#3 way switch wiring
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How to Wire a 3-Way switch
You may be new to electrical installation but wish to wire a 3-way switch.
3 way switch wiring is harder than a single pole. It is the interconnection of two or more switches.
3-way light control helps in hallways and large rooms to turn the lights from two locations.
But it’s harder to install than a single-pole switch
Read this article to learn how to wire a 3-way switch
Components of a three-way switch
The common
Two traveller terminals
Ground or Earth terminal.
How the 3-way switch works
A three-way switch allows you to control a light fixture like other switches, but they do this from two ends.
When the toggles from both switches are up or down, the circuit is complete and the light will be ON. When they are opposite, the circuit opens and there will be no light. This allows any of the switches to turn on or off the light.
Tools and materials required to wire a 3-way switch.
They include:
Four in one screwdriver
Wire stripper
Plier
Voltage tester
Electrical tape
Utility knife
Materials required
Two 3-way switches
14-3 or 12-3 Romex cable.
Electrical boxes.
Note: Before any electrical installation, ensure that you power off the circuit breaker and also wear your protective glove to prevent electric shock and other hazards.
Steps to Wire 3-Way switches
There are three methods, but all depend on whether the hot wire goes to the switch first or the light fixture.
Whichever way you prefer, installing a 3-way light is easy when you follow our switch wiring procedures.
Turn off your circuit breaker
Locate the circuit breaker that controls the branch circuit and turn off the circuit’s power.
This is to prevent electrocution and other hazards during the installation.
Mount the electrical box
Locate the two places you want to mount your switch and install the metal boxes.
This may be at the entrance and inside of your room, ends of the hallway, staircase, or any place of your choice.
Feed in your cables.
Feed in a lengthy 14-3 NM Romex cable, or 12-3h if you are connecting to a 12-gauge wire. The 14-3 cable is a 14 gauge Romex cable with three insulated conductors, plus a ground wire.
The three insulated conductors are black, red, white, plus the earth wire.
Connect the wires and switches
The 3-way switch comes with 4 terminals, the black or common terminal, two brass colour or traveler terminals, and the green screw “earth terminal”.
Connect the black (hot) cable coming from the power source to the black terminal of the switch
Join the neutral or white wire from the power to the white wire from the NM cable, using a wire nut
Also join the two brown wires together
Fix the bare copper or green earth cable to the metal box and connect it to the green terminal
Connect the black and red traveler wires from the NM cable to the brass terminals on the switch.
Moving to the second switch box,
Join the two white wires
Join the two brown wires too
Connect the black wire that goes to the lamp holder to the black terminal of the switch
Fix the earth wire on the body of the switch box and connect it to the green terminal
Connect the black and red travelers from the first switch to the traveler screws or terminals of the second switch to complete the installation.
Install the lamp holder
Connect the black or hot wire from the second switch to one of the screw terminals, and the white or neutral wire to the second terminal, fix your bulb and test-run your project.
Three-Way Switch Wire Diagrams
In this section, you will see different ways you can wire a 3-way switch
3-way wiring diagram: Power to Light Fixture.
This shows how you can wire a three-way light when the power is coming from the light fixture.
From the diagram, you can see that the power source enters the fixture box
The hot or black wire connects to the common terminal of the second dimmer.
Blue and red wires link the traveler terminals for both switches
We also connected the red wire to the common terminal of the first switch, which moves back to the light.
Three-way switch wire diagram: power to the switch
This shows a 3-way light control when the power enters from the switch.
From the diagram, you can see that we connected the incoming live wire to the common terminal of the first switch.
We then connected the traveling terminals of the two switches with black and red wires before connecting the second common terminal to the bulb.
Note: The neutral (white) wire from the supply moved to the bulb without branching to any switch.
3-way wiring diagram: Power to the junction box.
From the above wiring, the supply enters the junction box and connects to the common terminal of the right switch.
Two Romex cables with four wires and an earth cable joined at the junction box to connect the traveler terminal of the two switches and the bulb.
Difference between three-way switches and single poles
A single pole light switch has two terminals and a ground screw while a three-way switch has 3, plus a ground screw.
The toggle switch for a single-pole has ON and OFF while the 3-ways doesn’t have.
A single-pole switch controls a ceiling light from one location while the three-way control light from two different locations.
A single pole is good for small rooms with few light sources, while a multi-way switch is for large rooms and stairwells.
Frequently Asked Questions
Does it matter which wire goes where on a 3-way light switch?
