Prompt: Peeta talking to Katniss' baby bump. Note: I took some slight liberties with the interactions with said bump but the general premise is still the same.
Rated G
The cooler weather of October had arrived in District 12. Fall was always a time of preparation, a time of scrambling for Katniss when she was younger. Now, with a young daughter and her soon-to-be little brother on the way, fall was a time for cozy drinks, warm baked goods, playing in the leaves, and snuggling under the blankets. No longer did she feel frantic about making sure there was enough to survive the winter, although some habits die hard. Katniss still took pleasure in hunting and stocking the freezer with meats for the upcoming season.
Katniss dozed off on the couch. Her son was due in December and with each day that passed in her pregnancy, her exhaustion levels increased. Mellark babies, as she'd come to learn, weren't small. He was already much bigger in the womb than Willow had been. Peeta apologized profusely for his genetics throughout the last few months and likely would until the delivery. He had been the smallest in his family, the last baby, but was still bigger than Katniss and Prim had been. Despite what he said, he wasn't that sorry though. Seeing his wife, the girl he'd loved since he was five-years-old, pregnant with their second child, well that was just a dream come true. His little family meant more to him than anything in the world.
While Katniss rested on the couch, Peeta worked on a painting with Willow. They wore matching smocks; she had a habit of making a mess with her finger paints. Peeta assembled a variety of colours and mixtures for them to share. Finger painting was trickier than he anticipated — he spent so many years honing his skills with the finest canvases and brushes that using fingers made for a sloppier experience than what he was familiar with. Inside, he knew finger paints weren't for precision or fine work but it was hard to overcome his perfectionistic tendencies some days.
Willow, on the other hand, loved her finger paints. The fridge was covered in silly handprints, stick figures and doodles she painted with her parents, who couldn't resist decorating the house with her "artwork." Even Haymitch's fridge door was adorned with the artwork of young Willow Mellark, an "up-and-coming artist," he liked to tease. Peeta's bakery had various Willow art placed around his office too. He was proud to have his daughter's art on display -- the polar opposite of the version of the bakery he grew up in.
Willow's fingers danced on the paper with no set direction. Peeta looked over at his daughter's canvas occasionally. There was nothing discernible about what her fingers were creating. Blues overlapped yellows and reds. No corner of her paper was left untouched. Eventually, she decided she was done, or no longer held the interest to continue.
"Daddy, I'm bored!" she announced. Peeta looked up from the painting he was working on, his best attempt at a family photo. Haymitch, himself, Katniss with a circle for a belly, and a short little figure meant to represent Willow.
"Already?"
"Yeah! And I wanna play with Mama." Peeta wanted Katniss to get in as much rest as she could between now and the baby's arrival. They were expecting to have a big adjustment transitioning from one kid to two. Willow looked up at him with pleading eyes, the same hue as Peeta's.
"We just started, honey. Mama is asleep right now, but I have an idea. I could paint your face!" Peeta suggested with much enthusiasm.
Willow looked at her father, confused. "What does Daddy mean by painting my face? Daddy always says we have to paint on paper. Not on my clothes and not on the walls."
A few weeks ago, Peeta was painting a new mural in what will be the baby's room. Willow, inspired by her father, picked up her crayons and "helped." After an explanation of why crayons were not for the wall, as well as a "Willow, please ask Mama or I before you colour something that is not paper," Peeta let her paint a tiny portion with careful supervision.
"There are special paints just for your face. I can go grab them from my paint room. Sound good?" Peeta asked.
"Okay, Daddy!" Peeta took his daughter's hand and guided her to his paint studio. In seasons gone by, Peeta had volunteered at the rebuilt District 12 to paint children's faces on Fall Fun Day during the revamped Harvest Festival. Now that he had his own family to keep him occupied, he hadn't been able to participate. The joy and excitement on the kid's faces always brightened his day. He was looking forward to experiencing it with his own child.
Settling back down in the living room, Peeta assembled his face paint setup. Katniss was still napping but he chose to paint in the living room anyway. She was a fairly sound sleeper, and liked sleeping knowing Peeta and Willow were in arm's reach. The same went for Peeta.
"What do you want to be, Willow? I can paint a cat, a pumpkin, or something silly on you," Peeta asked his daughter. "You get to pick."
Willow thought for a moment. Her look of concentration closely resembled Katniss'. It amused both Mellark parents how much their daughter resembled her mother. Peeta wondered if his son would have his blond curls, or take after Katniss' dark hair just as Willow did. Either way, he didn't have a preference. He was just thrilled to have a new baby on the way, a new piece of him and Katniss.
"I think… I want to be a kitty cat!" Willow decided.
"Good choice, hon. Now, I need you to look up at me and sit still so I can paint your face."
Peeta got to work as Willow did her best to follow his instructions. A couple of brush strokes tickled her face, sending her into a giggling fit.
