#ficlet fest

[justhere4thevibez]

Anniversary Ficlet Fest

My one year anniversary for my hellcheer fics (or any fanfiction, really) is tomorrow, september 2! To date, I've created 28 works, published 368,511 words on ao3 (what. the. fuck.), and received a grand total of 46,071 hits! This is absolutely bonkers to me because one year ago I was hovering nervously over the "post" key, certain no one would ever read my fic, let alone want more. But the hellcheer community has been so welcoming, positive, and encouraging that here I am, one year later and still going strong.

In celebration of this, today and tomorrow (sept. 1 and 2) my inbox is open and welcoming for any hellcheer prompts (SFW or NSFW) you'd like to send. And over the next few days I'll try to answer as many of them as possible in ficlet form!

Thanks again, you guys, your comments and interactions have been such a bright spot in a really tough year. I treasure each and every word 💛

[cricketnationrise]

Ficlet Fest 3: Return of the Ficlets

Hey y'all!

It's that special time again - I hit another 100 followers, so it's time for a ficlet fest because you guys rock! Y'all send me prompts and I'll write you a ficlet (up to 1000 words). My last two ficlet fests are on AO3 here and here, and scattered around my tumblr if you're really desperate 😂

Anyway if you want a ficlet the prompt is simple - we're going back to timestamps bc I think they're neat!

Drop into my askbox and leave: - a timestamp (ex: 3:46pm or 18:21) - a location (ex: haus kitchen, the linden tree, New Hope, The Spotted Custard...) - a character (ex: Lardo, Bea Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Keladry of Mindelan, Alexia Tarabotti...) ((more characters may appear at my own whim but not guaranteed))

I'll do my best to fulfill whatever prompt you leave, but just know that I'm most familiar with Check Please!, RWRB, The Parasol Protectorate, and the Tortall series.

Prompts will be open the entire month of July 2023 so you'll have plenty of time :D

Can't wait to see what y'all send in this time around!

-💜🦗

[onboardsorasora]

I went to the dentist today for my post op and there’s something about going to the dentist and having your praise kink stroked when they’re working on you.

So naturally Max is a new patient at the dentist in his new city. Everything is great and fine, the sign up was easy, they took his insurance (an important reason for why he chose them of course) and the wait to get in an exam room was negligible. 

Everything changes however, when his new hygienist walks in all sunshine and bright honey eyes. Max can’t see all of his face because he’s already wearing his mask but his eyes are beautiful and crinkly when he smiles. And Max knows he's smiling because the edges of his mask lifts with his cheeks. 

His name is Daniel and his voice is lovely, happy and his accent is taking Max for a ride. His dark hair is curly and a little messy, as if he runs his fingers through it often and Max could see a few tattoos peeking out from the sleeve of his bright blue scrubs.

It's lovely, he details everything he’ll be doing for Max today. It's just an intro appointment to get a lay of the land so they can plan his dental journey with them.

“We’re not gonna get into anything too intense today, just a few x-rays, and pictures of your pearly whites and then the doctor will be in to go through his recommendations. And then you’ll be outta here in no time.”

Max can’t help but smile because he can hear the smile in Daniel’s words. Daniel claps and does some finger guns before starting to set up. He puts the radiation vest on Max’s chest, Max does not catalogue the feeling of his gloved fingers when they cup the back of his neck to make sure the vest wasn't digging into his skin.

Daniel tells him how they're going to x-ray and he puts the little device in Max’s mouth. 

“You have beautiful teeth, Max.” Daniel says offhandedly, he was looking behind him at a screen. Max clenched his fingers underneath the heavy vest. 

“That's it, perfect. I’m gonna move this to your left upper…bite down for me? Beautiful love.” Daniel murmured under breath as he worked. Max dug his fingers in the meat of his thigh.

The torture continued, punctuated with the beep of the x-ray machine when it went off and the fresh smell of Daniel’s cologne mixed with his own natural scent. 

“There we go, I just need you to– good boy.” 

Max clenched his toes in his sneakers. 

“You’re doing so well for me Sweetheart.” 

Max wondered what the maximum pressure the little x-ray device could take before the stem snapped in half.

“Perfect baby, just perfect.” Daniel breathed, typing on the computer off to the side with one hand and stroking Max’s cheek unconsciously with the other. Max inhaled sharply.

Daniel looked back at him quickly, worriedly. 

“Let me get that out for you, your jaw must be a little sore.” Daniel sounded a little sheepish as he pulled the device away, Max watched the line of spit that still connected them thin away to nothing. He wondered if Daniel saw it too, if he maybe wanted to taste it. Taste what Max tasted like.

He was hard in his shorts.

Thankfully, Daniel took his time with putting back the x-ray extensions and taking off the radiation vest, Max was able to calm down a little. He was further able to refocus when his dentist came in, an older gentleman with shrewd eyes.

They discussed treatment plans and Max heard Daniel making notes whenever the doctor called out certain things. Daniel eventually left the room and his dentist continued to speak to Max about short term and long term goals. 

He was out front in the waiting room when he heard a loud honking laugh. While the office assistant scheduled his next appointment, Max’s eyes strayed to a lithe man in bright blue scrubs that turned the corner. He eyed him appreciatively, hearing his voice as he teased another hygienist and they laughed together.

“Alright Max, your next appointment is–” Max doesn’t know when his next appointment is because at that same moment Daniel turns around and sees him and smiles. Max has never really been bowled over by a smile before, by a face. But Daniel’s is gorgeous. Max wanted to kiss him, feel his nose bump his.

If Max was an artist then Daniel would be his muse. As it was, he was simply struck dumb by the man walking over to the desk.

“Georgie, are you treating Max here nicely?” Daniel teased, Max saw George roll his eyes fondly.

“Of course I am Daniel. He’s your favourite patient after all.” George grinned teasingly and Max saw Daniel’s eyes widen a fraction before he settled into a grin of his own.

