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reidsaurora · 2 years ago

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"Overnight" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer offers to clear out a drawer for Y/N in his dresser, it has him explaining some things he'd been hiding from her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (i think? i don't remember using pronouns in this lol)

Word Count: 814 why is she so short

Content Warning: allusions to sex but nothing in detail, mild mentions of nudity i guess, this whole fic is basically aftercare lol, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Fluff, what else did you expect out of me?

Extra Notes: i truly meant for this to be posted on time, i'm so sorry guys

Based On the Prompt: "The Things In That Drawer" from this year's @domaystic prompts

Originally Written: 05/08/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (i love you literally so much)

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Nothing could get Spencer Reid in a sappy mood like a night of slow, passionate sex. Something about moments like these—the way he showered you in kisses, the sweet compliments he'd give you, the love he'd show you—just felt right. Like his embrace was exactly where you needed to be.

Spencer's hand settled on the soft skin of your hip, drawing various shapes with his fingertips. Your head rested against his chest, your hand moving up to his tummy. He placed a soft kiss on your hair, the scruff of his five-o'clock shadow scratching against your forehead lightly. "I love nights like this," he told you.

You craned your head to face him, kissing his cheek. "I do too. I just hate that it always ends so quickly," you said, thinking about the work nights where you had to head home early, not quite ready for the night to end but knowing that you needed to go home for a change of clothes.

"You know," he said, pausing to flip the two of you over, his body hovering over you, "I could always clear a couple drawers out for you."

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You'd been hinting at the idea for a while, lamenting about needing fresh panties or complaining about missing your skincare regimen. But Spencer hadn't seemed quite ready to take that step yet, so you didn't pressure him.

"Wait, are you serious?"

He nodded, bending down to kiss you on the lips this time. "I'll even let you pick out which one you want."

You practically pushed him into the floor as you jumped up. Spencer chuckled as you ran over to the dresser, pulling his boxers back on.

You pulled out the second drawer, where you knew his tee shirts were, grabbed one of his giant ones and tossed it on. "Any of them?"

"Mhm," he hummed, walking over and settling his hands on your waist. "Whichever one you want."

You considered it, eventually deciding on the bottom drawer. "What about-"

"Wait, Y/N, don't-" he shouted, reaching out to stop your hand.

He was too late, though. You pulled open the drawer, revealing an entire drawer of nerdy memorabilia. The lightsaber was the first thing that caught your eye, followed by a sonic screwdriver, and a couple geeky Pop Figures, among other things.

"You have a lightsaber," you examined.

Spencer scratched awkwardly at his neck. "Yeah, I guess I do."

You grabbed the lightsaber from the drawer, your face lighting up as you turned it on. "You have a lightsaber!"

He chuckled as you poked him in the ribs with the lightsaber. "You're having too much fun with this."

You set the lightsaber down on top of the dresser, turning back to the drawer. Next, you pulled out the infamous Jason Voorhees mask, holding it in front of your face. "Please tell me you've scared your coworkers with this."

Spencer let out another chuckle, taking the mask from your hands. "I got Morgan with it one time. He nearly choked on his coffee."

You continued snooping through the drawers, sifting through Polaroids of Spencer and his friend Penelope at various conventions, some D.C. comics, and a couple signed posters. Your heart nearly flipped when you spotted a picture of him dressed as the Joker. "Who did your face paint?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

A squeal escaped your lips as you threw your arms over his shoulders. "Spence, this is adorable! Why would you hide this from me?"

He sighed, somewhere between relieved and exasperated. "I didn't want you to think I was weird. I mean, I'm a grown man and I have a collection of legos and Batman comics?"

"Spencer, I think it's cute that you have something you love so much. You don't have to be afraid to show how much you love and support it."

He bent forward to kiss you again, pulling your body flush against his. "You really mean that?"

"I mean, any man that has the balls to wear makeup like that in public is sexy in my book," you kidded.

Spencer diverted your attention back to the drawer, pointing his chin toward the dresser. "Is that really the drawer you want?"

"Does it come with all the nerdy memorabilia?" you teased, poking his chest.

"In your dreams. I spent good money on those things." He rolled his eyes, leading you to the bathroom. His hands were warm and big on your bare skin, the feeling absolutely heavenly. He placed a trail of kisses along your shoulder up to your head before hooking his chin over your shoulder.

You lifted your head to face him, kissing his jaw. "Hey, does this mean we can go as the Joker and Harley Quinn for Halloween?"

"You know what? I think that might just be something out of my dreams."

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months ago

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[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

#TJs Fics #Dreamling #Sandman #Dreamling Bingo 2024

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soulprompts · 1 year ago

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THE SURPRISING HERO ( A PROMPT LIST! )

hello my beloveds!!! an absolutely incredible nonnie sent in a request for prompts based on the idea of someone becoming a vital part of saving the world through unanticipated events, and i hope i managed to achieve what they wanted in this list! basically i got a tonne of inspiration from comic book movies and the more fantastical vibes of high fantasy franchises, and i was going to make these more amusing, but i think there's something so hard-hitting about the concept of being thrust into greatness and heroism when you feel you aren't ready for it! anyway! enjoy, and as always: DO NOT ADD TO OR EDIT THIS LIST, AND DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN!

FROM THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i’m not supposed to be here. i’m not like the rest of you; i’m not special, or blessed, or gifted. i’m just… me. “

“ you’ve got to be joking! i can’t save the world! i’m just an ordinary person! “

“ it’s funny. all these years, i’ve wanted so badly to see the world. now… i think i’ve never wanted anything so much as to go back home. “

“ so that’s it, then? i’m just supposed to sacrifice everything to save the world, all because some ancient prophecy says so? “

“ i still can’t quite believe we were doing laundry yesterday. now our biggest chore is traveling across the world to save it. “

“ i miss home. i miss how safe and boring and fine it all was. i never would’ve wanted adventures if i thought they’d be as scary and dangerous as this. “

“ they’re right to be angry, you know. everyone has a purpose here; i’m only joining you all because of some insane twist of fate. “

“ surprised? don’t worry, so was i. i don’t think it’s a normal occurrence for people like me to be part of massive quests like this. “

“ look. i’m not the chosen one, alright? i don’t want any part in any prophecy or ancient dictation. i just want to live an ordinary, safe, boring life. “

“ you think i don’t acknowledge what’s happening?! every mistake i make has costs, and those costs are often the lives of innocent people! “

