
Katniss felt like her face was turning scarlet at Johanna’s words. She probably looked like a bright red beacon broadcasting her embarrassment to the world. She cringed self consciously even though she was alone in her kitchen and Johanna couldn’t see her over the phone. This conversation was seriously testing her comfort limits. And yet, she had to finish it. There was literally no one else she could ask about this kind of thing.
"Yeah, I've um," Katniss couldn't quite bring herself to use Johanna's crass name for the method she had been using to bring Peeta pleasure lately, "used my hand on him before." Katniss finished, thinking about how she had just used her hand on him this morning, and he had said thank you by using his mouth on her. Twice.
That was Peeta for you though, always giving twice as much and never really asking for anything in return.
It made Katniss feel, well not exactly guilty. More like his selflessness spurred her to forget her own insecurities and focus on how much she wanted to give back to him the same kind of pleasure he gave to her on a regular basis. Her only problem was her lack of knowledge and experience. Hence, the call to Johanna.
"Then you already know how to work that aspect. Just keep a steady rhythm. Remember to breathe through your nose. If you’re feeling confident and you already know he likes to have his balls played with, or his ass grabbed while getting stroked then try adding that in as well. But whatever you do, don't use your teeth! Most guys don't like it, and even if they do it's got to be done with a very light touch, and only someone with a fair amount of experience can usually pull something like that off. So stick to using your tongue, hands, and some moderate suction. Right now your main objective is simply to cover the basics." Johanna advised.
"But what if he wants something exciting instead of basic and-" Katniss asked in a nervous voice.
"Brainless, he's probably gonna lose his shit three minutes in. If he can last that long. No need to get fancy. Trust me. Just pay attention to his cues."
"Cues?"
"Cues, tells, signals, you know the things he does when he's about to come."
Katniss thought for a moment about the way Peeta's breathing changed, the way he tilted his hips, and made little noises every time he got close to finishing.
"You do know what his tells are, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Katniss bit back a little indignantly. She and Peeta had been slowly but surely progressing further in their intimate relationship for a while now. There was hardly a night where his head didn't end up between her thighs and she didn't stroke him to completion. Many nights it happened more than once.
Johanna just chuckled at Katniss’ obvious annoyance.
"Well, alright then. Good to know you've started paying attention to the guy, finally. Now there's only one more thing we need to cover."
"What's that?" Katniss bit back angrily, growing more frustrated because of Johanna’s subtle digs.
"The finale, of course! If you’ve been getting hot and heavy with Loverboy like you said then you ought to know what I'm talking about, Brainless!"
Finale? Katniss wondered to herself, bewildered. She had no idea what Johanna was talking about. The only finale she could think of was the showdown between the final two competitors in The Hunger Games. Which was not something that she wanted to remind Peet of while they were...
At her prolonged silence, Johanna started snickering and then she started talking again.
"You know, the end of the night fireworks, the volcanic eruption, the bursting of the dam...”
“I think I-” Katniss tried to interrupt but Joahnna just spoke over her.
“The explosion at the yogurt factory, the erection ejection, the-”
“I GET IT JOHANNA!” Katniss’ shouted indignantly. It was immediately followed by loud cackles coming from the other side of the phone line.
“Glad to know you’re up to date on the lingo, Brainless. But tell me this, have you decided what you want to do with said finale when the time comes?”
“What do you mean? Like swallow it or something?” Kantiss asked, voice barely above a whisper, and extremely nervous and strained sounding. She knew some people did that. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to try it. The thought kind of terrified her.
“Swallow, spit it out, pull back and let him come on your tits or stomach, the possibilities are many.” Johanna replied with a lazy sounding hum.
Katniss was positive she could actually hear Johanna grinning at her discomfort over the phone.
“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, actually.” Katniss admitted. It was enough for her to juggle the logistics of all the things she was supposed to do to get Peeta to orgasm.
“Well, you should really think about it. It could happen pretty fast….. Anyway, I’d better let you go. I’m expecting a call from my head doctor at 2, so...”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry to keep you-and thanks again, for all your....help.” Katniss replied. She cringed again at how awkward she sounded, like she had just thanked Johanna for lending her a book or something benign like that.
“No problem, and Katniss?” The teasing tone suddenly left Johanna’s voice and Katniss waited breathlessly for whatever she said next.
