#peeta fluff

You roll out of bed and trudge downstairs. It must be early, you notice, as the sun is just barely beginning to rise. As you open the door to the kitchen, you can’t help the smile which tugs the corners of your lips upwards. Peeta is stood looking out of the window into the garden, his back to you, kneading dough and humming to himself. You stand for a moment and just watch him - how the muscles in his back flex beneath his t-shirt as his arms work the dough, how the sunlight catches his hair, how his voice is soft and content. 

You take a step further into the kitchen, and Peeta startles, spinning around to face you, but relaxes just as quickly once he processes that it’s you. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, wiping flour off his hands onto his trousers before crossing the small kitchen and enveloping you in strong arms.  “Why weren’t you in bed?” You ask in response, resting your head on his chest and sighing as you relax into his embrace.  “I always get up before the sun, gorgeous. Where did you think your morning toast came from?” He laughs quietly, kissing the top of your head.  “I knew you made it.” You reply, frowning a little, “I guess I just hadn’t considered when. You’re usually in bed when I wake up.” You accuse, pouting up at him.  Peeta laughs again and pokes your bottom lip back to its usual position. “I come back to bed when the loaf is out of the oven. I always thought you knew.”  You frown again, and Peeta laughs. “Let me put this loaf in the oven and we’ll go back up to bed, hm?” He suggests, kissing the crease between your eyebrows. 

You allow Peeta to turn away from you again as he lifts the dough into a dish and slips it into the oven. “I panicked when I woke up and you weren’t there.” You admit quietly whilst his back is still turned.  “Oh, gorgeous, I’m sorry.” He apologises, turning and pulling you back into him.  You inhale deeply, basking in the scent of him. You’re both safe now, you know that, but it’s easy to forget. “Want me to start waking you before I come downstairs so you know where I am?” He asks, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head again. You nod against his chest. “Come on then, let’s get you back to bed.” 

You talked about poverty, about the hunger, Peeta talked about the games. Your problems had decreased ever since Peeta won the games, and you tried to lessen the pains of his memories by drawing circles on his skin when he talked. You held him through his nightmares about the games, he held you through yours about losing him. You never told him exactly about what the darkness of your nightmares consisted of, but you had the vague feeling he knew anyway.

So he held you, this night, as he always did, when you woke up screaming his name frantically. You sat up and your arms flailed around your body, feeling around the matress in panic. Peeta's arms were around you in an instant, stopping your arms from further flapping around. ''I'm right here baby, it's okay.'', he whispered into your hair, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple.

Your fingers tightly warpped around the arm that was draped acrossd your upper body as Peeta rocked you back and forth. His chest pressed into your back as a stream of silent tears flowed down your face. The arm that wasn't wrapped up between your fingers moved soothingly through your hair. Peeta's fingers solved and created knots between your hair strands but whatever he did, it did its part in calming you down, even if it was just the lightest bit.

As your body slowly recovered from the violent shivers that shook it, Peeta pulled you closer, so you leaned fully into him. What had he called you? Baby? Since when did he do that? You tried recalling a time when he had ever said that to you, and you failed. Had he done it accidentally? Where did this come from? What did it mean?

Even now, his lips lingered in your hair, touching your head without pressing them into your skin. The sound of rain splattering against your window began filling the silence of the room. Peeta suddenly shifted behind you, and you thought you did something to ruin it, to make him want to run. Had he realised what he had called you? Had he finally figured out that you were in love with him?

Your heart rate sped up as the thoughts raced around in your head. But instead of getting up and leaving, he shifted his body so his legs were around your body, and tried to catch your gaze. His arms never leaving their embrace around your upper body. You felt completely engulfed by him, you felt safe. You finally caught his eyes, making the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.

''Dance with me in the rain,'', he whispered. To your surprise, he pressed another light kiss onto the skin of your upper arm, and then leaned his head onto your arm, searching your eyes for an answer. In turn, you searched his eyes for a clue of whether he was joking around or whether he really meant it.

Peeta must have sensed your doubts, because he repeated his request. ''I mean it,'', he said, wiping a tear from your cheek and then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. ''C'mon, let's go outside and dance.'' The tears did not stop filling your eyes when you answered. ''I can't dance.'', you whispered back, hesitant.

A small chuckle escaped Peeta's lips as he rubbed one of his hands down your back. ''Of course you can,''. Slowly, he got up. He didn't let go of you, always touching some part of your body, always keeping you close. As he stood in front of your bed, he held both of your hands. ''C'mon, baby.''