“ you know, last year my idea of a grand adventure was going up the mountains for a picnic with my friends. funny how fast things change, isn’t it? “

“ i’m not a hero! i don’t know how to fight! heroes are special and unique and trained, and i’m none of those things. “

“ everyone looks at me like i’ve got the answers, but i don’t. i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “

“ you ever stop to question the solidity of this prophecy? because if the wording is that vague that it could name me as the savior of the world, then maybe we ought to revise it. “

“ this is stupid! putting the fate of the universe on some million-year-old prophecy! “

“ i’m not what you think i am. i’m not a hero. i’m sorry, i know you want me to be one, but… i’m just not. “

“ so you’re telling me, because i happened to overhear some weird out of context conversation, that the safety of the world relies entirely on me? “

“ don’t you see how daft this whole thing is?! i’ve got to save the world now because i happened to take a wrong turn on my way home! “

“ why can’t i just give you guys what i found, and you can go and rescue the world yourselves? “

“ i want to clarify that i’m not a coward. okay? i’m not running away from this. but i’m not exactly save-the-world material. so thank you for the opportunity, but… i think i’ll stay at home. “

TO THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i get it, you know. it’s a huge responsibility for someone who’s only just realized what’s at stake. “

“ the others think i’m utterly mad for even considering you for this task. but the fact is, you’re the only person i genuinely believe to be capable of fixing this mess. “

“ would you like to know the mark of a true hero? it’s courage. not an absence of fear, not an ignorance of it, but rather, the choice to persevere in spite of it. you’re still here. that makes you one of the bravest people on the planet. “

“ don’t let anyone else tell you what you are and aren’t capable of. everything happens for a reason, and it wasn’t dumb luck that put you in our path. “

“ i don’t believe in prophecies, personally. i think the universe is far too chaotic for them to survive thousands of years. but i do believe that you being here is not a coincidence. “

“ fate only accounts for part of what happens in our lives. the rest of it is all choices. and despite how scared and inexperienced you are… you’ve chosen to stay. that tells me an awful lot about you. “

“ how selfish can you be?! running away from this destiny, this task! the world will fall into darkness if you don’t step up, and here you are, hiding from your fate like a coward! “

“ you need to learn to ignore the opinions of others if you’re going to stand a chance at doing this. this is the cost of being a hero. people will judge, not based on truth, but on a limited perspective. “

“ don’t be stupid. we’re not special or talented either; i was trained from childhood, i can fight men twice my size, but that’s not the mark of a hero. “

“ if you like, i could teach you how to fight? you may find it useful. even if it’s just to comfort yourself against these ridiculous self-doubts. “

“ heroes aren’t always massive muscle types. the inventor of new defense measures against attacks, or someone who discovered a cure for a disease, or perhaps someone clever enough to use new fuel sources in the winter… heroism isn’t always found in warzones, you know. “

“ fine. don’t do it for the fate of the world. do it for your family. your friends. do it for the ones you’ll return to once we settle this for good. save this world, not for the world itself, but for the ones you love, so that they may live on. “

“ you should know some things. most people, if you somehow perform outside of the very specific expectations they have for you, will be very quick and harsh in their judgment. it’s not something one can avoid. but you can learn to rise above those critics. remember. they don’t know the real you. “

" fear is normal. okay? we all fear things. the real killer is when you try to fight that fear. you're no lesser a hero for fearing things. expect it. accept it. embrace it. and once it's with you, work with it to fight even more. "

" you keep saying you're not a hero. tell me. what exactly is it that you believe a hero to be? "

" people make the error of assuming heroes to be golden, flawless, immaculate in both thought and strategy. it's never the case. heroes are the most flawed of all. that's what makes us admire them so. "

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #ask meme #writing prompts #roleplay prompts #rp prompt

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30somethingautisticteacher · 7 months ago

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Bucktommy prompt: Buck finds out Tommy D&D (and is a pretty big nerd overall)

Hope you like it!

"Hey Ev, I know we were planning on date night on Friday, but is there any way we can raincheck it?" Tommy asked.

Buck was a little surprised. "Of course. Is everything okay? I checked our calendars and Friday was open for both of us. Did you pick up a shift or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Tommy replied. "There's this monthly first responder thing that I try to go to, and I've missed the past few months."

"Oh yeah? What kind of first responder thing? Another sport? Poker?" Buck asked, curious.

"Uh, not quite," Tommy said, blushing slightly. He mumbled, "It's Dungeons and Dragons."

"Wait? You play Dungeons and Dragons?" Buck said grinning at Tommy like he was the cutest thing in the world.

"Uh, yeah," Tommy replied, looking a bit sheepish. "It was sort of my escape as a kid. I would come up with these elaborate quests, and it was just so much better than being the awkward closeted gay kid. That and comic books were kind of all I had," Tommy admitted, his voice softening as he shared this piece of his past.

Buck's expression shifted from amusement to understanding, his eyes filled with warmth. "Tommy, that's... that's really cool. I had no idea you were into that stuff."

Tommy shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly something I advertise. But it's still a big part of who I am, you know?"

"I get it," Buck said, reaching out to squeeze Tommy's hand. "Thanks for sharing that with me. So, tell me more about this first responder D&D group. How did that even start?"

Tommy chuckled, seeming more at ease now. "Well, I've only been a part of it since I started at Harbor. I guess when I started there, I came out not only as gay but also as a giant nerd," he laughed.

Buck joined in the laughter, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I love that. It's like you got to be your whole self all at once."

"Yeah, it felt pretty good," Tommy admitted. "The guys at Harbor were surprisingly cool about both things. Turns out, there were a few other closet D&D fans at the station."

Tommy's expression grew more serious for a moment. "It's definitely not something I would've admitted at the 118 with Captain Gerrard in charge. And after my dad's reaction when he found out... well, let's just say it wasn't great, to say the least. I learned pretty quickly to keep that part of myself hidden too."

Buck's face softened with understanding. "I'm sorry you had to hide that part of yourself for so long. But I'm glad you found a place where you can be open about it now."

Tommy nodded, a small smile returning to his face. "Me too. It's nice to finally feel like I can be my whole self, you know?"

"I do know," Buck said, squeezing Tommy's hand. "And for what it's worth, I think your nerdy side is pretty cute."

