#and i have. a known habit of being like 'ooo fun prompt!' and then not writing it for like a month

[disappearinginq]

for the writers ask thing: (3) What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway) AND (6) What character do you have the most fun writing?

Hilariously, the first one is a Prodigal Son scene between the team (specifically JT) and I just wanted a...merger? scene between beginning season JT & Malcolm, where they just like to harass one another, to basically an embodiment of the Kink!Tomato explanation. I like that they’re not cozy with each other, but they go from purposefully hurtful banter to just off beat teasing, and I had a scene where that was spelled out. I wonder if I can find it...or possibly actually getting around to writing the fic that i wrote three lines of dialogue for when @rohanrider3 gave me a prompt for it.  As for most fun -ooo. Hmm. Snarky ones. And family relations. I think one of my favorite things to write was between Bellamy and Kane for Left Behind, despite not watching the show for years now, and that fic sits languishing in writing purgatory. 

And I really, really love to write unexpectedly smart/badass characters (or make canon characters into unexpectedly smart/badass characters, because no one can prove I’m wrong).  Edit: FOUND THE PRODIGAL SON THING. 

“No, JT, really, I want to know,” Malcolm snapped, holding his hand out – steadier than JT could remember ever seeing it – jabbing accusatorily at him. “What exactly was I supposed to do? Hmm? If you know, I’d love to hear it, because I haven’t got a fucking clue. I’m a bit of an outlier, you see – people aren’t good with things they can’t categorize. They want to stuff you in a box whether you fit or not, and I’m guessing as a Hispanic male combat veteran, there’s a couple boxes people like to tick off for you, right? Suicidal. PTSD. Temper problems. Into drugs and alcohol. Anyone ever tell you you’re a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off?”

JT didn’t answer – it was rhetorical and both of them knew it. Veterans today had a rate of suicide comparable to WWII, and instead of trying to curb the trend by digging deeper to find out why, Washington just swept it under the rug – denied treatment, refused disability claims, shoved people out on the street like Monday morning garbage. The only time people cared enough to even Google the statistics were November 11th and the last Monday in May.

“Oh look,” Malcolm barreled on. “Finally, something we have in common. We don’t like it when people try to shove us in boxes to make us something we’re not. But you know what? You’re at least not alone. You can feel it, and it can seem it, but you’re not – one point three million people in our military, odds are at least one of them feels like you. Can understand what you’ve been through, why you are the way you are. Wanna know how many serial killers had kids? Huh?”

Malcolm’s pointed finger became a splay of five.

“Five. In the last half century, with their kids still alive today – five. Six kids total. Ted Bundy’s daughter has vanished so completely not even the FBI knows who or where she is. Dennis Rader’s kids? His daughter fucking wrote him a letter forgiving him for what he did and that she ‘hoped to see him in Heaven one day’ and that she still loved him, and her brother told the newspapers that despite killing ten people in utterly horrific ways, he was a good dad. And nobody comes close to the Surgeon’s body count – maybe the ones he was convicted for, but not what he’s suspected of.”

“Look, Bright, I – ” JT tried to cut in. Bright’s glare stopped him midsentence.

“No, no, no, no, you don’t get to derail this train now,” Malcolm snapped. “Not when you’re the one who keeps looking at me like I’m only one conviction away from being Martin Whitly’s sequel because I’m good at my job. And you know what, literally anyone else who is a profiler, or a criminal psychologist, or even a forensic psychologist is supposed to try and interpret the criminal mind, but I don’t see you avoiding Dr. Tanaka. My father was the monster, not me. I was fucking ten years old when I turned him in. All the other Serial Killer Kids were adults when the police found out their fathers were killers, but I don’t see the FBI keeping tabs on them, waiting for them to pick up where Dear Old Dad left off. So why me? Because I annoy you? Because it bothers you that because I can’t solve my own problems, I try to solve others? I have twenty three lives that were cut short because of the Surgeon that I have to make up for, and yeah, there’s only so many ways I can atone for my father’s sins.”

JT wasn’t the only one who noticed the change in Malcolm’s voice as he almost choked on the word father in relation to Martin, his already pale features turning slightly green at the mention of being related to the Surgeon.

“Since you seem to have all the answers, why don’t you clue the rest of us in? Hmm?” Malcolm threw his hands wide to encompass the whole room. “What should I be doing that would make you believe that I am not my father’s son?”

Dani shifted in her chair, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here, but gave him a side-eyed glare that clearly stated she was actually on Bright’s side for this one. Gil hadn’t said a word the entire argument, but then, if he’d known Malcolm since the day he’d turned in Martin, then he’d probably heard it more than once.

Malcolm must’ve said it more than once, because that was a lot of statistics to rattle off that fast.

JT sighed, picking up a pen and tapping it against the notepad just to have something to do with his hands as he met Malcolm’s eyes.

“It’s not what you think,” JT said. “It…” he considered his next words, weighing the sound of them in his head before he said them aloud. “I think you’re so good at this, it’s killing you.”

