@fictober-event 2021 | Fandom: The Blacklist - Lizzington
Day 23: "This time, do what I say." | Rating: T | Warnings: they're naked in bed 👀
Red's phone buzzed where it sat on the nightstand. He and Lizzie both looked at it, from where they lay together in bed.
"Don't even think about answering that," Lizzie warned, moving a hand from where it currently rested on his chest a fraction of a measure lower.
Red swallowed.
"It looks like it's Harold. It's probably about the case."
Lizzie moved her hand even lower, slinging a leg around his and pulling him closer.
"Doesn't matter. Cooper can wait."
Red allowed himself to forget about the case for a few moments, losing himself in the delightful feeling of Lizzie's limbs entwined with his, and her hands-
The phone buzzed again. If it were possible to buzz insistently, it did so.
Red's eyes went back to the nightstand.
"He'll probably keep calling-"
"He'll leave a voicemail," Lizzie said, and, "if he knows what's good for him," she muttered rather threateningly.
She kissed him again, moving her body until it was atop his, and he decided that he'd happily remain here for the rest of time, if only-
The third time the phone buzzed, Lizzie all but leapt over to it, picking it up and chucking it towards the closet door, where it fell with a thump, and remained silent.
She returned to her previous position, perched atop Red's body, and smiled slowly.
"Now then. Let's continue where we left off, and this time, do what I say..."
Twelve Nights - Chapter 10: Board Game Night
Pairing: Pavellan, background Sera/Dagna
Summary: BusinessMan McMoneybanks Dorian Pavus meets LocalArtist Outdoorsyguy Taren Lavellan whilst on a trip to a Fancy Ski Resort In The Mountains with his Terrible Family, and learns the True Meaning of The Holidays (it's love).
Chapter Summary: Dorian is further invited into Taren’s life over board games and pizza, and everything becomes a bit more real. (aka: I lean into the found family trope so hard I make myself cry)
Chapter snippet (taking this one from the end of the chapter actually, because I’m just really happy with this scene. So uh spoilers for how this chapter ends I guess.)
Rated M
From the top
--
Then, they moved inside, and Dorian very quickly made good on his promise to tear away all of Taren’s mismatched and paint splattered clothes. From the moment their boots were kicked onto the mat, each seemed unable to keep their hands away from the other or their mouths apart. They fell directly into Taren’s bed without pause, coats and boots and scarves left strewn on the floor all the way down the hall. But things moved slower, too, than they had yet before. Taren felt his every touch lingering, fingers dragging on skin laced through with those magnets that wouldn’t let him go, kisses deep and desperately afraid of release.
Dorian’s tongue tied his in knots, his breath misted in gasps and moans, words whispered against lips, against clavicles, against hips. Taren felt every word shudder through him; the way he said yes, the way he moaned more. But every slow touch was agonizing and aching and pulled through with an undercurrent of unhappy, unspoken fear that it could ever end. They talked more; if the buzz left by the happy night did anything, it loosened tongues to complimentary words. Dorian undressed him with careful attention, and kissing over every inch called him beautiful again, gorgeous, and looked over his skin as though he was trying to memorize each line. And Taren swore, cursing in every language he knew to bite back the words trembling in his lungs. A conversation in need and pleasure, where every word spilled a secret.
“Don’t stop” (don’t go),
“I want you” (I love you),
“please” (don’t go).
Over and over, from one beating heart to another.
He drowned in him, and hours must have gone by in the bliss of it. Hands clasped overhead, gripping onto sheets, onto bedposts, bodies pressed tight. The curtains were closed to the world outside, the light dim and the bed soft. Dorian’s chest felt good. Hard; black hair and smooth skin and a couple of moles and spots that Taren kissed as he uncovered; a scar he wanted to hear the story behind, a strength he wanted to feel take him over. His arms were right, his hands everywhere they were supposed to be. They lost track of time, and it almost lasted forever.
And then, with barely an interruption, it went on. Lapsing out of sex, but into comfort. Taren lay back, half exhausted, and Dorian stayed.They turned in, heads propped on pillows, lips and hands still lazily meeting as they would. Dorian traced a finger around the outline of a bruise on Taren’s chest; uneven circles of yellow fading back to the light brown of his skin, still ugly and slightly swollen. His tattoos wandered through and over it all, sitting in his skin in their warm copper ink, and Dorian walked his fingers carefully along them, frowning over the bruises.
“I hate that I wasted any time...” he trailed off with the thought, still frowning, “if I’d warned you, or told you, or done something more, sooner...” he sighed.
“Stop, I’m fine,” Taren propped himself onto an elbow, and pivoted slightly to the side, leaning into him. “I told you it wasn’t that bad. Much better already, hardly hurts.” he promised, “just don’t press on that one” he gestured over the largest with a laugh that pulled nothing from Dorian’s frown.
Suddenly, Dorian was kissing him again, more fierceness and fire in it than Taren was prepared for, but he threw himself right back. Taren pressed in with his hips and wrapped his arms over his neck, hands tangling in his hair as a quiet moan escaped his throat. Breathing heavy against his lips, Dorian moved his hands down his arms, skipping the bruises, holding back. “I didn’t expect another chance,” he muttered, scared but honest. “I hardly know what to do with it.”