There it was again. Baby. This time it was for sure no accident. It couldn't have been. You let him tug at your hands and pull you out of bed. As you let him pull you to stand, you stood directly in front of him. He closed his arms around you again, and your head rested on his chest in comfort.

When he broke your hug, he did it gently, still never fully removing his touch from you. Downstairs, you put on your shoes. Peeta opened te front door and a shower of rain greeted you, accompanied by the smell of it you adored so much.

Peeta took the first step outside, his hand still in yours. He looked back at you to catch your gaze, encouraging you to follow him. Rain dops were already collecting in his hair, making his blond hair look slightly darker than it was.

Finally, you could feel yourself beginning to smile and you stepped out of the comfort of your home into the rain. Peeta pulled the both of you onto the empty and deserted street. He stopped when you were right in the middle of it, then he took both of your hands into his and pulled your body close to his.

One of his hands grabbed yours firmly, the other landed on your waist. You placed your free hand onto his shoulder, then also leaned your chin upon it. Peeta took the lead, if you could call it that, and swayed both of your bodies from side to side.

The rain fell down onto you, wettening your hair, your clothes, your skin, until you were soaked to the bone. ''What are your nightmares about?'' Peeta suddenly asked, still swaying from side to side. You lifted your chin from its position on Peeta's shoulder to be able to look him in the eyes, contemplating about telling him the truth.

The look in his eyes suddenly told you that you could. ''About losing you,''. Something changed in his expression, but you couldn't quite decipher it. He freed the hand that was clasped in yours and placed it in the back of your neck. He pulled your head into his chest and placed countless kisses on the side of your head, into your hair, onto your temple and your forehead.

Then silence overtook you again, though Peeta was still swaying your bodies from left to right. ''Aren't you gonna ask me what mine are about?'', he whispered into the wet locks of your hair, then placing another kiss into them. His hand was still placed on your neck when you pulled back, just far enough so you could look at him again.

You did so tentatively, still not knowing what your confession did to him. A glint of amusement glistened in his eyes, yet you could not make out why. ''They're about the games.'', you stated, matter-of-factly. His hand came to rest at the side of your face, and you leaned into it out of habit.

''Sometimes, yes,'', he began, never once breaking eye contact when speaking. ''Most of the times, they are about losing you.'' The statement surprised you to say the least, and for a moment you felt dizzy. Your eyebrows rose up in genuine confusion as you stammered for an appropriate answer. ''Wha-.. what? I mean... what? Really?'', you sounded helpless, stupid even. Nonetheless, whatever you stammered, it made another chuckle escape Peeta's lips, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the skin of your cheek.

''Did you not know?'', he asked, smiling. Your confusion and lack of answer made his smile vanish from his face, and his eyebrows drew together in concern. ''Seriously, did you not know?'', he pressed. ''No,'' you asnwered silently, but really, how could you have?

You were about to argue, ask him where he had given you signs, where he had made it obvious, when he cupped both of your cheeks into his hands, as if to shake some sense into you. ''It doesn't matter now,'', he whispered, staring so deeply into your eyes you thought he wanted to read your mind.

''I am desperately in love with you,'', he confessed, shocking you again, your face a clear display of it. ''So much that I cannot stand it when you are not with me, not talking to me, not by my side in any way.'', he continued. Your heart skipped a beat, or two, you didn't know how many, really. Yet you didn't, couldn't, answer him.

''Can you say something?'', he asked, desperate at your lack of reaction other than utter confusion. ''I..'', you began, not knowing why you couldn't voice your feelings. The rain still poured down on your bodies, wettening your faces to a point where water was dripping down your cheeks, your lips, your chins.

Lips. Peeta's lips. You stared at them, then back into his eyes. Then something overtook you, you gripped Peeta by his shirt and pulled him into you, pressing your lips onto his in one swift move. You grasped at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Something clicked in him and he tried to pull you closer as well, pressing his lips onto yours with an urge you could not describe. His lips were wet from the rain but still warm.

Your chests heaved heavily with your breaths as you kissed and kissed as though you thought you could never kiss again. One of his hands left your cheeks and he draped it across your back, to keep you as close as possible when your lips finally stopped moving against one another. He leaned his forehead against yours, all parts of your bodies still touching except of your lips.

''I love you,'', you chuckled, making a smile spread across his lips. You have never been as good with words as Peeta was, but you had to let him know either way. ''That's why you are the only one who can calm me down after a nightmare, because it is only you I care about. It is you I love, you whom I cannot spend a day thinking about, spend a day living without.'', you finally confessed.

The smile did not leave Peeta's lips after that. ''I love you too,'', he answered. ''So much.'', he continued, then leaned down to place a delicate on your lips.

