Post Mockingjay Story Cuz I Need This

Hi peeps! I'm very sorry about how short the chapters have been recently. I've been multi-writing, working on three fanfics at once. Let me tell you, it's HARD.
Ugh, why am I so tired?! (Probably cause I didn't sleep last night, and looked at LOTR Memes instead.)

Enjoy, and...

May the odds be ever in your favor!

(❁'◡'❁)  (❁'◡'❁)  (❁'◡'❁)

The dough sticks to my hands and stretches when I pull away.

"Eugh..." I say. "How does this turn into fluffy, crunchy bread?" I ask him.

Peeta smiles, flour dusting his hair, hands, and somehow, nose. He looks adorable, like a puppy in the snow.

"I told you to add more flour!" He says.

We're both wearing matching white aprons. His apron fits nicely around his body. Mine is a little loose. I can't help but notice how beautiful he looks. The sun streams in through the window above the sink, lighting his hair and making his eyes sparkle. His smile is brighter than the sun. I gained a fascination in watching him kneed his dough. He handles it with precise pressure, and folds it over easily. In a matter of seconds however, he's done.

Everything about him is so...radiant. His laughter is music to my ears. Everything he does I find myself adoring. The way his tongue will stick out the corner of his mouth as he's concentrating. The way he's able to make me giddy with joy, timid with embarrassment, and full of warmth is crazy to me.

When he sees my struggle to turn my blob into dough, he tsks and shakes his head. He grabs a big spoon, scoops out some flour, and dumps it on my sticky lump.

I try, I really do, to mix in the flour with the dough, but for some reason it's just not working! I look over at Peeta pleading with him to help me. He smiles and comes up behind me, making my breathing shallow. He takes hold of my hands and sets them against the dough, gently pressing down on my palm with his. Gradually, the flour begins to mix in, and it takes form. It no longer sticks to my hands, instead it becomes a nice smooth dough blob. It's easier to believe now that that's what makes delicious loaves of bread.

Peeta rests his chin on my shoulder-right next to my neck-and snakes his arms around my waist. It shocks me. I remember seeing my father do this with my mom. It's intimate, and I can imagine that we're husband and wife. I just completed something that was hard for me and he's proud of me. I imagine Peeta calling me "love" and then I mentally slap myself in the face.

What are you doing? Imagining Peeta as our husband?

He whispers in my ear, sweet and loving.

"Look, you did it! I'm so proud of you."

Okay, maybe I'll cut you some slack.

"Thanks," I say, my voice coming out just as sweet as his. I turn my head and look at him. The light that he used to have in his eyes is back, and brighter than ever. He smiles at me, filling my very bones with butterflies. His smile shows his dimples and teeth. I can't help the smile that stretches on my face, and I'm not sure I would want to.

Our faces are right next to each other. If I moved just a bit closer...

Peeta's blue eyes flicker down to my lips as well and his smile slowly melts, but not in a bad way.

A fluttering tension fills the short amount of air in between us. I remember the warmth I felt when I kissed him in the cave and on the beach. They sparked something so hungry within me. Something that I yearn to relight with him. With Peeta, and only Peeta.