A/N: I'm suffering from writer's block. It isn't the worst I've ever experienced, but it is keeping me from working on stuff I need to be working on. So, I had my husband (dear man that I love so much), give me a few prompts. I had him give me four words, pairings, and ratings, and I wrote a drabble/ficlet for each one. Blame the following insanity on him. None of these have been beta'd. To be honest, I'm not that invested in them. This is just me, trying to overcome any writer's worst nightmare. And, I feel like I should warn for this (since it isn't something I normally do in this fandom), there is het. here.
Prompt: Water (what? rain is water...)
Pairing: Hermione/Ron
Rating: PG13 (and yes, I dropped the f-bomb just to bump up the rating, bad me *slaps hand*)
The rain falls in torrents around them. Hermione's hair is plastered to her head, her make-up runs in black trails down her face, and her clothes are soaked, sticking to her skin, and outlining the small bump just above her denims. She is fucking furious, but Ron thinks that she has never been more beautiful.
Why she chose this moment, in the middle of one of their biggest rows, to tell him she's pregnant, he doesn't know. But, he forgets whatever it was they were arguing about. He studies that bump, watches it rise and fall with her heavy breathing, and doesn't know how he didn't notice.
The thought that she is carrying his child, a little bit of him inside of her, overwhelms him. He's going to be a dad. She's going to be a mum. They are going to be parents. Suddenly, the only thing he can think, is that he doesn't want her to leave. The trunk she dragged out of the house plops into a mud puddle, as his arms encircle her waist.
Not caring if she's still mad at him, he pulls her slowly to him. He tells her, with a touch of his lips, and the slow slide of his tongue, everything he can't find the words to actually say.
Don't leave. I love you. I need you.
Prompt: Fish
Pairing: James/Lily (the first)
Rating: NC17 (maybe? almost? ok, more like R)
Her giggles were contagious, as she tugged on the pole, trying to reel in the wriggling fish.
"Oh! I've almost got him, James."
He smiled, as she pulled the pole back, and shouted for joy when the small fish surfaced momentarily. Her laughter stopped, as the fish fell off the hook, and swam away.
"Damn it!" The boat shook precariously, when she stomped her foot.
It was the fourth time she'd been close, and he hated seeing that look of disappointment fall over her face.
"I swear, I'll get one, if I have to catch the bastard with my bare hands."
He'd been witness to that look far too many times. It was the beginning of what he liked to call 'red-head rage.' It really was true; red heads were exceptionally quick to anger. His theory was that they were just too passionate, and if that passion wasn't directed somewhere productive, it turned rather dangerous.
So, he did what he always did when she was like that. He redirected her.
Taking the pole from her, in a deceptively calm manner, he laid it gently in the boat. Then, before she knew what he was about, he wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her quickly over the side and into the lake.
Her sputtering lasted for only a moment, then he was drowning all her protests in hot, heavy kisses. She moaned, and just as he knew it would, her anger dissolved.
She grappled furiously at his shirt, then the button of his trousers. It was mere moments, then they were both naked, and he was pressing into her.
Her tight warmth enveloped him, and he lost himself to the harsh rocking of her body, as the waves they created lapped gently at their overheated skin.
Prompt: Lamp
Pairing: MadEye Moody/Bellatrix Lestrange (and I just couldn't actually put these two together and abide by the rating)
Rating: G
The lamp glows hot above her head, highlighting her wild, unruly hair. Sweat drips maddeningly down her forehead, falling in a wet puddle on the floor. She breathes in short little gasps, choking on almost silent sobs.
He knows she's close to spilling everything. Who would have thought that a little bit of light, and a few muggle interrogation techniques would be so effective?
Prompt: Picture
Pairing: Hagrid/Tonks
Rating: PG
His finger traces the soft slope of her shoulder, dips down, follows the line of her hip. He admires her violet hair, and the saucy wink that plays on a loop. He longs to kiss those smirking lips, to taste that pale skin, and wonders why he never said anything.
He watched her grown up, become this sexy, beautiful woman looking up at him from the frayed photograph. He saw her falling in love, sat through her wedding, and held her son. Every new milestone in her life, was a dagger through his heart.
Then, she was gone. Her life snuffed out far too early, and entirely too senselessly. He liked Lupin, he really did. And, he misses the man, but that doesn't stop him from loving the woman he married…neither does her death. As he tucks the picture carefully back into his pocket, Hagrid thinks he may never stop loving her.