I used to write poems and short stories pretty regularly. Then life got in the way, and I ended up on a long hiatus. But I still would jot down plot bunnies and half-scenes in my notes app during those years. So more may be posted.
I decided Something Like Love would be in my old HG universe. It was a Mr./Mrs. Everdeen story, The Other Side of the Tracks. Back when we didnāt know Katnissās parentsā names.
Juniper āJunā Culpepper for Mrs. Everdeen
Ruthvick āVickā Everdeen for Mr. Everdeen
Bannock āBanā Mellark for Peetaās father.
I really liked these names (and still do), so im disregarding cannon lol
I found a draft of one of my chapters in my notes app, so I thought I'd share. It's first person and I very rarely write like that anymore. It's interesting to see how I used to write.
Without further ado, here's a little lemon scene between Katniss's parents.
I'm not a virgin and by the way he's touching me, he isn't either. I know this is right, that he is right, because it just didn't feel this way when I was with Ban.
Ban was gentle and kind and attentive, but it was not like this. Never like this. Never the heat building under my skin now, and I know Vickās going to burn me alive if I let him keep going.
His hair is rough against my fingers, thick strands sliding between my fingers as I pull him closer. Coarse, a little damp, tangling in the lines of my palm as I tighten my grip.
His mouth drags lower, teeth tugging at the buttons of my dress, exposing the top of my breast. The warm scrape of his lips driving me insane.
I immediately sit up, ripping my dress open the rest of the way. Buttons scatter into the grass, one striking his cheek, but I canāt laugh because his mouth is already at my navel, hot and searching. l fall back, lids closing, as I feel his fingers slip into the waistband of my panties.
My belly flutters in anticipated pleasure, when he works his way down. He takes his time. Too much time. Lips brushing my thighs, the sharp edge of my hip bone, everywhere except where I want him. I try to guide him with my legs, desperate.
He grins into my skin, teasing a little longer, before finally obliging.
A thrill runs through me as his warm tongue runs up me, flat and wide. Then again, pointed, firm, lingering on my nub; his full lips brushing, then sucking until I feel my legs begin to shake. He reaches under, gripping my thighs, pulling wide.
My legs tremble against his grip. Iām climbing fast, too fast, that white-hot pleasure coiling inside me. I try to remember to breathe but I'm lightheaded. Near dizzy. I'm close already. So close.
I close my eyes to better focus on that white hot pleasure, then it's gone. I sigh in frustration and my eyes fly open.
Vick laughs as he looks down at me. His fingers working the buttons of his flannel. I reach for him. My hands skim the ridges of his stomach, hard muscle tightening under my touch. Coarse hair trails lower, and I follow, fumbling with buckle and button until I free him.
Heavy in my hand, half-hard, the heat of him against my palm. He hisses, jaw tight, watching me like Iām the only thing in the world. I stroke him, slow, a thrill runs through me when his mouth falls open and a small groan slips out.
He knocks my hand away, lining himself up with me. A couple of swipes, catching my wetness before plunging inside me.
I gasp, arching at the sudden fullness. He rolls his hips, pressing deeperāpain and pleasure blurring as he grinds his hips. He withdraws, slow, almost careful. Then his hips snap forward and my head falls back onto his jacket, the earth hard beneath me, the fabric catching on my bare shoulders.
He comes down over me, like a blanket, his mouth at my throat. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, nails pressing into his muscle. The smell of grass, sweat, crushed earth fills my nose as I turn my head, allowing him more accessāteeth scraping, lips sucking.
He lowers to his elbows, fingers in my hair, grip tight. A thrill runs through to my core and I clinch. His eyes shut as he groans.
I tug him closer, opening my mouth wide as his tongue slips past my teeth.
He shifts, lifting my legs higher, hooking them over his arms. His thrusts lengthen, deeper, unhurried. And thenāoh. Right there. A sharp roll of his hips and I see white behind my eyes. I canāt hold still. Iām shaking, gasping his name, arching into him. He holds my hips in place.
His rhythm pins me down, pelvis grinding against mine, relentless until I canāt breathe. Heat floods through me, blinding. My back arches, my mouth opens on a broken cry. My whole body comes apart.
Iām trembling, still caught in the rhythm when he holds me inn a bruising grip. His strokes stutter before pumping twiceārough, hesitantābefore pulling free.
The sudden emptiness is jarring.
His release spills hot across my stomach, his breath ragged.
Silence follows. Only the sound of his heavy breathing through his nose as he collapses beside me.
For a moment, I only feel the pulse of blood in my ears, the burn of my lungs, the slick ache between my legs. My body hums with aftershocks. My mind doesnāt want to return.
But it does.
The air cools against my damp skin. The smell of earth and sex clings sharp.
And the thought comes, heavy and undeniable.
Ban.
Sweet, gentle, Ban, who touched me with care, who loves me, trusts me. Now I'm naked, in the dirt, with another manās weight still pressing beside me.
But I donāt regret it. The heat. The pleasure.
But guilt coils sharp beneath it all, rising now that the fire has burned out.