“That’s right.” Daniel murmured and Max watched the way his lips formed his words. He wished he hadn’t worn his mask earlier so he could have seen how beautiful, sweetheart, and good boy had looked coming from those lips.

Max couldn’t help it. He blushed.

[theold-ultraviolence]

Hello my beloved Irma. For the Valentine’s Day fic fest, could we get 4 and 9 (“first time” and “lingerie”) with Eddie? ❤️

Slow And Easy • Eddie Munson x reader • 18+

summary: Always restless, Eddie’s energy burns bright, right to the bone. Until now that he’s got you on his lap... NSFW Warning: first time/loss of virginity, PIV sex. // Song prompt: Slow An' Easy by Whitesnake // Vday prompts: #4 first time, #9 lingerie • 2023 Vday ficlet fest masterlist

He’s always been fidgety. Never been known to slow down, never once seen with his mouth shut or his fingers still. 

Always restless, Eddie’s energy burns bright, right to the bone. 

Until now that he’s got you on his lap. 

His mouth is wide open, but silent.

His fingers are itching, but they remain still on your hips.

The only things moving frantically are his doe eyes, not knowing where to fix his gaze: your head thrown back in pleasure, or the intricate set of lingerie you're wearing.

A black lace bustier that pushes up your tits so beautifully while hugging your ribcage, along with matching high-waisted panties, and a garter belt holding up sheer stockings with a lace trim around your thighs. 

He never imagined this is what you’d look like on your first time. He'd pictured you demure and nervous, and ended up with the exact opposite, not that he's complaining. You're looking like a vixen right out of a Whitesnake music video – right out of his dirtiest fantasies.

Your figure is all wrapped up in dark yet elegant forms, like a present for his eyes only. Fuck all of those teddy bears and shitty candy people get on Valentine's day.

Nah, man – he thinks, you're it. He couldn’t even bring himself to take your lingerie off when it feels this good beneath his fingers, and the sight is enough to have him cumming on sight if it wasn’t for his self-restraint, paired with the fact that he’s determined to make this last for you. 

He slides your panties to the side, one hand holding yours while the other supports your hips, helping you come down on his cock, inch by inch, slowly. 

“Keep on pushing, babe…” He grits through his teeth as he feels your warmth welcoming him in, little by little. “Know you want it crazy, baby…”  

His words make you tremble and whimper – so soaked from his words alone that it becomes easier to take all of his length despite the resistance you initially feel. 

After you’re fully sat on him, after that sudden threshold of pain has finally been surpassed and you’re bouncing up and down on his cock, Eddie’s words rush from his lips once more, to the beat of his thrusts.

He's restless and all too excited now, grinding his hips up to meet you everytime you impale yourself on him, hands itching to grab and fondle every inch of your skin that he can.

“My heart is beating faster, babe…” he rambles, just as he sits up to mouth at your neck, to grasp at your ass every time your skin slaps against his. “It's beating like a big bass drum…” 

He gets close way too soon, so he reigns back, shaking his head and chuckling right into your chest, “Take me down slow and easy, baby…slow and easy…” 

The way he talks to himself makes you giggle – he really has no filter whatsoever, but it fills you up with a loving sensation you’ve never felt for anyone else. You comb his messy, sweaty curls back to reach his ear and whisper, “Make love to me slow and easy, Eddie…” 

And he does, he does, he does, all night long, to the languid rhythm of the guitar riff from the song he’s got playing in the background.

He fucks into you slow and easy until the melody of the solo fuels his hips to piston into you faster and faster once more – rocks you ‘till you’re burned to the bone – grasping at your stockings until they rip, and pulling at the straps of your bustier until your tits spill out for him to nibble and suck.

Soon, all sound fades out except for echoing of the guitar solo, and the staccato beat of your breath when you fall into his arms with a cheshire grin despite your lingerie being all ruined.

A/N: Lita and Bri, my beloveds!! I can't thank you enough for your support to my writing for so long!! Thank you so much for participating in my vday ficlet fest, I loved writing this one and I hope you enjoy it too!! Happy valentine's day! 🥰

[neondiamond]

You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight

2k | by neondiamond

Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

Written as part of the @1dchristmasfest

Read it now on Ao3!

[venusdebotticelli]

Okay so, I think it's very likely that after Stede and Ed have had their first reunion they're gonna be separated again soon after. Probably because Ed's gonna be like "I'm totally over you actually and don't wanna see your stupid face ever again" and run away from Stede just because of how absolutely tooooootally over him he is, right? So Stede will probably be aboard the Revenge while Ed is elsewhere having his Live Laugh Love spiritual journey of Finding Himself and all that.

Now imagine Stede all bummed out because he's just having the full realisation of exactly how much he hurt Ed, and there's no hope, he absolutely blew it, Ed obviously wants nothing to do with him ever again! Despair! So he goes to mope to the Captain's quarters, wallows in the tragic state of them a bit while missing Ed terribly, and his eyes catch on a funky little skeleton dressed up all in black on a familiar spot on a particular shelf...

And he finds not only all of his auxiliary clothes intact, but also a nest in the middle of the room with two little figurines in it that have a very particular look to them!

Cue "Hello, Edward!" and "shipmates" and chasing Ed all over the place while Ed is like "who are you again?" and "I don't need you at all, look how I'm thriving all by myself and I definitely don't miss you, not even a little bit!", y'know, like a liar. And maybe they're having messy sex throughout all of this or maybe they're not, but either way, Stede knows! He knows! He saw the proof of Ed's heart carefully hidden away where only Stede could find it! He can fix this! He's gonna put his all into earning that trust back! Because he knows there's hope! ;U;

And yeah, this is more of a headcanon than actual speculation, but it's eating me alive, so I had to inflict it on you all as wel! 🔥🙌🔥

[melestasflight]

27. there was now no returning, Mithrim Lake

for @polutrope. 600ish words of Maglor, Maedhros, and Fingolfin at Mithrim Lake. Warnings for physical disfigurement, mental instability, and deliberation on murder.

there was now no returning

Maglor stared at the torpid form of the stranger Fingon had delivered on eagle’s back. It was the resting, recovering body of his brother, he knew that in some small corner of his mind, but the entirety of the rest of himself struggled to reconcile Maitimo with this. He bit his cheek to a bleed to prevent himself from acknowledging the words that his barely restrained repulsion was coining.