“He’s crazy about you, and he’s going to love this.” Johanna said so sincerely that Katniss was caught off guard for a moment, but then Joahnna had to go and ruin it by adding, “So even if you screw up, and don't get him off he’s still gonna think the sun shines outta your ass, no matter what.” Johanna finished with a loud belly laugh and Katniss groused at her to shut up. She reluctantly thanked her again, in a grudging tone and promised to call back tomorrow and fill her in on the results. It had been the price Johanna had enacted for all her ‘help’.
The call clicked, and ended and Katniss was left alone in the kitchen with her thoughts.
She mentally went over Johanna’s checklist in her head a few times, after she ran through the instructions on how to get things started there was nothing else to do but shower and wait for Peeta to come home.
~
Peeta returned home promptly at 5:30, as usual. He washed up and they had a light dinner while discussing their respective days. Katniss left out her phone call to Johanna, because she wanted to surprise Peeta later.
After working on the plantbook for a bit, Katniss felt anxious. She wasn't able to concentrate properly so she feigned being tired and suggested they retire to bed early. Peeta lifted one of his eyebrows in surprise, clearly not buying her over dramatic yawn, but he followed her up the stairs just the same.
Once inside the bedroom Katniss had to get a hold of her nerves. She allowed Peeta to use the bathroom first, and scurried to her closet to take a deep breath. She tried not to think of all the many ways this could go wrong, and instead focused on finding what Johanna had called a ‘mood setting outfit’.
There were an array of possibilities, her closet was literally still stuffed with clothes that Cinna had made for her before he--
Katniss shook her head to clear it of melancholy thoughts. She had spent many a day mourning Cinna and his prodigious talent for creating things of beauty with needle and thread. She and Peeta had vowed not to wallow in grief and instead to remember and treasure the good memories and beautiful things left behind by the ones they had lost.
Cinna had no doubt come to the conclusion that one day she would wake up and realize that she loved and wanted Peeta just as much as he did her, and he had diligently crafted several beautiful night gowns with more than just comfortable sleep in mind. But those Katniss felt had always been meant to be used on their honeymoon. It just didn’t feel right to use them now.
Maybe someday, if Peeta ever decided to ask her again, for real....
Focus! Katniss told herself sternly, as she recalled Johannah’s advice.
Since you’re not the type to casually tell a guy to drop his pants, you’ll have to get your intentions across some other way. It could be as simple as giving him a certain look, or even wearing something sexy to bed.
While Katniss wished she knew just what look to give Peeta to communicate her desires wordlessly, she knew she just wasn’t that good. Yet.
So she cast around for ideas until her eyes landed on a shirt that lay on the floor of the closet, near the hamper. It was a plain white shirt that belonged to Peeta, that he often wore around the house and to sleep in. It was a piece of clothing that she often borrowed from him in the morning when she couldn’t find her own clothes and was too lazy to go hunting for them behind the bed.
It was large and soft and comfortable. Plus, it smelled like Peeta. Like his skin and his bath soap and the lingering traces of his baking spices. Just heavenly.
She undressed quickly and took off her slippers. Then she gingerly unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, and she grabbed the shirt from the hanger and slipped it over her head. Nervousness and excitement flooded her body at the same time and her hand shook a little when she turned the knob to exit the closet.
She found Peeta in bed. The main overhead light had been turned off and only the bedside lamp was on. Peeta was already reclining atop the sheets and reading a pamphlet about the new laws governing opening small businesses. His chest was gloriously bare and his gray cotton sleep pants hugged his trim hips deliciously.
Now that the world had changed and she was convinced that she would actually get to keep him after all, she had stopped being so afraid of staring at him.
She drank in the strong lines of his body. Every part of him was beautiful despite the lines of fire that licked across his body and left behind their mark. Now that he was hers, she could admit that just the sight of him made her want. Deep in her bones, there was something that ached for him in an ancient way that went beyond words, sometimes beyond thoughts.
She just knew that Peeta belonged with her, to her, and she to him.
He looked up, as if he sensed her, and Katniss felt her breath catch at the movement. The way his breathtakingly blue eyes roamed up and down her body made her feel a million things at once.
“I love it when you wear my shirt.” He stated, his eyes catching on the naked skin of her thighs and lingering there before returning to her face.
“I know,” Katniss replied, more confidently than she felt. She walked towards him slowly, just as Johanna had instructed, to draw out the tension.
You gotta build the anticipation. Give him a naughty look and then walk over really slowly. Make his head spin with possibilities. Once you've got him thinking about sex you're halfway there.
Katniss heard Johanna's advice playing in her head as she tried to sway her hips seductively with each step. It was a good thing the distance from the closet to the bed was relatively small.