Tommy's face lit up at Buck's words. "Thanks, baby," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "And maybe someday I can help you learn about it. Maybe even help you create a character," he added, his eyes twinkling with excitement at the prospect.

Buck grinned, clearly charmed by Tommy's enthusiasm. "You know what? I'd like that. And you've already met my inner nerd – the one who loves to watch documentaries and info dump about random facts."

Tommy chuckled, nodding in agreement. "That's true. And I love you for it, by the way. Your excitement when you're sharing some obscure fact is one of my favorite things about you."

Buck's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Well, then maybe it's time I embraced my nerdiness fully. Who knows? Maybe I'll discover a hidden talent for D&D."

"Oh, I have no doubt," Tommy said, pulling Buck into a hug. "With your imagination and your love for details, you'll probably end up being the dungeon master before you know it."

Buck smiled brightly and somehow found himself falling even more in love with this man who could be both a brave firefighter pilot and an enthusiastic D&D player. It was just another reminder of the many layers that made up Tommy Kinard, and Buck was grateful for the chance to discover each and every one of them.

#bucktommy #tevan #kinley #firepilot #30sat writes

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stardewvalleybut-i-draw · 4 months ago

Text

Behind the scenes

You don't always need to draw the whole comic to get an idea down

sometimes...

just draw the prompt!

(Shane's honest reaction to his children being turned into birds)

Ok so, I got a lot of stuff in drafts so I'm just typing the idea down for this one

@studentinpursuitofclouds made a writing of how some of the villagers would react to the farmer turning the kids into birds and I thought of something funny and dark and wanted to draw it out but sadly, I don't got time for that rn-

SO!

the idea was Shane would be pissed about the bird thing and would be EXTREMELY mad (understatement)

the farmer would try to say something to cool him down or reassure them.

Farmer- "ITS OK SHANE ITS FINE-

-you can still feed them breadcrumbs when they come and visit!

it's not like they're dead 😁"

Shane- "..."

The farmer is never heard from again.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv shane #sdv farmer

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xoxobuckybarnes · 5 months ago

Text

July 2024 Reading List

Complete

Donut Forget Our Love (Rated: T, Words: 1K) by dontcallmebree / @dontcallmebree

Summary: Steve Rogers is snoring into his neck. Again. It’s the third time they’ve fallen into bed in the past month alone, and Bucky’s accepted that he’s got a problem. There’s a reason they broke up. Not that Bucky’s been able to remember why lately, with every happy hour that’s gone a little too happy, Steve inching his way across the room and Bucky unable to resist. Tonight, Bucky wishes he had. Bucky gets a little reminder of what his heart has always wanted: a decent bed, bite-sized donuts, and loving Steve Rogers.

I Am Ash From Your Fire (Rated: E, Words: 177K) by lavenderpanic / @lavenderpanic

Summary: Whether they’re making love or Brock’s punching holes in drywall, he just cares so damn much about Bucky. Bucky doesn’t understand why. He’s terrified someday that Brock will grow indifferent, that’s why he feels a rush of relief every time Brock calls him a stupid fucking bitch or slaps him around for screwing something up. He still cares, that’s all Bucky can ever think.

comic books and coffee cups (Rated: T, Words: 4K) by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace

Summary: Based on the prompt: Bucky Barnes is a comic book writer with a very specific idea for a new story, but he hasn't yet found an artist who will work with him on this project. Enter Steve Rogers.

Under His Protection (Rated: E, Words: 21K) by MelanieKS

Summary: There is a nefarious plot brewing in the White House against the president. After an attempt on his life, President Barnes’ detail can’t be trusted and he’s not sure who he can turn to other than his friend Natasha Romanov. Five years retired, Steve Rogers is asked to pick up his shield one last time to protect the president while S.H.I.E.L.D. works on finding the mastermind behind the plot. It’s unconventional, but the safest, while Steve and the president hide away in a secluded cabin in the middle of the mountains of New York. Attraction sparks. Tension rises. Steve vows to keep his distance and remain professional but his attraction grows by the minute, until he can’t deny it any longer.

Podfic

Podfic: Stay and the night would be enough (Rated: T) by ForeverShippingJohnlock

Summary: Written by perfect_plan. Original summary: Things haven't been going well for Steve; he lost his apartment and his job as well as still trying to cope with the death of his mother. Crashing on his friend's couch soon leads to something more for him and Clint's roommate, who shares more with Steve than they both would have expected.

dance with a ghost (Rated: T) by lightupstars

Summary: “Captain America is haunting me,” Bucky says over a bowl of ramen. His pronouncement is met with a round of silence. “Captain America,” Natasha says. “As in--” “The first Avenger,” Bucky confirms. “Supersoldier and hero of World War II. The fabric of the American conscience.” “But he’s--dead,” Sam says. His look of perplexed concern, ever perplexed and ever concerned, only increases. “You’re aware of that, right?” “I know,” Bucky says. “That’s why I said he’s haunting me.”

WIP

War & Peace and the Redemption of Bucky Barnes (Rated: E, Current Words: 44K) by ThePirateStorm / @fsbc-librarian

Summary: Bucky Barnes is running from his problems. He’s housesitting for his best friend while she’s on her honeymoon - the almost a year prior that he’s been staying in her house doesn’t count - when he’s woken in the middle of the night by an angel and a demon. Okay, maybe they’re not a literal angel and demon, but Steve Rogers *looks* like an angel, and his daughter Charli certainly *acts* like a demon. The father/daughter duo are running from their own problems, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t crash headlong into one another’s lives. Throw in a cursed book for good measure, and it’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Gold Must Be Tried By Fire (Rated: M, Current Words: 18K) by lavenderpanic / @lavenderpanic

Summary: The pamphlets about escaping abuse always glossed over this part, and Bucky finally understands why. Nobody would fucking leave if they knew how hard recovery would be. In the midst of a trial that questions every hard-won truth out of Bucky's mouth, can he possibly allow himself to heal- physically and mentally? **Sequel to I Am Ash From Your Fire**

Rereads

Heart of Mine (Rated: E, Words: 133K) by deadto27 / @deadto27

Summary: It's been three years since Bucky pulled Steve from the river. Three years where Bucky has tried to get back to the person he was, to be better, to be recovered. Three years where his motivation for getting well has been Steve Rogers. To get to see him again. But when he finally does, he gets more than he expected. Because he never expected that he’d find Steve with a child. And he really never expected that he’d find Steve with his child. ----- “HYDRA…they were using DNA to try to repeat it,” Steve continues softly. “Your DNA,” he adds, meeting Bucky’s eyes, a solemn look on his face as Bucky suddenly catches on to what Steve’s getting at. His eyes widen in shock as Steve increases his grip just slightly on his knee. “The baby…she’s, well…” Steve seems to struggle for words as Bucky’s heart starts beating faster than ever. “She’s yours.”