It was not easy to consider him like this, in a deep stupor that left him defenseless. The ugliness of his figure blindingly displayed, a grotesque exposition of Morgoth’s dark art. Still, Maglor much preferred it to the waking hours that inevitably brought the burning gaze of those yellowed eyes. The yellow that was firmly winning the battle against the clean silver grey that Maglor’s own eyes contained also. Its hue was not the one of joyful summer, of sweet ripe fruit. It was sickly rather, the sooty yellow of active decay.

Worse than that was the sharp-toothed grin that appeared at the most inappropriate moments. This thing, which was once Maglor’s brother whose smile could win over even the most tactful lords, now laughed at his own warped ideas of how the creatures of the enemy could be annihilated most effectively and thoroughly.

Not for the first time, Maglor wondered if Fingon would have done a kinder act by releasing his arrow when he had the chance. But there was now no returning the miracle Thorondor had granted. The only thing left to decide was what should be done now. First and foremost, the crown demanded a resolution. Maglor himself had never worn it, never wanted it, though he had ruled all these years with the iron fist these lands demanded.

He recalled his father with that crown, its gold too clean, too brilliant against the filth of blood and ash upon Fëanáro’s brow. Míriel’s madness awoken fully in her son, growing until it had consumed him whole. Maglor shuttered at the thought of that crown resting now upon the head of one whose lungs were still filled with the foul air of Thangorodrim.

It had to be prevented, at all costs. Now was an opportunity better than any.

There was a small bottle of deadly nightshade tincture by the bedside table. A drop was given for a dreamless rest. Four drops could put down a grown horse. Maglor quieted his internal song to a whisper and took a careful step forward, nerves taut as a bowstring.

When suddenly the heavy flap of the tent was opened behind him, he held back a scream through sheer willpower. But it was too late. Fingolfin stood by the entrance as one stricken and he had already caught Maglor’s intention. He had made himself too vulnerable, his thoughts too raw about him.

Unmovable, they gaped at each other for a long moment. A confession and an understanding. None would know it but the two of them. It could be a shared secret that would keep their mouths bound. And a burden carried by two would be easier to live with.

Neither had dared move even a finger when the slumbering body stirred by Maglor’s side.

‘Laurë… Laurë… Where is Makalaurë?’ He was calling for Maglor in his waking haze. 

Overwhelming pity rattled Maglor to the bones, and all at once, his resolve snapped as easily as a dry twig beneath a heavy boot. ‘I am here, I am right by you.’ He choked back a sob and grasped the bony hand reaching for him.

When their gazes met again, Maglor found an echo of his own pity in Fingolfin. They both knew it then, with the crystal clarity of Mithrim's waters in the morning light. The crown would find its place upon Fingolfin’s brow. It was for Fingolfin to rule in the West, and for Maglor to hold the East together.

‘Here, Nelyo, sit up.’ A new resolve formed itself in Maglor’s heart as he brought a glass of sweet water to his brother’s lips.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!

[haztobegood]

Ghosted by haztobegood

Pairing: Harry/Louis Rating: NR Words: 666 Summary: Harry had dragged his feet when his mate Liam invited him for drinks at Horan’s Pub. He’d wanted to spend his Friday night under fuzzy blankets with a good book and hot cocoa. Besides, he’d protested, they already planned to go out the following week for Halloween. While initially reluctant, Harry’s glad he came. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have met Louis.

Written for @1dtrickortreatfest 2023!

[oxydiane]

'Please, don't cry'

My entry for the bittersweet challenge! @jilytoberfest on ao3 too!

‘So, out with it,’ Lily crosses her arms in front of her chest, ‘what is James hiding?’ Sirius and Remus look at each other, a look of worry taking over both of their faces.

'Hiding? What— pft, what do you mean—‘

‘Moons,’ Sirius stops him, putting a hand on his shoulder before turning to Lily with a smirk. ‘Why would Prongs be hiding anything?’

‘You two just decided to take me out for brunch?’

‘Can’t a guy want to treat his best friend—‘

‘Ooh, I’m your best friend now, Black?’ Her tone is playful.

‘Of course, can’t a guy want to treat his best friend to brunch for her birthday?’

‘Without her husband,’

‘Yup, killjoy’s looking after your little accident, today is about you!’

Lily’s noise wrinkles and she tries to keep in a laugh. ‘I thought you were going to stop calling Harry that?’

‘Ne-ver,’ he gives her a toothy smile, Remus is still silent but Lily can see him stroking Sirius’ leg under the table. ‘Some things happen for the best, but I’ll keep reminding you long as I live.’

‘Let’s hope it’s a long while, then.’ She says, looking down into her drink and mentally cursing herself for the unhappy comment.

‘You know,’ speaks Remus after a long silence. ‘There’s a reason we chose a Muggle place… Feels like we can ignore it all for a little while.

Lily looks up from her cup, first into Remus’ eyes and then to the snowy street right outside the café. The people rushing and almost slipping face-first against the pavement are contrasted by happy families strolling with their kids. She smiles, but it’s almost bitter.

‘Yeah, maybe if we were born in a different time…’

‘Nu-uh,’ Sirius stops her before she can get to the end of her sentence. ‘None of that sad rubbish today, today is happy!’

He slides his own drink across the table and Lily raises an eyebrow. ‘Try it.’

She sighs but the grin never leaves her face as she picks up Sirius’ colourful glass and takes a tentative sip. It is sweet and quite nice.

‘Wow,’ Lily exhales and Sirius’ smile grows tenfold.