She managed to make it to the corner of the bed before losing her balance. She covered up her stumble by leaning forward on all fours so she could inch her way towards him. He hadn’t seemed to notice her failed attempt at seductive walking.
Katniss watched as Peeta’s eyes darkened in real time, and his pupils expanded outwards to drink in the sight of her crawling across the bed to him.
“What are you up to?” Peeta questioned, when she swung one leg over to the other side of his hip and sank down to straddle him.
“I just wanted to try something.....” Katniss replied evasively, and before he could ask another question she sealed her lips over his and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
Peeta moaned into the kiss, his hands reaching out to bracket her hips and pull her down over him. Katniss sighed in relief.
Kissing Peeta put Katniss at ease. It was something she knew how to do by now very well, and she took some time to revel in the softness of his lips and the tantalizing flicks of his tongue before breaking off and moving in a downwards trajectory.
She kissed his strong, square jaw and down his neck, lingering for a bit over his pulse and nipping at his ear until she could feel him stirring beneath her. He was half hard by the time she kissed across his collarbone and by the time her mouth reached his stomach he was rocking against her subtly from underneath.
She looked up at him from under her lashes as her hands moved to pull down the waistband of his pants, and his breath caught.
She knew the image he was likely seeing was a new and unexpected one. She had helped undress him before, but not in this position, with her mouth so close to his cock.
“Are you--? I mean do you want to? Katniss?” Peeta’s flustered questions made her cheeks heat, but the desire and hopefulness in his eyes was easy to read.
Once you start getting each other naked cut the chit chat down to a minimum. When the clothes come off it should be all feeling. Skin on skin, the way he smells and tastes, the way he moans your name. The only conversation required should be some dirty talk. If you're up for it.
Johanna's voice reverberated in her thoughts. Peeta had often used her name when they were in bed together but he'd never said anything explicit or dirty. Katniss wondered if by taking this new step that might change things between them...
She wasn't sure if she was in favor of that or not. She’d never done any of this before but she thought there was a good chance that if it was Peeta who was whispering naughty words to her in the privacy of their bedroom she might enjoy it.
So in answer to his question, Katniss just bent down and took the elastic band of his underwear in her teeth and proceeded to gently tug them down.
“Shit, holy shit.” She heard Peeta murmur and his excited, almost disbelieving tone made her chuckle softly.
With a little help from him, his boxer briefs came off quickly.
Once he was naked, Katniss sat up and slowly inched his shirt off her body as well, leaving her only in her plain cotton underwear.
Peeta groaned out loud, and whispered her name like a plea when her breasts came into his field of vision and Katniss smiled a small, secret smile, pleased that something so simple could affect him so deeply.
But then again, didn’t he have the same effect on her? She looked down at his hard length, thick and swollen with want and she squeezed her thighs together to relieve the ache seeing him erect and ready caused in her.
She wanted to touch him, taste him, make him feel good.
But all of Johanna's instruction went out the window the longer she stared at his erection. She forgot how to even start.
How was she going to get it all in her mouth? And what happened if he thrusted too hard and made her gag? Would she throw up? Something gross like that could traumatize both of them. What if he wanted her to swallow? She didn't think she was ready to do that!
"Uh, Katniss? Where did you just go right now?" Peeta's voice broke her out of her internal spiral.
She looked back up at him, wide eyed and blushing in embarrassment. She hadn't even begun and she had already messed up.
"I'm right here." Was the only thing Katniss could think to say.
Peeta gave her an incredulous look.
"You know you don't have to do this. I don't expect you to go down on me just because I like to go down on you." Peeta told her in a serious voice.
Katniss cringed at the conclusion he had drawn. She obviously had been putting out some kind of signal that had been interpreted as reluctance. She felt terrible.
"That's not it! I really, really want to do this! Not just for you, but for me too!" She cried in frustration.
Peeta eased her off his lower half and sat up then.
"Okay, then talk to me. What's got you so..."
“I just…forgot how to start! I’ve been going over and over what Johanna said to do in my head all night long and I forgot the first part!” Katniss finally admitted, unable to look up from the bedspread to meet Peeta’s gaze.
“You asked Johanna? For advice about…us?” Peeta’s amused reply ignited fury in her.
“Because I don’t know how to do any of this…complicated sex stuff!” Katniss spat, and crossed her arms over her breasts. Peeta followed the motions of her arms and his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked momentarily put out by her covering her chest up, but he quickly returned his eyes to her face.
“Complicated? What’s complicated about it? It's just you and me. It doesn’t matter what we do Katniss, as long as it's just us and it's because it's what we want.”
