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blog-o-meter · 1 month ago

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sweetdreams - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Aching for some release, Nicholas finds himself browsing a cam site and stops dead when he recognizes a familiar bedroom on one of the thumbnails.

warnings: 18+, camgirl, masturbation, exhibitionism

required listening: n/a

word count: 6,195

a/n: eek, I've been sitting on this one for a bit - I'm not even sure why. but I like it, it was fun to write LMAO also rip TikTok. I deleted the app over a year ago bc it destroyed my brain but ik lots of ppl still love that app so rip I guess. anyway lmk if you liked this one! I have a few more fics but idkkkk

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!

The glow of my laptop screen on the bed illuminated the cozy pale purple walls of my bedroom. The fairy lights hanging along the fabric draping the backside of my bed added a soft warmth to the otherwise dimly lit space with a few tapered candles here and there on my nightstand and dresser to set the mood. I adjusted the camera perched on the tripod next to my desk, angling it toward my bed where the sheets were already perfectly rumpled by design.

I didn't do it because I needed the money. I always paid my bills on time — rent, utilities, student loans, cellphone, gas, insurance, and groceries — but my entire paycheck would go to just that. And no matter how much I tried to break up my checks or stagger payment dates, the same thing always happened: I never had enough money to splurge on myself. I wanted the money. So bad.

There were so many things I wanted to buy for myself, so many trips and concerts and restaurants I wanted to be able to experience, but I never could, not unless I saved up the little leftover money I’d have for myself for months and months at a time just to be able to accompany my friends to a mid-scale restaurant. It was a little embarrassing for me, frankly. I just wanted to be able to be with them during all those moments, not sitting at home bored with incredible FOMO.

That’s why I decided to start camming on the side.

I didn’t do it frequently, just when I anticipated buying something I had been wanting — like a nice pair of boots or some furniture — or wanted to go out with friends, and it wasn’t an easy decision for me to make either. I spent close to a year mulling it over, really weighing my options, and honestly, it was the only one I was comfortable enough to explore, surprisingly.

I mean, I masturbated anyway. It was in the privacy of my room with no audience, sure, but why do something for free when you could be making some money out of it? And all I had to do to hide my identity was get a second bank account, move all of the identifying pictures out of the way, buy myself a nice, sexy mask that obscured a majority of my face, and stream on an out-of-the-way cam site I was sure most of the people in my life would not be privy to.

At first, it was incredibly intimidating. My sex life was borderline nonexistent, and I was basically about to expose myself to strangers on the internet. I could barely speak during my first stream, but over time I became more comfortable with my movements and my voice — almost confident, even. But that didn’t mean I still didn’t get nervous before every stream, like now.

As I laid on my bed and pulled the black lace mask over my face, I let out a slow, steadying breath, fingers hovering over the trackpad of my laptop, the cursor teasing the ‘Go Live’ button. And then I clicked it.

sweetdream is live.

On the other side of town, Nicholas came home exhausted, but most of all frustrated. Shooting had been absolutely brutal this week, and the constant tension in his body was driving him insane. It didn’t help that he barely had any time to go out with his friends or even entertain the girls in his DMs and maybe hook up with one of them to blow off some steam.

But he didn’t want to deal with any of that right now. He was just so exhausted; how could he possibly have the energy to even pretend to be interested in whatever conversation his friends or those girls had to say? He wanted something here, something now.

Nicholas tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the fridge and reached in for a nice, cold beer before retreating to his room. The familiar solitude of his apartment felt suffocating tonight, the silence amplifying the ache in his chest and the tension coiling low in his stomach. He threw himself onto his bed, letting out a quiet groan as he reached for his laptop on the nightstand and set down his beer with a dull thud.

He hadn’t forayed into the world of internet porn in over month, but he did it like clockwork — reaching into his nightstand drawer for his wired headphones and sticking them into his MacBook’s audio jack before carefully placing the laptop over his thighs and waking it to life.

Nicholas’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as his thumb rubbed over the trackpad, opening a private window and typing in all of the familiar site names — PornHub, Xhamster, XVideos, hell, even XNXX. He scrolled for a bit on each, hoping at least one video might catch his attention and fully awaken his half-hard cock, but none of them were hitting the way he wanted — needed — tonight.

They all seemed too polished, now. Way too much makeup and studio lights. Makeup and studio lights was all he worked with on set, and the last thing he wanted was to jerk off to work. Frustrated, he closed the tabs one by one. He needed something different — something raw, something real.

He didn’t visit cam sites often, but when he did, they delivered exactly what he was looking for. Something authentic. So, without any hesitation, he clicked through his bookmarks and clicked the out-of-the-way cam site he had come across months and months ago deep in the pages of Google.

Nicholas leaned back against the headboard, the familiar homepage of the cam site loading in front of him, colorful and bright and borderline blinding, the screen illuminating his face and reflecting off his wooden headboard. A variety of thumbnails greeted him, showing live streams in progress. Women of all shapes and sizes, their expressions ranging from coy to confident, teasing the camera.

He scrolled lazily past the wall of endless thumbnails, picking up his beer and taking a lazy swig as he sifted through, trying to find someone who caught his eye. Most were the same: over-the-top angles, exaggerated expressions. They all felt…off. Too staged. Too fake. They all blurred together, until one made him stop dead in his tracks.

His thumb froze mid-scroll, and he nearly choked on his beer, setting the bottle back down on his nightstand as he stared at the screen, his eyebrows furrowed at the tiny square. His cursor hovered over the thumbnail, magnifying it just a smidge.

The thumbnail was simple — cozy lighting, a tidy bedroom with a familiar-looking duvet cover, and a girl wearing a delicate pink satin lingerie set, her face obscured by a lace mask that looked like it had been plucked right out of a Venetian mask shop during Carnival. The room in the background had pale lavender walls, warm fairy lights adorning the wall where the headboard of the bed would be, and candles flickering in the background. It was all familiar. Way too familiar.

“No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath, the words rumbling at the back of his throat.

He leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers twitched over the trackpad before he clicked, the stream loading painfully slow as the rainbow wheel spun. He held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for the image to appear.

And when it did, his stomach dropped.

It was her.

It was me.

The shy, sweet, (Y/N) he’d known for years. The girl who blushed when someone so much as mentioned a sex scene in a movie. The same girl who stumbled over her words anytime he called me ‘baby’ in that teasing tone he so loved to use. The girl that hasn’t been on so much as a real date in the time he’s known her.

I was sitting there on his screen, laying on my side and propping myself up by the elbow, dressed in soft pink satin lingerie, my body glowing under the warm light of my bedroom as I read chat.

Nicholas’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest that he was certain it would burst. His eyes were glued to the screen, unwilling — or unable — to look away. He leaned in closer, the reality of what he was seeing crashing into him like a freight train.

My fingers lightly traced the satin straps of my bra, my voice soft as I spoke to the camera. The black lace mask obscured the top half of my face, but there was no mistaking it — it was me. My voice, my laugh, my nervous little gestures.

“My day was fine; thank you for asking,” I sheepishly smiled as I read a comment from chat, my finger tracing down to my leg, idly trailing up and down my hip, my voice thrumming through Nicholas’s headphones loud and clear.

“What the fuck,” Nicholas whispered to himself, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. He wasn’t half-hard anymore; he was hard as a fucking rock.

The chat on my screen lit up with messages, dozens of anonymous names firing off compliments, tips, and lewd suggestions. Nicholas’s stomach churned, a mix of guilt, confusion, and something darker coiling low in his gut.

He should have closed the tab — hell, he should’ve slammed the laptop shut and never spoken of this to anyone — but he didn’t. Instead, he turned up the volume and watched.

Nicholas’s mind raced as he stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes away. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve closed the tab. Should’ve shoved the laptop away. Hell, throw it across the room if that’s what it took to stop watching. But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand drifted lower, instinct overriding logic as his cock strained painfully against the fabric of his sweatpants.

I shifted on the bed, sitting back on my heels, the delicate pink satin stretching over my body as I leaned closer to the camera. My fingers brushed the lace of my mask before trailing down to the straps of my bra, teasing the edge.

“Let’s see,” I murmured, scanning the chat, my voice carrying a nervous lilt. “You want me to take my time tonight, huh?”