Y/N’s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet when you pushed the heavy door in he was nowhere to be seen. Not in his usual evening spot waiting for you to come home, even if he would never admit that is what he does, he was just not there. With a sigh you turned to close the door behind you, dropping your bags without much concern, all of your thoughts turning to try and find your boyfriend.

"Peeta?" Words echoed in the quiet room.

"In here honey!" Following his words you made your way into the kitchen, anxious to see what you would find turning the corner.

Once you made it in the room you saw him, black apron covered in flour handprints and hair sticking up in all different directions. He had a bright smile on his face as always, looking to you with love and amazment on his face. It dropped momentairly when he saw the sour look on your face and drooped shoulders. In response he moved to the side, giving you a full view of the counter.

"It's not done but tada!" His voice full of excitment and complimented with the overdramtic jazz hands he was trying to do.

On the counter was a cake, small in size but the rainbow of colors made it look much bigger, enveloping the space around it. You could tell it wasn't done, as the red had been almost left off and the bowl of color sat next to it. There were countless piping bags scattered around the table, all resting on paper towels to not make a mess.

"You made a cake?" There was amusment in your voice as you went to look closer.

"I made you a cake!" He emphized the 'you' part of his words, moving to stand right behind you as you looked at his creation.

He wrapped his hands around your waist as your eyes scanned over every color, making small comments on the twisting designs Peeta had put into it. He let you ask every question your mind could come up with about the cake, for about five minutes before kicking you out of the way, claiming the icing was going to go bad.

"You can watch me if you want" He whispered, more to himself as you went to walk out of the room.

Y/N’s POV

The Victory Tour has been an elaborate masquerade, a relentless parade of smiles plastered over a soul still reeling from the wounds of the Games. Every handshake, every fabricated grin, felt like a weight pressing down on me, the agony of pretending to revel in the celebrations when all I truly yearned for was the solace of home. 

The Capitol’s decadence, its opulent celebrations, and effervescent extravagance—it’s all a cruel reminder of the life I’m expected to embrace, the left I’m supposed to relish as a victor. But it’s a facade, a role I’ve been forced to play. My heart remains tethered to District 12, to the quiet streets and familiar faces that offer a semblance of genuine comfort. 

Amidst the sparkling lights and the cheering crowds, my mind drifts back to the memories of the arena, to the mentorship under Peeta, to the haunting absence of Katniss in District 12. 

Peeta Mellark. His name is a lifeline woven into the fabric of my survival. From the moment our paths intertwined, his presence became an anchor amidst the chaos of the Games. His guidance wasn’t just about tactics and strategies; it was a steady stream of compassion and unwavering support that stitched together the shattered remnants of my courage. 

In the heart of the arena, amidst the looming threat of death, he was my solace—the calm in the eye of a relentless storm. His words were a balm to the wounds inflicted by the ruthless Games, and his unwavering belief in my abilities breathed life into the embers of hope flickering within me. But it wasn't just survival that bound us. It was the unspoken understanding, the shared pain, and the unyielding determination to rise above the horrors we were subjected to. Peeta’s presence was a beacon of resilience, a reminder that humanity perseveres even in the darkest of times.

His absence during the Victory Tour amplified the void within me. Each forced smile for the Capitol's pleasure felt hollow without his reassuring presence. The memories of his kindness, his selflessness, and the way he made me feel—safe, understood, and cared for—lingered like an ethereal melody, a symphony echoing in the chambers of my heart.

Every victory in the arena felt incomplete without the prospect of returning home to District 12, where I knew he would be waiting. His absence now is a stark reminder of the yearning that's blossomed within me, a yearning that transcends mere friendship. It’s a yearning rooted in admiration, respect, and an inexplicable pull toward someone who understands the depths of my soul.

As the train hurtles closer to District 12, my mind lingers on the bittersweet ache of anticipation. The knock on the carriage door draws me from my reverie, and when it creaks open, Haymitch stands there, his gruff exterior softened by a knowing glint in his eyes.

“We’re almost home kid.” He tells me, looking for the liquor which Effie had tried to hide but I just point towards the cupboard Effie put it in as he’s gone almost cold turkey the whole tour. He makes a triumphant sound when he finds it and I retreat back into the cocoon of my thoughts, sketching aimlessly while visions of home dance in my mind like fragments of a beautiful dream. Peeta’s words resound, his descriptions of the Victor’s Village painting vivid images of a serene haven—a place that promises solace amidst the remnants of a harrowing past. 