“Yeah, you say that but what if I take too much of you in my mouth too quickly and I gag? Or throw up? What if I can’t find a good rhythm or I accidentally scrape you with my teeth?! Johanna said guys hate that!” Katniss argued.
Peeta got that amused look back on his face.
“Katniss, if any of those things happen, we’ll deal with them.”
“But what if I’m not any good or-” Katniss continued pouring out her doubts.
“Katniss.” Peeta said more firmly, as he placed his hand on her forearm.
“I won’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Nothing in our relationship is ever going to be forced or coerced for either of us again. Now, if this is something you actually want to do, we’ll take it one step at a time. You don’t have to worry about impressing anyone. It’s just me and you, and ours is the only opinion that matters.”
Peeta’s words got through to her, as they always did and suddenly her swirling and confusing thoughts settled and her mind became clear and steady once more.
“Lay back.” She asked him with a small smile, her confidence returning.
Peeta looked momentarily surprised.
“Please,” Katniss added and that seemed to move him. He reclined gently against the pillows and watched as Katniss sat between his thighs.
She began to kiss the tops of them, her lips tickled by his coarse but nearly invisible leg hair. She reached up to massage his balls gently as she kissed her way up his legs, something she knew he liked from her previous experience exploring his body when she only used her hands.
When her mouth reached the crease between his hip and groin the earthy, spicy scent of him grew stronger and she flicked out her tongue tentatively to taste him.
His breath hitched at the tiny wet sensation, so near to where his erection was coming back to life. The closer she got to his cock, the harder he got. Katniss could practically feel the anticipation rolling off him in waves. He was probably imagining what her mouth would feel like on him. She was just as eager to experience it as well.
She had been wanting to do this for him for a while.
So when she kissed the last bit of space before she reached the base of him, she pulled back and looked in his eyes, to tell him just that.
“Peeta, just so you know, I want this. I want to do this for you, and with you. You make me feel so good all the time. So happy, and safe. I just want to give this to you right now, because I want you to feel just a little bit of how happy and alive you make me feel everyday.” Katniss told him, and she only waited a second to register the look of utter adoration he gave her in return before she descended on him, laving her tongue along his length from root to tip. He tasted interesting. The fluid that leaked from his tip was slightly salty, but his skin smelled like his shower soap and that indefinable Peeta-ness that she associated with him alone. He was hot, and hard in her mouth, but his skin was so smooth and silky. She could feel his texture even better on her tongue than when he was in her hand.
“Oh, fuck.” She heard him say in a shocked but pleasure filled voice when she flicked her tongue out to circle and dance around his head, so she did it again. Then she started exploring.
She licked him, without self consciousness, teasing around the crown of his head, along the path of his veins, in the crevice between his foreskin and his shaft, everywhere.
Soon he was swearing to a long forgotten creator, and whoever was listening. Then she wrapped her lips around his tip, sealing him in the wet cavern of her mouth and he let out a groan so tortured and full of pleasure that Katniss felt wetness seep out of her body and soak her underwear.
She hadn’t anticipated how arousing it would be to be the one giving the pleasure in this way. She did what felt natural, and added her hand to cover the rest of his thick shaft that didn’t fit in her mouth, and when she got a good rhythm down she began to add suction.
“Oh! Fuck! Please suck it like that, please!” He begged in a ragged voice and Katniss obliged him readily.
“Baby, you’re so good at that,” Peeta panted as he reached out to run his fingers in her hair. “I don’t know why you were so--Ah!--so nervous!” Peeta praised her and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes without stopping her ministrations.
“Oh my fucking—Just look at you! Fucking beautiful! Sucking my cock so damn-ah-so-so-good!” Katniss felt her breathing pick up at Peeta’s words.
So that was dirty talk? She felt her cheeks heating even more and her clit literally throbbing with need. She had to break off from sucking for a second to get her breath back, so she used her hand to keep pumping him. She squirmed on the bed restlessly before moving to straddle one of Peeta’s legs, then she resumed sucking him as she rubbed her soaked panties along Peeta’s thickly muscled leg.
“Is this making you wet? Oh, god, Katniss…I’m gonna eat you out so good after this. I’m gonna fucking live between your thighs until morning. You just wait.” Peeta promised and it only made her redouble her efforts.
She alternated between longer periods of sucking and quick pauses to lick around the head of his cock, never stopping the movements of her hand.
Then she felt it. The change in Peeta’s breathing. The subtle angling of his hips. The more primal sounding edge to his moans.
“Katniss, I’m gonna come, move baby,” Peeta said in a thick voice.