Whatever response Malcolm had braced himself for – because that’s exactly what he was doing, keeping his hands firmly over his chest, hunching slightly like he was expecting a physical blow – that wasn’t it. The kid’s eyebrows almost shot into his hairline before they narrowed back in suspicion, and JT couldn’t really blame him.

“I knew these guys – combat guys, all of them. Saw some serious shit over in Syria. Afghanistan. Iraq. You name the shit storm, they were in it, boots on the ground. They didn’t fare much better than you. Nightmares. Depression. The twitchy hands. The mania. The insomnia. Insisting they were fine.” He absently let the pen in his hand doodle across the notepad, and he watched as Malcolm’s gaze couldn’t help but flicker towards the movement more than keep JT’s gaze. “Hyper vigilant. Some of them saw counselors, but you know how that goes…seeing them doesn’t mean they followed their advice. Sometimes it’s just a band aid on a bullet hole. A couple of them got jobs where they thought they could do some good – use those skills, those…habits, at work. Thought it gave them an edge. Kept them vigilant.”

JT clicked the pen, putting it down as he leaned forwards, his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers as he caught Malcolm’s piercing gaze. “It burned them out. One put a gun in his mouth Christmas Eve in his basement while his kids were asleep upstairs. The other one stepped in front of train during the morning commute. The other one gave himself a heart attack – he’s the one that lived. And you may not believe me, Bright, but I don’t want that to be you on the evening news. You may be good at this job, but I think it’s bad for you. Trying to make up for things you had no control over, keeping some tally in that head of yours of if the life you saved is equal to the one he took. That’s not healthy, and if your stupid habit of haring off after murderers without backup doesn’t kill you, then this life will. I don’t think you’re anything like the Surgeon, because if you were, this wouldn’t bother you at all, instead of eating you alive from the inside out.”  

The room was quiet enough you could hear a pin drop.

Dani shot him her half smile reserved for special occasions and people she particularly approved of. Gil’s expression was still hidden by his hand over his mouth, but JT realized he wasn’t looking at him – probably hadn’t been for most of the conversation.

He was watching Malcolm.

Malcolm who was completely silent.

He didn’t think Bright did silent. He pretty much non-stop jabbered on, even when he wasn’t supposed to. Perhaps even especially when he wasn’t supposed to.

And now that piercing blue stare was levelled straight at him, and JT fought the urge to fidget under the intensity of it.

Malcolm’s eyes widened slightly, a funny little gasp that would’ve made more sense coming from someone who’d just had ice water dumped down their back passing between suddenly parted lips as he pulled his head back as if physically slapped. “You’re…not lying.”

JT frowned, glancing over at Gil who was still zeroed in on Malcolm. The older man hadn’t decided if this was good or bad, which put JT even more on edge.

“No, I’m not lying. Why would I lie about something like that?” He tried to catch Gil’s attention without getting even more of Malcolm’s, but the older detective ignored him.

[simonxriley]

Tachanka and Skylar first kiss?

Thank you!! And tbh I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while now and you gave me the opportunity, not that I wouldn’t have written this eventually! 

Kiss prompts

Also on Ao3

Russian Translations: Kotyonok = Kitten. Milaya = Darling. Der’mo = Crap and  водка = Vodka.

Parties were never Skylar’s thing, or at least not until she came to Rainbow. It was the yearly holiday party and she was talking with Valkyrie with a drink in hand about their plans for Christmas. Valkyrie was going back home to visit her parents’ in California and Skylar wasn’t sure about what she was doing, was she going back home to Maine to visit her parents; and sisters’ or staying on base. Luckily she still had time to think of an answer.

The room was filled with the majority of the Operators mingling amongst one another with drinks in hand as music played in the background. From where she stood with Valkyrie she could see Bandit and Jager talking on the couch, probably over some documentary Jager saw the night before. Thermite was talking with Pulse and Hibana on the other side of the room, about who knows what and she saw Tachanka with Glaz, Kapkan and Fuze doing shots of Russian vodka at a nearby table.

“So have you had any good mission’s lately?” asked Valkyrie after a moment.

“No.” she snorts. “I haven’t been called on a mission for a while, the last one I went on was three weeks ago.”

Skylar took a sip of her beer, glancing over at the Slavs with their vodka that she would very much like to help drink with them.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and Six will call you for more missions.”

“Hopefully, I’m getting bored with no action. There’s only so much training I can handle with no missions.”

Valkyrie nodded her head in agreement and took a sip of her drink. “It’s funny how our lives can be either very hectic or boring.”

She took another sip of her beer, watching Kapkan take a shot before turning her attention back to Valkyrie. “Sometimes I miss how it was when I was with the Marines. We might not have a mission, but at least we had something to do throughout the day. Here, we train in the morning and are free for the rest of the day. There’s not much to do here.”

“It was the same in the Navy. There isn’t much to do in little old Hereford, I’m sure we could find a lot to do in London. If it wasn’t three hours away.” Confusion etched on her face as her phone went off. She grabbed it from her pocket, looking down to see who it was. “I’m sorry, our conversation is gonna have to get cut short. Ela needs me.”