"Shhh," Peeta reminded her. "Mama's still trying to sleep. I'm just about done though. Hold still so I can finish up your whiskers." A few more moments passed and Peeta had finished painting Willow's face. She now resembled a cat, complete with whiskers and a pink nose. Peeta and Willow walked hand in hand to the downstairs bathroom to examine her new look. He picked her up and held her to the sink mirror.
"I'm a kitty!" she squealed. Peeta grinned at the look of excitement on his daughter's face. "Yeah, Willow, you are! You're our new kitty cat!" "Meow!" giggled Willow. Moments like this one were what he thrived on. "When can Mama see?"
"When she wakes up. Which shouldn't be too long from now. Let's head back to the living room and wait," said Peeta.
While Peeta and Willow were in the bathroom, Katniss had shifted on the couch, part of her t-shirt (Peeta's t-shirt) had ridden up, her swollen stomach now on display. She was snoring lightly. Willow was still a bit confused about the concept of Mama's stomach and why it was growing. She knew she was going to have a little brother in a few months, but didn't seem to understand why he couldn't just arrive already. Katniss and Peeta likened it to Mama "baking a brother cookie."
"Mama ate a pumpkin," Willow giggled, as she pointed to Katniss' stomach.
Peeta chuckled at Willow's latest observation. "No silly, that's your little brother in there. But you can call him pumpkin if you'd like," he encouraged. Katniss and Peeta had plenty of food nicknames in their roster, just as they did when they were expecting Willow.
A spark of inspiration hit Peeta. "Why don't we paint Mama's belly like a pumpkin? It will be like me painting your face but we can both work on it together. That sounds fun, doesn't it?" Willow squealed in agreement, now in the mood to paint something again.
Peeta and Willow began to cover Katniss' stomach in orange paint, gently lifting her shirt further up as they got to work. Peeta started to suspect Katniss was no longer sleeping — at least not deeply. Katniss had years of practice pretending to be asleep, and Peeta had years of deciphering when she was and wasn't.
Once the orange layer was done, Peeta traced the outline of the pumpkin's eyes, nose and mouth. He guided Willow to paint within the lines with a dark paint mixture. "Carving and painting faces onto pumpkins is a fall tradition from a very, very long time ago," he explained to his daughter. "It's a fun way to decorate for the season."
As they finished painting, the father and daughter duo sat back to examine their work, giggling at their masterpiece. Katniss' eyes flew open, confirming Peeta's suspicions that she was at least partially awake. "What have you done?" she asked Peeta warily.
Willow's giggles increased, her joy was so contagious. Mama and Daddy were silly to watch sometimes when they asked each other questions.
"Mama! You're a pumpkin!" squealed Willow. Katniss looked down at her shirt, as best as she could from the angle she was laying at. The size of her stomach was making it harder and harder to see past with each day that her baby continued to grow. From the angle she was at, Katniss could see her stomach covered in orange paint. Hoisting herself to sit up, she was able to see further down her stomach. Her belly really did look like a pumpkin, painted like one or not. Before Mama could get up, Willow did her best to add the letter P to Mama's stomach. She was getting better and better with her alphabet every day.
"I'm Katniss P. Mellark," she laughed softly, examining Peeta's paint job and Willow's letter. It was certainly not as refined as his usual works, but from the chatter Katniss overheard while resting, it was one he was proud of.
"P? What does the P stand for?" asked Peeta. "As far as I'm aware, you and I don't have middle names."
"Pumpkin, silly. I'm a pumpkin now. Or at least the size of one," she snorted. Katniss ran her fingers along the painted mouth. Her baby kicked in response, the ripples visible through her skin. Willow's eyes widened as she watched her unborn brother make his presence known.
"Mama, did you eat a pumpkin?" she asked, poking at her brother. "Is that why you look like one?"
"No silly, that was your brother saying hello," she said. "Do you want to say hi back?"
Willow leaned in to whisper against her mother's stomach. Katniss and Peeta had been encouraging it as of late, so he got familiar with the sound of his big sister's voice. Having gone through this once before, they loved talking to their baby. "Hello, baby Pumpkin," she whispered. "Mama ate you!" Katniss reminded Willow that he wasn't actually a pumpkin. He was a real, live baby who will be born in a couple of short months.
Feeling slightly re-energized from her nap, Katniss wanted to join in on the face paint fun. "How about we paint something on Daddy's face? Then we'll all match," suggested Katniss. "Let's surprise him." Willow crawled up the couch to sit with Mama as they conspired to find something to paint on Peeta's face. He looked sheepishly at his girls as they whispered and laughed at their ideas. He knew whatever it was they chose, he was going to look goofy.
"See you soon, little man," he whispered to Katniss' bump. "I'll need you on my side against these two."
I turn back, unimpressed. "Is flirting part of the routine too?"
By the grin on his face and the way he’s in her house every damn morning, I’d say it already is. He confidently slides his queen forward. "Checkmate."
I take a swig from my bottle. Flirting and chess. The routine now. Beats the hell out of kids dying.
Haymitch drinks. Katniss and Peeta grow back together. They all somehow end up playing chess along the way.