#Stucky #Steve and Bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #fanfic #XOXOBUCKYBARNES' Stucky Fic Reading List #july reading list

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milksuu · 1 year ago

Note

i need Phel w like… a bad bitch reader… the kinda girl her fans would ask her to step on them… and i need him to be completely whipped and submissive for her

❥ prompt: So, here Aphelios was. Dragged to some grungy underground concert by Kayn. And since Ezreal was sick, guess that made him the stand in. He thought he was going to be bored out of his mind. He didn't realize he'd end up being a fanboy---your fanboy. ❥ content/warnings: nsfw 18+, minor blood, BDSM, name calling, bullying (affectionate), lotsa profanity, dom!reader ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!aphelios x badbitch!f!reader, aphelios & kayn ❥ performance song in this fic: Playground (From the Arcane League of Legends Series) - Bea Miller

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

That was one way to start a conversation, Aphelios thought. Usually, when a girl approached him, they were overly friendly and tooth-rottlingly sweet. To a sickening point at times. Too much was overwhelming for him, and he often got migraines from those interactions. He disliked the feeling of needing to reciprocate with the same intensity and niceties. He wasn't like Ezreal, who could entertain for hours with a charming smile and endless conversation. But this was the first time any girl cursed him out within the first millisecond of an exchange. Honestly, it was refreshing. And honestly, he kind of liked it.

He took a moment to look over his shoulder to check if, by chance, you were talking to someone else. He figured he was the only one out in the alleyway. And because of that, he couldn't recall staring at anyone. Although, he did tend to have a bad habit of 'resting bitch face'. Especially whenever he stared off into space. Just so happened to be in your general direction. He wasn't sure whether to call it bad luck or bad timing. Like the whole 'wrong place wrong time' situation. Either way, it was obvious his face and mere existence was pissing you off.

"I'm talking to you, dumbass. You with the stupid fucking headphones at a concert." Flicking your cigarette away, you encroached into his personal space. It forced him against a wall, with you mere inches away from his face. He could smell the burning smoke on your breath, lingering with a hint of spice and clove. "You got a problem, or what? If you do, then say it to my damn face."

That was comical. How could he tell you? Let's see, he reached to take his phone out. You scuffed and snatched it from his hands. "What the hell are you going to do? Call your mommy to come help you?" You mocked him by dangling his cell in his face. So much for that idea. Now what was he supposed to do? He needed to create some distance. Catch you off guard, and for you to react accordingly. Well, with all things considered. He tugged down his mask, and captured your lips. Red ignited your vision. You sank your canines viscously into his bottom lip and smashed his phone against his chest. He tasted liquid metal on his tongue, and felt the reset of his diaphragm. It took a deathly minute for him to fill his chest with air. He swore even if he could talk, that stunt would've shut him up for life. So, yeah. More or less what he expected.

"You sick freak." With a hiss, you spat a mixture of saliva and blood at his shoe. He watched you storm off, fading back into the dark venue and strobing lights. Leaving him with iron in his mouth, yearning for oxygen, and his heart recklessly pounding inside him. And holy shit, did he want more of it.

"What the hell. Did something happen out there?" When he returned Kayn took hold of his shoulder, and spoke at the side of his face. "There's blood on your mask. Do I need to kick somebody's ass here?" Aphelios didn't consider how badly his lip had been busted by your teeth. The pain was subtle compared to the wild thrill he received. And whenever he felt the sting with a brush of his tongue, the thought of you only came to mind. He shook his head, pantomiming how he bit into his own lip by accident. Kayn scrunched his face, but accepted the excuse by taking a long swig of his drink. When the lights dimmed, Kayn smacked at his chest excitedly. Aphelios almost bent over from the aching bruise you left against his sternum. "It's happening. LET'S FUCKING GO!"

The crowd shook the warehouse with roars. Fog spilled across the stage. Red lights poured down. And there you were. Like Hell's chosen ascendent, bound in black leather and succubus fashion. Your voice induced a hypnotism. The lights strobing with each bass beat of your song. The crowd spellbound, wailing and screaming for you to salvage them. But you were their obvious harbinger who would drag them straight to the pits of the underworld. Where they could never escape you. Forever trapped in your playground. And that's exactly where he wanted to be.

Going wide-eyed, Aphelios felt you within in his pulse. His bottom lip throbbing endlessly. He wasn't expecting to have a good time. He wasn't expecting you. He watched as you strutted to the end of the stage, planting your eight-inch heels against the faces of a few audiences members begging to be crushed. He could tell you had no problem delivering them pain, just as you did with him. He never understood the sensation, until tonight.

When the song ended, the crowd settled down for you to say a few words. Swinging your hair out of your mascaraed lashes, you took a swig from your water bottle. "You know guys. I love that you're all here. Thanks for coming out to see me. Feels awesome, really." You breathed heavily into the microphone. "But there's one person I want to give a special shout out to—for being an absolute fucking dickhead. Lights. Over there. Please and thank you." With a snap of your fingers, you pointed straight out into the crowd. Apehlios might as well had a gun pointed to his head. That finger burned a straight hole into his forehead. A spotlight swung over him, until it beamed down like his final day of reckoning.

Kayn snapped his neck going back and forth between you two. He then snatched his elbow, shaking him ruthlessly. "Wait. You're telling me I have to kick her ass? You know—my future fucking girlfriend?" Aphelios noticed there were a lot of fucks to be had with him tonight.

"Yeah. You. Still wearing those dumbass headphones. Tell your pink-haired girlfriend he can't save you. Because your mine after the show tonight." You signaled for the next song to come on, and the crowd went into a tidal wave of screams and wails.

"How the hell am I the girlfriend!?" Kayn yelled into the abyss of concert noise. "And what does my future wife want with you!?" Aphelios merely shrugged. But when his bottom lip pulsed again....he knew exactly what he was getting from you.

"Since you felt like you had the balls to kiss me, I should take them from you. See you try pulling that shit again."