“I wonder what for.” She shot her a knowing look, making her shakes her head. ”Alright, have fun.”

“Thanks and enjoy the rest of the party.”

Skylar watched her leave, then sighed. She didn’t know what she should do, head back to her room or go over to where Thermite, Pulse and Hibana were. After watching them for a moment she decided to head to her room. She only took a few steps until a certain familiar Russian accent spoke her name.

She turned around seeing Tachanka waving her over. “Fuze left us for his Matryoshka. I need a partner.”

“A partner for what exactly?” She arched a brow, glancing between him and Glaz and Kapkan.

“Uh...drinking.”

She laughed and walked over to them, sitting in the seat that was once occupied by Fuze. “How can I say no to that.”

They all laughed and Glaz slid one of the shot glasses over to her and poured her a drink. She nodded her head in thanks and downed it, scrunching her face for a brief second as it went down.

“Oh, that’s actually pretty good.”

“Good.” said Tachanka as he grabbed the beer bottle in front of her and moved it to the side. “Now you can drink some authentic Russian водка instead of that der’mo.”

She turned her head to glare at him and huffed. “Don’t judge my drinking habits, I didn’t want to get full on drunk tonight. Unfortunately vodka is my kryptonite and you offered.”

Kapkan chuckled as he poured all of them another shot.

“I didn’t take you for a hard liquor person Skylar.” said Glaz after downing his shot.

“It tastes better than beer and it’s easier to sneak onto a base.” she glanced between Kapkan and Glaz, feeling Tachanka’s eyes on her. “So what are you guys doing for the holidays?”

Kapkan drank his shot, placing the glass back on the table. “I’m going on a hunting trip, get away from the city and visit my family.”

“I’m going home too.” said Glaz. “Mama wouldn’t be too happy if I didn’t.”

They all turned to Tachanka who was being rather quiet. Which was a little unusual for the man.

“What about you?” asked Skylar

He leaned forward, placing both of his arms on the table and sighed. “I don’t know yet, I might stay on base, might go back to Saint Petersburg.”

She nodded her head. “Yeah I don’t know if I’m going back to Bangor or staying here. I don’t really want to fly for eight hours.”

“Won’t your family miss you?” asked Glaz

Skylar quickly downed the shot that was still in her glass and sighed. “Yes, but they’ll understand. And I can always go back for my birthday, when the airports won’t be busy with all the people traveling for the holiday’s.”

They all nodded in agreement. No one liked travelling, let alone during the holidays when the airport is packed with a bunch of people, crying kids and chaos. Even though their lives may be chaos from time to time, an airport during the holiday season was worse.

“Makes sense.” Kapkan grabbed the bottle pouring himself another glass. “I’m looking forward to getting off base for a few weeks, disappear into the woods for a while. Where it’s peaceful and quiet.”

“Honestly, that sounds really nice.” Skylar gave him a small smile than looked over at Glaz. “Don’t you live in a port town?”

“Da, I do. Lots of boats and fishermen.”

“Ooo, do you fish?” asked Skylar with a smile on her face. “I do sometimes with my dad.”

Glaz’s face lit up and he sat up a bit straighter. “I do a little bit. I’m really good at a fisherman’s knot.”

Kapkan scoffed and set the bottle back down on the table. “You do it wrong Timur. How many times have I told you that.”

“I do not do it wrong Maxim. I was taught by an actual fisherman, you learned from a book.” Glaz retorted back.

“Timur I was deployed to the Barents Sea, I didn’t learn from a book.”

As Kapkan and Glaz started to argue over the correct way on how to make a fisherman's knot Tachanka tapped Skylar’s shoulder and motioned for her to follow him.

He got up from his seat as did she and followed him out of the room and down the small hallway to the door leading outside. She looked up at him with a raised brow and amusement etched on her face.

“We’re going outside?”

“Da. I thought it would do us some good to get some fresh air and away from everyone.”

She nodded her head in agreement. “No argument there.”

Tachanka chuckled and opened the door for her. She gave him a smile as she walked past him, feeling the cool evening air on her body. Then she noticed it was snowing, it was hard to see outside from the mess-hall the party was in because of the glare from the lights.

He let the door shut on it’s own and started to walk over to her, that’s when he noticed the smile on her face. “You like the snow?”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the beam of the awning, watching the snowfall down to the ground. “I do actually, I think it looks pretty.”

He stood beside her, crossing his own arms and hummed. “It does look pretty. I can name prettier.”

Skylar turned her head towards him, seeing him look out across the yard. “Can you now? What’s more prettier in Lord Tachanka’s eyes.”

Tachanka turned his head back to her, narrowing his eyes for a brief second and then chuckled. “My LMG.”

The smile that graced her face made his heart skip a beat, but her laugh, her laugh was one of the things that could melt his heart into a puddle. And for someone as blunt as he is, he couldn’t find it in him to say, he found her more prettier than the snow. So he went for the obvious instead.

“Of course, I should’ve known.” She chuckled and looked back out to watch the snow fall. “You do seem to love that thing quite a bit.”

“It’s the first Degtyaryov I received, it’s gone through countless updates, made by me and has saved my life and others more times than I can count.”

