#7kppnsfw

[leahazel]

D&F update

Uhhh... Guess who finally up and posted the second half of Insolent? Reader beware: the second half is the dirty part, and also all the standard warnings for Decline and Fall apply, namely that it’s an unhealthy relationship rife with emotional manipulation.

[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.)

[7kppafterdark]

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[ellebeebee]

Day 4 -- Present

Tagged nsfw again, and again no smut!  Lol, sorry, but this time the tag is for implied sexy times.  

364 words, Woodly/non-specific MC (I started this with a nameless Widow in mind, but I think it ended up being applicable to any MC), teen rating by AO3 standards

She liked Avalie.  Really, she did.  Their growing mutual respect for one another, even (dare she say it) their mutually growing feelings of friendship, were increasingly profound sources of delightful challenge, amusement, and pride for her.

But she could not always be like Avalie (or even like Lisle or Gisette or half a dozen others): have a perpetual will of steel and never slip up.  She was a creature of comfort and the constant tightwire act of verbal sparring wore on her.  The political duels here were vital, yes, of course, but she had weaknesses that she had to nurse or else lose her head completely.  It had been easier at home.  Not that surveillance did not loom in the back of everyone’s minds there as well, but somehow there was always more time, more options.  Not here on this claustrophobic little pressure cooker of an island.

That is why she found it so easy to let the Grand Duke lead her around in his little rendezvous with his secretive little codes.  But she did get impatient with him sometimes.  Like right now, when he was trying to feed her all these suave lines about how she had yet again delighted him, pirouetting through his window like that.

She pushed on his chest, following him to the settee.

“You talk too much,” she said quietly and knew he saw what she meant in the set of her gaze.

As she captured him, climbed with him into the plush depths of that settee, she took his mouth and all that she needed from it.  She didn’t need her ego stroked or the thrill of the hunt right now.  She didn’t need her sad little past with its humiliations and weepy trials and her little dutiful daughter’s sacrifice.  She didn’t need her future, with its fragile vapors of promise, its demands for more lies, more sacrifice, and more conniving bull.

She needed his hands sliding her skirts up, the mind-numbing stretch of time and the hiss of silk as she unlaced her dress for him, and the deafening pops as the corset’s pearl buttons were forced from their silken loops.

She needed this, the here and now, until her head could hold nothing else.  Only the present.

[leahazel]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Arland Princess/King of Revaire, King of Revaire/Queen of Revaire, Arland Princess & Gisette Characters: Arland Princess (Seven Kingdoms), King of Revaire (Seven Kingdoms), Queen of Revaire (Seven Kingdoms), Gisette (Seven Kingdoms), Original Characters Additional Tags: Dysfunctional Relationships, Infidelity, Mind Games, Fashion & Couture, Birthday Party, Poor Life Choices, smart girls making dumb decisions Summary:

All the world knew that the King of Revaire always did as he liked, except on the Queen's birthday.

[7kppafterdark]

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[7kppafterdark]

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[leahazel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hamin/Jiyel Scholar Characters: Jiyel Scholar (Seven Kingdoms), Hamin (Seven Kingdoms) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Skinny Dipping, Vail Isle, Flirting, Teasing Summary:

Yaling has some reasonable concerns about her future in Hise.

[7kppafterdark]

Prompt: skinnydipping

[faejilly]

NSFW 7K prompt - LIs going down on the MC for the first time?

LIs nonny? I’m afraid I’ve just got one this time, but maybe I’ll manage another one later ... Alessandra of Corval / Grand Duke Woodly of Wellin

When he’d kissed her in the darkness under the stars, she’d felt the shiver all the way down her spine. When he’d slipped behind her, one brief brush of lips against the back of her neck before she’d had to step out into the hallway, she’d felt the heat curl in her throat, her chest. When he’d bowed and kissed her hand, that teasing glint in his eyes, she’d felt the tug of anticipation.

She had reason to adore the feel of the lips before now, but now, now, her legs spread and her skirt pushed up, his breath on her thigh, she was afraid she’d passed adoration, passed sense, passed control, the one thing they both admired most of all.

As his tongue slipped inside her, her hips tilted, pressing against his mouth, and she could not stop the sound she made, a low desperate half a groan. He hummed, and she closed her eyes, fingers curling into the arms of her chair, she felt the whimper in her chest as she breathed in, and as his lips moved up, a kiss right where her body most ached, she knew she would give him this control over her again, again, any time he asked, any time he wanted, that this was a loss she would crave.

“Softer,” he whispered into her body, and she let her mouth open, greedy gasps of air, uneven but quiet, so quiet, despite the pressure building in her throat, between her legs, deeper and tighter and simmering, and he was still humming, still licking, still kissing, and she couldn’t breathe, jagged and aching, each shift of her body too sudden and ungraceful to hide her need, pain as her body shuddered and he just, kept going.