‘Right? These Muggles know what they’re doing. We’ll have one more!’ He calls to the waiter at last.

When they walk back to Godric’s Hollow, Lily and Sirius are giggling and holding onto each other, Remus looking at them fondly and rolling back his eyes as he opens the front door.

‘We’re home!’ Lily yells and Sirius playfully slaps her shoulder before breaking into a laugh. Lily would have told him to shove off if the sight she met inside her house didn’t make her eyes prickle. 

A banner hangs from the ceiling of their hallway and it reads in red and gold letters ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUMMY’, she can tell the only word Harry worked on was Mummy. But that’s not what catches her attention.

What catches her attention are the walls adorned by colourful drawings in crayon, and James holding Harry in his arms, looking like he’s about to cry. Harry is dressed in his favourite onesie, a deer-shaped one.

‘MUMMY!’ The toddler shrieks, twisting in his father’s arms and reaching out for Lily.

‘Wow, Prongs, you’re a disaster,’ Sirius giggles.

‘Shut it, Pads—‘

‘Pa’foo!’

‘You too, you—‘

‘Little troublemaker just like his dad,’ Remus says, clearly trying to ease the air as James looks just about ready to burst into tears.

‘Lily, I’m so sorry, he was supposed to draw on the banner, but I guess he found the walls more appealing…’

Lily can’t process a single word, eyes fixed on one of the many drawings adorning their walls: three stick figures, the redheaded and black-haired ones holding a smaller, black-haired one. Her eyes are wet.

‘No, please! I’ll fix it right away! Please, don’t cry,’

‘If you touch any of that, I’ll hex you.’ Her voice is shaky and James looks positively bewildered. 

Without another word, Lily makes her way across the room and takes Harry from James’ arms. She hugs the toddler and rests her forehead against her husband’s shoulder.

‘Lily, are you—‘

‘I love you so much,’ she sobs, Harry laughs and claps, smushing himself closer to Lily’s chest and James takes in a sharp breath before slipping an arm around her waist.

‘I love you too.’ He holds her tighter, one arm around her and the other around Harry.

‘Happy accident indeed— Ouch, Remus!’

[letthemusicmoveyou28]

Slow Dance with the Tension by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

Rating: M - Word Count: 666

Written for @1dtrickortreatfest 2023!

Just then a loud crash of thunder rattles the room, and a split second later is a flash of lightening that scorches the rug right in front of Louis’ socked feet.

At first Louis thinks maybe Harry isn’t going to acknowledge it at all. But finally, he raises a hand and snaps his fingers.

And just like that the full-on thunderstorm that had been raging inside their lounge completely evaporates. No signs of it ever existing.

Harry just shrugs. “Sorry love, didn’t realize I was doing that.”

It’s bullshit. And they both know it.

(Or the one where having a powerful witch for a husband is all fun and games until he decides to be a brat).

Title from Scatterbrain by Emei

Read on Ao3!

[justhere4thevibez]

Another ask!

Chrissy accidentally lets her Domme slip in front of people (they're hanging out with the elder members of the Party) and gets Eddie to sit still and the others are all 👀

heheheheh yessssss. this was a fun one! nothing explicit, but (as you can assume by the prompt) a lot of suggestive content.

“Eddie, be good.”

Chrissy punctuated this with a short tug to the hair at the nape of his neck, and Eddie settled immediately. He’d been such a little brat tonight, antagonizing Steve and amping up Robin for no good reason. Not to mention the suggestive comments and teasing touches he’d given her.

Enough was enough.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said meekly as he leaned into her side. “I’ll be a good boy for you.”

She stroked his hair soothingly as a way of accepting his apology (not that she wouldn’t have him make up for it later), and all would have been right in the world except—

“What the fuck,” Robin yelled from across the room.

Chrissy froze, her hand still tangled in Eddie’s hair as her gaze met Robin’s knowing look.

“Fuck,” she whispered, letting her hand drop to her lap.

They’d been so careful as they explored this new dynamic between them, always keeping it behind closed doors—or at least subtle enough in public. But Robin… well, Robin was a frequenter of queer spaces. Which meant she knew things. Things that other people probably wouldn’t pick up on in a million years.

Goddammit.

“What?” Steve looked up from where he’d been rummaging for popcorn for their movie night. “What’s wrong? Is there a bug?”

“Nope,” Robin said, her gaze frantically darting back and forth between Chrissy and Eddie. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. It’s—”

Chrissy sighed, knowing that if she didn’t cut Robin off she’d ramble all night long.

“Do you need to talk about it, Robin?” she asked, rubbing her hand nervously along her thigh. What would her friend say?

“God, yes,” Robin said, racing over and collapsing in the chair next to Chrissy. “So, is this—” she pointed between the two of them almost accusingly— “what I think it is? Like, are you—”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, clasping Chrissy’s restless hand between his. “It is. We are. Is that okay?”

God, she loved him so much. She was still learning what it meant to be in control—of Eddie, of herself. And she was almost… not embarrassed. But apologetic. Because it should be Eddie in charge, shouldn’t it? He was the loud one, he was the leader, he was the man. She shouldn’t want that kind of control at all.

But she did. And now that she knew what it felt like, she loved it. Craved it. And Eddie loved giving that control over to her. But he also had a sixth sense for when she froze up and got all squirrelly about it, too. And then he’d step back in, like a dance. A partnership. And right now, staring into Robin’s curious face, she needed that support.

“God, yeah, of course,” Robin said, flapping her hands dismissively. “You think I of all people would mind?” She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “But, uh, I am… curious.”

“I like taking care of him,” Chrissy said quietly, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze. “It makes me feel… whole.”

“She turns my brain off,” Eddie said, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss. “It’s like I don’t have to think anymore, and I’m—I’m safe.” He gave Chrissy a teasing grin. “Who could resist getting under the spell of this incredible woman?”

Robin nodded knowingly. “Shit, yeah, if Chrissy said jump I’d say how high?”