Katniss suddenly, stubbornly, resolved to see things through.
She knew what a little bit of him tasted like. Johanna had described the clear fluid that had leaked from his tip as precome. That hadn’t been so bad. So, Katniss thought she’d probably be ok letting him finish in her mouth.
“Katniss,” Peeta warned, as he pushed back on her shoulder, trying to dislodge her.
But she resolutely remained, bobbing her head and moving her tongue along the underside of his cock as she sucked.
She wished she could have watched him as he got closer, but she got caught up in the moment and forgot to open her eyes, navigating mostly by the feel of his body’s responses and the sounds he made.
“Fuck, fuck! I can’t—Ohhh…..yeah, god, baby, take it. Take it all…..” Peeta moaned the words brokenly as he gently palmed the back of her head and thrust in just a little at the end. His cock pulsed inside her mouth and she actually felt each twitch on her tongue. Her mouth filled with each spurt of his cock, and it happened so fast that she could barely angle her mouth in time so that it pooled on top of her tongue instead of shooting down her throat.
That was when Katniss realized that semen actually tasted different than precome. A little saltier, definitely thicker, and also slightly metallic?
She had never tasted anything like it and it wasn’t actually something she was expecting, so while Peeta collapsed boneless and sated into the mattress, groaning, she gingerly got up and slipped into the bathroom to spit the stuff out into a towel, which she then promptly tossed in the dirty towel hamper.
She looked at herself in the mirror after wiping her mouth.
She looked flushed and bright eyed and slightly dreamy. If she didn’t know better she would have sworn she had been the one to just orgasm.
At the thought of orgasm, Katniss felt a small proud smile creep onto her face. It widened into a full blown grin when she remembered just how enthusiastic Peeta had been and how much he seemed to like everything she did.
Johanna’s going to be so surprised I went through with it. Katniss thought to herself smugly.
She had actually really enjoyed herself, and she knew that the days of only giving Peeta handjobs were at an end.
“What’s taking so long in there? The night’s not over yet, Sweetheart. And I’m nowhere near done with you.” Peeta’s voice interrupted her thoughts loudly.
Katniss smiled again, as she made her way back to the bathroom doorway. She leaned against the frame and tossed Peeta a cocky grin before replying.
“Right back at ya, Loverboy. I hope you’ve recovered there, because that was fun. And I might just want to get in a little more practice before I hand over the reins.”
#everlark#fanfiction#lemonluvwrites#thg#prompt drabbles#my writing#everlark smut#smut#lemons#gbt#post mockingjay#pre epilogue
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Hello! I love all your Everlark fics so much! You’re legit one of my favorite fic writers ever! Basically, my queen of Everlark smut 🥹❤️ I’m not sure if you’re accepting prompts right now, but if ever you decide to again, I have one I’m dying to see played out! 🥰
Okay so, we all know Katniss has a problem with authority in general but I lowkey believe she has a praise kink if its coming from a certain blond baker 😉
so basically, my prompt request is: Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥
So yea that’s it HAHA I hope you see this!! ❤️❤️❤️
Ok, so I've only dabbled a little in dominant!Peeta smut before, but this request was so sweet I decided to give it a try. Hope you like.
This is just straight-up smut, so anybody not into that need not read.
We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed.
He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.
He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine.
He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though.
“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.
“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice.
Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him.
“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.
I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love.
“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought.
He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace.
“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now.
“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason.
Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic.
“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.
Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly.
“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more.
“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop.
“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this.
I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring.
“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks.
“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body.
“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely.
We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him.
I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him.
“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still. We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed.
There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again.
His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.
“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in.
I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple.
“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again.
He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris.
“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me.
Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me.
“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply.
I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh.
“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response.
‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden.
He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing.
Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me.
“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up.
He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.
“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone.
I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress.
“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me.
“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt.
My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him.
“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again.
I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta.
“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts.
“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release.
“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up.
I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face.
“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise.
His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me.
I let out a broken, choked noise.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—”
His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge.
I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets.
I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can.
Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time.
We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably.
“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.
I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this.
“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable.
He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more.
“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment.
“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love.
#everlark prompts#lemonluvanswers#lemonluvwrites#everlark smut#fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#thg fanfiction#thg#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#the hunger games#post-war smut#dominant!peeta vibes#nothing too crazy
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The Effect
She stood in the dark at the rough-hewn mixing table, dutifully grinding the herbs her mother had taught her about when she turned fourteen.
