*28days

exhausted (1/28)

Seeing her like this makes him sick.

Katniss’s arms and legs are restrained, handcuffed down to the thin steel bed frame. The brassy, harsh artificial lighting gives her skin an even sicklier pallor, and makes her look even smaller than he knows she is. Two Thirteen doctors flit around her like fruit flies, shining penlights into her eyes, poking and prodding her with countless needles for blood samples. Her eyes are closed, though Peeta knows she’s awake; she rarely is able to sleep without being sedated.

He knows he’s torturing himself, coming here every night. In the weeks since her rescue from the Capitol, Katniss hasn’t shown much improvement in her condition. She’s sequestered away in Thirteen’s hospital wing, under heavy guard and the supervision of Thirteen’s medical team, still deemed too dangerous to go back to her family and the rest of the rebellion.

Too dangerous to go back to him.

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nervous (20/28)

Peeta’s light snores punctuate the still silence of the early morning. He’s lying on his stomach, arms stuffed under the mountain of pillows he likes to have on his side of the bed.

Katniss lays on her side, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. Her stomach twists itself into anxious knots when she thinks of what she plans to ask him later on.

It’s kind of ridiculous, she supposes, being this nervous. Because she knows, without a doubt, that Peeta loves her, and she clearly loves him. And that the only reason it hadn’t happened already was because she thought it was archaic; she didn’t want what they had to be defined by a piece of paper. It

It’s funny how things change.

Peeta shifts suddenly in his sleep, making her freeze. His nose scrunches up for a moment, and he smacks his lips together before sighing and falling still again. Katniss smiles, before lifting his arm to wrap around her waist and cuddling into him. He tightens his arm around her involuntarily, and she sighs contentedly; safe and warm. In love.

She’ll ask him when it’s time to wake up.

enthusiastic (4/28)

literally this is porn

“Peeta!”

His eyes flitted up to hers momentarily, and Katniss could see his lips twist into a smirk, before he dove back into her, licking, sucking, nibbling. Careening her towards climax before she’d even had time to kick her shoes off.

Katniss lay flat against the front door of their apartment, her work slacks pooled around her ankles with Peeta on his knees in front of her, the rough stubble on his cheeks rubbing against her thighs. She wove her fingers in his thick blond curls, tugging to show her appreciation, her breath coming in pitching gasps, telling him not to stop, don’t stop, I’m almost there!

Her boyfriend had always been an attentive and generous lover; his eagerness to get her off But since moving in together, his enthusiasm for her seemed have reached even greater heights.

One last suck on her clit and a shallow thrust of his fingers and she was there, legs trembling as she clamped them around his head, their living room echoing with the sounds of her cries.

Peeta placed his hands on her hips to steady her shuddering form, kissing along the sharp lines of her hipbones as she came down from her orgasm. She pulled him up roughly, her hands diving to his waist to make quick work of his belt and jeans, but Peeta gently slapped her hands away, placing a chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth.

He guided her to the couch, unbuttoning her blouse as they went before pulling it off totally. His hands came to her back, and he looked at her, full of love, adoration, want, before snapping his wrists to remove her simple black bra.

“Not yet.”

inspired (3/28)

Peeta watches her, his head resting on his hand as he props his arm up, his elbow creating an indent in the mattress. Katniss’s chest rises and falls rhythmically in her sleep, a sliver of her face shining from the moonlight streaming in from their opened windows. She lays on her side facing him, her hair a messy black curtain on their white sheets, her skin still slick with the sheen from their sex.

Delly came by with her children earlier in the day, the ten year old twin girls, their little brother, who had recently celebrated his sixth birthday, and Delly’s newest baby, a infant of only two months. He knew how much she secretly adored the Cartwright children’s visits. She ran and played with the older children in their backyard, remain patient when they clamored for attention, so they could show their Auntie Katniss they had learned at school.

She bounced the baby on her lap when they all came in for dinner, and when it was time for the Cartwrights to go, she gathered all the children in her arms, hugging and kissing them before they went home. As if they lived in another District instead of simply across town.

She was on him the moment the front door shut.

Her movements were different tonight. After so many years together, he could almost anticipate what she wanted from him. But tonight, she pushed him down, holding his body down as she rode him fiercely, with purpose, bringing him to the brink so many times before she let him tumble off the edge, collapsing onto his chest.

Peeta knows how she feels about having children; Katniss has made her opinion clear on more than one occasion, and he respects it. He could never, ever push her into something she wasn’t ready for, or didn’t want.

But he can’t help but think that the Cartwrights’ visit might’ve inspired her a bit.

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miserable (2/28)

“I’m going to fucking fail.”

Since meeting Peeta Mellark on move-in day freshman year, I’ve rarely heard him complain. He’s one of the most positive people I’ve ever met, always looking for the bright side to a bad situation. But he’s been complaining about his math midterm before we even got to the library, talking my ear off about it the entire time we walked here.

If there’s anything Peeta Mellark hates, truly detests, it’s math.

Instead of taking his math elective freshman year, like most people did, just to get it out of the way, Peeta decided to leave it until our very last semester before we graduated. He’d planned on taking some introductory level course to fulfill his requirement (“The title is ‘The Magic of Numbers’,” he told me, grinning cheekily at the course catalogue. “I think I can handle that.”). But between his internship at our university’s art museum, his honors seminar, and his seventeen thousand extracurriculars, coupled with sleeping through his registration time, he was left with only one option.

Calculus.

And he’s been miserable since spring semester started.

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