“Guys,” Chrissy said, blushing—flattered, but still embarrassed. “Movie night?”

“Right.” Robin snapped to attention. “Oh, fuck, Steve.”

All three of them turned to the kitchen, where they could only see the lower half of Steve sticking out of a cabinet. With a triumphant ah-ha he emerged, his perfect hair a little worse for wear.

“Found it,” he said, brandishing the bags of popcorn. Then he stopped, puzzled. “You guys okay?”

“Fine,” Chrissy said, pursing her lips to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, let’s get this corn a-popping,” Robin said loudly, jumping up from her seat. She turned back to Chrissy for a moment. “Just so you know, I think it’s, uh, cool. And I’m glad you found each other.”

“Thanks, Robin,” she whispered, squeezing the other girl’s hand. “Maybe don’t—” she nodded in the direction of Steve, and Robin gave her a thumbs up.

“Oh, no way,” she said as she backed toward the kitchen. “I think his fucking head would explode.”

“I think something else of his might explode,” Eddie murmured in her ear, and she gripped his throat, light but with intention.

“Watch it, mister,” she said in a low voice. “Or you might regret it when we get home.”

He swallowed heavily, his throat muscles shifting under her hand. “I look forward to it.”

[cricketnationrise]

camilla + december 23 + falconer’s stadium parking lot?? congrats on 200!!

I haven't written Camilla before, so this was super fun to work on! Enjoy <3

_X_ _X_ _X_

Falconer's Parking Lot, Dec. 23

The things I do for you Jack Zimmermann, Camilla thinks when the wind kicks up while she waits outside the players’ exit.

She has gifts to finish wrapping, a guest room to get ready, last minute groceries to buy – but instead she is shivering despite her layers and the late afternoon sun.

Camilla had been planning on seeing one of Jack’s games, actually. Sometime in March, when she knew she had a week off. When it was a bit warmer. Her girlfriend had been baffled by Camilla going to hang out with an ex-boyfriend, but she and Jack had always been friends first – even after they started sleeping together. Once Jack decided he was friends with someone, he put 110% of himself into maintaining that friendship. They’d actually developed a fairly regular text thread, which – based on the everything she knew about Jack – was more surprising than him going into the NHL.

He’d used an emoji a few weeks ago and she almost fell off her chair.

Jack had actually called her to invite her to this game specifically – I know it’s right before Christmas and you’re probably busy but I’ve got a ticket, two if you want them – and there was something in his voice that piqued her interest. A hesitant sort of glee, like happiness was trying to burst out of him but he was reining it in for propriety’s sake.

So Camilla went to the game. It was a fun one, the Falconers beating Chicago by three points; Jack with a goal that even Camilla could tell was absolutely beautiful.

Jess: i’ve got dinner in the crockpot when you get back ❤️

“Camilla?”

She looks up from her phone to see Jack, game day suit on and a Falcs beanie – it’s a toque, Cam – covering his shower-wet hair.

“Hey, Jack! Great game,” she says, moving in for a hug. Despite the bulking up he’s done since the season started, Jack still hugs the same.

“Thanks,” he says, “The boys worked really hard, really dug in there, managed to get the pucks in deep, and Chicago was just—”

“Jack.”

“Right, sorry, habit now,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How have you been?”

“You know how I’ve been. What did you want to tell me in person?”

“I—”

“Because I gotta say Jack, I’ve never seen you look so settled.”

“Oh,” he says, looking pleased.

And he does look settled. There’s actual calm behind his eyes, settled in his frame; it’s like contentment has been knit into his bones. She’s never seen him this relaxed, even after winning games at Samwell – it looks great on him.

A gust of wind comes up again, and Camilla shivers again.

“Shit, you should come inside, we can talk in the player’s lounge for a minute, plus there'll be a snack and at least coffee to drink if you want to warm up a bit before heading out.”

“Jack, of course I’ll come in for a minute, but you’re babbling.”

“Right. Um.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, before meeting her eyes squarely. “Come meet my boyfriend?”

She can’t help the smile that bursts out. “Even if I wasn’t freezing right now, you have to know the answer’s yes.”

He motions her inside ahead of him. She revels in the warmth as the chat about small things through the hallways. Camilla notes with interest as Jack nods and waves at various staff that pass them by. It’s a marked difference from even two years ago. 

It suits him.

They pass into the player’s lounge and Camilla gets her first glimpse of a short young man with blonde hair who’s facing away from the entrance. Is that—? She manages to keep her excited cheer behind her lips when the man turns at the sound of their footsteps.

“Jack Zimmermann, you owe me so much money. I fucking told you so,” she mutters before raising her voice.

“Oh, shut up,” Jack whispers back.

“Eric Bittle, as I live and breathe!”

Twenty minutes, fifty bucks, and a bag of cookies later, Camilla is in her car, letting the engine heat up for a few minutes.

Camilla: Leaving now! Camilla: I have dessert for us tonight and a double dinner date for next week

Jess: ❤️ Jess: see you soon 😘

_X_ _X_ _X_

want your own ficlet? details here! (available thru the end of sept 2022)

[fourmula1]

safe and sound here in our world

6,084 words. max verstappen / daniel ricciardo. art by @33max

hello, max! 

Max shakes his head when he parks, sure his mind is playing tricks on him. Too much adrenaline. Too much emotion. He’s never felt so good in a car before but he thinks he might be taking it a little far if he’s imagining the car talking to him. He's about to climb out of the cockpit, arms hoisting himself up when he hears it again.

can’t wait to do it again with you. 

Or: A boy and his car. And Daniel.

at ao3.

[theold-ultraviolence]

#4 (first time) and #9 (lingerie) with Aemond for the Vday ficlet? :)

Let Me Taste Your Silhouette • Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader • 18+

Summary: It's a night of firsts, that starts with red lace…NSFW warnings: licking through your underwear if that’s a warning lol. There's nothing too explicit going on besides that. Title is a Måneskin lyric! • 2023 Vday ficlet fest masterlist

Heaving breaths are passed from one mouth to the other like cigarette smoke. Like confessions spilled and drank greedily, as you straddle Aemond’s lap where he sits on the edge of his bed. 