2 tablespoons of dried and ground Rue-for its strong odor, capable of masking a variety of scents
A teaspoon of Snow Mountain Garlic-to subdue beastly urges
A pinch of Dried Mistletoe-to keep her heart beating at a subdued and normal pace
Three chopped raw green Wolf Peaches- with half a cup of finely chopped leaves and stems added to weaken and dull any heightened abilities
Two pinches of Cayenne- to disguise the commanding tones of her voice
And finally
One third a cup of Monkshood- to suppress the dominant nature of a natural born leader
She knew the measurements and mixture by heart. Such knowledge was essential to keeping her true nature hidden if she wanted to maintain her image.
The house was quiet at this time of night, and Katniss could not risk lighting a candle to aid her in her work.
But she didn't need one. Her eyes were supremely adjusted to the shadows and her nose could detect the different herbs and ingredients with ease. Her hands were practiced with grinding out the ingredients steadily, almost noiseless.
She was after all her father's daughter in all things. She had his superior senses, and knew how to be quiet in the woods and out of them. She had his capacity for survival, and his devotion to caring for her family. All things that helped her maintain her cover of normalcy. Just as he had, until his death in a mining accident five years prior.
Jonas Everdeen went to his grave, just another tired, beaten down miner swallowed by the earth when the mineshaft he and his partner were working on collapsed.
Their neighbors and those who knew him would never have guessed that Jonas had been the subject that all the Capitol propaganda warned the people of the Districts of Panem about.
An unregistered Alpha.
Someone living a lie, a double life.
Someone to be feared and turned in to the authorities at the earliest opportunity.
If asked, those same neighbors would have sworn on the original Treaty of Treason that Jonas had never been aggressive, forceful, or unmanageable a single day in his life.
He had been a genial man, honorable and hard working. Liked in both Town and Seam, despite the scandal he caused in his youth when he tempted away a beautiful merchant girl, the Apothecary's daughter, to be his bride.
His fruitful hunts, and his ability to find rare wild herbs and spices were probably most of the reason people from Town forgave him so quickly. He made their lives easier by providing cheat, fresh meat for their dinners, and a variety of fresh fruits, vegetables, and spices to supplement their filling but bland diets.
That and his voice of course.
He had a beautiful speaking voice, low and gentle, authoritative but not harsh. The kind of voice that made you want to listen to whatever he said. And he never said a harsh word to anyone, or about anyone, that could ever be remembered.
A very poor picture of a dangerous and uncontrollable Alpha. One who didn't fit the mold that all the pamphlets warned about.
Katniss had inherited his voice. Though few people knew that, since she talked so sparingly. But when she did speak, she had the effect of drawing every eye in the room, and capturing people's complete attention, just like her father used to.
Along with getting his voice, she also got the extra gene that he passed down to her. The one that was not dormant as it was in her little sister.
The Alpha gene.
Katniss mixed the herbs together in a little bowl and poured water over the whole thing, letting it steep for a minute.
Even though she had just taken the mixture last night, and it often didn't wear off for forty-eight hours, she was dutiful to take it again.
Tomorrow was The Reaping after all.
She couldn't afford any mistakes.
Because if anyone found out she was an unregistered Alpha, who had been hiding her status for two years, she would be going into the Arena, no matter whose name they pulled out of the bowl.
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The Designation Games (Part 3)
She closed the door to her rooms with enough force that it would have been a slam if she hadn’t refrained just the slightest bit.
Sweat slicked her skin under her clothes, from the nape of her neck to the backs of her thighs. And there was a decidedly different type of wetness pooling in her underwear.
Her head was spinning.
Panic, confusion, and something akin to longing was all bubbling underneath her skin, clawing at each other for dominance.
The roar of her wildly conflicting thoughts was almost deafening. She struggled to ground herself in something concrete, and real.
All she had were three unwanted truths.
She was an Omega.
She was going into the Designation Games in a little under a week.
She would face 12 unmated Alphas in the training room tomorrow morning.
When she was reminded of facing the other tributes the next day, something inside her strengthened to steely resolve.
She shut Peeta and what had happened on the rooftop out of her immediate thoughts. The Omega inside her whined at the decision, but Katniss beat back her desperate whisperings of “Alpha, Alpha, go to Alpha and let him…” until she was nothing more than background noise again.
Haymitch had been right.
Her Omega was untrustworthy, and Katniss wasn’t about to roll over for anyone simply because her biology tried to trick her into it. She needed to keep her head on straight and her wits about her. It was just a strategy, a mutually beneficial one that they were both using to better their odds.