The chat box on my screen lit up with requests and donations, the little dings echoing faintly in the background. I leaned forward, my cleavage filling the frame as I adjusted the camera slightly.

“Thank you for the tip, Anonymous,” I said shyly, a smile tugging at my lips.

Nicholas’s chest tightened as his cock stirred in his jeans. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The idea of me, his quiet, unassuming friend, doing something like this was utterly surreal, utterly impossible. It was impossibly hot.

Johnny88 donated $100: take off ur bra

The moment the donation notification lit up the chat, Nicholas’s jaw clenched. His hand froze mid-motion, hovering over the waistband of his sweatpants.

$100.

The chat was eating it up, emojis flooding the stream, accompanied by crude, explicit comments urging me to follow through. I hesitated for a moment, looking at the message on my laptop screen, my expression shy but playful.

“Wow… Thank you, Johnny88,” I murmured, my voice soft but steady, betraying a nervous edge. “Guess I don’t want to disappoint, huh?”

Nicholas’s breathing deepened, his cock aching as he watched me slowly slide the straps of my bra off my shoulders, my fingers trembling slightly as they trailed over my skin. I glanced at the chat again, clearly gauging my audience’s reaction.

His stomach churned with something primal, a mix of possessiveness and desire that made his head spin. He wanted to hate himself for watching, for indulging in this, but the truth was, he was riveted. Every little movement, every shy smile, every flicker of hesitation only made it worse. And then my hands reached around my back to undo the clasp and the bra came off.

Nicholas groaned under his breath as the satin slid down my arms, revealing my bare chest to the camera. My hands instinctively moved to cover myself at first, but then, slowly, I let them drop, exposing myself completely.

I bit my lip, my hand beginning to knead at my breast, a little whimper escaping my lips as I pinched my hard nipple. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked, almost teasingly.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched, his hand clenching into a fist against the mattress as his other slowly moved to hook itself around his waistband. The sound of my voice, soft and teasing, sent a jolt straight through him. He felt like the biggest fucking pervert alive, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

My fingers teased the hem of my panties, my hand brushing over the top of my center as I sat on my knees in front of the camera, waiting for a little more donations to roll in before deciding to pull them off.

Nicholas’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his hips up slightly to pull down his sweatpants along with his Nike briefs to free himself, his throbbing erection springing out. He hated himself for how hard he was, for the way his body reacted to every soft, breathy sound I made, but god, he was transfixed, his eyes locked on the screen as I teased the camera, my fingers toying with the waistband of my panties.

The sound of a new donation chimed through the speakers. Another request. My eyes flicked to the laptop screen, and a shy smile curled on my lips as I read the message aloud.

“Anonymous tipped $100. Hmm…” I hesitated, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “Panties off, huh?”

Nicholas’s jaw clenched as I kneeled in front of the camera, my chest moving out of the top of the frame as the image of my panties filled the screen. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and tugged them down just enough to tease. My movements were deliberate, slow, and sensual, and Nicholas’s hand moved instinctively to wrap his pulsing length.

I slipped the panties lower, finally revealing myself completely to the camera. I maneuvered myself on the bed to pull my underwear out from under my feet before dangling it in front of the camera to show my viewers the large damp spot, quietly giggling. “God, look how wet I am already,” I whispered, more to myself than to my audience.

The chat exploded with comments. Compliments, pleas, and donations rolled in, but Nicholas barely registered them. He groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he watched me. “Fuck, (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with arousal as he started to stroke himself, his eyes fluttering shut before opening again. The sight of me, naked and confident, teasing the camera with that shy giggle, had him utterly captivated.

I reached for something out of frame, my trustee delicate pale pink rabbit vibrator, and settled back on the bed, glancing at the camera with a shy, almost apologetic smile. “I thought I’d… try something new tonight,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make his cock ache.

Nicholas couldn’t help the groan that rumbled low in his throat as he watched me turn the vibrator over in my hands, inspecting it like it was new to me, even though I knew exactly what I was doing. Every movement was calculated to tease, to entice, and fuck, it was working.

His strokes quickened as I brought the toy closer to my mouth, running my tongue over the tip before sucking it gently. His eyes darkened, his breathing heavy as he imagined those soft lips of mine wrapped around him instead.

Love69 donated $50: wish that was me

“Fuck off,” Nicholas gritted his teeth at the donation, his jaw tightening as his hand worked his cock faster, the sight of me teasing the camera sending a wave of heat straight through him. The jealousy coiled low in his gut as the chat lit up with messages, strangers clamoring for my attention, showering me with tips and crude remarks.

The donation pulled a soft, breathy laugh from my lips, and I tilted my head, looking directly at the camera. “Oh, do you?” I murmured, my voice dripping with a mix of innocence and teasing. I ran my tongue along the length of the vibrator again, swirling it slowly before pulling it away, letting it hover just above my lips. “Sorry, Love. I’m imagining someone else.”

Nicholas froze, his hand gripping his cock mid-stroke as the words left my lips. The soft, teasing tone in my voice sent a shiver through his entire body, but it was the words themselves that hit him like a truck. The idea of me thinking about someone else while putting on this show, teasing, and playing for the camera — it was both maddening and painfully arousing.

His jaw clenched, and a low, guttural sound rumbled from his throat as he stroked himself harder, his frustration and desire tangling into something almost primal.

Who the fuck was I imagining?

The thought shouldn’t have mattered. This was a fantasy, an act. I was catering to an audience of strangers, faceless men who threw money at me for a show. But the way I said it — the soft lilt in my voice, the way I bit my lip, my eyes flicking to the camera with a hint of mischief — felt too real. It felt personal.

With his free hand, Nicholas reached into the front pocket of his sweatpants, fumbling to pull out his wallet. “Let’s make you talk, baby,” he whispered to himself as he pulled out his debit card with one hand, placing it between his teeth as he tossed his wallet aside.

Nicholas’s fingers trembled as he typed in his card information, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. He’d never done this before — never donated, never left any comments in chats, never tried to interact with anyone on these sites — but tonight was different. I was different. He needed to know. He needed to push.

His cursor hovered over the donation button for a moment before he clicked it, his heart pounding in his chest as he typed out his message. It wasn’t flashy or crude like the others; it was pointed, deliberate. He hit send.

NC17 donated $50: Who are you imagining, baby?

The donation notification popped up on my screen, and I froze, my eyes widening slightly behind the lace mask. I could feel the flush on my neck creep to my cheeks. Nicholas smirked, his hand wrapping around his cock again as he watched me squirm. He could tell I was thrown off, that the question had hit a little too close to home. The way I hesitated, the slight nervous laugh — it only made him harder.

I shifted on the bed, the rabbit vibrator still in my hand as I trailed it over my nipple, glancing at the chat hesitantly. “NC17, thank you,” I smiled nervously, a tiny moan escaping my lips as the vibrator worked the tip of my nipple on a low setting before dragging it down my stomach, then between my legs. “That’s a secret,” I replied breathily before smiling softly, “Funny username, though,” my voice had softened, carrying a teasing edge, but Nicholas caught the crack in it.

Nicholas’s smirk deepened, his hand moving faster along his length as he watched me squirm on screen. That crack in my voice wasn’t just from the teasing act — I was flustered, genuinely caught off guard, and that knowledge sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Funny username, huh? Of course, I wouldn’t recognize it. But he’d made me pause.

Nicholas’s free hand hovered over the keyboard again. His initial hesitation was gone now, replaced with something more daring, more possessive. He wanted to push further, wanted to see just how much I would let slip under the guise of anonymity.

NC17 donated $100: Spread those legs wider, baby. Does he know you think about him?

I bit my lip at the donation, my cheeks boiling hot as I obliged the viewer’s request. I spread my legs at the knees, giving the camera a perfect view of my my self. Nicholas’s breath hitched as he watched her glistening folds on full display. I let out a soft, shaky moan as I spread myself open with one hand and led the vibrator to my clit with the other. “No, he doesn’t,” I moaned as my eyes fluttered shut, my back arching against the pillows.

Nicholas groaned audibly at the sound of my voice vibrating in his ears, his hand gripping his cock with a newfound intensity as the words left my mouth. The admission echoed in his head, feeding the dark coil of desire and jealousy tightening in his chest. His strokes quickened as he watched me writhe on the screen, the vibrator pressed against my swollen clit as I let out a series of soft, breathy moans.