That was one way to flirt with him, Aphelios thought. And he was being liberal with the definition. Threats against his privates never appealed to him before. But when those threats poured from your lips, they sounded like all the things he ever wanted to hear in his whole damn life. Up till now, everything felt rehearsed, repetitive, predictable-- mind numbingly boring. But with you, that wasn't going to be the case. That was obvious by his placement in your hotel room. Hands secured above his head, back arched, and wrists bound by leather stirrups hanging from the ceiling.

"You have one of the bitchiest faces I've ever seen. Bitchier than mine, maybe." The room was dark. He carefully eyed your silhouette approaching him. Aphelios swallowed hard when your hand took his balls in a choke hold. "Let's see how long it takes for me to break it. And if I can't..." With a quick release, you ran the length of a finger up his stiffening shaft. "I'll let you fuck me. Deal?"

Aphelios shuddered an exhale, nodding slowly. This was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever have to pull off...no pun intended. Assessing his own threshold, he knew he might not make it. But to any dog, a treat was still a treat. And he would take what he could get get. Or in this case, earn.

"I'll tell you how this is going to work." Your fingers left his tip, trialed up his stomach, till they rested in the middle of his bare chest. "If you want to tap out, make this sign with your left hand. Got it?" You singed one hand, while the other pressed into that lovely bruise you gifted him in the alleyway. The ache elicited a soft groan. "I asked if you got it." You pressed harder for confirmation. With a rattle in his restraints, he made the gesture. "Good. Looks like you're not a total dumbass."

Abandoning him briefly, he heard something crack in the dark. The scent of leather permeating the hotel air. He felt the material grace his back side, fluttering to his ass. One tap. Two tap. This was his only and final warning. If he wanted out, now was the time. He furrowed his brow, and licked his aching bottom lip. No—he wanted this. A whip to the air and the first strike landed. His whole body contracted as he held back a gasp. Settling to a low groan, it wasn't long till the next one came, then the next, and the next. Every strike hitting and harder. The crop whistling in his ears each time it came for his bare ass and thighs. His breaths turned sharp, sweat accumulated against his pale skin, and his fingers scratched the insides of his palms. After the 50th strike, his ass and thighs were on fire. But all those hormones produced to cope with the pain began to inch him into a subspace he had never reached before. Not to mention, all the hand strokes and squeezes to his dick in between the pain— it was absolutely mind fucking.

"Wow. I'm impressed. You've lasted longer than any of my other toys. You really are a sick freak." Arousal mixed with your half-talk and half-laughter. This was the first time anyone has earned you. And now, you were going to make him wish he'd never met you. "Are you ready to fuck the cum right out of you?"

Holy shit. Thank God he couldn't talk. Nothing would be making sense if he could. Wait, what did you ask him again? No, seriously. He couldn't think straight. The excessive amounts of oxytocin pumping into his brain diluted all his thoughts. When he didn't respond right away, you snatched his face, digging your nails into his cheeks. "I asked you a question, dumbass." That was quickly becoming his favorite insult. You dragged your lips, tongue and teeth across his busted lip. Hypersensitive at this point, that was almost enough to send him. Focus—shit—okay. He remembered, and nodded desperately between your breathy open-mouthed kisses.

He was lucky the bed was behind him. Once he was freed from his restraints, it didn't take much but a finger push from you for him to collapse back. The cold comforters contrasted his burning skin, almost like he dived into an ice bath. He really had this sense he was burning up. Woozy from all the endorphins and adrenaline pumping through him, all the way down to his twitching cock—begging for release. But he felt stuck in a bodily stasis, an erotic paralysis. All he could do was stare up at the melting ceiling, panting for breaths. "You're not fucking anything like this. Awe, what a shame." There was no remorse in your wicked smile as you removed your undergarments. "Deals off. Looks like I'm fucking you instead." He barely processed the meaning of your words until you straddled on top, pushed one of his thighs up, and plunged yourself down on him.

The shock of you taking his whole cock in one swift motion made him choke out a cry of ecstasy. Each of your thrusts were splitting him in two; one of pain and pleasure. His ass and thighs stinging and swelling with heat form all the welts you left on his skin. Rubbing against the cotton covers, rubbing against you. His dick swallowed and squeezed by your pounding cunt, over and over again. With the sound of your drenched pussy slapping hard against his base. He was dragged to an intoxicating edge. To a point where his eyes glossed over pleadingly, his face flushed and saliva streamed from the corners of his trembling mouth. "There it is. Finally broke that bitchy face of yours," he heard you moan, mocking how much of a shameful mess he was.

One more forceful slam of your tight warmth, and pleasure ripped through him, tearing him into unmendable pieces. Every single vein within his body tightened and coiled. Flushing all his insides hot and white. His cock pulsed and throbbed so deep inside you. He cried against his moans, heaving and shuddering. He prayed he would make it through his climax. Lucky for him, he did. Unlucky for him, you weren't finished, and were milking him for all he was worth. The tip of his dick feeling like pins a needles, forcing his back to arch and buck his hip against the extreme sensation. He vaguely heard you curse him out one more time as your walls clamped around him, pushing some of his load down his shaft and onto his pelvis. When the two of you settled, he shivered as you pulled yourself out and reached over him to take something from the nightstand.

"So—" You started, lighting a smoke and taking a long drag. The scent of clove and spice filling the space. "You free or what next week?" Well, that was one way to ask him on a date, Aphelios thought. Not that he needed much convincing to free up his schedule. He considered himself a fanboy—your fanboy.

an: you wanted a bad bitch anon, you got her. thanks for the req. MWUAH.

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #aphelios #aphelios x reader #league of legends #reader insert #x reader #request #reqs open #istg all of you in my inbox want to dom this man #yall are aphelios dommy mommys #dont you dare lie to me #look what youve done to this poor boy #GO TO CHURCH

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lauronk · 6 months ago

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I was watching a movie (that one with natalie portman) and I got an Idea. A ficlet where joel is a professional hitman (or a retired one) and ellie is his daughter. She loves him, and he is devoted for her. He is wrapped around her little finger and he knows that.

What he doesn't tell her tho? he actually killed her father for his client. He only realized there was a baby in the house when it was too late. The truth eats him alive everyday, but he will never tell her. Never.

hi anon! thank you for this prompt, it fully latched into my brain and derailed the other stuff i had planned on working on lmao i hope you enjoy!