She was not his Omega. And he was not her Alpha.
She was stronger than that. She would be stronger than that.
.
.
.
.
Breakfast was an awkward and stilted affair. Katniss arrived late and tried to focus mainly on the food and not the way the gland on her neck throbbed when she first glimpsed her District partner sitting at the breakfast table. He was sipping a warm brown-looking something that steamed lightly from a cup in front of him while Effie blathered on about the different kinds of specialty chefs the Tribute Center employed.
She dodged his gaze when he tried to catch her eye. Instead, she basked in the yummy scents wafting around the table. There were fruits and loaves of bread along with meats and eggs. But the smell that called to her most was the one that she detected curling in the steam above Peeta’s drink.
It wasn’t coffee. Or the same tea from last night. Her heightened sense of smell told her that much.
It was something that smelled sugary and rich and—
She couldn’t resist turning her head as he broke off a corner of his bread roll and dunked it in his cup, tapped it gently on the rim to rid it of excess drops of moisture, and then brought it to his lips for a bite.
“They call it hot chocolate. It’s good.” He told her after he had swallowed. She fought a blush at being caught looking at him. But he didn’t respond with a smirk or a conspiratory look as she would have guessed. He simply reached out to grab an empty cup to pour some of the sweet, and creamy smelling liquid into it.
He gently placed it in front of her, leaning across the table slightly, and then retreated to his seat with a nervous-looking expression.
She wanted to refuse. She should refuse. Especially since the Omega voice whispered from the back of her mind about Alphas and gifts and attention.
But the cup smelled so wonderful.
The first sip was hot and almost too saccharine, even so, she couldn’t help but take another. Though the piles of eggs and bacon and other breakfast delicacies beckoned, they sat ignored until her cup was drained.
Peeta moved to refill her cup before she could reach for it herself. She blinked in confusion at the gesture, but then he pushed the little basket of rolls that would have kept the smaller children in the community home fed for almost a week toward her.
“The bread helps cut the sweetness.” He told her, softly.
She looked up at his eyes and immediately looked back down at her plate. She clenched her jaw at the way the Omega inside her was preening and prattling on about good Alphas providing and such nonsense.
She made herself take three bites of her eggs and two of bacon before she took another sip of the hot chocolate.
Then, after she was sure he wasn’t watching anymore, she reached out and tentatively took a roll. She broke off a corner and dunked it into her cup.
She frowned after she tried to stifle a contented sigh as the bite slid down her throat.
He was right, about the bread and the chocolate.
.
.
.
.
Haymitch dragged himself to breakfast even later than she had. Her plate was almost empty and she was mainly just sipping on her second cup of hot chocolate by the time he decided to grace everyone with his presence.
He poured himself a cup of black coffee and grabbed a muffin from the small tower of baked goods at the end of the table and promptly sat down.
That concerned look from last night was lingering in the tightness of his eyes and the lines of his mouth that threatened to pull into a frown as he regarded his tributes. He was dressed in a suit, much like the one he had worn for their entry into the Capitol.
“We need to discuss what to expect today,” Haymitch said after he spiked his coffee with a moderate pour from his breast-pocket flask.
Katniss saw Peeta sit up a bit straighter from the corner of her eye.
“You’ll spend the first half of the day in training, and the second half meeting your stylists. By now your genetic testing will have come back and your stylists will have a better understanding of those traits that they want to show off to potential sponsors.”
“Traits?” Katniss asked.
“Your genetic profile will have several measurable markers for overall health, strength, intelligence, and…virility,” Haymitch replied.
Effie let out a scandalized gasp.
“That is not a proper topic for breakfast discussion!” She admonished their mentor in a harsh tone.
Haymitch simply rolled his eyes at her.
“If your gonna clutch your pearls and faint go do it somewhere else.” He bit back.
“They are children Haymitch!” Effie protested.
“They’re competitors! In a very adult Game that is set to take place in less than a week. They need to what they’re going to be judged on.” Haymitch retorted.
At this, Effie fell uncharacteristically silent.
While Katniss felt privately grateful for Effie’s well-intended, if not well-placed concerns, she knew Haymitch was correct.
No matter how much she hated having this conversation she knew nothing was sacred in the Games when the cameras were rolling. They captured Alphas and Omegas courting and coupling with the same unabashed scrutiny as they did the gory violence and death.
Effie got up and stomped out of the room in offense, but Haymitch turned and focused his attention solely on the two of them.
