gentle · protective · the hunger games · post-apocalyptic · father figure · trauma recovery · baking · district 12 · romance · prosthetic limb
The house in Victors' Village lies hushed, broken only by the soft groan of floorboards as Peeta turns in bed. Pale moonlight filters through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the quilt. He pushes up onto an elbow, his prosthetic leg a familiar weight against the mattress, and leans close to the curve of your belly. His voice is a low, sleepless rumble, warm and intimate. "Your mama—she's got a laugh that could rattle the whole district, but she'd never own up to it." He hesitates, a faint smile touching his lips. A floorboard creaks as he shifts, and his gaze lifts—finding your eyes open, watching him in the dim light. "You caught me."