The possessiveness inside him surged. He couldn’t stop himself now, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way my body moved, from the way I responded to the toy teasing me mercilessly. His free hand hovered over the keyboard, his need to push me further overriding any guilt or hesitation he might have felt.

NC17 donated $100: do you know him?

I read the donation but threw my head back in pleasure before I could answer, audibly moaning at the sensation of the vibrator circling my entrance while my free hand kneaded at my breast. “Uh-huh,” I whimpered.

ilike2fuck: stretch yourself out

cheekybasstard: god ur so perfect

m1lfluvr: fuuuck

Nicholas’s breath caught as he saw me falter, my body arching on the bed as I moaned in response to the chat’s demands. His grip tightened on himself, his strokes growing more erratic as he watched the screen. The way I answered his question, breathless and soft, set his mind ablaze. The way I whimpered, the way I let the vibrator tease me, was driving him insane. He wasn’t just watching now — he was consuming me, feeding on every sound, every movement.

My hands stilled for a moment, and I reached off-screen, grabbing a small bottle of lube from my nightstand. The slick sound of it being poured into my hand sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through Nicholas’s body, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched me stroke the vibrator with the jelly. “Not that I need it, but it never hurts,” I spoke quietly as I watched my hand spread the jelly over my cute toy.

“Shit,” Nicholas groaned through gritted teeth, his thumb brushing over the swollen head of his cock with every slick stroke.

His mind was racing, trying to piece my answer together. His stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy, desire, and something dangerously close to satisfaction. I knew him, whoever he was. Was it someone I worked with? Someone in our mutual circle? Or — god forbid — someone I was secretly seeing? The idea made his grip tighten, his strokes becoming rougher as his possessiveness took over.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, barely giving himself a moment to think.

NC17 donated $100: Tell me about him.

I leaned back against the pillows as I silently read his donation, the vibrator gliding slowly over my folds before dipping inside, my moan trembling and raw. “Fuck,” I whimpered, throwing my head back as my mouth fell open. “He’s… so fucking hot,” I breathed through my moans, inserting the entire vibrator into myself slowly before taking it out again and repeating the process. “God, so hot.”

The chat erupted in a flurry of commands and compliments, the dings of donations coming in a constant rhythm.

Nicholas’s jaw clenched as I moaned those words, his strokes faltering for a second before he tightened his grip and picked up his pace.

So fucking hot.

The way I said it, the way my voice cracked and my body arched on the screen, sent a surge of heat through him. But the thought of who I was talking about — the mystery man in my head — had his chest tightening with jealousy.

“Not good enough,” Nicholas muttered to himself, his eyes darkening as he watched me keep my answers vague.

His hand paused on his cock as he stared at the screen, his breathing heavy. His free hand hovered over the keyboard, typing furiously before sending another donation.

NC17 donated $150: What does he do to make you so wet?

Johnny88 donated $100: fuck yourself from behind

Nicholas’s jaw was tight as his donation slid to the top of the chat in bold. He watched my lips curl into a small smile, my cheeks flushing as I rolled myself over on my knees, lifting my hips in the air while I rested my face on the pillows, back arched to the max. I angled my head to look back over my shoulder to keep reading chat while I guided my vibrator under me, giving the camera the most salacious angle as I continued working myself.

“He’s so fucking cocky,” I whimpered, the words spilling from my lips as the toy disappeared inside me. “And he always calls me ‘baby.’”

Nicholas’s head fell back against the headboard at my confession, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him as he watched me. It was him. I was talking about him. And the realization sent a jolt of primal desire coursing through his body.

His strokes grew faster, more desperate, as I buried the vibrator inside me, my body trembling slightly with the sensation. My moans started to grow louder, more uninhibited. I whimpered, my free hand gripping the sheets as I teetered on the edge. “Shit,” I gasped, my body arching as I pushed the vibrator even deeper, the pleasure overwhelming. “Yes, yes—oh, fuck. Right there.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his strokes matching the rhythm of my movements on screen. His chest heaved, his mind consumed by the image of me — his sweet, shy friend — coming apart in front of him. Every moan, every gasp, every broken cry of pleasure drove him closer to the edge.

“God— sh—,” he groaned under his breath, his hand tightening around his dick. He muttered endless curses under his breath as I thrusted the vibrator in and out, my glistening slickness catching the light from my laptop and candles just perfectly. He couldn’t stop. Not now.

On screen, my body tensed, my back arching as the vibrator brought me closer and closer to release. “God, yes,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “He’s so—fuck—so perfect.”

Nicholas’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening as he leaned closer to the screen, his other hand trembling as he typed another message, desperate to push me further.

NC17 donated $200: Tell me how you want him, baby.

The donation notification flashed on the screen, bold and demanding. My breath hitched audibly, my gaze flicking to the chat. My cheeks flushed behind the mask, my lips parting as if to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

The chat exploded with messages, urging me to answer, but Nicholas only cared about one thing — my reaction. He could see the hesitation, the nervous flicker in my expression as I glanced at the camera. And then, finally, I spoke.

“I want him everywhere,” I whispered, my voice breathy and raw. My free hand trembled as it gripped the sheets tighter. “I want him to kiss me, touch me, take control… I want him to fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

Nicholas let out a low, guttural groan, his hips bucking into his hand as my words pushed him to the brink. I whimpered on screen, my body trembling as the vibrator worked me relentlessly. “Yes,” I gasped, my voice breaking as I teetered on the edge. “Fuck—I’m all his. Only his. S-so close,” I muffled into the pillows.

Nicholas’s strokes grew frantic, his breathing ragged as he felt himself losing control. He couldn’t stop now, not when I was so close, not when the thought of being the one to make me fall apart consumed him.

NC17 donated $500: say his name when you finish and I’ll double it

My moans hitched at the sight of the donation flashing across the screen. My chest heaved as I pressed the vibrator even harder against myself, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. The chat went wild, messages flooding in, but all I could focus on was that one donation — that one command.

Say his name.

My fingers trembled, my grip on the toy faltering for a moment as I let out a shaky breath. My body burned with pleasure, my mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, and yet, all of them led back to him. My lips parted, but no sound came out at first. The knot in my stomach tightened, my thighs quivering as I teetered on the edge of release.

Nicholas’s hand froze mid-stroke, his entire body tense and his cock pulsing — begging for friction — as he waited. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. He leaned closer to the screen, his grip on himself almost painful as he hung on to my every movement, every sound.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered under his breath, continuing to stroke himself slowly as he leaned back against the pillows. “Say it. Say my fucking name. I know you can do it.”

My entire body trembled, the heat building inside me threatening to consume every last thought in my mind. The chat blurred in my peripheral vision as my head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping my lips. The vibrator pulsed against my clit, my hips moving in time with its rhythm as I teetered dangerously close to the edge.

Nicholas’s name burned on the tip of my tongue, the demand in the donation rattling around in my head. The promise of doubling the already insane amount made my breath hitch, but it wasn’t just about the money — it was him. His name. The thought of saying it out loud while I came, letting it slip for somebody’s entertainment when I have only ever yelled it for myself, made my pulse race.

I gasped sharply, my hips bucking as the vibrator hit just the right spot. “Yes,” I moaned, my voice high and breathy, trembling with need. My free hand gripped the sheets tighter, my body writhing on the bed as I edged closer and closer. “Oh, fuck. I’m—”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his strokes quickening. His cock throbbed in his hand, pre-cum slicking his length as he watched me come undone. The chat was exploding with comments, but he didn’t care about any of them. All he cared about was me — and that donation.

I buried my face in the pillow for a moment, muffling a desperate, trembling moan as the vibrations coursed through me, pushing me closer to the edge. My entire body was taut, teetering between pleasure and release, the tension unbearable. Lifting my head slightly, I turned toward the camera, my cheeks flushed deep red beneath the lace mask.

And then it happened.