“Good point.” She looked over at him and sighed. “I know you don’t like people touching it, but would you ever let someone, you really trust to hold it?”

He turned to her with an amused look on his face. “Skylar! Do you want to hold my Degtyaryov?”

“No!” She chuckled. “I was just wondering if you would let anyone hold it. Besides I don’t even think I could lift it.”

He didn’t truly believe her that she didn’t want to hold it, why else would she have asked almost coily? “If someone comes around that I trust enough with it, I’ll let them. It’s not that heavy milaya, I’m sure you could pick it up with ease.”

“Yes mister I’m built like a tank.” She laughed. “I wonder who that person will be.”

“I am not built like a tank.” He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe I haven’t met the person yet.”

Skylar laughed again and looked back out onto the yard. Christmas was right around the corner and she has no clue what she was doing. She didn’t want to take that eight hour flight back to Maine in a cramped and grounded plane, but she knew her parents’ might get upset that she’s staying on base for the holidays when they’re so excited to see her.

“Or maybe you have and you just haven’t realized it yet.”

“Maybe.” He looked back over at her, taking in her beauty from the nearby light. “How’s training with Kapkan? He’s mentioned he took you under his wing.”

“It’s going good.” She turned to him with a small smile on her face. “I’m learning a lot from him.”

“That’s good, you don’t think he’s too intense? A lot of people he trains say he is.”

“I went through the hardest basic training in the US, I can handle Kapkan.”

He watched as her eyes glimmered, tugging at his heart. He loved how she could come off as innocent, like she didn’t know the harsh’s of war or what it can do to people. It seemed like she was plucked from the streets and placed inside Rainbow. Still, he wasn’t that stupid, he’s been in the military long enough to know it was a facade and that she’s seen the worse of the worse. The huge scar on her neck and collarbone tells the truth.

“Point taken.”

She snorted, then pushed herself off of the post and walked out into the snow. The snow crunched under her boot with every step, and then an idea popped into her head. She glanced back at Tachanka who happen to be looking down at his phone, with a smirk on her face she leaned down and grabbed some snow, packing it in her hands to form a snowball.

“Hey?”

As soon as he looked up she threw it at him, hitting him right in the chest. He looked down at the spot where it hit then back to her. That’s when she saw that devious smirk spread across his face. He placed his phone back in his pocket and took a step forward, leaning down to pick up some snow to make his own snowball.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s not nice to throw things at people?” He chuckled as he launched the snowball at her, only to have her move to the side before it could hit her in the chest.

She laughed and leaned down again to make another snowball. “And didn’t your mama teach you the same thing?”

She threw the snowball in his direction seeing him dodge it this time. She pouted her bottom lip as she watched him walk closer to her with another snowball in hand.

With a smirk on her face she began to back up, keeping her distance. Skylar knew he was taunting her by slowly walking towards her when he could easily take a few steps forward and get her.  

As Tachanka slowly walked towards her, tossing the snowball in the air and back down to his hand, he looked at her with a devious look in his eyes and a smirk on his face. That sent a shiver down her spine. “Why are you walking away Skylar? Afraid you’ll get hit with a snowball too?”

“Nonsense. I’m not afraid of a little snow.” She slowed down her pace a little, glancing at the snowball in his hand. “I just don’t trust that mischievous look on your face Alex.”

“What mischievous look, kotyonok?”

Skylar to another step back, unfortunately hitting an icy spot and fell backwards. Tachanka dropped the snowball and reached out to grab. Only to miss and fall forward, landing on top of her.

Luckily he didn’t land his full weight on her, keeping it on his arms instead. He looked down at her laughing, eyes crinkling at the side.

“I can’t believe we fell.”

“Well, we sure did. I’m just happy I didn’t land on you fully.”

Her laughing died down and they locked eyes. Tachanka brought his hand up, moving some strands of brown chestnut hair out of her face.

She gulped, feeling her heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his blue eyes, not knowing if she should ask him to move off of her or to stay where she was. Something about having him on top of her was turning her on and she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him.

Tachanka inhaled a breath, slowly moving his face closer to hers until their lips met in a firm, yet sensual kiss.

Skylar hummed into it, bringing her hand up to cup the side of his face. A brief moment later he pulled away, looking down at her with a smile on his face.

She mirrored his smile and giggled. “Was that the real reason we were out here Alex?”

“More or less.” He chuckled.

He got off her and up onto his feet, then offered her his hand. She smiled up at him and took it. After he lifted her back up on her feet she brushed off any snow that was on her pants and shirt.

“More or less huh?”

A small smile spread across his face and he shook his head, then cupped her face in his hands. “Why don’t we head back inside kotyonok? Grab the extra bottle of vodka and continue this in my room?”

“I think I would like that!”

“Good!”

He leaned down giving her another kiss before letting go of her face to grab her hand, leading her back into the building. Skylar smiled to herself, wondering what this night was about to bring.

[kanrakixystix]

Ooo, this sounds fun. Characters 7 & 14 and prompt 45. :D

Lol so I didn’t know what the hell to do with this, so it turned into a Corqi thing featuring Regis, LMAO! I had to stop myself from making it too long. 