When I enter the bedroom, I pause at the door frame. Something is different but I can’t quite place it until I slowly scan my eyes over the length of the room. On the dressing table, there is a small white vase with a stalk poking out of it. Frowning, I walk towards the dresser before I notice the downy sphere crowning the plant. It’s a dandelion bearing its seeds. I almost want to cry, hands raising to cover my face, when I see a note with Peeta’s neat handwriting slanted against the side of the vase. I pick it up.
Thought you might want to make a wish. Nothing too weird, though. I love you.
my fic i wrote for the district 12 fluff fest is now on ao3! will hopefully be adding more parts to it soon!
The podfic I made for @district12flufffest back in May is now on AO3! From the candlelight bath to the snuggly cuddle nest, everything about @rosegardeninwinter’s drabble reads like the warmest hug imaginable. It may have been thundering on Katniss’s birthday, but Cate’s prose is pure Everlark sunshine ☀️✨ Hopefully, in a similar way, my little recording brightens your day too.
Length: 04:56
Download/ streaming options:
AO3 (includes more credit info)
Internet Archive
Google Drive
Read the original text here! And don’t miss the other birthday treats for Katniss in making a blank page bloom (chapters 65–78)—they’re all as wonderful as they are heartwarming. You’re going to love each and every one of them as much as I do.
Thank you again @rosegardeninwinter, getting to do this was such a dream!! A special shoutout as well to @burkygirl, for this delightfully cosy event, and to @clearlyundefeyened, for the perfectly perfect prompt. I’ll be diving back into the rest of collection (there’re just a couple more fics I haven’t had the chance to read yet), see you there <3
Plaid Shirt Days | District 12 Harvest Fest | Now on ao3
Summary: District 12's newly revamped Harvest Festival is quickly approaching and Peeta is busy with work as a result. In the meantime, his clothes are starting to dwindle but the evidence is right under his nose.
“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as I watch him pack away a third batch of cinnamon cookies. I shrug, the spoon I’m holding making another round of the bowl of frosting by my side. I hear him cross the room to stand in front of me, one hand on my arm and the other cupping my cheek. “Hey, talk to me.”
It’s moments like these I wish he could just read my mind. We do pretty well now, after spending almost every day together for seven years, bar Peeta’s regular check-ups in the Capitol. There’s so much I can communicate with him now with just a squeeze of his hand or a glance in his direction. But this feels more difficult, for some reason; it’s not part of our usual routine, the easy dance we’ve perfected over the years.
It’s remarkable how easily he can figure me out, anyway, “It’s to do with the festival, isn’t it?”
The Harvest Festival starts today. Since the war it’s been a small, relatively quiet affair. The first couple of years saw an evening where almost everyone in the district pitched in with whatever food they could, followed by some music and dancing in the evening. It’s grown over the last few years, and this year is the first time it’s expanded to a full weekend long festival complete with market stalls, dance competitions, bonfires, and something called a hayride. The town’s been buzzing, and in the last day or so people have started pouring in from other areas of the country. Peeta, as the baker and always somewhat involved in the District Council, has been preparing his stall for weeks. I’ve been happy to help, gathering apples for at least a dozen different pie recipes and acting as his taste tester. But it’s also meant almost every moment has been about the festival. He’s usually gone in the morning even though I wake before the sun and he comes home exhausted, falling asleep on the couch before I gently guide him up to bed.
“Real or not real?” he whispers, and it is this reference to our old game that breaks whatever resolve I had to try and pretend it wasn’t.
“Real,” I whisper back. He pulls back slightly, and the sadness in his eyes makes me want to take back what I said immediately. “It’s not your fault. I know how busy you’ve been, and I’ve been happy to help, I just-”
“Don’t,” he cuts me off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It all just kept getting bigger and bigger and it felt like I couldn’t stop it.”
I try to force a smile, “It’s just two more days. I’ll be okay.”
But he’s thinking now hard about something. And when his eyes meet mine again, he looks resolved on whatever he’s decided. “Give me five minutes, okay?”
I nod, confused, as he steps away toward the hall. I hear him dial someone, one of the staff at the bakery I think, but it’s hard to tell. I try to busy myself with packing the stack cakes on the side into their respective containers. He comes back in after a few minutes looking considerably brighter than before. “Okay, all sorted.
I pause what I’m doing and turn to him, “What’s sorted?”
He walks over to me and threads his fingers through mine, “Stall’s covered for today and tomorrow until 3pm. I’ll need to drop all this off at the stall this morning, but then I’m all yours.”
I can’t help the grin that takes over my face. “Really? Are you sure?”
He nods his head adamantly, “Katniss, I know you don’t really want to spend the next two days making small talk with almost everyone in the District.”
“I don’t mind if I’m with you,” I mumble, and I notice the tips of his ears redden like they always do when I say something like this. “I like dancing with you. And trying the different food and drink.”
“Don’t worry, we can still make a trip to that apple cider stall tomorrow evening,” he winks at me and I roll my eyes. “Sometimes I feel like you love that more than me.”