The knot in my stomach snapped, and a loud, raw cry tore from my lips. My body arched, every muscle trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over me. “Nicholas!” I cried out, my voice breaking as I came, his name spilling from my lips like it was the most natural thing in the world, because it was. My entire body convulsed and dropped onto the bed, violently trembling from pure pleasure.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as the sound of his name filled his headphones. “I—Fuck!” Nicholas’s eyes fluttered shut as he growled, his hand gripping himself tightly as my orgasm unraveled in front of him. My moans, my trembling thighs, the way I arched my back and collapsed onto the bed in the aftershocks — it was too much, and he let go.

A guttural groan tore from his throat, his cock twitching in his hand as he came, his release spilling over his fist and shirt in hot, sticky spurts. His head fell back against the headboard, his breathing ragged and heart pounding against his ribs as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, utterly spent. “Good girl,” he quietly panted.

When he opened his eyes, I was still trembling and avoiding the camera’s gaze, my body slowly relaxing as I came down from the high. My cheeks were flushed, my breathing heavy, my hair a little mussed from the mask’s elastic band slipping off just so, and there was a small, satisfied smile tugging at my lips. “Fuck, that was amazing,” I whispered.

Nicholas reached for a box of tissues on his nightstand and wiped his hand and tried to clean as much of his shirt as he could, then reached for the beer bottle on his nightstand and took a swig to quench his thirst, a small smirk on the corner of his lips.

I reached for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning up the toy and myself before glancing back at the camera. The chat lit up with more comments and donations, all of them praising my performance but I only had one thing on my mind.

“Where’s that donation you promised, NC17?” I asked with a coy smile, rolling over on my stomach and tossing my vibrator aside.

Nicholas chuckled under his breath, his chest still rising and falling heavily. He shook his head, leaning forward to type on the keyboard. He typed in the payment details again, adding the promised donation with a smirk tugging at his lips. His cursor hovered over the “send” button for a beat longer than necessary before he clicked it.

NC17 donated $1,000: You earned it, baby. Don’t spend it all at once.

The notification flashed on my screen, bold and unmistakable. My eyes widened slightly and I froze, my breath hitching audibly as I stared at the amount. The most I had ever made in a single stream — in a single donation. The chat immediately erupted with reactions, some congratulatory, others envious that it hadn’t been them to make the donation, but I barely noticed them.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, sitting up slightly and brushing my hair back, my fingers trembling as I adjusted the mask that had slipped slightly during the stream. “NC17, you are the best. Oh, my god! Thank you, thank you, thank you. That’s… wow. You’re amazing.”

Nicholas leaned back against the headboard, his smirk deepening as he watched my reaction. The way my voice trembled with gratitude, the way I bit my lip nervously — it was all too much, too intoxicating. It sent a thrill through him, knowing he was the one making me react like that.

“Damn straight,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair as he reached for his beer again. He took a long swig, his eyes never leaving the screen as I began to wind down the stream. His chest still heaved slightly, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of everything that had just happened.

“I think that’s it for tonight,” I said softly, my voice carrying that familiar mix of shyness and playfulness. “Thank you all for being here. And thank you again, NC17. You’ve been… incredible.” My eyes flicked to the chat one last time, lingering on his username before I smiled and waved. “Goodnight, everybody. Sweet dreams,” I blew a kiss to the camera.

sweetdream has ended the stream.

With that, I leaned forward and ended the stream, the screen fading to black. I sat back against my headboard, letting out a shaky breath as I pulled off the lace mask. My cheeks were still flushed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the laptop, the donation total lingering in the corner of the screen.

Across town, Nicholas shut his own laptop with a quiet click and pulled off his earphones, tossing both aside and running a hand down his face once reality started to creep back in. He’d just crossed a line — one he couldn’t uncross. He’d watched me, his friend, in a way that was impossible to forget. And worse, I’d said his name. Called out for him while I fell apart on camera, in front of God knows how many strangers. Even worse, he’d dropped over two thousand dollars just to see it happen.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. He knew he’d have to face me eventually. Knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this secret forever. But for now, he let the smirk linger, his mind already spinning with how to handle the situation.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and teasing as he reached for his beer.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x fem!reader #nicholas alexander chavez fanfic #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez fic #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas alexander chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez x fem!reader #nicholas alexander chavez rpf #grotesquerie father charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhem x reader #father charlie mayhew x fem!reader #fic-o-meter

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neil-gaiman · 11 months ago

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Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

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love-byers · 6 months ago

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....wait . there are people who don't think the show is centered around will? there are people who don't think a core part of s5 will be wills culmination as a character?? there are people who don't think the entire supernatural plot will circle back to will???

besides the fact that the duffers LITERALLY CONFIRMED that will is the center of s5...

the show itself literally tells you. that is the narrative they've been pushing the entire time.

the entire first season is about finding will. every single plotline is connected to finding will.

mike and the boys are using el to find will

jonathan and nancy are working together to hunt the monster they believe has taken will and barb

joyce is trying to communicate with will to find out where he is and how to save him

hopper is a cop investigating the case, and eventually he and joyce team up to investigate further into the lab conspiracy, believing it's tied to wills disappearance

a massive chunk of s2 is about wills connection to the upside down. he's being hunted by the mind flayer and used as a spy, causing a lot of the conflict but also leading to the resolution.

now that we know vecna was behind all of that, that open so many doors for will in s5. if you use your fucking peanut brain for 5 seconds you'll realize there are lots of things we don't know surrounding will and vecna that will come to light in s5. vecna specifically sought will out and hunted him down. remember s2?

"It wanted to kill you?"

"Not me. Everyone else."

we're also getting flashbacks of will in the upside down so we can see exactly what happened to him the week he was there. clearly there's something important we don't know about. the upside down is literally frozen on the day will went missing. but will isn't important and won't be a big part of s5?

s3 is the first time will is less significant to the plot. he still has the connection to the mind flayer and his ability to sense it is still relevant to the story and helps push it along. bit still, he had significantly less lines and screen time. much of his story is portrayed as him struggling to 'grow up' and not being interested in romance like the others. there are several jokes that present will as simply being childish and reluctant to grow out of it. which a lot of people found sort of annoying. i remember seeing a lot of people enjoying s3, but wishing will had more depth and importance.

but we now know that that's not the whole truth. all of that, him being annoyed and disinterested by romance, just wanting to play dnd with the party, and fighting with mike was all subtext leading into his sexuality and the fact that he's in love with mike. that's been confirmed by actors and the duffers themselves. though will's sexuality was always hinted at, it wasn't meant to fully come to light until s4. so they tried to pass it off as will just being childish. they tried to pass of mike and wills conflict as only being about dnd and growing up. a prime example of this is will tearing down castle byers after his fight with mike. he rips the photo of the core 4 as the ghostbusters down the middle, aka where he and mike are in the center. that is easily passed off as just being about the friend group. people BELIEVED that it was just about the friend group, and that there was no way will was in love with mike. but it's now literally confirmed that he is. like it's insane how many people never even considered that as a possibility. people literally just tune out parts of the show they don't immediately find interesting. i've seen so many comments on byler scenes, for example "it's not my fault you don't like girls", saying "wait i don't remember this scene when did he say that??" people just don't pay attention or think deeper than surface level, which in this case is okay because wills sexuality was meant to be something you slowly realized. the problem comes when people just start denying its significance and refusing to see it for what it is.

if you take in all of will's story with mike and whittle it down to "stupid gay crush on best friend" i don't know what show YOUVE been watching. did you forget that will only remembered his mom and mike when he was possessed and lost his memory? that mike recounting the day they met was enough for will to break through and communicate while possessed? that will puts mikes happiness before his own? that will has literally said he needs mike and always will?

it's not a crush that will can just get over. you know we actually have an example of a simple crush and it's dustin and max. how did that work out? dustin got over max very quickly and it's no biggie. he didn't go on a monologue about how he needs max and always will. he just thought she was cool and pretty.

also, the show spends so much time getting the audience to feel bad for will and want to see him happy. you are SUPPOSED to like him. you are supposed to have empathy for him. will is written to be extremely gentle, kind, and selfless.

will is too nice to say anything bad about anyone, even after being viscously bullied and called slurs for years. even by his own father, WHO HE STILL CANT TALK BAD ABOUT!!!

no matter how much will suffers, he remains kind and selfless. he gave a girl his tonka truck knowing joyce couldn't by him another one. mike says they shouldn't give up on looking for him because will sacrificed himself in dnd to save the party. remember the whole thing in s2 about joyce getting on will for constantly apologizing even when he did nothing wrong? there is no point to that besides evoking empathy for him!!!!! he is sweet and sensitive and doesn't deserve any of this!!!!!!!!