Also tagging @agi92 and @birdsandivory

Loqi + Regis = “Do you trust me?”

Word count: 1099

Loqi should have known better, in all honestly. And he did.He did know better, and he chose to ignore the signs in favor of his own stupidpride. For just an inkling, he thought he had gotten lucky, that the guards thatwere normally stationed around the corner from the main hall just so happenedto no be there tonight when they had religiously been there for several nightsin a row. He thought that maybe there had been some misinformation, and theyhad switched up their routine for one reason or another. That would have beeneasy, though, and he should have known better. 

He had tiptoed in stealth to the elevators without beingseen and swiped the necessary keycard to get to his ultimate destination: the Marshal’soffice. The ride was painstakingly slow, and it gave Loqi more than ample timeto think about what could happen during their meeting. Would they fight, asthey often did? Would they forgo the talking and skip right to the fun parts? Adozen different scenarios presented themselves, and yet not once did theGeneral consider that the missing guards were a rouse.

As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Loqi was metnot by the man he was there to actually see. No, because again, that would betoo easy. Hell, even if he had been met with a number Citadel lurkers, it wouldhave been better than the face that greeted him outside the elevator. Thoughthe had never met the man up close, he knew his face – everyone did. It was old,wrinkled beyond his years, and sternly looking him up and down as he leaned onhis cane. Loqi backed away on instinct and immediately met resistance in thewall behind him. There was nowhere to go but out, unless he wanted to stay inthe elevator, but that wouldn’t serve any purpose. Essentially, he was trapped.

“Ah, Brigadier General Tummelt. What brings you here thisglorious night?” King Regis Lucis Caelum asked, beaming at him. Loqi narrowedhis eyes as the old man stepped aside, expecting Loqi to leave. And really,what choice did he have but to comply? Slowly, he stepped out, not once takinghis off of the enemy king. Oh, was he in trouble in time. He had been socareless, so foolishly trusting and –

“Do you trust me?”

Loqi openly gawked. He felt himself blink, he thought, butno amount of adjusting his vision would make him see or understand things anyclearer. Regis stood, grinning unwavering, and old eyes kind as they seemed tohold their own smile. The General briefly wondered if he had fallen asleepwaiting for the right time to drop in on the Marshal, but the little voice inthe back of his mind and the panic that bubbled in the pit of his stomachassured him that he was not, in fact, dreaming.

Ever so eloquently, Loqi responded.

“…What?”

“Do you trust me?” Regis repeated, and Loqi opened andclosed his mouth like a fish gasping for air. How in the world was he supposedto respond to that?! Of course he didn’t! He was the enemy! He would end himand his little kingdom in the name of the Niflhiem Empire! Baffled, Loqistarted to shake his head.

“I must warn you, General, that if you fail to answercorrectly, you can kiss your chances to sneaking into the Citadel to see Corgoodbye, as you’ll have a permanent residence in our luxurious dungeon.” Regiseyed him, judging, calculating, and still managing to smile like he didn’t justthreaten him. What the hell kind of man was the Lucian king if he could takeaway the words of a normally boisterous general?

It was then that Loqi heard the footsteps clamoring down thehallway, and he had just enough time to realize the position he was in. If theyturned the corner to see Loqi, General of the Niflheim army, with their king,they would surely think ill of the situation. Once again Loqi’s hand wasforced.

Gritting his teeth with a scoff, he nodded. This waspathetic.

“Very good,” Regis cheered, though for looking, it felt morelike berating. “Now, you’ll want to take the hallway behind you and take yournext right, then the third left.” Scowling, Loqi narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

Regis chuckled, and as he did the footfalls drew closer.

“Let’s just say, I am indebted to the Marshal. Now, go.”

There were still things he wanted to ask the king, and as heretreated down the hall, Loqi realized he might never actually get the answers.Not unless he wanted to admit to Cor that he had been caught. Nope. Never in amillion years. He’d rather die. Without so much as a wave or glance over hisshoulder, he veered right, as instructed, then took the third left. Herecognized this hallway, but he had only ever seen it in passing, and stoppedin front of the only set of doors in the corridor.

Should he knock? He didn’t want to simply barge into a roomthat he didn’t know the layout of, or even what its purpose was. Luckily, hedidn’t have to wait for an answer.

“What are you doing here?” Cor’s voice came from behind him,and Loqi tried to pretend he didn’t nearly jump out of his skin. Stupid sneakyMarshal.

“I…thought I’d try a new route,” he lied, but Cor seemed tobuy it all the same. “How did you find me? This isn’t our usual spot.”

“I had a hunch,” Cor also lied, but Loqi didn’t question it.There seemed to be a great many things he would have to let slide, for now. “Anyreason you picked the ballroom?”

Loqi paled. Of all the places, he had to meet Cor outsidethe ballroom, a room stereotypically known in fairy tales of romance and secretrendezvous. This was completely embarrassing, and he had no escape from it, ahabit that was getting tired very quickly this evening. He had to think fast.