I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest as I say, “There’s nothing I love more than you.”
I feel his lips in my hair as he whispers, “Not even my cheese buns?”
I raise my head and narrow my eyes as if I’m thinking really hard about it. “You make a good point.”
He chuckles, but then his eyes catch mine and he quickly sobers. I wonder what he can see in them – if the dull ache of missing him that’s sat in my chest the last few weeks is somehow radiating from them so it’s impossible to miss. Whatever it is, he presses his forehead against mine before leaning in and capturing me in a slow, languid kiss. He holds me to him, like he’s trying to capture everything about this moment in his mind to store away for later.
When he does pull back slightly, so our foreheads are still touching, he checks his watch, “So, I’m all yours for the next 33 hours. What do you want to do?”
“Can we get out of here? Go to the cabin?” I say, thinking about the filming crew that Thom told us would likely be dropping in to film the festival. I don’t begrudge him letting them come – he wasn’t keen – but it would be good for the District’s economy if the festival continued to grow with more visitors next year. And realistically I know we’ll largely be left alone, given the specific governmental orders in place to respect the privacy of the survivors of the Games. But I can’t help but worry, with Peeta’s stall being so front and centre, that we could still end up being hounded for two days straight if we’re anywhere near the town square.
“Sounds perfect,” he whispers, and then he steps away, voice back to business. “I’ll just need to finish packing these up and drop them off at the stall. I can meet you in the woods in a couple of hours if you want to get out of here now?”
He’s giving me maybe the greatest gift he could right now, and that twinge that I’ll never be able to repay him for everything he does for me creeps into the back of my mind. I walk over to him, and grab his face between my hands, before kissing him again, trying to pour everything I feel into the way my lips move against his. He’s surprised, judging by the noise he makes, but quickly drops the box he was packing to wrap his arms around me. I rise up on my tiptoes and press myself against him as much as I can so that there’s no space between the fabric of our clothes. This elicits a groan from him that sends a thrill through me, one that I’ve missed these last few weeks. He pulls away after several minutes of this, trying to catch his breath, but I can’t get enough. My lips trail down his neck, and the way he whispers my name makes my skin burn.
“Katniss,” he says, firmly now, rather than laced with hunger like just before.
“What?” I say, pulling away but unable to hide the annoyance in my voice at his interruption.
He chuckles, his hand stroking my cheek, “If we don’t stop, I’ll be late for the stall and you might not make it to the woods before the cameras get here.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it less frustrating. I make a noise somewhat akin to a whine, and his amused expression just annoys me more. “I know, I want to as well. But later, I promise I’ll be all yours. And just think, we’ll be all alone, just us for miles around …”
“You know, it’s annoying how convincing you are sometimes,” I say, pushing myself away from his chest and putting some space between us.
He grins, “You just know I’m right.”
I roll my eyes, but lean up and press a kiss to his flushed cheek to confirm I’m not actually annoyed with him. “I’ll go pack our bag.”
We have a bag always half packed for our trips to the Cabin by the lake – we spend most weekends down there now in the summer, but it’s been a few weeks with preparing for the festival and the weather is turning. We’ve got most of the essentials down there now anyway, like blankets and toothbrushes and a makeshift mattress. I pack some warmer clothes into the rucksack and then head back to the kitchen and get a few supplies that I can’t gather easily in the woods this time of year. Peeta’s already left out a selection of baked goods he made for the festival which I pack alongside the iodine and gas. I put my boots on and grab my bow and arrow before going back to the kitchen where he’s staring puzzled at the half-filled trolley he’s planning on hauling up to the town square. I can’t help but smile at it, and a rush of emotion bursts in my chest that drives me to cross the room and press my lips and body against his one more time. When I pull away, he raises his eyebrows at me in surprise, a hazy smile on his lips.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, pressing another kiss to his cheek and turning away before I get distracted by his arms or the feel of his stubble on my skin again.
It’s still early morning as I jog over to the woods, the cloudy sky streaked with a brilliant array of orange and purple. I’m silent as I move through the trees, able to take down a couple of squirrels for dinner easily before I do some foraging for a while in my usual spots. Once I feel satisfied that the haul should last us the next day, I start to amble over to our usual meeting spot, a little alcove that sits halfway up a mountain. The valley it overlooks always has a good view, but today it’s really showing off with the trees sporting all different shades from greens to purples to reds. I try to squash the anxious feeling that runs over my body, the one that used to settle in my bones whenever I saw those colours as I worried about how I’d be able to put food on the table until Spring. I take some deep breaths and go through the list of good things I’ve made over the years to remind myself that I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Once I feel slightly calmer, I decide to distract myself by climbing up one of my favourite trees and spend some time matching all the different shades I’ve learned from watching Peeta paint to the trees around me.
About two and a half hours since we parted, I hear his footsteps rumbling through the forest. He’s whistling a series of notes, and when he stops not far from my perch I whistle them back. His head whips up and his eyes find mine as he shakes his head in exasperation.
“I should’ve known,” he shouts up to me and I grin back at him.
