peeta/katniss. post-mockingjay. 100-word drabble.


If he is the sunrise, than I am the meadow, warm and pliant, beneath his gentle rays.

He paints swirls of pink and gold over my stomach, outlining the ridge of each rib in a kaleidoscope of cool paint. The content in his eyes is worth more than any sweet nothings or soft-tongue licks outlining the shell of my ear.

"Peeta," I whisper, my breath hushed and breathy in his sun yellow curls, "paint me orange – paint me you."

The triumph in his forget-me-not eyes washes over me in a rush of light, and I have never felt so loved.


~strandedstar