and about bylers being delusional for thinking will and mikes relationship will be a big part of s5 and the culmination of everything in a show about monsters killing people, here's a quote from shawn levy, who has directed many stranger things episodes

"People talk about mythology and The Upside Down, and all that is huge, but the magic of S5 are the characters who find sense of belonging with other and through that connection, become heroes."

everyone loves the stranger things relationships until they're queer. when they're queer suddenly there's no time for romance in a sci fi show, the writers actually suck, and they're just baiting. lumax and their love for each other was a core plot of the season where the big bad was trying to kill her all season. there is an entire plot point about max's memory of kissing lucas at the snow ball saving her life. in a show like this, there is time for relationships and supernatural stuff because they are interwoven when the time comes. they can do the exact same thing with byler in s5. s5 is going to be the longest season thus far. there will definitely be time for relationship development.

so yeah. call me delusional but i don't think the show will end with wills feelings for mike unresolved or with them just evaporating. given everything we know about s5 (relationships and finding belonging being an important factor, noah and finn constantly filming together, leakers saying will has a love interest) and everything we already know about the relationship formulas in ST, literally all the signs are pointing to byler. the only rebuttal people have is calling us delusional because the writers just wouldn't do that. if you actually push past the heteronormativity and consider the fact that the duffers do want to represent queer people in a way that doesn't reinforce the idea that we can never find love or be happy, things will start making a lot more sense.

i'm sorry to have to say this about mike but mike is a character presumed straight who hasn't been super relevant in the supernatural plot for 2 seasons now, just as long as will. his significant plot points are related to el or will. relationship development. and unlike will, he has been an ACTUAL asshole!!!! lots of people stopped liking mike as much after s2 because of his personality change. (ofc i still love mike, but there's been multiple plot lines about mike being a dick for no reason and apologizing for it) but no one has VISCERAL hatred for him like they do will byers. not saying mike deserves hate, cause he certainly doesn't, but the problems people have with will, they only have with will. any other character doing it is fine. 2 seaons of wills feelings for mike is boring and distracting but 2 seasons of mike having the same 'i love you' problems with el isn't?

i'm not saying the sudden hate for will is because it's now clear that he's gay but im kind of saying it

some people can't sympathize with queer issues because they don't care about queer people. they don't empathize with queer people. queer issues bore them.

will byers i will ALWAYS defend you. you are safe with me pookie

#stranger things #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler endgame #byler analysis #mike wheeler i know what you are #stranger things 4 #milkvan is bones #anti milkvan #anti mileven #will byers defense squad

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

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AITA for being kind and civil with people who drive me insane?

So this is something that happens all the time and it's a pattern so to save your time, I'll only mention the one incident which that I got called out for several times, it's starting to make me think I might be TA.

I (34F) work in a grocery store. Maddy (???F) works in the security department and is in charge for looking through our grocery to ensure we didn't steal anything (our workplace is uncomfortably strict about this since many employees have stole in the past) She is very rude, I never liked her. She makes me so uncomfortable a lot because she yells all the time. At everyone. She never realized how offensive she is.

Anyway, sometimes I'd walk past her after my shift forgetting that I'm carrying grocery bags etc and she'd yell at me to get back there. It's always embarrassing because anyone who witnesses that would most likely assume I'm a shoplifter because of the way she's yelling. She yells about other stuff too mind you, don't think I always forget the fact I'm carrying grocery. They don't allow us to bring our bags inside and we have to keep them in our locker (according to her, I never heard this elsewhere). She yells at me if I try to take my purse with me if I'm in a hurry. She says it's ~the rules~ and we need to follow them but like, she the only security staff who's this strict about it. The others don't even bother to check our groceries because they trust we don't shoplift and it's actually stupid because we could still shoplift anyway and hide the items in our pockets and they don't perform a body check anyway (they used to in the past but were legally required to stop because of Covid).

How do I deal with her though? Every time she'd yell, I reply to her very calmly and attempt small talk to absorb her anger. For example, if she's angry about my grocery, I'd show them to her and ask stuff like "what is you favorite brand of milk/bread/egg etc etc"

She does engage but it never made her actually stop and think about her behaviors for a single second. I have always stopped to chat with her whenever I can and she always speaks calmly when I do, but returns to yelling when I "break the rules" as she says.

But here's the thing. My patience is limited. I'm like a battery, if you keep charging me, I'll eventually explode. I planned remaining civil with Maddy forever, but enough is enough and I accidentally lashed out. I lashed out on her ONCE only, I yelled much louder than she did, for 30 minutes, lecturing her about work etiquette. She was so surprised and taken aback. She told me "where did this all come from?" Like she didn't see it coming? She seriously mistook my patience and tolerance of her behaviors for friendliness. And that was the last time we talked, I reported her to HR the next day because I don't think she'll ever get the memo, and that's when I learned thst so many employees have complained about her already but they can't fire her because she an outsource and has strong connections in her company, management has already talked to her numerous times but she just doesn't listen, so don't call me TA for not communicating, it doesn't work with her.

My friend Gloria (28F) and many others including our manager (F30s) told me I should've not been chatting with her, I should just ignore her and disengage. They think the fact I'm talking kindly to her will just make her assume she isn't doing anything wrong and encourage her to keep behaving like that, and that she'd think I want to be friends??? None of that is my intention. I just want to be civil to her to indirectly get her to realize her behaviors weren't acceptable. I'm setting a good example for her, to learn from me how she should treat people and soften her heart.

I was called TA because they said I didn't have to be civil with her if I knew I might eventually lash out (but lashing out isn't something I planned??), and I should've just avoided her and set boundaries. Gloria told me it's an AH move to go out of my way to interact to someone I despise when ignoring them is an option and that makes me two faced and makes the people around me wonder if I truly like them or I'm basically tolerating them, but this wouldn't happen if I they weren't rude in the first place?

BTW a similar thing eventually happened with Gloria because her attitude sucked with me and I lashed out eventually because enough is enough, she said she should've known not to trust me because of how I treated Maddy and I shouldn't have befriended her if I "hated" her so much. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #eyestrain

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mourn-and-watch · 1 month ago

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in all seriousness, dragon age being almost officially dead to me is, like, whatever. i'm used to hanging out in dead fandoms because i'm usually extremely late to the party so i think i'll manage. i was excited for veilguard but even if it was bad bad for me (which it wasn't. i have my problems with it but they didn't ruin the franchise for me) i would also manage because dragon age to me always was extremely flawed but had an enormous potential for fan content. at some point i started to treat it like my favourite fantasy playground where i can smash pre-existing barbie dolls with the ones i made myself. all my barbie dolls are in place and i still can do whatever i want (and i plan to continue to do so) and, i guess, i shouldn't be upset.

i am upset, however. for all the devs affected by laid-offs, but especially the writers. these people created dragon age as we know it, and it's been a messy series in every aspect, including the writing, it's been insensitive at times, at times dumb and undercooked, but there was always an immense amount of potential that's been inspiring fans for years, and also a feeling that all, or at least the most of it was created with genuine passion. and realizing that there is no one left from the team that made dragon age what it is, every installment of it, is just. genuinely sad. and it's not a theseus ship dilemma, because it's not like they were slowly replaced one by one. they were just fired. this ship is destined to sink, it's falling apart in front of our eyes because neither ea nor bioware cares about writing. not many companies do nowadays, to be honest. and it's kinda devastating. grifters will celebrate that like a "downfall of woke slop", but they'll get only more ai slop instead, lol, because good writing doesn't guarantee good sells. best selling games of 2024 are shooters and sports games. and elden ring which is a nice exception, but an exception nevertheless.

i don't think mass effect will save bioware at this point. even if it's an absolute banger it still has to meet ea's expectations. which are unrealistic, to say the least. also people who wrote characters like mordin, tali, legion, thane, garrus and liara are all gone. either they left themselves or were laid off. like, if you want "old bioware magic" to return, there is none. the same people who wrote your favourite characters and storylines in da/me were also working on veilguard. i may be wrong, but somehow i think they didn't all lose their ability to write here because they went woke or whatever. i think the inconsistent quality of datv writing that can only be described as 'we're so back/it's so over' pic is a consequence of multiple rewrites, constant director changes and shitty decisions, both internal and coming from bioware/ea higher-ups. i also may be wrong, but it wouldn't be such a big problem if writing wasn't at the bottom of priority list.

if i recall correctly, when gaider left willingly, he highlighted that bioware didn't treat its writers seriously at that point. and i'd say that tracks. like, from countless veilguard rewrites and scrapped ideas to lay-offs of every single studio veteran.

idk what else there is to say. i'll cheer for every studio that value its writers and i hope all ex-bioware devs will be able to do something new and exciting. i also doubt bioware is the last studio that will experience such a decline in the years to come. the narrative of this shitshow will also be twisted into 'go woke go broke' and it already slightly draws me insane. fuck ea fuck bioware fuck grifters. also i beg everyone to start appreciating writing as a craft because otherwise it's only going to get worse!