“The colours are even prettier from up here!” I yell back at him.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he grimaces. “You can tell me all about it on the hike.”
I shimmy down the tree and land a few feet from him. He holds out his hand, which I take as he reels me in and presses his lips to mine. I sink into him, gripping on to his scarf, when I realise that this is the one I made him a couple of years ago during my first foray into knitting. I pull away and look up at him questioningly.
“You decided to wear this?”
“Why not? It’s my favourite colour,” he says, tugging at the orange ends.
“It has holes in it,” I say bluntly, fingering at least two I almost immediately find.
“Don’t be mean. I happen to like the person who made this quite a lot.”
“I’m sure that person has made you better scarves with less holes in them,” I retort, thinking of at least three hanging up in our hallway.
“Well maybe I was feeling sentimental this morning,” he says firmly, but the amused spark in his eyes remains. I bite my lip like I am seriously considering his argument.
“I suppose I’ll have to allow it,” I sigh dramatically. He grins and presses a kiss to my forehead, before taking my hand properly this time as he leads us down into the valley. As we wind down the familiar trail visible only to us he tells me all about the setup for the Harvest Festival – he’s left the bakery in the hands of Birch, a guy in his thirties from Seven who manages the shop when he’s not there and Wiley, one of the teenagers who’s nearly done with school and has been working shifts at the weekends for several years now. Apparently a hovercraft landed near the meadow just as he was finished setting up, and Leevy managed to get word to him so he could slip away before any of Plutarch’s cronies could find him.
“Do you think Haymitch will be okay?” I wonder, feeling bad about leaving him up in the District by himself. He’s used to it by now, especially as we’ve spent nights away in the Cabin more and more in the last couple of years, but it feels different knowing there’s a group of Capitol cameramen lurking nearby.
“I made sure he’s well stocked on food and liquor and I think he’s got the geese trained to sniff out anyone from the Capitol,” Peeta says.
“Can geese even smell anything?”
“I think either way that Haymitch will have found a way to make sure they can identify and attack anyone with a camera,” Peeta says grimly and I can’t help but agree. “By the way, Delly says you owe her either a new jumper or a wild dog as you’re missing the choir performance this evening.”
Delly Cartwright teaches the younger kids at the elementary school and has somehow managed to corral them into performing some of the traditional District songs at the start of the dancing portion of the evening. I have to admit, a small part of me is sad to miss watching her work her magic in getting them to sit long enough to try and sing vaguely in tune. “That seems reasonable.”
We make it to the cabin by midday, where we spend some time getting set up – Peeta fetches some water from the lake and starts treating it with iodine. I lay out our lunch which we eat bundled up in front of the lake. A comfortable silence takes hold whilst Peeta takes in the colours around him. I can already see his mind working, thinking about how he’ll try to get this down on his sketchpad shortly. Every year he always creates several gorgeous canvases with the fall foliage as his inspiration, but with the preparation for the festival this year he’s hardly had time. I fetch him his materials whilst he washes up, and then leave him to sketch whilst I go and forage for some more supplies for dinner. I circle the lake, finding my usual patch of mushrooms as well as a patch of katniss ready to harvest.
When I return, Peeta’s gone to that place he does when he’s painting, so I sit down quietly next to him and lean on his shoulder, watching the colours erupt across the page. He’s mostly working on the finer details now, the ripples in the water and the texture of the blanket of cloud above us. I notice a small figure kneeling by the lake and smile, realising he has drawn me picking my namesake plant earlier. The forest sprawls before me, the colours overlapping with one another so that it almost looks like I’m huddling for warmth beneath a blazing fire. The sun starts to sink below the horizon as he puts the finishing touches on the page, before leaning back finally satisfied with his work.
We head into the cabin and start to prepare dinner – I skin and prepare the squirrels while Peeta grabs some of the wood we chopped on our last visit and starts a fire. We feast on fried squirrel as well as the mushrooms, greens and potato that I gathered earlier, before stuffing ourselves on a selection of cakes that he brought down. I end up lying down with my head on his thigh sometime later, unable to eat another bite. We are quiet for a while as his hands weave through my hair, listening to the flickering flames and the birds singing outside. After a while, a warm feeling starts to pool in my stomach that doesn’t have anything to do with the fire a couple of metres away.
“Thank you,” I say into the room, my eyes still closed. I feel Peeta’s hand pause in my hair.
“What for?” he asks, his fingers grazing the edge of my eyes, so I instinctively open them and meet his. I sit up, so I can see them clearly.
“For today,” I reply, grabbing his fingers and pressing my lips to each one. For every day, I want to say, but the words catch in my throat. Because even the recent ones, where he spent most of it preparing for the festival were still filled with him – his warmth left in bed when I woke up, notes and cookies left on the kitchen counter, his arms ready to embrace me at the end of the day.