“Be with me,” Taren breathed in reply, pulling himself over him for another kiss, moving his lips to his ears, and along his neck, whispering every secret meaning through the kisses his words rode out on. “Just, even when you go, be with me.” Dorian moaned when his lips pressed firm into the hard underside of his jaw, “call me, talk to me,” he kissed his lips, and implored his eyes.
“As often as I can.” Dorian arched his neck up for another kiss, lips begging.
“And don’t forget about me” He breathed over them; love me.
“Never.” love me; there too, in Dorian’s breath.
“And… come back,” Taren sat back, straddling over him, meeting his eyes. “in the summer, if not before. I want you to come back.”
Dorian breathed out, sad unspoken wishes in the air. “I do want to see this Bessie,” he said.
“I want to show you a lot of things.”
“I’d like that.” Dorian sighed, and pulled him back down, “it’s awfully far away, Tevinter, and yet…”
“Too close?”
“Too close.” He agreed, with another kiss that said something sad. “One more night,” he murmured, dropping his lips lower. “Let’s pretend it’s not the end.”
“It’s not the end.”
Dorian’s eyes sparked up, desirous and certain and full of promises, and he passed a hand over Taren’s cheek before pulling him into one more long, hungry kiss. And whether it was said with words or not, he knew, just knew: it wasn’t.
ot7!!!!!!!!! the most valid bias 🥺 (also i love how for all of them it’s like dignified pics of them looking fine as hell and for Jungkook it’s hip thrusting 💀💀 lmao we Know what’s truly Important here)
ok... O K A Y... i know i told you one prompt but i just thought of ANOTHER ONE and i CAN'T PICK so i'm gonna make you do it lol. either gendry finding out about arya killing the night king AND/OR gendry telling the gendrya babies about what a badass their mamma is and about how she saved the world.
Gendry, telling Gendrya babies about what a badass their mom is and how she saved the world.
“Tell it again, Daddy.”
Gendry smiles indulgently at their daughter before looking over at his wife, his eyes bright with mischief.
“Again?” He pulls a face, pretending to be surprised. For her part, Arya just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You don’t really want to hear this story again, sweetling. Do you?”
Catelyn sits up at that and pouts, her plump bottom lip sticking out defiantly. In moments like these–specifically, when she isn’t getting her way–she looks so much like Arya it makes his chest ache.
“I do want to hear it again.” Cat folds her arms across her chest and glares at him, shaking her head. “I always want to hear it again.”
“Gendry,” Arya says, very quietly. She’s trying hard not to laugh, he can tell she is, but he also knows she’s pretending to be bored and embarrassed by the whole situation. He won’t blow her cover. He’s damn lucky she lets him tell the story as it is. “If Cat wants to hear it again, why not?”
Gendry sighs, pretending to be put out by what their daughter is asking of him. Though in truth, there’s little in this world he loves more than telling Cat, every single night, just how incredible her mother truly is.
He rolls over onto his side in their bed so that he’s facing her. Cat’s little nose is just inches from his, and her bright blue eyes are round with anticipation.
“Are you ready?” he asks in a hushed tone.
“Yes.” She nods, solemn. “I’m ready.”
“Okay.” Gendry closes his eyes, and pretends to think hard about where to begin.
He has, of course, long since committed every detail of that horrible night to memory. He probably couldn’t forget them now if he tried. He remembers, like it was yesterday, how convinced he’d been that none of them would live to see the dawn. He remembers that horrible stench of blood, death, and decay that clung to everything as they fought desperately for their survival.
And then, later, after the battle, there was Arya. Arya, her lips on his throat, his hands tangled needfully in her hair, once it was finally over and they found each again.
Most of what happened that night isn’t appropriate for their daughter to hear at this age. Some of it Gendry would sooner die than share with her, ever.
But the parts she can hear…
Gendry committed those parts to memory long ago, too.
He clears his throat dramatically. “Okay. A long time ago, far in the north, there was an evil man called–”
“The Night King,” Catelyn finishes for him.
He nods. “That’s right. The Night King. He spent all his time trying to hurt other people and make them his slaves.”
“Why did he do that, Daddy?” They’ve answered this question for her countless times, and Gendry knows Cat knows the answer, such as it is. But asking it is part of the nightly ritual all the same. Jon tells them it’s normal for kids her age to do this. Gendry has no reason to doubt that’s true. “Why was he so mean to everybody?”
“No one really knows for sure, sweetling.” Arya moves closer to their daughter in the bed, wrapping a protective arm around her. Answering this particular question is the only part of all this that involves Arya’s active participation. The rest of it–the telling of the battle itself, heavily sanitized for Cat’s young ears; and the role Arya played in it–they’ve decided Gendry would handle it all. (“You’re better at this stuff,” she’d told him, bluntly, once Cat started asking questions. “Better with her.” Gendry doesn’t think that’s true at all. But if going along with it here means he gets to tell this story his way he’s happy to oblige.)
