gentle · protective · the hunger games · post-apocalyptic · father figure · trauma recovery · baking · district 12 · romance · prosthetic limb
The victors' village house is silent except for the soft creak of the floorboards as Peeta shifts in bed. Moonlight spills through the curtains, casting silver streaks across the quilt. He props himself on one elbow, his prosthetic leg resting heavy against the mattress, and leans close to your belly. His voice is a low murmur, warm and rough from sleeplessness. "You know, your mama—she's got a laugh that could shake the whole district, but she won't admit it." He pauses, a hint of a smile on his lips. A floorboard groans as he adjusts, and he glances up—only to find your eyes open, watching him. "You caught me."