#whatever. I won't even reread it so sorry for typos in advance #dragon age #bioware critical #ea critical

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olderthannetfic · 3 months ago

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Ok. Dumb question incoming, but I'd much have a 'conversation' than try to read fanlore or watch video essays or something because I want to hear individual people's contributions.

Why Star Trek?

Don't get me wrong - I like the franchise! I'm not super duper familiar with it, but I do enjoy the bits and pieces that I do know. But I am wondering why that in particular is hailed as the grandmother of all fandoms? Obviously people were fannish before Trek, but I don't think anyone can deny the impact that OG Trekkies had on fic, zines, and eventually on the internet.

I know that it's always been popular and well-liked, but it's not as if there was NO SUCH THING as popular culture/fan culture before that (I mean, come on, the term "parasocial" predates the first Star Trek episode by 10 years!) . Was it just a perfect mix of timing + popularity + etc? Is there something in particular about ST that "hit different" than other series at the time? Or is the fandom really really just that mighty and it's almost "luck" in a way? I guess I'm wondering what particular dominoes cascaded in a line in order for Star Trek to have the impact on fandom that it does today.

or am I wrong? were there just-as-big fandoms before and I simply overhype Trekkie power in my head / happen to see more talk of that than I do of other fandoms? It could definitely be a social circle bias thing.

Ugh. Asking OTNF why Star Trek is so important to fandom history feels very much like asking a Russian History major why War & Peace is so important to literature - hence why I warned you that it'd be a dumb question! But I am just so damn curious what sort of crack was in early ST fandom that made it SO widespread and SO strong.

Like, I guess the TLDR is: what was particularly 'different' about Star Trek, either as a fandom or as a franchise or both, that made it Theeeeee OG fandom, rather than something, like, i dunno, LOTR or the earliest versions of Marvel/DC comics or General Hospital or something else like that?

I await the hordes of angry Man from U.N.C.L.E. fans eager to prove that they were first.

And, no, it wasn't that popular. Hence the aggressive Save Our Show campaign and explosion of fan culture when it ended after three seasons.

Part of the answer to your question is that there were like three things on TV at the time. What big fandoms? 'Parasocial' was about non-subculture people feeling warmly towards news anchors or hosts of variety shows or something, wasn't it?

LOTR got rediscovered in the 60s or 70s from what I hear, but science fiction and fantasy books were for fringe weirdoes. SFF was not mainstream for the most part. There are a bunch of History of Book SF Fandom things on Youtube, and you should consult them on the complex role of LOTR in that space. LOTR wasn't a mainstream thing until there were live action movies a billion years later.

The key about Star Trek is that it was a hit with the pre-existing book SF crowd. They were an organized subculture. Some of their favorite writers wrote episodes. Other shit on TV was for people who did not form subcultures in that way. Other shit for SF fans had an audience 1/10,00th the size.

MFU was insanely popular. Illya Kuryakin was the heartthrob of a certain era of girl and inspired many a Russian major. (Seriously, there are soooo many Russia-boos of a certain age who probably still have a poster of him somewhere.) The actor set a record for fanmail. The show may have more influence on fandom history than we think now, but it also didn't rerun the way Trek did, at least in some eras, and it didn't have sequel series in a franchise. I'm always finding 2015 movie fans shocked that there's a still extant and semi-active fandom—or even shocked that the movie is based on something.

Starsky & Hutch was also hugely important and is the moment slash fandom and "Media Fandom" really split from book SF fandom. As Trek fans moved on to buddy cops, they were into a completely mainstream show but in a non-mainstream way. Trek was an awkward bedfellow at SF cons, but S&H just didn't fit at all.

Of course, while Trek is the grandma of AO3 type fandom, don't forget that a shitton of modern fans who are doing "research" just look at the same few sources. Enterprising Women is great and all, but even other fans of the same stuff are like "Oh, that was just X's friends. Where's [thing] and [thing] and [thing]?" Ditto Textual Poachers and the other scant early sources that people think have academic weight.

While Trek would still be central, the picture of what was going on in the late 60s-early 80s would look a bit different if you just found a bunch of 70-something nerds and asked them than if you regurgitate other people's research, you know?

If you want an idea of what else was going on in SF fandom back in the day, check out Galactic Journey, where they roleplay that it's 55 years ago and review SF things "as they come out".

If you want to understand MFU, here's a vid of Illya:

youtube

What say you, readers?

What have acafandom and fandom history and meta left out?

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raeinyourdreams · 4 months ago

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'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

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mayapapaya33 · 6 months ago

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I had sort of hoped Keyleth would have matured and grown past her anger at the Matron over the past 33 years but I suppose it's in character that she hasn't fully dealt with her grief yet. And the Vorb probably isn't helping her issues either. It just sucks because I think a lot of the fandom take Vox Machina's grief fueled blame and fully accept it as fact when the reality is that Vax's situation is almost entirely his own responsibility. The only other person with any remote culpability is Percy. And even Percy is only really to blame for accidentally Killing Vex, not for Vax's choices. But even if you want to hold Percy accountable for Vax's choice in the tomb as well, that still doesn't make him responsible for Vax's death. Vax could have lived a long full life as the Matron's Champion, as shown by the Delightful Purvan Suul and his companion Galdric.

Vax was a borderline suicidal, self-sacrificing character from day one. He always threw himself into danger headfirst regardless of the cost to himself. Between Percy accidentally setting off the trap creating the circumstances for Vax trading himself to the matron during Vex's resurrection, all the way up to Vax CHOSING to come back as a revenant after being disintegrated in order to help defeat Vecna, the choices have always been his. Especially him, fate touched as he is. Ultimately, Vecna killed Vax and Vax killed Vax. I think it's easier to blame the Matron than to be angry with Vax for being who he was.

The Matron maintains the balance of life and death. She accepted Vax's offers both times, do you think she should have refused? The first refusal would have meant Vex's death, and the second refusal would have meant Vax possibly just staying dead after being disintegrated, and not being there to fight against Vecna, which was truly an all hands on deck situation. There was no time to fuck around with a resurrection ritual that might not even work, the whole world was in danger. One life, a life that was already lost, is a small price to pay to save the world. I'm pretty sure Vax would agree with me!

Frankly, Vox Machina were super lucky and privileged to have so many successful resurrections between them. I think they got a little spoilt and entitled about it honestly. Most people have never even met someone who's been resurrected before, they did it like 20 times! Vax was disintegrated, he chose to come back as a revenant to fight Vecna, protect the world, and help his family. An opportunity he was only given due to his allegiance to the Matron. She gave Vox Machina and Vax extra time together and a chance to help save the world.

For those of you shouting "what about true resurrection!?! I hear you, and Matt said it's complicated and didn't elaborate lol. Personally, I think the Matron has quite the special a barrier of entry to true resurrection, if the spell even works at all in Exandria. I think they touched on it briefly in Calamity but I've forgotten. I can only imagine what insane ritual Matt concocted years ago that he's had plenty of time to work on since. Part of the Matron's whole thing is that everyone must eventually go into death, sure they can avoid it for a while, so some resurrection is fine (the DC gets higher every time), but eventually enough is enough and it's time to go. Hence why necromancers and liches are her enemies.

At any rate, I'm really proud of Keyleth for going to therapy and I hope she goes back when all of this moon business is over because she still needs it and that turtle lady in the frog seemed great lol.