“But the important thing to remember,” Gendry continues, “is that the Night King was a very bad, very evil man.” Gendry nods. “And everyone had to work together to stop him.” He swallows thickly, remembering. “So one day, there was a terrible battle, when people from across the Seven Kingdoms came together to try and stop him.”
Cat chews on her bottom lip as she processes this. She looks up at him. “And you fought in this battle, didn’t you?”
Gendry smiles at her. “I did.” He looks over her head to Arya, who’s looking back at him with an expression he still can’t quite read, even after all this time. “And… and your mother did, too.”
Recognizing that they’ve finally gotten to the point of the story, Cat rolls over in bed so she can look at her mother. “You saved everyone.” Cat’s voice is quiet, reverent. “With a knife your brother gave you.”
Arya’s eyes are a little too bright, and she looks likes she wants to say something. But she doesn’t. She only nods at Gendry, encouraging him to answer the question.
“She did,” he says. He swallows down the lump in his throat as his mind travels back to the moment he’d found her, shivering and covered in dirt and dried blood, the weapon that had saved humanity clutched tightly in her fist. She’d looked so small, and so fierce. Terrifying. No man had ever been more in love than he was with Arya Stark at that moment.
“And your mother wasn’t afraid, Cat,” Gendry continues. “The rest of us were terrified, thought we were all going to die, but your mother? No.” He shakes his head solemnly. “Your mother marched right up to the Night King, shouted, ‘I won’t let you hurt people anymore!’, and–” He mimes a stabbing motion with his right fist. “And then, she stabbed him with that knife, which broke the evil Night King’s spell and saved the world.”
Cat nods to herself quietly for a long moment before speaking again. She looks up at Arya, eyes round as saucers. “You’re very special, aren’t you, Mother?”
Arya shrugs, looking very much like she doesn’t agree with that assessment at all. She opens her mouth to reply but Gendry beats her to it.
“Very special,” he says emphatically, eyes on his wife. “The most special woman, the best mother, you could have possibly had.”
He reaches across their daughter and grasps her mother’s hand. Gives it a gentle squeeze.
“Well,” Arya says shrugging. Dismissive. She quirks an eyebrow at him, and gives him a smile he would end worlds for. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
i see u asking for prompts all the time and im like damn i wanna contribute to the chaos but i literally have nothing like.... idk can i get uhhhh steve wearing billys clothes and being way to chill about it while billys internally screaming or some good ol fashion jealously?? Youre a good writer youll make it great either way
🌸🌸 Billy’s pants didn’t fit right on Steve, and he made damn sure to point it out every time he caught his boyfriend wearing his jeans. Steve didn’t care, though. He wore them like he would his own, threw one of his polos on top and no one was the wiser. Only Billy, who fumed silently off to the side and rolled his eyes each time Steve had to adjust the legs.
Steve had also taken to stealing Billy’s t-shirts. Usually ratty sleepshirts that he could sniff at night, which was weird, but also cute, so Billy let him do it. It wasn’t until he went to Steve’s house one day and found the brunette lounging around in one of his favorite concert shirts that he got irritated.
“That my shirt?” Billy asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Nope,” Steve responded boredly.
“Oh, so you saw Metallica in L.A too?” Billy crossed his arms, resisting the urge to pull his shirt off of the other.
“Sure,”
“Dammit, Harrington, give me my shirt!”
The only thing that Steve couldn’t manage to steal was his shoes. He looked ridiculous in Billy’s boots, a little less so in his practice shoes, but Steve decided that it wasn’t worth it. Billy was actually lacking in the shoe department, so he was a little grateful for that.
While Billy pretended to hate that Steve stole his clothes, he was always a little excited. He liked to see Steve in his things. That he was comfortable enough to pluck a shirt or a pair of underwear from his drawers and wear them home. Whenever he returned them, they smelled like Steve. That was never a bad thing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
OT3+ week Day 6!
day 6 prompts: future | “i’m doing this for you, and that’s the only reason” | the parents
Bokuto has some big, wonderful plans for the future.
I looooved writing this one! So fun. So sweet. My goodness I love Bokuto Koutarou.
Koutarou has a plan. He is big and strong and charming and he can get things done. He’s determined to get this one done.
Koutarou wants a wedding. A real, dress up in his best clothes, share his feelings about the three most amazing people in the universe in a room full of people they care about, eat cake, and call Tetsurou, Keiji, and Kei his husbands forever kind of wedding.
He knew he would need to be subtle at first.
Casually, he brings up how nice they all might look in tuxedos over dinner one night. Then he sneakily leaves magazines open to pages with cakes, flowers, freaking amazing tablescapes (god, Koutarou’s going to create so much freaking beautiful ambiance they’re going to drown in romance).
Turns out subtlety isn’t one of his strengths.
Plus, one morning Kei finds his mood board not-so-secretly tucked behind his bed when he’s cleaning.
Again. Subtlety. Not a strength.
“Don’t you ever think about the future?” Koutarou asks, arms swinging out wildly like he’s going to literally embrace the future with open arms.