“To dance, you idiot. Why else would anyone go to aballroom?”

…smooth, Loqi.

Cor chuckled, and Loqi was loathe to admit that he wasrather fond of the sound, among other things, such as the way Cor licked hislips and cupped his chin, drawing him closer. Loqi quickly decided, as Corswiftly brushed their lips together, that maybe it wasn’t a bad excuse. Poorlyexecuted, but maybe not bad.

“Then let’s dance.”

Send me two numbers 1-15 and another number 1-195 and I’ll write you a drabble.

FFXV Fic Roulette Master Post

Like what you read? Buy me a coffee!

[ammeh7]

7KPP week - Day 7 (Winter) - NSFW version

So I apparently lied when I said I was only writing for one day of 7KPP week. I blame all you amazing Adorable Army creators for showering my brain in 7KPP inspiration and tempting me away from the fic I was trying to finish. XD

This is for the “winter” prompt–but it’s really more “the rainy season,” because Shahira running out and dancing in her first Hisean rainstorm is something that’s been kicking around in my head for ages.

When I started writing it I was fully intending for the fic to be entirely SFW…but then my brain was like “Okay but seriously, look at the scenario you’re putting them in, do you actually think this would end without anyone getting frisky?” and I was like “Okay brain that’s a fair point.” 

If you prefer your fic SFW, there’s a version here with the frisky bits mostly removed. Otherwise, here’s the full uncensored version.

Shahira had, in the long days of speculation before departing for the Summit, wondered if she might return to somewhere where the leaves bloomed red and gold in autumn, where flakes of ice fell from the sky in winter. At the dinner to see them off, she’d cupped her hand around the tiny bowl of kulfi, a rare treat, and wondered what it would feel like to step outside and have that chill envelop her whole body.

Instead, she ended up in Hise, where it’s green year-round, where the heat doesn’t quite reach the street-sizzling levels of Corvali summers but comes paired with a muggy humidity that presses in on all sides and manages to make it feel even more oppressive.

And where she’s free to do whatever she wants.

In some cases, though, what she wants to do is precisely what she was doing before. She’s hardly about to let her sterling reputation as a party-planner go to seed merely because she’s moved to a country with no courtly culture, for example. So here she is in a side room of her new father-in-law’s office, huddled over a menu with a no-nonsense chef who once served Revairan nobility, planning a welcome dinner for the group of Corvali ambassadors arriving to next week to hash out all manner of negotiations on matters that were that were too trivial to quibble over during the Summit. The chef hadn’t offered her name, and Shahira hasn’t asked, just in case she was supposed to have known already. She’ll figure it out after the woman leaves. She knows she’s probably being silly, projecting inner court machinations onto a guileless interaction, but some habits are hard to shake.

“This menu will make them feel at home, for certain,” Shahira muses, trailing her finger down a list of hors d’oeuvres, “but you don’t want them to feel like they’re at home. That will just invite comparison, and you don’t want to end up in a Corvali cuisine competition against a Corvali noble’s mental ideal of Corvali food. You’d be setting yourself up to lose. No, you want them to feel like they’re in Hise.”

The woman snorts. “I’ve tried serving Hisean food to foreign dignitaries. A lot of them stare at their plates like I dumped a live crab and a rock on there and told them to figure it out.”

“There was a dressmaker who visited Corval court every few years,” Shahira begins, “whose gowns always had a selection of features perfectly calculated to make the ladies of Corval go ‘Ooo, so Wellish!’ and the ladies of Wellin go ‘Ooo, so Corvali!’ He travelled back and forth between the two countries, selling gowns faster than he could make them, because they were so exotic. You want your menu to be those gowns.”

The chef narrow her eyes. “Gowns, huh?”

Shahira nods, and continues her story. “Eventually word of those gowns’ popularity got out to a proper Wellish dressmaker, who sent an assistant with a selection of his wares all the way to Corval court, hoping to make a fortune—and after a month, his assistant had to pack every last gown back up for the trip home, because not a single lady of the inner court wanted one of those odd-looking bulky things. The key is to offer something that’s familiar enough to be comfortable, but foreign enough to feel exotic.”

“I think I could make that work.” The woman purses her lips in thought as she scans back over the menu. “Sounds fun, actually.”

Whatever else she might have been going to add is cut off when Hamin bursts into the room, giving the two of them a jaunty wave as he swipes one of the dessert samples from the plate in front of them. “You might want to head home, Norna,” he says when he’s done chewing. “Big storm coming in an hour or so.”

She nods, gathering up her papers and heading out the door with a quick promise to check in the next day once she’s had time to put some ideas together.

Shahira grabs another one of the samples herself, absently takes a demure bite. She has got to get this Norna to teach her how to cook.

“And here I thought I was making progress on training you out of your court table manners,” Hamin sighs, shaking his head exaggeratedly. “That is, at best, a two-bite pastry.”

Shahira blinks down at the dainty in her hand, still mostly whole with a nibble off of one end, and shoves the rest of it in her mouth in one go. Her cheeks puff out like a ground squirrel and she has to fight to keep any of it from spilling out as she struggles not to laugh, but it’s worth it for Hamin’s face.