#critical role #vox machina #the matron of ravens #vax'ildan #keyleth #grief #anger #misplaced blame #vecna #purvan suul #galdric #choices #vorb #critical role spoilers #campaign 1 #campaign 3 #bells hells

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tteotlma · 5 months ago

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Dialed In

phone sex - foreplay - dystopian

Deadpool/Reader (3.3kw)

a/n: KINKTOBER DAY THREEEEEEE -- i wanna explore w more characters so if you have any suggestions let me know. i liked writing w deadpool (it was my first time)

tw: 18+ MDNI, sexual content, strong language, adult humor, dystopian themes, violence, phone sex, masturbation, graphic dirty talk, intimate photographs, crude humor, isolation, separation, anxiety

---

The world has currently gone to hell, overrun by rogue AI and corrupt government forces, forcing many to isolate and go into hiding. Being Wade’s “Sexy Pants Love Nugget” (as he likes to put it) comes with perks. When everything went to shit Wade made sure to keep you safe in some surprise underground bunker he had.

“Oh, this?” Wade gestures around the bunker. “It’s my secret underground love lair.” He says turning to you. You only blink back at him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Okay, fine,” he huffs, clearly upset you won’t play along, but he gets it—whole world potentially ending and everything. “But it is my secret underground lair. Every superhero—or, anti-hero, in my case—needs one. Sure, Batman has his cave, Tony Stark has his fancy mansion, but me,” he thumbs his chest with a grin.

“I’ve got a bunker, baby. Way cooler.” He winks playfully, grabbing your hand and leading you to the slightly crusty-looking sofa pressed against the wall.

“People thought I was nuts, but I planned for this whole dystopian thing ages ago. Call it my ‘just-in-case-the-world-goes-to-shit-and-I-need-to-hide-out-with-my-favorite-person’ bunker.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Stocked with essentials: Raisin Bran, chimichangas, and—wait for it—pajama onesies. We’ve got a blue unicorn, a white one, a purple one, and a whole collection of Hello Kitty undies. Oh! And the entire Golden Girls DVD box set,” he adds, pointing at a dresser stacked with DVDs and an old TV stand.

He then gestures proudly to the back wall, packed with an insane amount of weaponry. “We’ve got bean bags, grenades, Korth Super Sport Revolvers, Wilson Combat EDC X9s, Beretta 92FS Fusions…”

“Okay, I get it—you’ve got a lot of guns, babe,” you cut in, scanning the dimly lit space. It's rough, but you can tell he tried to make it somewhat livable.

“Thank you! I could’ve gone on forever.” He drapes an arm around your shoulders and walks you over to an area closed off by a curtain. With a flourish, he pulls it back, and your heart melts. “I-it’s not exactly home, but…”

You see that Wade has recreated your shared bed from home—favorite blankets, pillows, and even the sheets you love so much. The walls are decorated with photos of the two of you, Polaroids capturing goofy selfies and candid moments.

“Wade, are those my tits?!” you screech, pointing at a very questionable Polaroid.

“Whoops! No idea how that got there,” he says, ripping it off the wall and shoving it into his back pocket. “Let’s replace it.” He grabs another photo and sticks it up—a shot of his bare dick.

“Half-mast,” he says with a smirk, patting the photo. “So you don’t miss me when I’m gone.” With that, he dramatically flops onto the bed, blankets billowing up around him.

“What do you mean, ‘when you’re gone?’” you ask, your voice softening as you slide onto the bed next to him, immediately resting your head on his chest. His arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you closer in that familiar, protective way. Beneath the layers of humor and bravado, there’s always been something deeper with Wade—something he doesn’t say out loud.

He hesitates for a moment, his usual playful banter faltering. “Oh, you know... just in case I have to run out and save the world or do something *really* heroic, like buying more chimichangas. Super serious stuff.” His voice lightens, but you can tell there’s more beneath the surface, the words left unsaid.

You gently trace your fingers over the zipper of his hoodie, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. “Wade...”

He sighs, the weight of the moment catching up to him. “Look, babe. We both know the world’s gone to hell. I mean, have you seen outside? It’s a total dumpster fire out there.” His fingers absentmindedly play with a strand of your hair as he talks. “And in my line of work, well, there’s a pretty high chance I’ll have to go out there, guns blazing, and… you know, maybe not come back. But don’t worry, I’ll leave you the last chimichanga. It’ll probably be stale, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to make light of the situation, but there’s a knot tightening in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” you mumble into his suit, holding him tighter. The idea of losing Wade, even in this chaotic, end-of-the-world scenario, is a thought you don’t want to entertain.

“Aw, babe, you know I’d never leave you behind. I mean, who else would make sure I don’t do something stupid like try to fight a sentient toaster again? You’re basically my safety net.” He grins, trying to break the tension, but his eyes give him away—there’s a flicker of something more vulnerable there.

The space around you, dimly lit by the flickering lights of the bunker, feels oddly intimate in this moment. You look around at the effort he’s put into this hideaway—the mismatched sheets that remind you of home, the Polaroids plastered on the walls, capturing your life together. Even the ridiculous weapons display on the far wall feels like an odd testament to how much he wants to protect you, how much he’s planned for every possible disaster.

“I didn’t just build this bunker for me, you know,” Wade murmurs, his voice unusually soft. “It was always about you. Us. I didn’t want to drag you into all my… crazy, but look at us now. Dystopian lovebirds, right?” He chuckles, but there’s a certain warmth behind his words.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together—whatever ‘saving the world’ means today.” You reach up, cupping his face, feeling the rough texture of his skin beneath your fingertips, a reminder of all he’s been through. All the battles, the scars, and the fact that despite everything, he’s still here with you.

Wade gazes at you for a long moment, his usual bravado melting away as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You smirk. “Maybe. But you’ve got great taste in blankets,” you tease, pulling the fluffy fabric around you both, cocooning yourselves in warmth.

He chuckles, his arm tightening around you as he settles back into the pillows. “Damn straight. If the world’s gonna end, at least we’ll be cozy, right?” There’s a brief pause before he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Also, not to brag, but I do look fantastic in a unicorn onesie.”

You burst out laughing, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little, and Wade grins, clearly proud of himself for making you laugh.

“Okay, okay,” you say between giggles, “but seriously, we’re sticking together, right? No going off and playing hero without me.”

He nods, his expression softening as he strokes your hair. “You got it, babe. No solo hero gigs. We’re in this whole ‘dystopia survival’ thing together.”

You let out a content sigh, resting your head back on his chest as his heartbeat thrums steadily beneath you. “Good,” you whisper, closing your eyes and savoring the moment of peace. Despite the world falling apart outside, in this little bunker, wrapped up with Wade, you feel safe.

“Besides,” he adds, his voice back to its usual playful tone, “how could I possibly leave when you’ve got a *killer* set of boobs and a healthy appreciation for my half-mast photos? I’d be an idiot.”

You groan, smacking his chest lightly, but you’re smiling, and that’s all Wade wants right now. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your heart is light again.

“And yet, you love me,” he quips, leaning down to kiss you on the top of your head. “So, unicorn onesie or Hello Kitty undies tomorrow? Gotta plan for our next ‘post-apocalyptic fashion show.’” You laugh but don’t say anything, instead just toying with the fabric on his chest.

As you both lay there, wrapped up in the makeshift comfort of the bunker, the moment feels almost peaceful. But deep down, you know it’s only temporary. The world outside is falling apart, and Wade—despite all his jokes and deflections—has his part to play in it.

“Hey, babe…” Wade’s voice cuts through the quiet, a note of seriousness creeping back in. “About that whole ‘not going anywhere without you’ thing?” His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your back as he speaks.

You tense, instinctively knowing where this is going. You lift your head, looking up at him, your face inches from his. “Wade…”

“I know, I know,” he says quickly, trying to keep it light. “But, I gotta head out for a bit. You know, just a quick, heroic, ‘save the day’ kinda thing. Be back in a jiffy.” He tries to throw in a wink, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays the attempt at humor.

“How long?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s hard not to feel the weight of the moment.

“Not long. A few days, tops,” he replies, sitting up and gently pulling you with him. “Just gotta check in with some ‘less friendly’ neighbors, make sure the whole ‘end of the world’ thing doesn’t get even worse.” His hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”

“You always have a plan,” you say with a half-smile, trying to sound reassuring.