There are candles lit all over his dark bedroom that paint him in warm tones, accentuating the deep blush that’s spreading from his cheeks and down to his chest, the more he strokes and grasps and tugs at your clothes. 

He’s desperate to see you. 

Desperate to finally have you, after having been dancing around each other for far too long. Now, all those days of painful pining have been rewarded, when Aemond yanks down the zipper of your red – his hands instantly covering every inch of exposed skin that prickles with goosebumps. 

You tuck his long silver-blonde hair behind his ears to expose his neck for your kisses while he removes each strap of your dress, tugging the whole piece down to reveal a sight that has his mouth gaping wide and salivating – his one lilac eye turning black with lust. 

You’re wearing a deep red, lace bra that you’d gotten especially for this occasion. After all, this was your first time with Aemond, and you wanted to leave an impression on him that would leave him wanting more. 

A sheer layer barely covers your breasts, and the lace that decorates the cups make intricate, romantic patterns that let the color of your skin be seen through the design, a tease of your nipples peeking through. You were so excited when choosing this set; with the combination of lace and crimson tone making it equal parts cute and sexy. 

His hands, splayed on the expanse of your torso, trail upwards until his thumbs can stroke the curve of your tits, merely feeling the weight of them lightly, before his whole palms fondle and squeeze tenderly.  The size and shape fit his hand in such a perfect way he’d never thought possible. 

“May I taste you?” He hotly whispers, with his lips pressed on your sternum, and his long nose tracing the trim of your bra.   

You nod, breathless. You guide him, with your hand on the back of his silver head, down until his mouth covers one of your tits through the thin fabric of your bra, his ardent tongue licking a broad stripe across your nipple before suckling on it and staining the bra with his spit. He covers your tits with his calloused hands in between licks, moaning at the taste of your skin and the smell of your perfume all over the lace. 

The sound of his low groans as he keeps suckling you fuels the fire in your core, making you grind your clothed pussy on his hard bulge constrained underneath his suit pants. When he unlatches from you, and bunches up your dress around your torso to look at you, he shivers. 

You’re all ruined. 

Your lingerie is all ruined, with your bra all stained from him devouring your tits and now your panties clearly giving away how ready you are to take him for the first time. You’re absolutely soaking through the red material – a big damp circle growing even more as he rubs your clit with his thumb through the panties. 

So ready for the taking – pliant and gushing right here on his lap. He could slip your panties to the side and sink into you so easily, without any resistance. 

And still, it wouldn’t be right if he did that. He wouldn’t be a worthy lover if he just took selfishly on your first time together.

So he takes you in his arms and lays you back on the bed, sliding your dress off completely before pulling you to the edge of the bed, where he kneels right in front of your clothed cunt. Before he could do anything, your fingers gingerly hook on the strap of his eyepatch, in a silent enquiry. 

“May I see you?” you murmur. He looks deeply into your eyes before nodding. You remove the garment delicately, soothing the scarred side of his face – same one he cushions on the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh. It’s also the first time you see him without the eyepatch. A night of firsts. 

You grin, hoping that your gaze will convey just how handsome you think he is, and that the way you’re opening up your legs and gyrating your hips will assure him that you still want him.

Left eye like a pearl, and the right turning to obsidian as he sees that wet spot on your lace panties spreading wider, making him gather up spit in his mouth before sucking you through your underwear. 

It was a night of firsts indeed. 

When you discovered just how loud you could be underneath Aemond Targaryen. 

And he became addicted to the taste of your silhouette in red lace.

A/N: thank you so much for requesting, friends!! hope you enjoy this, and happy valentine's day! x

[cheesyficwriter]

Gorgeous

Hi, Romione lovers! I wrote this short ficlet for the @cruelsummer-ficfest! I was given the song "Gorgeous" by Taylor Swift to use as inspo for my favorite HP couple. While the theme of the story doesn't exactly follow the song, some of the lyrics are represented through characters/lines in the fic. Also, fully expect some Ron thirst from Hermione's POV.

Thank you to the mods for hosting such a fun and creative fest. Go check out the other awesome stories already released. Hope you enjoy! ❤

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face

'Cause look at your face

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

Gorgeous - Taylor Swift

It’s a warm, cozy early autumn evening, perfect for a small and intimate affair. Guests mingle amidst the garden, surrounded by floating candles and flower motifs. Every single witch and wizard is out of their designated seat, cheering and dancing between bursts of high energy songs as glasses of Firewhiskey and champagne are passed around in merriment.  

Harry and Ginny’s wedding reception is a fabulously good time.

The newlywed couple glides around the open space with the biggest spotlight following them. Hermione glances over at Ginny, who is absolutely glowing and conveying an admirable amount of confidence and beauty as she nestles into the crook of Harry’s arm. Given all that Harry has gone through, the simplicity and privacy given to them in this moment is what he truly deserves. 

Witnessing their bliss brings an ache to the forefront of Hermione’s chest. The music transitions to a slow tempo, and her thoughts drift to one particular Weasley with ginger hair and ocean blue eyes.  

Ron, her best friend and boyfriend of almost five years, and the person who she couldn’t have planned Harry and Ginny’s reception without driving herself mental. She lost him somewhere in the small crowd earlier, and hasn’t seen him since the food table. Figures. 

Deep inside, she’s more than comfortable with the life they have together. So blissfully happy—almost to the point of delirium—that it’s very audacious of her to crave more. That’s not to say their goals have always aligned. If anything, their relationship has been on a twisted trajectory ever since they met. 

But it still poses the question. Does Ron ever picture what’s next for them? Now that Harry and Ginny are married, all eyes will likely be on Ron and Hermione, looking for the next commitment. It’s a thought she’s certainly had before, but one that never took up much space in her brain until this evening. 