“Please,” she begged, she thrashed, felt the ache in her thighs, her hips, the weight of her breasts, the curl of her toes as she tried not to cry out loud. He chuckled, and she bit her lip, hard enough she felt the skin break, tasted blood, and he leaned in, pressure and pleasure, and she swallowed her scream, harder, sharper, light and heat and pleasure, her back arcing and her body his, his, she didn’t care about her soon to be husband, or his not so distant wife, she’d always be his, body and mind, the only man who’d ever kept up with her, who’d ever pushed her further than she thought she could go. 

She shuddered as he pulled away, felt his hands give her skirt a tug to pull it back into place, and then he was kissing her mouth, her own slick warm between their lips. 

She reached up, tugged his hair, short and sharp enough to feel the gasp as his lips parted. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Whatever my lady desires,” her murmured, a hint of sincerity shivering between them. He kissed her again, the barest edge of teeth around her bottom lip before he pulled away.

[ellebeebee]

Day 2 -- Sacrifice

I’ve tagged this nsfw, but only for implied nudity.  It’s not smut at all (sorry if you got excited lol).  I’m just trying to be careful.

Zarad and Sabine have a discussion about scars.

670 words, Zarad/Widow, teen rating at most going by AO3

It wasn’t the fullness of the dark or the salt-leaden chill of the little hideaway carved into monumental red rock on the Corvali coast -- it was each other, the draw of  the one beside them that pressed them close and dear.

She ran a finger over the planes of his body, over the pectorals and the ribs and the tenderness in his side.  She watched the lift and descent of his chest, the cycle of his lungs and his heart, quiet now that it was dark and they were alone.  She loved that little motion, a necessary rhythm.  Almost too small a thing to be called a motion, but still.  She hadn’t known before that you could love a thing like that so much.

The tracing of her finger met a roughness.

“This one?” she asked.

“A tempestuous yet extremely lovely Hisean captain thought it presumptuous of me to try to pay her ‘safe passage’ fees with flattery rather than financial gain,”  Zarad murmured.

She laughed, low and soft. “You do realize that it is a misconception to think everyone will be satisfied with promises of the moon and the stars.”

His own fingers found her shoulder and trailed lightly up her neck.

“I don’t know,” he said playfully. “Someone was certainly convinced.”

She ignored this.  Her fingers curled against his ribs and wriggled underneath his back to seek out another line of ropey scar tissue.

“This one?”

“One of the oldest.  When I was young and inept-- I know, hard to imagine-- My inadequacy of eloquence prevented me from clearing up a misunderstanding with a gentleman over his fiancée.  He was looking for my brother, but my brother was strangely absent.”

Her exploring fingers stopped.  She stretched up to look him in the eye.

“Zarad.”

He smiled at her, his gaze warm and golden.  Sighing, she reached up to curl a tendril of his loose hair around her fingers.  It was one of her favorite things to pretend to complain about: his ridiculously luxurious hair and how it took forever to fix and how it nearly occupied its own side of the bed.  Maybe one day she’d tell him how much she really loved it, how its smell spoke to her of him and made her feel safe.

His hands ran up and down her arms.

“I see you don’t have any scars,” he said lightly.

“And you’ve seen everything, have you?”

“Haven’t I?” he asked, his voice low and a smirk dancing in his eyes.

She slapped his chest without force.  Shifting, she pulled up to rest on her elbows and reveal her palms to him, letting them hover inches in front of his face.

“This,” she said as she touched the gap between thumb and pointer on the left hand, “was where I tried to grab a hot clothes iron without a cloth or glove on the handle.  This is where I nearly lost a pinkie while chopping wild carrots.  Here were chilblains from washing linens in the creek in midwinter.  And right there were cracks from my skin drying out from so much lye soap.  There was a time when we couldn’t even afford a washing woman.”

He considered her.  Then he took her hands in each of his, thoughtfully running his thumbs over them.

“But they wouldn’t catch on the finest silk now,” he said.

“Revairan cosmetics are the best in the world.  You know, I wore gloves my first season at court.  All the time.  I was embarrassed and afraid.  But I look back and think maybe I should have kept my peasant hands.  If I wasn’t going to be the one to feed and clothe and bathe my siblings, then who was?  It’s always been like that.”

He brought her hands closer, and she followed, cupping his cheeks with fine fingers.  Leaning into her touch, he brought his lips to gently press against a palm.  He held that kiss there for a long moment.

“I’m here now.  You are not alone.”

“I know.  Neither are you.”

[7kppafterdark]

Prompt: fertility ritual

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[7kppafterdark]

Random Prompt Challenge! 

Two characters and a prompt. Some prompts are NSFW. Others can be made NSFW by the power of imagination. 

[7kppafterdark]

Prompt: costumes and masks

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[7kppafterdark]

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