(this time baby) i’ll be bulletproof

length: ~2.6k words

tags: pov joel; joel & ellie; modern au; death/murder; brief mentions of blood; tess is alive; kidnapping; ellie’s whole life is a lie she just doesn’t know it; joel’s a hitman so what do you expect; joel’s also a great dad, what did you expect; no beta we die like david

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Gentle finger squeeze on the trigger. Exhale.

The target drops before he even realizes he’s been shot, a small pool of blood gathering on the carpet underneath his head. The man had been nice enough - not that he’d realized it - to leave his window open, so there wasn’t even the shattering of glass to alert anyone. He’d be found in an hour or so, when his wife returned home from her nail appointment, and by then, Joel would be long gone.

Sometimes he regretted the path he’d wound up on, the way his life had diverged from everything it should have been. Joel could look back and pinpoint exactly where the fork had occurred - his daughter, a victim of the wrong place at the wrong time, one man so bent on vengeance he didn’t care who he’d hurt in the process.

He had been the first one Joel had ever killed. Twenty years later, and he hadn’t stopped.

Only difference was, now he got paid for it, and handsomely at that.

The television is still on when Joel opens the front door, and he pauses, hand on the knob. It’s entirely too late for anyone else to still be awake, and he turns his head towards the dark hallway that branches off the living room towards the back of the house.

He makes sure he makes a fair amount of noise in the process of taking off his shoes and hanging up his keys. His pistol he secures in the safe over the fireplace, making sure it’s locked again before he slides the wall panel back in place. The TV he shuts off, and he pours a glass of water before finally making his way down the hall to the second door on the left.

“Ellie?” Joel knocks gently before pressing a hand against the door and nudging it open.

She gives an exaggerated deep breath, and Joel chuckles, stepping all the way into her room. He can make out the shape of her under her covers, curled on her side, a faint hint of moonlight trickling through the window.

The glass of water he deposits on her nightstand - he knows she’ll want it later - and lowers himself carefully to sit on her mattress near her hip. Her breathing picks up and then slows again, like she thinks he hasn’t already caught on.

“C’mon, baby,” Joel shakes her shoulder gently, his voice teasing. “I know you ain’t sleepin’.”

Ellie rolls over, blinking at him owlishly. She even brings a hand up to rub her eyes, widening them comically like she’s surprised to see him. “Dad?”

“TV didn’t shut off all the way,” Joel tells her helpfully, snorting when her hand immediately falls from her face and her head flops back dramatically on her pillow.

“Fuck.”

He tucks the comforter around her a little more tightly, brushing a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Yeah.” Her hand comes up and wraps around his wrist, squeezing gently. “You’re pretty busted, kiddo.”

Ellie shakes the hand holding his, waggling his arm around. “Why do I even still have a bedtime? I’m fourteen. Dina and Jesse don’t have bedtimes.”

He shakes his arm right back, eliciting a small giggle from her. “Dina and Jesse ain’t been caught sneakin’ out recently, have they? Maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with it, hmm?”

Ellie huffs, but she doesn’t argue. She had been busted after all, caught down at the neighborhood pool with some other kids by Marlene, the HOA president, and brought to his door dripping wet at one a.m. Bedtime and curfew had been reinstated after that, and Ellie had three more months of probation from him before it would be lifted.

It didn’t feel good to do - he’d struggled with punishing Sarah at all too - but it let him give free rein to some of his paranoia, gave him an excuse to keep her locked in the house a little more. It wouldn’t last forever - nor should it, Joel knew well and good that Ellie needed to go out and live her own life - but while she was still young enough, he’d shield her from everything he could.

Sarah hadn’t made it to fifteen - Joel was determined to see that Ellie did.

“Get some sleep, baby girl,” he tells her softly, brushing his fingers back and forth across her forehead in the way he knows will soothe her to sleep best. It’s worked since she was a baby, and sure enough her eyes are already drifting closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Waffles?” Ellie mumbles, rolling on her side and burying her face into her pillow.

Joel smiles down at her, feeling that same tug behind his heart that he has every time since he first held her. “Yeah, baby, we’ll do waffles.”

This time, her breathing deepens out naturally, mouth falling slack, and Joel bends forward to press a kiss to her temple. “Dream somethin’ good,” he whispers, same as he does every night. He ain’t superstitious - can’t afford to be, in his line of work - but he’s always been afraid that the nights he hasn’t been around to tell her, she’ll have nightmares.

Joel shuts the door behind him, padding back through the living room to double check the locks on the doors and windows and set the alarm. When he’s sure they’re as secure as can be, he makes his way back down to his room. He can’t fight the urge to open Ellie’s door one more time and peek in on her; she hasn’t moved, not that he expected her to.

His own room is dark, blackout curtains preventing even a hint of moonlight coming in. He’d wanted to put the same curtains in Ellie’s room for safety, but she’d put her foot down - I need to see the fucking sun, Dad - and Joel had relented. Her room faced the backyard, and they had no neighbors on that side, just a tall fence with motion sensors spaced carefully along it.

Joel doesn’t bother with a lamp, instead making his way straight through to his bathroom and flicking on the light there. As always, he avoids the sight of his reflection, instead turning his back on the mirror and flipping the handle on the shower. He cranks it as hot as he’ll be able to stand and tugs off his clothes, tossing them into a small pile on the floor. He’ll have to do laundry in the morning, get the first load going before Ellie’s awake.

The bathroom is already filling with steam by the time Joel steps under the spray, the water immediately stinging his skin like a thousand small needles. It immediately starts to soothe the aches in his body though, and Joel turns slowly until it’s beating between his shoulder blades.

He’s getting too old for this. Fifty-six, with nearly twenty years of it under his belt. He’s still deadly, sure, one of the best to ever do it as Tess so frequently tells him.

But his recovery times are slower, his reflexes dulling. His already damaged hearing in his right ear is only getting worse.

He’s not far from being a liability - he knows what they do to liabilities.

And he’s got Ellie to think of.

Joel rotates again, sticks his head under the water and lets it sluice down over his face.

He’ll bring it up with Tess soon, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know what the protocol is here - few in his line of work live long enough for it to be a consideration - but they’ll work something out. Better for him to get out now, after a damn near perfect record, while he’s still got enough health and energy to spend with his daughter.

Better that than him getting old and slow, getting sloppy and getting caught.