Why is she so motivated now? It certainly can’t be jealousy. She’s very happy for Harry and Ginny, thrilled even. But it’s not a race to the altar. It never has been. As hard as she’s tried to find a suitable justification for making this commitment, all she can work out is that there is no justification not to. 

Is he waiting on her signal? She’s progressive enough to have no qualms being the one to propose to him, but she has a feeling that Ron would take pride in having that task himself.

A cluster of flobberworms flutter through Hermione’s stomach. Does she imagine growing old with him? Absolutely. She can’t imagine not having him in her life. The sheer thought of them breaking up—a hard lump works its way down her throat. She doesn’t want to ever think about that. 

There is no other choice for her. There is no other person.

She almost considers gazing into the depths of one of Trelawney’s barmy crystal balls to see what the future holds for them. Ha! Almost.

A part of her is compelled to stumble on home and curl up into a ball next to Crookshanks as she continues to contemplate her life. Instead, she snags her third floating glass of champagne from the air and downs it in two gulps. 

When Hermione cranes upright again after draining the contents of her glass, she finds herself gazing straight into the depths of Ron’s baby blues. Her heart pulses twice as fast, realizing that he has been watching her from afar, and all at once self-conscious over not knowing how long she has held his attention. He tilts his head, his eyes raking up and down her body, as if he’s appreciating her more than a homemade cauldron cake. 

Ron’s confident, unwavering presence is a far cry from the shy, awkward boy she knew at age 11. Their unabashed intimacy into adulthood is still new to her. It certainly wasn’t instantaneous infatuation when they first met—more like instantaneous annoyance, a feeling that lasted for several weeks before they got a chance to truly get to know each other and she went on to consider Ron one of her dearest friends. She hasn’t always liked that infuriating man at all times, but she’s always loved him, even if she didn’t know it in her early years. 

But is that enough to say they are ready now? Is there anything else they want to accomplish before settling down?

Hermione chuckles to herself. They’ve won a war, for Merlin’s sake. They’re both very satisfied with their career paths. They’ve had an extraordinary run as individuals before having a real chance at being a couple. And that right there is the information she needs to be secure in what she wants. 

She wants to marry Ron Weasley.

As if hearing her sing his name in her thoughts, Ron breezes through the crowd in Hermione’s direction. A distinct smirk forms upon his lips, the soft candlelight illuminating the freckles on his face. Hermione analyzes his every movement, enjoying the way his rolled up dress sleeves reveal the taut muscles along his forearms. Her hunger for him is so intense, it knocks the air straight out of her lungs. She inhales a shaky breath, making a feeble attempt to alleviate her roaring sex drive. 

Good luck with that.

Too late. The lust she has for her boyfriend overpowers any rational thinking right now. Her brain is not doing well in this particular situation.

Ron approaches, looping one of his thumbs through the belt of his trousers before offering the palm of his other hand. “Come and dance with me?” 

Hermione grins. At least he managed to form some semblance of a question this time, instead of blurting out a demand in a hilarious effort to drag her away from Viktor Krum. 

“I thought you would never ask.”

He frowns, a blush reddening his cheeks. “Really? I—”

“Relax, Ron,” she laughs, biting down on her lip as she turns her gaze down to the gold ballet flats on her feet. “I would love to.”

A rhythm of classical music flutters in the background as Ron takes her hand, leading Hermione over to the center of the crowd. Her olive green dress swishes against the ground as she walks. The air around them is warmer now, despite the cool evening. Although the many glasses of champagne pulsating through her veins may be contributing to her flushed cheeks. 

Ron’s arms draw her close until their chest to chest, his breath warm against her neck. She falls into his embrace with trained ease, resting her head on his shoulder. They sway back and forth during the first few minutes of the ballad, filling the space with easy smiles and gentle touches. 

It’s still amazing to Hermione that they’ve even made it this far, here, to this very moment where she feels comfortable enough showing affection for someone else, and receiving the same amount in return. The last time she danced with Ron like this—well, it was a perfect moment until their world spun into darkness and the Horcrux Hunt began. 

Now it’s all over—it’s been five years, to be exact—and there’s a calmness, a sense of security, hanging in the air. 

She lifts her head in amusement as Charlie Weasley swings by, guiding a giddy Professor McGonagall—a sight she thought she’d never see—around the dance floor. The tempo of the next song picks up, but not enough for swaying to be considered unusual, so she and Ron remain steady at their pace. 

Ron’s hands glide slowly up and down her spine, eliciting tiny goose pimples along the expanse of his touch. He’s remained silent throughout, they both have, but as his fingers slide to trace the scar on the inside of her arm, Hermione wonders what he’s possibly thinking at this moment. 

“Tell me what’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours.” Ron’s husky murmur, right next to her ear, catches her off guard. He knows her so well, and she shouldn’t be surprised that he notices her deep in thought. 

For a beat, she says nothing. They continue to rock side to side, cheek to cheek, as Hermione mulls over the voices in her head screaming at her that it’s time. She can’t put off asking about their future just because she’s afraid of not having the answer she wants. Even if she specializes in making critical decisions based on raw fear.

Hermione pulls back slightly to meet Ron’s gaze, noticing his eyebrows knitted together in fierce contemplation. His long locks of ginger hair fall into his eyes, and she fights the desire to sweep them away, only mildly annoyed that Ron had ignored her request for him to cut his hair prior to the wedding.

“What do you mean?” she finally works up the courage to ask. 

Ron scans her face as if he’s waiting for the glimmer of truth to shine through her eyes. “I know you’re happy for Harry and Ginny. I know you are pleased with how all of this came together with such little time to plan.”

It may seem like Ron is only stating the obvious, but it’s clear that he’s trying to rule out possible conclusions. 

“That’s Harry and Ginny,” she agrees. “Always spontaneous, those two.”