He spoke of the houses with such reverence, a testament to the life waiting beyond the tumultuous journey, “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.” He had assured me with that trademark sincerity of his, as though he wanted to paint the scene for me, to offer a glimpse into eh sanctuary that awaited. I remember his promise, a simple yet heartfelt vow: a cake waiting for me upon my return. The thought brings a smile to my lips despite the weariness clinging to every muscle. It’s a gesture, a small slice of normalcy in the chaos of our lives—a symbol of comfort, of the simple pleasures we often take for granted. 

The idea of stepping into the Victor’s Village, of sharing a slice of cake baked by Peeta in a house that holds the promise of peace, feels like a respite—a chance to shed the weight of the Games and the elaborate facade forced up me during the tour. 

The train's rhythmic chugging signals our imminent arrival. The anticipation swells within me, a mingling of excitement and relief. Home. It's not just the physical place; it's the prospect of being enveloped in familiarity, of finding solace in the warmth of companionship, and, most of all, of reuniting with Peeta—a friend, a confidant, and perhaps something more. 

As the train slows to a halt, the station looms ahead, a beacon drawing me closer to the arms of District 12, to the Victor's Village, and to the person whose unwavering support and promise of a simple joy await me—a promise embodied in a freshly baked cake, a symbol of the comfort and understanding that Peeta Mellark embodies.

Haymitch, ever the gruff guardian, extends a steadying arm, guiding me up from my seat as a twinge shoots through my right calf—a lingering reminder of the games that won’t easily fade. His presence offers both physical support and a sense of familiarity that grounds me in this whirlwind of arrival. 

As the doors of the train slide open, a cacophony of jubilant cheers fills the air, reverberating through the station. The collective uproar, a symphony of gratitude and celebration, overwhelms my senses, but amidst the adoration echoing in the air, my focus remains fixated on finding Peeta. 

Through the sea of faces, my gaze darts around the mass of faces until it lands on him—a familiar silhouette standing slightly to the side, his ocean blue eyes locking onto mine with a mix of relief and unspoken understanding. In that moment, the cheers fade into a distant hum, and everything else blurs into insignificance. The intensity of his gaze feels like a lifeline, pulling me through the tumultuous sea of emotions. 

My heart swells with a surge of emotions, a rush of feelings that transcends the boundaries of mere friendship—a torrent of affection, gratitude, and a love that had quietly blossomed amidst the chaos. In the depth of his ocean blue eyes, I find a reflection of the unspoken sentiments that echo within me. 

The realisation crashes over me like a wave—I’m in love with Peeta Mellark. It’s not just a fleeting infatuation; it’s an undeniable truth that has been silently growing, nurtured by shared experiences, understanding, and the unspoken connection that binds us. Before rational thought can temper the surge of emotions, instinct takes over. Without a second thought, I break away from Haymitch, the thudding of my heart growing out all other sounds. The cheers, the bustling crowd, the very world around us becomes a blue as I sprint towards Peeta, my every stride a leap closer to the person who has become an integral part of my being. 

The distance between us diminishes with each step, the air crackling with an unspoken anticipation. His eyes widen in surprise, a mix of astonishment and a mirrored rush of emotions dancing within their depths as he realises my intent. With an unabashed burst of emotion, I throw myself into his embrace, my arms wrapping around him with a fervour that words could never encapsulate. Peeta’s initial surprise melts into a reciprocated rush of emotions as my embrace envelopes him. His arms, strong yet tender, instinctively encircle me, pulling me closer as though trying to bridge the gap that time and distance had imposed between us. In that shared moment, the world around us dissolved into insignificance, leaving only the raw intensity of our connection. 

“I’ve missed you,” my whispered confession hangs in the air, laden with unspoken emotions and the weight of an unguarded heart. 

His response is immediate, a gentle yet desperate movement as he shifts slightly, enough to cup my cheek with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter. His eyes, a reflection of the unspoken turmoil within, lock onto mine with a raw honesty that needs no words. And in that unspoken exchange, he pulls me closer, his lips seeking mine with an urgency that echoes the unspoken longing we both shared. 

The moment our lips meet, it’s a collision of emotions—an amalgamation of desperation and relief, of aching hearts finding solace in each others embrace. The kiss is a symphony of emotions, a crescendo of pent-up feelings that spill over in a rush of passion and tenderness. The screams and cheers of the District get even louder but also fades away. 

His lips mould against mine, conveying a depth of longing and understanding that transcends words. In that kiss, there’s a separation to erase the distance, to soothe the ache of separation, and to find solace in the shared embrace—a moment of reunion that feels like coming home. Every brush of his lips against mine is a reassurance, a promise of understanding and support. It’s a silent affirmation that speaks volumes—of shared trials, unspoken confessions, and a love that had silently bloomed amidst the chaos. 