“I was serious about the rain,” he says, chuckling, once she’s finally managed to swallow it down. “We should probably head home too.” He grins like a giddy child over the word “home”—it’s barely been a week yet that that’s been the same place for both of them.  

“Do we have to go hole up inside?” she asks, even as she stands and brushes off her skirts. “I haven’t seen a proper Hisean rainstorm, yet.” People had told her she’d arrived towards the end of the dry season—which was hardly dry compared to Corval, but all the rain so far had been in the middle of the night, or come and gone so fast that it had already tapered off by the time she’d ended her conversation and gotten to a window.

Hamin frowns thoughtfully. “It can be pretty dangerous to be outside during one, Glitter. The winds can be fierce, and sometimes trees get knocked over. It’s not safe to be standing under them.” He strokes his chin, considering, and finally grins. “If you are set on experiencing a Hisean storm out in the open, I think I know just the place, though.”

To her inexperienced eye, the skies look clear when they step outside—but as Hamin leads her through the town and down a footpath into the forest, he points out the signs on the horizon, the slight change in the air.

“You are sure about this, right?” He asks as they walk. “Once the storm starts, we won’t really be able to turn around and head back home until it’s over.”

Shahira nods. “We didn’t see much rain in Corval, believe it or not. I want a chance to properly marvel at it before I become jaded and desensitized like all you strange folk who grew up with ‘rainy seasons.’”

Thinking back on it, she’s been waiting for that chance for years. One wall of the Imperial palace had looked out onto a bustling market. There were plenty of windows where a lady of the court might look down and watch the activity below, posh merchants bartering with wealthy clients over silks and jewelry and perfumed oils. There was one particular window, though—in an area of the palace where Shahira was not, strictly speaking, supposed to be—that was perfectly situated to offer a glimpse of the true heart of the market in the distance, where harried mothers and brassy housekeepers haggled fiercely with plainly-attired but shrewd merchants over things like fish and soap and lamp oil.  

Shahira had been peeping out that window between teas one day when the first rain in several months rolled over the city, covering the market in a sudden downpour. She’d watched the farmers who’d ridden from miles outside the city to peddle fruits and vegetables from a worn blanket tear off the scarves they’d been wearing to shield their heads from the sun, tilt their laughing faces to the sky and dance in the street with competitors they’d been trying to out-shout moments earlier, celebrating the simple miracle of rain.

She’d never wished so badly to be part of the world she could see outside her window.

 Hamin leads them through the forest for quite a ways, down a well-hidden footpath and then along the edge of the stream it leads into. The stream starts to follow the edge of a cliff, and eventually widens into a shallow pool, shielded on three sides by the cliff face, with a waterfall tumbling over the far edge. Along one side the cliff curves inward, creating a slight natural shelter over some mossy boulders.

“It looks like something out of a painting,” she marvels, hitching up her skirt and splashing over to inspect some pink and orange flowers growing out of a crevice in the cliffs.

Hamin grins. “Thought you’d like it.”

In the time they’ve been walking, the sky has started to darken, and by the time Shahira has explored every corner of the pool, there are black clouds overhead, sounds of wind shaking the trees in the distance.

Hamin strips off his vest and sets it on one of the boulders under where the stone creates an overhang. “I figure we don’t want to walk back in wet clothes,” he says, untying the scarf that he uses as a belt and tossing it over to join his vest. “So you should probably get naked.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“It’s good to know you’re always looking out for my best interests,” she chuckles, pulling off the loose open vest she’s been wearing over the strip of cloth crossed over her breasts. (All the exposed stomachs in Hisean attire make a great deal of sense now that she’s experienced how the humidity here makes fabric cling suffocatingly to the skin.)

She pulls off her skirt next—an airy orange fabric covered in silver embroidery dotted with chips of turquoise and flat mirror-like disks of silver. It’s one of the things she brought from Corval, taken up a few inches to end at the ankle instead of the floor but otherwise left alone. Under it, she has a plain white underskirt that falls a little past her knees to protect the fabric from sweat and oil.

She pauses a moment to forcibly remind the part of her brain devoted to guarding her reputation that she’s married, and in Hise where getting caught carousing in public would result in a few weeks of good-natured ribbing rather than a lifetime scandal. She’s distracted, though, by a rumble of thunder in the distance, and blinks in startlement as a fat drop of water plops down on the bridge of her nose.

Another two fall on her head and shoulder in rapid succession, and she holds out her hand to catch one—but she barely has time to examine the size of that lone drop before they’re swarming, the bead of water in her hand quickly swallowed into a puddle. She throws her arms out and tilts her face to the sky, twirls around in amazed delight.

“It’s raining!” she exclaims.

“I’m guessing this is a Corval thing?” Hamin calls back over the drone of rain hitting the pool and the surprisingly loud sound of trees shaking in the wind. “We should kidnap more of you, if all of you are this cute when you see rain.”