My lips continue once they’re finished with his fingers to his palm, and then they carve out a trail along his forearm. Just before I reach the crook, I feel his fingers under my chin as he guides me to his lips, almost immediately parting mine. I sight into him as his tongue darts over mine, my hand automatically weaving through his curls as I lean back, pulling him with me. His body follows mine down, his hand coming up to my cheek as he presses close, but it’s not enough. I run my free hand up and down his spine, my fingers pressing gently which causes a shiver to run through him. He whimpers as his hips rock against me, and I press mine back to meet his. Our bodies pick up this familiar rhythm, and I feel him grow harder against me through the fabric of our clothes. One of his hands moves through my hair as the other runs the length of my body, guiding my thigh to hook around his waist. I gasp as he presses into me again and I feel him more acutely than before, my body now pulsing with my need for him. This just spurs him on, his lips trailing along my jawline and down my neck until he settles on the sensitive spot just above my collarbone. I whisper his name as his hands graze along my side, before cupping my breast through my shirt. I instinctively reach for its hem, pushing him away enough to shimmy it over my head. He chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes which makes me pause.
“What?” I say, annoyed and confused about why he’s laughing at a time like this.
“Nothing, Darlin,” he whispers, pressing a kiss behind my ear that makes me completely forget why I was annoyed a moment ago. “There’s just no rush.”
Sometimes he says this to tease me, knowing I am always the more impatient of the two of us, but tonight I know he means it sincerely from the way his blue eyes shine as he stares into mine, before they start wandering to my chest. This used to make me feel shy, but now it emboldens me, as I reach round to unclasp my bra and throw it to the side. This has the desired effect – he seems to forget his own words as he helps me unbutton his shirt, before taking my breast into his mouth, his finger curled around the nipple of the other. I can’t help but cry out, which just spurs him on as his tongue plays gently with me. I feel my own want reflected in the growing prominence of him as he presses himself into me, causing gasps and whines to slip from my mouth with every movement he makes.
For all his earlier talk, the next part flies past in a blur – soon both my pants and his join the growing pile of clothes in front of the fire. I rise up then to reposition, sitting on his lap and pressing myself against him fervently. It’s not like we haven’t been together like this recently, but it’s always been at the end of a day, both our bodies tired and our minds unable to truly focus on the feeling of each other. Now there’s nothing that could distract me from the pulse I feel throughout my veins, from the way he whispers my name in awe. We remove the final layers between us, and I go to shift myself on to him, but he stops me.
“Wait,” he says, his breathing ragged. “Lie back.”
My mind is too foggy to figure out why he’s asking this of me, until his lips are already travelling southward over my stomach. He doesn’t give me what I want, what I need, so soon though. His lips trail from my knees, up my thighs several times before he settles between them. My hands are in his hair and my back arches as he undoes me, until I am left with shaking legs and gasping breaths. When I’m finished, I pull him back to me and he pulls me into a long kiss that makes my toes curl. I take him in my hand, and I can’t help but smile at the moan it elicits from him. I do this just enough so that every breath he is gasping my name, before I pull us both back up, settling into his lap as I finally sink down on to him.
My lips trace familiar paths along his scars as mine burn under his touch. It’s my turn to tease him now, rocking against him slowly as he whimpers, my lips moving to suck on the sensitive spot behind his ear. He gathers my hair in his hands and holds me against him so it feels like between the heat of the flames and our bodies I might just melt into him. We stay like this for a while, and I revel in knowing that after all these years I can still have this effect on him, and he on me. That he can make me feel so full and whole even when moments before I felt broken or starving. That burning with him isn’t a path of destruction, but one that unmakes and remakes me in a dozen different ways, bringing me back to life. That I wish I could sink down into his bones, that no matter how close we are, it will never quite feel enough. And yet, I’ll always try.
“What’s that, love?” he whispers against my lips as I try and fail to convey this to him. So I settle on an old promise between us, one which I know he understands.
“Always,” I whisper back. “Always you.”
I move my hips again which seems to unlock something in both of us. Our rhythm picks up and I lose myself in him and us and then I feel him come undone beneath me too. I hold him against me as he pushes deeper, his hair slick with sweat between my fingers.
The next words slip out so easily, it’s a wonder it ever took so long for them to pass my lips in the first place. “I love you so much.”
His eyes shimmer in the firelight as he whispers back, “I love you too. So much.”
We share a few sloppy kisses once he’s finished, neither of us really wanting to be the first to move away from the other. Our noses bump and our teeth clash, which leaves us in giggles because after all this time we still do this when we get carried away with each other. The giggles soon dissolve into short kisses peppered with whispers of ‘Real’ back and forth between us, another old promise to each other.
We do eventually disentangle, albeit begrudgingly, and clean ourselves up. I find a blanket I made a couple of years ago in the chest in the corner and we settle in next to each other, after putting out the fire. I press a kiss to his chest before I rest my head against his heart, comforted by the familiar strong beat that guides me gently towards sleep.
When I next wake up, sunlight is streaming in through the windows, casting the cabin in an orange, yellow and green glow. He sips from a mug beside me whilst he sketches, and I watch awhile as the light makes his soft curls and long eyelashes glow. I shift, and his hand goes to my hair, the other reaching for the morning coffee a few feet from our makeshift bed. I shake my head.