“Damn right I do,” Wade grins, but it’s softer this time. He pulls you in for a kiss, lingering just a little longer than usual. When he pulls back, his eyes are serious again. “Hey, I’ll call. Every night. Promise.”

You nod, trying to push down the unease rising in your chest. “You better.”

He kisses you once more, then with a quick, exaggerated salute, he hops off the bed, grabbing his weapons and gear in a flurry of movement. “I’ll be back before you know it. Save me some of those Raisin Bran boxes, will ya? Don’t go hogging all the cereal.”

With one last glance back at you, he’s out the door, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bunker.

A Few Days Later

The first few days without Wade pass slowly, the silence in the bunker oppressive without his constant banter and chaos to fill it. You’ve been waiting for his calls, clinging to the brief moments of contact, even if all you get is his voice crackling over the speaker.

And then tonight—finally—your phone buzzes. You grab it immediately, heart skipping a beat when you see his name flash across the screen. You pick up, the sound of his voice instantly soothing the tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” he purrs through the line, his voice lower and rougher than usual. “Miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” you tease, leaning back against the pillows, letting the warmth of his voice wash over you. “How’s the whole ‘saving the world’ thing going?”

“Ugh, overrated. Lots of running, shooting, not nearly enough hot dog carts. But let’s not talk about that. What’re you wearing?” His voice dips into that playful, flirtatious tone, and you can practically hear the smirk through the phone.

“Wade,” you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “I’m literally in one of your Hello Kitty onesies.”

There’s a pause, then a low, appreciative whistle. “Now that’s a visual. Wish I could see it, babe.” His voice deepens, taking on that familiar, sultry edge. “But I guess we’ll have to get creative, huh?”

Your pulse quickens at the change in his tone, warmth spreading through you as the playful conversation takes a turn. “Oh yeah? What exactly do you have in mind, Wade?”

“Well,” he drawls slowly, “I may not be there in person, but I’m pretty sure I can still make you squirm. What do you say we have a little fun, babe? You, me, and a whole lot of imagination…”

The spark between you flares to life, and as his voice wraps around you, you find yourself sinking into the moment, ready to close the distance between you—if only for a little while.

Your heart races as Wade’s voice lingers on the line, playful yet dark, and you can already tell where this is headed. The tension between you two, even across a phone, is undeniable.

“So, babe,” Wade purrs, his voice low and suggestive, “tell me… are you touching yourself yet?”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his directness. “Already jumping to the good part, huh?”

“Well, time’s a-tickin’ and I’ve got bullets to dodge, but I always make time for you. Besides,” his tone dips, slow and deliberate, “if I were there right now, I’d already have my hands all over you.”

Your breath catches a little, the way he says it making your pulse quicken. You lean back against the pillows, the soft fabric of the onesie brushing against your skin, but your thoughts are far from the cute outfit.

“Oh yeah? What exactly would you do, Wade?” you ask, your voice dropping a little, wanting to draw out the game just a bit longer.

His low chuckle vibrates through the phone. “First, I’d unzip that onesie of yours, real slow, because damn, I bet you look so sexy in it. I’d start at the top, pull that zipper down until it’s just barely clinging to your shoulders. I wanna see that skin, baby.”

You bite your lip, following his lead, your fingers trailing down the zipper of the onesie just as he describes. The fabric parts, revealing your chest, and even though Wade isn’t here, the image he’s painting is so vivid, it feels like he is.

“Are you doing it?” he asks, his voice husky with need. “Tell me what you’re feeling, babe. I wanna hear you.”

“I am,” you murmur, your voice soft, already feeling your body respond to his words. “The onesie’s almost off… feels good.”

“Mmm, I bet it does,” Wade groans through the line. “Now slide that thing off your shoulders, let it fall down your arms. God, I wish I was there, helping you out of it. I’d be kissing every inch of that skin, so fucking slow.”

You slip the onesie off, letting it pool around your waist as your fingers graze your bare skin. The way Wade’s voice dips into that raw, hungry tone sends a thrill through you, and you close your eyes, imagining him there, hovering above you, his rough hands tracing over your body.

“Are you touching yourself yet?” His voice takes on that teasing lilt again. “I need details, babe. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Your hand moves instinctively, trailing over your breasts, feeling your skin warm under your own touch. “Yeah, Wade,” you whisper, your breath a little shaky. “I’m touching myself.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “You know what I’d be doing right now? I’d be right there, kissing your neck, working my way down to those perfect tits. I’d take my time, sucking on those nipples until you’re begging for more.”

A soft moan escapes you, and you know he heard it because his laughter on the other end of the line is thick with satisfaction. “There’s my girl,” he breathes. “God, I love making you squirm. Are you wet for me yet?”

Your body reacts to the words, the heat spreading through you. “Yeah… I am.”

“Good,” Wade says, his voice low and gravelly. “Now, slip your hand between those legs. I want you to touch yourself the way I would. Make it slow, babe. Imagine it’s my fingers on you, working you just the way you like it.”s

You do as he says, your hand slipping lower, your body already aching for more. His words, that deep, dirty tone, only fuel the fire burning inside you.

“Fuck, babe, you have no idea how bad I want to be there. I’d have you spread out on that bed, legs wide open for me. I’d start by teasing you, just like this… soft touches, barely there, making you crave it until you can’t take it anymore.”

Your breath hitches as your fingers move, mimicking his words, teasing yourself, and imagining his hands instead of yours. The tension coils tighter with each movement.

“Wade,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, “I need more.”

“Oh, you need more?” His voice is all taunting pleasure. “You gotta tell me, babe. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you inside me,” you breathe, the words slipping out before you can stop them, your body already on fire.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you can practically hear him adjusting himself on the other end of the line. “God, I’d slide into you so slow. You’d feel every inch of me, stretching you, filling you up. I’d make you scream my name, babe.”

You moan softly, your fingers pressing deeper, following the rhythm he’s setting, your mind lost in the fantasy of him inside you.

“You close, babe?” Wade’s voice is hoarse, filled with desire. “I wanna hear you come. I wanna hear you fall apart for me.”

You’re right on the edge, the heat pooling low in your belly, your body tightening with every stroke, every dirty word falling from his lips. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice breathless, trembling.

“Good girl,” he growls, his voice dark and commanding. “Come for me, baby. Let go. I wanna hear every fucking sound you make.”

And that’s all it takes. Your body shudders as the release washes over you, your moans filling the quiet of the bunker as you ride out the waves of pleasure, your fingers slowing, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Wade groans through the phone, clearly turned on by the sounds of your pleasure. “God, I wish I was there to see that. You’re so fucking sexy, babe.”

You lie there, spent and flushed, the heat still lingering in your veins, your chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of the orgasm. “Wade,” you murmur, smiling despite the exhaustion. “That was…”

“Epic? Mind-blowing? Something you’ll want to do again tomorrow night?” he offers with a chuckle, his tone lighter now but still thick with affection.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “All of the above.”

“Good,” he says, the smirk evident in his voice. “Now get some rest, babe. I’ll be back soon. And then we can pick up where we left off… in person.”

You can’t help but grin, already looking forward to it. “You better come back in one piece.”

“I’ll try my best,” he teases. “But if not, I’ll always have my half-mast pic to keep you company.”

“But you know I need more,” you tease, a playful edge in your voice.

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, then Wade’s voice drops, lower and rougher. “Oh, trust me, babe. When I get back, you’re getting all of me. No holding back.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart warming at the promise in his tone. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he purrs, “because I plan on giving you a lot more than just pictures when I’m done here. Stay safe, babe. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Stay safe, Wade,” you reply softly, feeling the warmth of his words even through the distance.

“I will. Now get some sleep… and dream of me.” There’s a pause, followed by a mischievous laugh. “And maybe that half-mast pic.”

You laugh softly, feeling lighter despite the ache of him being away. “Goodnight, Wade.”

“Night, babe,” he says, his voice soft and sincere for a moment before the line goes quiet. “My Sweet Sexy Apocalypse Babycakes.”

As the phone call ends, you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, already counting down the hours until he returns. The world outside may be falling apart, but somehow, in moments like this, it feels a little less daunting.

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