My heart pounds in my chest, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips on mine, the warmth of his touch, and the overwhelming rush of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. It's a moment of surrender and acceptance, a moment that feels like the missing piece in the tumultuous puzzle of our lives has finally found its place.

“Come home with me.” Peeta murmurs against my lips and I’m nodding, pressing another kiss to his lips this time chaste. 

“Take me home Peeta.” 

Peeta wore his white tee proudly as you watched him finally lay the blanket flat, admiring him from afar.

He was a work of art himself with his perfectly ironed shirts and brown khakis, toned muscles, and blonde hair glimmering in the orange light.

He turned to you as you approached the quilt on the ground, picnic basket in hand. His face grew soft, the handsome, genuine smile you had barely seen since he was hijacked grew on his lips.

"You look...beautiful," he murmured, taking in the soft pink sundress dotted with white daisies that you wore for the first time since you bought it.

He reached for your hand, taking it into his. You sat the basket down in front of you as he guided you to take a seat, following along with you.

You once again took the moment to admire the sky and him, and how lucky you were to finally have peace in the place you call home.

Peeta began to unravel the bread and berries and place them on the napkins you brought with, sneaking two raspberries into his mouth when he thought you weren't looking.

"Save some for me!" you laughed, swatting playfully at his hand as he grinned cheekily, a drop of raspberry juice dribbling onto his lip.

"It was only two!" he says, taking a raspberry and handing it to you.

You popped it into your mouth happily, enjoying the explosion of sweetness and slight bitterness it carried.

He took a piece of bread off the loaf, not caring to cut it.

"Gosh, I wonder who made this bread, it's so amazing! So fluffy and still warm!" He gloated, exaggerating the enjoyment on his face.

"Oh, please," you gave him an even more exaggerated look of annoyance, because you both knew very well that he made the bread, and it was damn good no matter what.

He gave you a knowing smirk, giving you a light peck on the cheek.

"You still have bread in your mouth! Don't get chewed up bread on my cheek!" You shrieked, yet another tease for him.

"You've had a lot worse on your face," he deadpanned, struggling to hide his smirk.

"Not the time," you giggled, a rosy tint rising on your cheeks.

You watched as the clouds moved ever so slightly in the sky with the light breeze, sometimes watching the color shift from dusky purple to gray, or gray to purple.

Peeta took note of your interest in the sky, taking the time to look up and watch the birds flitting by in small groups.

"Beautiful skyline, is it not?" he broke the silence, taking a plump strawberry into his mouth and ripping off the stem.

"It's not a skyline, Peeta. It's just a sky," you replied, a hint of teasing in your tone, knowing he would bite back playfully with another joke.

"Listen, same thing. There's a skyline somewhere out there, just very minimal where we are."

"Yeah right, maybe in the Capitol," you snorted, tearing off a piece of loaf and taking a bite, savoring the softness of it.

"You make it really hard to be nice sometimes," he joked, turning his head to look at you.

You admired his beautiful blue eyes when he looked at you. The way they had so much love and desire behind them, the questions they raised in the depth. You admired his blonde hair, the way it fell perfectly around his face. Most of all, you admired him.

Everything about Peeta was perfect in your eyes, his slightly lopsided smile, the way his cheeks reddened when you would say you loved him. His stocky build, his broad shoulders that he threw you over multiple times. His arms, his nose, his lips, his jaw, his everything.

"I appreciate that," you bit back playfully, the smile on your face was bigger than ever.

You looked down to the fruit basket, only one strawberry and four raspberries were left.

Peeta ate the rest.

"You can't even save two strawberries for me?" you complained, taking the last strawberry into your mouth and ripping off the stem the same way you learned from Peeta.

"You were too busy indulging in my lovely bread," he said.

You two sat in silence for a while, watching the sky and listening to the chirping of birds.

It was nice to sit with him in silence sometimes, appreciating the time you've spent together and the trials you went through with him. Through the tough and the breaking points, you two came out alive.

You had finished your bread, and scooted over on the quilt to sit closer to him.

Without saying a word, his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling you to his side, and you allowed your head to drop to his shoulder, snuggling close to his body.

You sat like this for a while, listening to the world around you move while you sat in eternal happiness, where nothing could hurt you in Peeta's arms.

You were home, both physically, and mentally.

Peeta was your home, your rock, your everything. Life wouldn't go on without him.

You felt his head turn down to yours, resting his chin on top of your head. He kissed the top of your head lightly, his arm tightening around you.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you," you replied, grabbing hold of him to watch the sky go by.