“You don’t want it?” he frowns.
“Not yet,” I reply, “How long until we have to leave?”
“We’ve got time,” he smiles knowingly. The forest outside glints in the early morning light – I can smell the dew on the grass, promising a frost in the next few weeks. The fire that kept us warm last night is long out, but I don’t need it now. Peeta puts his sketchbook and mug aside and climbs back underneath the covers – and I know, as I press my lips to his, that this is all I need.
It was a beautiful mid-October day. The morning had been cool and damp, but a warm wind blew in; the last one before the chill of Winter would begin to set in.
That morning the Mellark family had taken their morning survey of the garden, gathering ripe veggies and assessing the ongoing hornworm battle while the baby demonstrated his new trick of sitting up by himself from a blanket in the grass. His little hands grabbed toward the butterflies that darted past.
Katniss could see the few pumpkins in their little patch at the edge of the yard, shining bright orange from yards away. “I think the pumpkins might be ready.” she tossed over her shoulder to no one in particular. “Ooh. I could really go for some roasted pumpkin seeds,” she continued to muse, “with some salt and a little chili powder. It would be such a good pocket snack for the woods.”
But her husband was always listening and his heart beats only to please her. So, the moment she’d gone back into the house carrying a basket of fresh crops and a baby in need of a nap, Peeta had gotten to work.
He let Willow choose which one to pick, and she obviously went for the biggest one. She tried her damndest to carry it, lifting it from the bottom and taking two clumsy wide steps before putting it back in the dirt with a grunt.
“I think you have to do it, Daddy,” she conceded with regret.
He smiled. “Oh I don’t mind,” he said easily before making a big show of lifting the pumpkin for her. “Woah, this is a really heavy one,” he exhaled.
“But you is strong,” she replied with the exact, cool apathy of her mother and it made him laugh out loud.
They settled together on the wooden floor of the porch. Peeta carved off the top of the pumpkin and the two of them set about removing all the guts and splatting them in a bowl. Willow crouched next to the pumpkin, clumsily burying her whole arm inside to scoop with a metal spoon half as big as she was.
She wasn’t helping much and the sleeve of her dress was turning orange, but the adorable reward outweighed the extra time spent and laundry to be done.
“Daddy this pun’kin is big as bubba,” she observed suddenly.
He tilted the pumpkin forward a little and eyed it up and down, “Yeah I think you’re right. I bet when we’re done scooping it out he could even fit inside.”
She gasped and dropped her spoon with a clang. “Can we do that?!” Her little hands shook with excitement and giggles started to bubble up, “It will be so funny, Daddy.”
“We’ll see if he wants to.” he said.
“MAMA!” she screamed, darting for the back door.
Peeta caught the back of her dress as she tried to race past him. “Inside voice. Your brother is sleeping.”
“Okay,” she whispered, before reaching up for the door handle and using every one of her 30 poundsto turn it down so she could burst into the kitchen.
Inside, her mother was eagerly drying off the sheet pans so they could be filled with pumpkin seeds for roasting. The countertop was lined with jars of fresh cut green beans, waiting to be filled with boiling water for preservation.
“Mama! Mama the punkin we picked is SO big and Daddy said–” Her tiny voice rose with excitement with every word.
“Shhh!” Katniss interrupted before she got any louder, approaching to kneel in front of her. “Tell me quiet like we’re in the woods.”
Willow ducked her little chin to her chest and turned in her shoulders, making herself smaller along with her voice, “Daddy said we can put Bubba in the pun’kin when it’s empty.” Her eyes were huge, excitement bigger than her whole body was bursting out behind them.
Katniss giggled. “I don’t know if he’ll like that very much.”
“But can we try?” she asked, jumping up and down once, hands pressed tight under her chin.
“We can try when he wakes up,” she agreed, “Go back to your scooping. Mama wants her pumpkin seeds right now. And Daddy has pies to make.” She tickled her sides and ushered her back toward the door.
The second Willow got the door open she shouted at full volume, “DADDY! Mama said that we CAN put bubba in the pun’kin!!!” The back door slammed behind her, rattling the windows.
Katniss flinched and waited in the silence for a new sound to arrive. And sure enough an escalating whine started to float down the stairs.
His cries calmed as soon as she opened the door and stopped altogether as she lifted him into her arms and kissed his plump cheek, bright pink from sleep. He ran hot like his father.
“I’m sorry,” she soothed. “We’re still working on closing the door carefully.” Rye rubbed his face into her chest and burrowed his head in her neck, “Your sister is really excited about something silly. I’m sorry in advance about that too.”
She plopped down in the rocking chair, trying to coax out a few more minutes of rest for both of them. She rocked and hummed a low melody as they both closed their eyes. A few minutes of peace in the midmorning. The steady stream of warm baby breath on her collarbone and the cool dim room was pulling her into a sleep she couldn’t afford to give in to.