He shuts the water off and tugs the towel around his waist. The rest of his evening routine he does by rote - dressing, brushing his teeth, turning down his bed - and by the time his head hits the pillow, Joel’s able to slip straight into sleep.

He doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps - a side effect, he’d guess, of the way he lives his life. Maybe there’d been nightmares at first, flashes of the lives he’d taken, faint remembrances. But those had stopped with enough time and blood, and his sleep became peaceful again.

Not this night, though.

The hallways stretching before him is dark and long, shadows stretching out like fingers, and Joel walks silently as close to the wall as he dares. The floor is less likely to squeak there, but too close to the wall and he’ll brush against a frame or hanging, send it crashing to the ground. Easiest way to get caught, if you’re stupid.

And Joel Miller ain’t stupid.

The first two rooms - a study and a guest room - are clear. Tonight’s unfortunate soul is a widower, a man whose increasingly large debts to Joel’s employer were beyond the point of repayment. Nothing left to do but put the man out of his misery, leave the murky back-end of liquidating the man’s assets to the techies. His only job was making it look natural.

The third room is the master, a four poster bed in the middle, the target in question asleep under the covers.

It’s almost absurdly easy, and Joel leaves the body behind with a mental note to ask Tess for something more challenging next time. He doesn’t know what it says about him that this murder felt boring, but he doesn’t bother dwelling on it.

This is who he is now.

Joel does a final check, sweeping the hall with a flashlight to make sure he left no trace. He’s just clicked the light off when he hears it - a muffled sound of some sort, coming from the only door he hasn’t checked.

Joel advances, feet light, and draws his pistol as he approaches the door, turn the knob slowly with a gloved hand. A faint beam of light meets his eyes, and Joel blinks, inhaling slowly to keep his heart rate low as his eyes adjust.

The sound echoes again, and Joel pushes the door open carefully, pausing when the hinges emit the faintest squeak. Nothing stirs inside, no other sound follows.

Might be a dog or cat, Joel reasons with himself. Wouldn’t be the first time.

After another moment of stillness, he nudges the door open further, eyes scanning back and forth over the room. Taking in the bookshelf, the night light, the tall dresser, the —

The crib against the wall.

Joel’s hand falls limp next to his side, pistol dangling from numb fingertips.

He doesn’t do parents. He’s made that clear to Tess and her bosses a thousand times over. He’ll kill just about anyone, but not if they’ve got kids, and especially not if those kids still live at home. Tess knows - she knows - that’s a hard line for him. So either he was lied to when given the file, or their intel had been bad and they hadn’t known.

But there is - a chubby hand lifts from the crib - there is a baby in the crib. A small, now orphaned child.

Joel orphaned them.

He tucks the pistol into the back of his jeans and takes a careful step closer. And then another, and another, until he’s right next to the crib, hands gripping the railing as he peers down.

Bright brown eyes are staring back up at him, chubby cheeks framing an open mouth. The blanket covering most of her body reads Ellie.

“Ellie,” Joel repeats softly. “‘s that your name?”

A chubby fist waves up at him as if in response.

He should leave. He needs to leave. The job’s done, and the longer he stays here the longer he risks getting caught or leaving behind a trail.

But Ellie is staring up at him from her crib, rosebud mouth opening and closing and little babbles escaping.

He should leave.

But instead Joel bends down, hands carefully scooping underneath her back until she’s cradled against his chest. She rests there easily, something like a contented sigh - if he thought babies could make such a noise - escaping her. The warmth of her against him has something in his chest fracturing, splintering, breaking wide open. All the pieces of him seem to realign, and without thought Joel bends down to pick up her blanket. There’s a nearly full diaper bag by the door, and Joel snags that too.

Ellie doesn’t stir against him as they exit the house through the back and Joel winds them through the trees lining the back of the property. He doesn’t have a car seat, he realizes. He’ll need to get one of those - for the time being Joel lowers himself to sit in the backseat of the car with Ellie still held against him.

He’ll call Tess, Joel decides, back of his finger stroking gently over Ellie’s cheek. She can come get him, get someone else to get his car out of here. She’ll be mad, probably more than a little freaked out, but it ain’t for her to worry about.

Ellie’s his.

She stretches a bit, a small fist making contact with his neck. Immediately Joel starts to rub her back, low voice murmuring in her ear.

“It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

Joel blinks awake, the familiar sight of his ceiling coming in to focus above him. He doesn’t dream about the night he found Ellie very often, but every time he does it’s as clear as if it had just happened.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand shows it’s nearing on eight, which means Ellie’ll probably be up soon.

He totes his laundry basket down the hall to the laundry room, hitting the power button on the coffee maker when he passes. He’ll get the laundry going, his coffee made, the waffle batter started. And then they can have breakfast together, figure out how they want to spend their Wednesday. It’s summer, so Ellie’s out of school, and he’s off for the day.

Joel strolls over to the window facing the backyard as he sips his coffee, waffle batter made and sitting in the fridge. He’d moved around a lot before Ellie - hazard of the job - but he’d wanted her to have stability, safety. It made it trickier, meant he could take fewer jobs, but he’d stashed up enough money to make that less of a concern.

Tess had predictably lost her shit when she’d found Joel in the back of his car, Ellie snoozing against Joel, but within a matter of hours he’d had a crib and enough supplies to last two weeks. Within three days he’d had a birth certificate listing a dead woman as Ellie’s mother and Joel as her father. Any trace of her in the target’s house had been swiftly and carefully eradicated.

And Ellie had never known about any of it. If Joel had his way, she never would.

A yawn from behind him has Joel turning around, smile spreading across his cheeks at the sight of Ellie shuffling across the living room towards him in her pajamas, hair tousled and eyes half-open. She all but collapses against him, head thunking against his chest as she yawns again.

“Waffles?”

Joel chuckles, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon, sleepyhead, let’s get you some waffles.”

There was nothing more important to Joel than his daughter. And nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her from learning the truth.

#somehow i wrote another short thing #idk how this keeps happening #anyways i hope you enjoy #hitman au #this time baby i’ll be bulletproof #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel and ellie #the last of us #fic prompt #fic request

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deepdreamnights · 1 month ago

Text

Terms and Conditions Do Not Overrule the USTPO

Originally from reddit. I am not a lawyer, but this hardly needs one.

I use Suno, but it being a useful tool doesn't mean they're off the hook for trying to be sneaky. Also, this isn't just about them. Pretty much every Generative AI tool has some similar such claim or clause in place.