“Don’t you dare ruin my treaty right after I’ve managed to wrangle our countries into an accord, Hamin of Hise,” she threatens, laughing, then grabs his hand and pulls him into a wild dance, jumping in joyous circles like the farmers she’d watched in the street so many years ago.

It doesn’t take long before she’s soaking, hair plastered to her face and back, underskirt clinging to her thighs, no longer sure where she’s wet from the rain and what’s been splashed up by their dancing.

Hamin picks her up by the waist and lifts her. He grins up at her, blinking the water out of his (still) startlingly green eyes, and spins them around in a circle.

Her body slides against his front as he sets her down, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, tangling her fingers in his wet braids.

“You know, you never did finish getting naked,” he husks into her ear when they finally part.

“Good point,” she says, looking down at the sopping fabric clinging to her body. “I’d hate for my clothes to get wet.”

She unwraps the cloth crossed over her breasts, wiggles out of the underskirt stuck to her skin. They can’t actually get much wetter, but she listens to the little voice in her head that manages to simultaneously sound like a bit like every ladies’ maid she’s ever had, and brings them over to the boulder with the rest of her clothes rather than just dropping them into the pool.

When she looks back up, Hamin has shed his pants and is watching her with an exaggerated leer, his prick fattened with interest but still hanging heavy between his legs. He tugs her close and slots her back against his front, slides his hand up her stomach towards her chest, only to hook his finger into the chain of her necklace and tug it up for inspection. Not quite what she was expecting.

“You know, when you showed up to the Matchmaker’s banquet wearing this, I didn’t think it was possible for it to look any better,” he says, letting the gold coin fall back down between her breasts. “But I think I like it even better like this.”

“All that time I spent trying to look nice for you at the Summit, and now I find out you would have just preferred me naked,” she sighs in mock affront, rolling her hips back against his groin.

“Naked and wearing my presents. It’s an important distinction!” He thrusts forward into her movements, his prick nestling between the cheeks of her rear, sliding through the rainwater on her skin.

She’s soaking in yet another sense of the word by the time his hand finds its way between her legs, two fingers pressing inside her while the base of his palm grinds up against her clit. Torn between pushing forward into his hand and backward against his cock, she clenches around the fingers inside her, groans when they press hard into the new, inner sensitive spot that she’s just recently discovered. She’d only known she had the one down there.

She rocks back against him as he strokes her inner walls, the air around them still teeming with rain. Her nipples are already long pebbled up from the chill when he cups her chest with his other hand and rolls one between his fingers. She digs her nails into his thigh, keens without meaning to as the movement of his hand picks up.

He thrusts against her rear in little aborted pushes, the water not slick enough for their bodies to slide together as easily as could be desired, but the groan in her ear is far from a frustrated one. It shouldn’t be as good as it is, but the open air, the thrum of rain splashing onto their skin, is thrilling in a way that soon has her gasping into the soaked air, knees trembling with the effort of continuing to stand.

Before the rain can wash her slick from his hand Hamin grabs his cock and gives it a few frantic pumps, his teeth muffling a shout into her shoulder as his seed splashes hot onto her back between the cool raindrops. (It’s funny…she’d come into this expecting him to be loud, based on her admittedly gossip-based knowledge of how people behave in bed—and he’s certainly vocal, but years of sharing quarters on a ship mean his first instinct is always to muffle it.)

She turns around and kisses him, reaching behind herself to assist the rain in washing her skin clean—and frowns in confusion as rather than washing away like liquid, his seed sort of—rolls into a rubbery little ball under her fingers. She picks it up and brings it around for inspection, staring in bemusement. “What kind of bizarre liquid turns solid when it comes into contact with water?”

Hamin laughs at her baffled expression. “The kind that comes out of pricks, Glitter,” he says rhetorically, kissing the confused frown off her face as the rain starts to lighten around them.

Once it’s stopped entirely, they wring the worst of the rain from their clothes. Hamin laughs again at her disgusted face when she pulls on her damp underskirt. “You’ve never worn wet clothes before, have you?”

“Historically my clothes and I have seldom had opportunities to get soaked in water unless one of us is bathing,” she replies. “I’m grateful to have the opportunity.” She tugs at the underskirt sticking to her leg and wrinkles her nose. “Less so for the wet clothes.”

“I’d happily take something like that over wet pants.” He points at the way his pants are clinging to his inner thighs. “Less chafing.”

She looks at her embroidered skirt, considering. “I do have one to spare, if you’re interested.”

--

Hamin’s second mate is just walking away from the porch when they get back home—clothes rumpled, hair in damp disarray, and Hamin resplendent in an orange skirt embellished with turquoise.

It says something about Hise, or perhaps his relationship with Hamin, that after a brief double-take he just falls in step with a grin and starts talking their ears off.

Humidity or no, she thinks she’ll like it here.

(If you noticed that Shahira uses weird terms to describe the fact that it’s raining--that’s not me trying to be poetic, it’s intended to be a joke about the fact that she hasn’t had enough exposure to rain to drill the phrases stereotypically used to describe it into her subconscious.

The idea of the palace having windows from which ladies of the inner court could observe part of the market is based on the Hawa Mahal.)