Just in time, the sound of Willow’s high pitched giggles wafted up past the thick drawn curtains. Rye lifted his wispy curl covered head from Katniss’ chest, pushing up on his arms. Curious eyes darting around the room.
“Do you hear Sissy?” she whispered. “Should we go see what she has planned?”
When they reached the back porch they were excitedly presented with a now hollow pumpkin, sporting two carved holes at the front. “For his legs.” Peeta explained with a flourish, setting it securely on the blanket that was now spread on the porch.
“Put him in! Put him in!” Willow chanted, jumping from one foot to the other. Katniss noticed the orange stains on her dress sleeve and decided to sit on the porch swing to strip the baby down to his diaper.
It took both parents to get Rye into the gourd. Katniss held him under his arms while Peeta tried to guide his feet into the leg holes. The moment they got him sat down in it fully, he looked up at them with a curious look and Willow completely lost it.
Giggles and squeals echoed off the porch roof, her little bare feet slapped on the wood as she jumped around. This was the funniest thing she had ever seen in her four years of life.
“Okay, she’s right. It’s really funny.” Katniss said with a chuckle, “I’m getting the camera.” She rushed into the house.
Willow was running in circles around him absolutely overcome with delight. Rye sat mostly still with his pudgy arms over the sides of the pumpkin, his head following his sister as she ran.
Katniss returned with the camera they didn’t remember to use enough, and she and Peeta knelt in front of Rye. Peeta clapped his hands and Katniss whistled and sing-songed for his attention, “Ryleyyy, look at Mama.” Snapping pictures all the while.
But the baby kept his eyes trained on Willow. Still bouncing and cracking up off to the side.
“Sissy come stand behind me so he’ll look over here.” Peeta said, reaching for Willow’s hand. She bounded over to crash onto her father’s back. Joining them in their chorus for the baby’s attention.
Instead of looking at his family, little Rye turned his attention to the edge of the fruit under his chin. He pulled back his wobbly neck before leaning down to curiously gum at the side.
Willow leapt off of Peeta, once again overcome with unrestrainable glee. “HE’S EATIN’ IT!!!” she shrieked.
Another shout spilled across the yard from the porch next door, “What the hell is going on over there?”
Willow squealed again, sprinting off the porch toward the split-rail fence. “PAPAW!!! WE PUTTED RYE IN A PUN’KIN!!!”
“You did what!?” Haymitch’s overly-hammy voice that’s reserved only for her called out, “You silly little goose!”
“Come see!” she called.
Katniss snapped one last picture and lowered the camera with a skeptical look, “I don’t know, I think he might be over it by the time Papaw hobbles over here.” she said, seeing the way Rye’s eyebrows had started to draw together, a pout just forming on his lips as he looked down at his cold, slightly slimy surroundings.
The moment his big grey eyes looked up and saw his mother he crumpled into a long wail.
“Okay baby let’s get out of there.” She said reaching to lift him out. But his chubby baby leg stuck inside one of the holes, lifting the pumpkin a little with him and making him cry even harder.
“Hang on, Buddy.” Peeta reassured, diving in to take hold of the pumpkin. He tried in vain to help push Rye’s legs back out but the baby was furious now and fighting them every step of the way.
The couple slowly raised to their feet together, the wiggly infant and precarious orange sphere gripped between him. Trying all the while to keep Rye calm and suppress their own giggles at the ridiculous situation.
“Hold him tight love” Peeta said, “I’m just gonna break it.”
Katniss hoisted the baby further up under her arm and gripped him tight. Peeta put a hand through one of the leg holes and gripped the top with another and with one swift display of his strength tore the pumpkin right in half, the chunks falling down onto the porch.
Katniss immediately turned her screaming son in her arms and tucked him into the crook of her neck and rubbed his back. “There we go. You’re free now.”
Peeta came around to hug them both and kiss Rye on his head. “Say ‘thank you, Daddy,’” Katniss cooed, bouncing the baby gently. She leaned up to steal a kiss from her husband too. “That was very hot by the way.” she purred under her breath.
He responded with a cocky smirk and a light swat on her bum before turning back to pick up pumpkin shards.
Rye was still crying and Willow had run over to stand in front of her mother. She reached up to rub his foot. “It’s okay, Bubba,” she sang in her gentlest voice. The one she got from her Mama. “I’m sorry I make’d you be in a pun’kin.”
“He’ll be okay,” Katniss reassured, stroking Willow’s hair before picking up Rye’s clothing off the railing. “He just needs to eat. And so do both of you. Clean up quick and we’ll have lunch,” she instructed firmly before heading back in the house.
Together the father and daughter washed pumpkin seeds, separating them from the gooey pulp and piled the broken chunks of the former baby seat into a bowl.
“Daddy,” Willow said, shaking pumpkin slime off her hands, “Next year can we grow a punkin that’s big enough for me to sit in?”
Peeta shook his head, “Oh we gotta dream bigger than that. What about one big enough for daddy to fit inside?”
She immediately erupted in giggles again, her precious laughter echoing across the garden and joining the bird songs in the trees.