He squeezes her elbow. “But…”

“But what?”

“There’s something else.”

What is she afraid of? Judgment or ridicule? She knows Ron better than that. He would never make her feel embarrassed over sharing her feelings. He may not always understand them right away, but to be fair, neither does she. 

She needs to be completely honest with herself here. She needs to be completely honest with him. 

“We should talk.”

Any hint of a smile on his face flashes away faster than a lightning bolt. His mouth opens, poised to respond, but she places a hand on his chest. 

“No, no. It’s nothing bad, I promise. At least, I hope it’s not.”

No. Stop it, Hermione. She’s in a good place with Ron. A really, really good place. Why would she want to ruin that? All of the bells ringing in her head warn her to keep quiet. 

His hand tightens in hers. They continue to sway, oblivious to the other couples nearby, but Ron’s movement stiffens. “Hermione, what’s going on?”

It’s time for a serious discussion, but is this really the right place? Judging by the defined crease between Ron’s lips, he’s decided that it is and she can’t convince him otherwise. 

Before Hermione can speak, a tug on her dress redirects her attention towards the ground. Victoire, Bill and Fleur’s young daughter, beams up at her. The small girl fiddles with the ends of her long, blonde hair, pulled back into a seamless plait. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Victoire says through a toothy grin, highlighting the adorable dimples on her cheeks.

Hermione’s heart pitter patters in her chest. Not just pretty. Gorgeous. 

“Aren’t you a clever one?” Ron bends over, giving the part-Veela’s hair a tousle. 

“Uncle Ron!” Victoire squeals, swatting his hand away. Turning back to Hermione, she offers one last parting wave before skipping off, calling over her shoulder, “Bye, Aunt ‘Mione!”

Hermione’s knees buckle, very aware that Ron’s grip on her is the only reason why she remains standing. 

Aunt. She called me her Aunt. 

For a young girl, it’s not surprising. When Victoire sees her Uncle Ron, Hermione is usually in tow. It’s only natural that she draws that conclusion. But still, it doesn’t stop Hermione’s heart from skipping a beat. 

“She’s right, you know,” Ron murmurs, and Hermione’s head snaps to meet his gaze. The way he is looking at her, his eyes twinkling…she swallows hard, diverting her eyes to her shoes once more. 

She’s right. She’s right. She’s right. 

“Hey.” Ron hooks a gentle thumb under Hermione’s chin, lifting her head back up to eye level. “What are you getting insecure about?”

“I’m not.”

He raises a questionable eyebrow at that blatant lie, and Hermione’s shoulders sag in defeat. “I just—I don’t know. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. Being here, at a wedding, seeing Harry and Ginny so happy, and—Ron, it’s okay if you want to wait, or maybe our relationship isn’t what you expected…”

She’s rambling now, and Ron is gaping at her like she’s morphed into a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but she can’t seem to convey what she really means in a single sentence. She wants to shout I’m ready for you to propose, you dolt. But the way he tilts his head, a smile curling up around the edge of his lips, makes her wonder if she even has to.

Ron leans closer, brushing his nose against Hermione’s before pulling back mere inches. She can taste cinnamon from the shots of Firewhiskey he’s undoubtedly consumed this evening, his breath hot on her face. 

“I would have thought it was obvious by now.” His voice drops low, as if he’s sharing a secret just for her. He grasps her hip, pulling her a fraction closer. “But in case it’s not, let me make myself very clear. I love you. I am very happy with where we are, but also, you are it for me, Hermione.”

The expression on his face is so tender and warm, she can’t believe that he’s looking at her like that. Everything he says points to you’re delusional, you barmy witch, and it’s suddenly sobering, despite her champagne-filled musings. 

“Oh.”

Ron chuckles. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” Hermione bites her lip, shrugging a shy shoulder. “We’ve never really discussed it, and it occurred to me recently, well, maybe there’s a reason why. Maybe you weren’t sure—well, nevermind that now.”

“Are you joking?” Ron’s eyes bulge out. “I was trying not to pressure you.”

Hermione tucks a lock of delicate hair behind her ear. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that.”

The comment must please Ron, because his trademark lopsided smile turns into an all out grin. “Okay. Note taken.”

“Okay.”

And somehow he vanishes every single one of her fears in a matter of seconds, as if it is really that simple. Perhaps it is. They could have avoided a lot of frustration if they were open and honest with each other from the beginning. But still, they wouldn’t have had the chance to move apart and come back together, like they always do, over and over again. 

“So…” Hermione curls her fingers around Ron’s neck as she buries her face into his chest. “Are we doing this?”

“Hold on there.” He plants a kiss into her hair before resting his chip atop her head. “Trust me.”

A rush of excitement floods her bones, receiving Ron’s hint loud and clear. Of course she trusts him. It’s the foundation of any successful relationship, and beyond their minor hiccup during the Horcrux Hunt—that definitely does not need to be addressed ever again—she’s never once questioned Ron’s loyalties. Not to Harry, and certainly not to her. 

Ron spins Hermione around, pressing her back against his chest. His arms envelop her into a circle of warmth. She falls into his embrace, closing her eyes while releasing a content sigh. When his nose nuzzles her cheek, she swivels her head just enough to meet his lips, which feel impossibly soft against her own. His kiss is dizzying, all-consuming, and so Ron. 

“Oi!” Harry yells, bursting through the warm glow they’ve cast around themselves. He dips Ginny in his arms. “Stop trying to steal the spotlight at my wedding, yeah?”

Ron disregards his best friend completely, intertwining his fingers with Hermione’s as he gives her a twirl. She lets out a breathless giggle, amazed at how effortlessly her boyfriend spins her around. Full of surprises, isn’t he?

“Keep dancing with me, gorgeous?” 

“Always.”

[laurelins-light]

00QAD Pride Ficlet

I wrote a quick ficlet inspired by some headcanons I posted about 00QAD at London Pride. Special thanks to @00furby for the beta-ing of this work!