Any so-called controlling rights on public domain works are entirely unenforceable.

This is a long post, so enjoy this public domain song which you can use for whatever purpose you like.

Terms and conditions do not override the determinations of the USTPO, which is that without significant human modification, generative AI generations do not qualify for copyright protections and thus are in the public domain.

So for Suno, you own your lyrics if you wrote them. You own any modifications you make to the song in post. You might own the tune if it was prompted directly using Suno's weird symbols/tabulature stuff, but at this point there's been no judgement on whether a significantly complex prompt makes a resulting generation have "significant human expression".

Not to say Suno can't pull DMCA BS or issue takedowns, but it wouldn't be hard to prove they lack the standing. You'd probably have to go to court to do it, so if you're not willing to roll the dice on having to do that sending an email is easier, and that's what the company is counting on.

The important part, is to remember that human authorship is required for copyright. If you want those rights, you gotta make sure you're putting in the authorship (lyrics, editing, remixing, etc.)

Or, you can be cool with the commons and be open about the copyleft nature of AI generations.

I tend to approach my own work in a "making parts" sense because I've been doing multimedia collage for far longer than there's been generative AI. The final work is the faux trailer, fake commercial, music video or the comic or the mini-episode or whatnot.

youtube

But everyone's process is going to be different.

Part of countering misinformation around generative AI is breaking the hype side of things as much as the doom.

The corporate dream of an endless IP machine is a paper tiger, because all they've made is an infinite public domain machine. A century of trying to control and hoard the "rights" to our culture have drained the commons dry and this new tech just pumps solely into it's parched reservoir.

On the other end, the idea that one is going to get rich just because they've got some generative tools is just mist and vapor awaiting a light breeze. It's a great force multiplier, but anyone can get access to the same tools. The things the robot can't bring to the table are the things that matter, and they're going to matter even more now.

I like to compare most AI to toys (an object's use defines its function) and a way of making parts of a whole, so Lego is a good metaphor here. The creations that get attention are the ones that aren't out-of-the-box and made from the instructions.

I don't say this to discourage anyone from trying to use the tech to fulfill their expressive vision, but to emphasize that it's not a push-button-get-end-result situation.

Everyone has access to the same bricks. Everyone can use your bricks if they find them in an out of the box state. This is a feature, not a bug.

#ai discourse #ai misinformation #generative ai #suno ai #terms and conditions #public domain #the commons #copyleft #copyright #intellectual property #IP

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

Note

Food related prompt with reader making a cake with lots of whipped cream, not letting Aziraphale into the kitchen without serious reason but the angel finds a way to distract her...sorry if it sounds lame lol

BASICALLY, whipped cream sensuality 😅 ❤️

notes: this is what aziraphale deserves. 😌

pairing: aziraphale x gn!reader

rating: M, light smut under cut

You’ve got everything that you need set up. Cake ingredients: check. Strawberries: check. Whipped cream: check. Alright, you’re ready to start baking — you just need to go and grab your phone from where you left it on charge in the living room.

It’s a short journey from the kitchen, but long enough that you begin to hear a suspicious noise. It’s with dawning horror that you realise you’ve left the cream unguarded. Like a shot you’re back in, and Aziraphale freezes with the nozzle of the squirty cream aimed directly into his mouth.

“Aziraphale!”

“My dear, I was just —”

You pick up your wooden baking spoon and tap him lightly with it, as close to anger as you can get with your angel.

“Aziraphale!” Bonk. “Don’t!” Bonk. “Eat my!” Bonk bonk. “Ingredients!” One final bonk, a light one to the tip of his nose. He looks downtrodden and attempts to mollify the situation.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so… delicious.”

The thing is it’s actually very easy to tempt Aziraphale. Just put something tasty within his reach and he’ll usually go for it, like a wild animal being lured into a trap. Usually you find it endearing. Today you’re a bit annoyed.

“I know, but I need it. So pass it over and go and do something in the bookshop.”

“Alright. I’m ever so sorry, darling.”

He deflates and obliges, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. You feel a little bit bad for him, you don’t like telling him off (unless it’s in the bedroom, where you very much do like it and more to the point so does he). Won over, as ever, by his charm, you resolve to find a way to rectify the situation.

🧁

You go back to the little store when you’ve finished baking, have another quick shop, and return home with renewed vigour and a scandalous little idea.

You don’t let on about it as you continue on about your day, but that night you find him in the bedroom, useless little reading glasses perched on his nose and book in his lap. As you always do when you desire his attention you swing a leg over him and shift yourself into his lap. Aziraphale peeks up, intrigued, and lets you remove his glasses to carefully put aside.

“I was thinking, it was very unfair to deny you any whipped cream earlier.”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes, as if he’s not sure he trusts this line of conversation, but makes no effort to interrupt. You reach into the side drawer where you stashed it earlier, and pull out a whole fresh can of the stuff.

Your angel’s eyes open comically wide.

“Oh.”

“That is, of course, if you’re interested…”

He silences you with a kiss, and you can feel him smiling beneath your mouth.

“You my dear,” he sighs, blissfully, “will lead me to sin.”

“You don’t sound too worried about it.”

“I don’t think I am.”

He flips you onto your back and you squeal.

🧁

When you’re naked - which doesn’t take long - he presses a line of cream from the base of your neck to the bottom of your stomach, and takes his time licking it all off. His tongue makes you gasp and giggle, the strange tickly feeling of it, but it’s worth it to hear the noises of ecstasy he makes. He leisures at the apex of your legs, spreading them wide to allow himself better access, and takes your sex in his sticky mouth. You moan and roll back into the bed, but he clamps an arm down over your hips to keep you exactly where he wants you.

He’s so clever with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Able to scrape out every inch of pleasure you can find to give him and then wring you out for even more. When you’ve come from his attention, Aziraphale looks up at you with proof of your release all over his lips, his eyes heavily lidded with lust.

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever had.”

God when he speaks like that you want him to sin. You want to be the reason he’s led into temptation, because when he follows you there he worships you with his love.

A while later, and when the cream bottle has been emptied and you’re both satisfied, you get to your shaky legs and head to the en-suite, disliking the tacky feeling left on your skin. Aziraphale watches you lazily, exhausted.

“Come on angel. You’re the one who got me messy. Now you have to clean me up.”

He groans, and gives in.

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan

#aziraphale x reader #Good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #request #Michael sheen x reader

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