“You only need to worry about your training session right now. Effie will escort you down to the training room, but the two of you will walk in by yourselves. This is where your teamwork comes in handy. You play up the friends' angle. Stick together, and don’t let anyone catch your partner alone or unaware. Katniss, the Alphas will most likely make a few demonstrations to get the attention of the Omegas. Don’t pay them any mind. Peeta, the other Alphas will probably try to draw you into a competition or confrontation of some sort. They’ll feel you both out and push your buttons to see what you might react to. Ignore them as much as you can but don’t turn your back on them or approach any of the other Omegas aside from Katniss no matter how good they smell—”
“That won’t be a problem,” Peeta interjected and Haymitch shot him a glare.
“Their scents will be concentrated along with the scent of the aggressive other Alphas. Your instinct will be to square off against them, to protect the Omegas that are frightened, but you need to avoid getting into a fight at all costs. The penalties for fighting before the Games begin are steep. So no matter what they say, don’t react.” Haymitch said, eyeing first Peeta, and then Katniss.
“What if someone picks a fight with us first?” Katniss asked.
“Walk away and let the attendants take care of it. They’ll be a lot of them, ready to break up fights and stun anyone causing trouble. All you need to do is go to a few stations and learn some skills. Which plants are ok to eat? How to tie some knots. Don’t attract too much attention but don’t cower in a corner either. You want to shoot for the middle of the pack, easy to forget but not entirely dismissible. The only time you’ll want to show off will be during your interviews, and your private sessions with the Gamemakers.” Haymitch told them.
Peeta nodded and Katniss let out a short sound of acknowledgment. The three of them stood up.
“And on that note, it's time for you to scent the boy, sweetheart,” Haymitch said turning to Katniss whose eyes went round with realization.
“Quid pro quo and all,” Haymitch added before snatching a glass of orange juice off the table and pulling a different flask out of his back pocket. He poured the contents of it into the juice and offered Katniss the glass first.
“You drink half and give the rest to the boy.” He instructed gruffly.
Katniss stared at the glass.
“Time’s a-wastin’ and we got places to be, so bottom’s up, girl,” Haymitch ordered in a more authoritative tone that scent a zip of energy down every inch of her spine.
She looked at him and growled, low and warningly, right in time Peeta’s deeper baritone joined her in what was more like a soft roar.
Haymitch blinked at them both, confounded.
“What the hell?” Haymitch demanded after he recovered.
Katniss snapped out of it, at the sound of his bewildered voice. She angrily downed half the glass of juice and then turned to Peeta.
She hastily pulled him down by his collar and sealed her mouth over the gland on the side of his neck.
She gave it three purposeful licks, just to make sure.
She ignored the way his eyes widened, and his pupils seemed to swallow up his irises.
She ignored the way he panted shallowly when she sucked just a tiny bit. And the sound he made deep in his throat.
Ignored the way that sound floated out between his gritted teeth and lodged itself in her chest, curling around her ribs and nestling itself somewhere profound.
Ignored the way her Omega crooned and chirped happily, basking in contentment.
Ignored the way her own body responded.
The way his taste saturated her tastebuds and clung to the roof of her mouth.
The way her heart pounded uncertainly in her chest, in terror or…..
She walked away from her mentor and her tribute partner and headed for the elevators, willing herself to keep it together and make it through the morning.
At the very least.
.
.
.
#thg#thg fanfiction#a/b/o fanfic#a/b/o dynamics#Tdg#The Effect#lemonluvwrites#thg a/b/o fanfic#thg a/b/o#everlark#everlark a/b/o
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Tales of Alpha Peeta (pt 1)
The fever started a week after classes were dismissed for the summer.
No one in the Mellark household was expecting it. The rest of the family hadn't presented at all and were unequivocally betas. Therefore, no one was prepared to deal with the reality of the situation when the youngest son's temperature spiked high enough to cook an egg on his forehead.
His father feared he would die. His mother feared the peacekeepers and punishment from the Capitol for hiding an alpha.
"Take him to the door of the community home and leave him there!" She had yelled after the second day of constant fever.
The argument that followed was so epic that the neighbors, who were no strangers to hearing raised voices coming from the Mellark apartment, would mark it down in their history books as the fight to end them all.
In a moment of uncharacteristic bravery, Mr. Mellark, who often caved to his wife's nagging and shrill demands, did not yield. He could be heard yelling back and banging doors and threatening. Despite the echo of shattered dishes and hot insults, his voice remained resolute.
Peeta was not carted off to the community home or turned into the peacekeepers.
He languished for three days with a fever of a hundred and five, but at the end of it he woke up.
And everything was different.
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