Yes, the black “hot wire” from the power source must connect to each switch’s common screw terminal, to enable it to carry the current from the source to the switches and then to the light fixture.
How many wires are hot in a 3-way switch?
Two hot or black wires. The one from the source which connects to the first switch common terminal, and the second one that runs from the 2nd switch common terminal to the light fixture.
What happens if you wire a light switch the wrong way?
if you wire a light switch the wrong way, the switch will not work properly, and may even lead to electrical hazards.
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#Level Up Your Electrical Skills: #Mastering Two Way Switch Wiring With ...
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more smutty scenarios for monster trio x fem!reader
EVERYONE IS 18+ (minors please dni !)
a/n: sooo, i elaborated… switched it up a little from the original idea but basically just how i think some sleepy sex scenarios w the op men would go (please bear with me i wrote this while sleep deprived and have not touched it since)
don’t forget to like, reblog, and comment to support my work! mwah <3
“good morning”
luffy
wakes up with his arms wrapped around you, head in your chest, knees brushing yours
his head is all fuzzy with sleep, and you’re scent is surrounding him like a warm blanket
he’s already smiling all dopey and sleepy before he even opens his eyes
just bc he knows you’ll be there when he does
when you’re eyes flutter open he can’t help but stare at you
and maybe you have a little drool at the corner of your mouth, and maybe your hair looks like a total mess, but he couldn’t care less
he thinks you look so beautiful and sweet the way you’re looking at him, and then when you yawn out a soft “good morning” he can’t help but kiss you
because he can’t keep his hands (or his mouth in this instance) off of you for more than like 5 minutes max
he kisses soft little sweet pecks to your lips over and over until you’re both giggling, and he’s kissing all over your face
he’ll genuinely kiss every single inch of your face until he winds up back at your lips
except this time his kisses aren’t little sweet pecks
they’re still gentle and slow, but so much deeper
and then he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and you guys are fully making out
his hands are slowly roaming up and down the sides of your body
luffy is usually pretty fast paced and straight to the point, so you only really get him at this speed when he’s tired ^^
things will get heated pretty quickly, languid, sloppy kisses paired with you hooking a leg around his waist
he’d firmly grab at your hip, bringing you down against his rapidly growing erection at a steady and slow rhythm, both of you still in your underwear
he’d be so gentle and tender about it
not wanting it to be too much for you
you stay curled up against each other on your side, invading each others space in the beat way
he loves being so close to your face
being able to watch you so closely as your lips part and your eyebrows furrow
he’s all smiley and fucked out already and you’ve barely done anything
but you’re so warm, and you’re soft little whimpers are so pretty, and you feel so good rubbing against him
his arm is wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as possible, because he just wants to feel all of you
hand under the thin material of your t-shirt, cool against your warmed skin, he flips you so that you’re straddling him
and he’s still moving your hips to grind against him as he lives on you
his already blunt nature would increase tenfold, because he has absolutely no filter when he’s sleepy
he would also be mumbling and slurring his words because talking is too much effort
“feel s’good”
“lips are sooo soft”
“wanna cum together, can y’do that?”
he’ll absolutely melt if you rest your hand on his cheek or his jaw while you let him make you feel good
and he loves it if you litter sleepy kisses on his face and neck
loves when you get all mushy and melt into him, trusting him to take care of you
his hairs a mess, and his voice is scratchy with sleep, and his chest is warm against yours
his eyes stare at you like you built the earth from the ground up
your body feels like a live wire just from the intensity behind his gaze alone
he would just continue to gently manhandle you until you both cum in your underwear together, panting and whining soft little moans into each others mouths and grasping at each other like a lifeline
“good morning”
gets super energized and bubbly like 10 minutes after
probably walks to breakfast shirtless, hair still a mess, and the biggest grin on his face, dragging you along while your kiss bitten lips are still red
everyone knows
zoro
let’s be real, zoro’s always a little sleepy
like 85% of the time he just wants to take a nap
and sometimes his desire to sleep does not line up well with your needs
you’d find him laying down with his arms crossed, clearly trying to get some shut eye after a training session
but you’ve been waiting all day to get him alone
and watching him train does not help with your desires
but now the stars are out, and everyone else has gone off to bed, and you just wan’t the uncomfortable ache to go away
so you curl up beside him, his arm instinctively wrapping around you because he has your body committed to memory
an eye pops open to look at you anyway
he doesn’t say anything, giving you the space to use as you please
he knows you want something the second he looks at you
the way you smile up at him all coy and fiddle your fingers against his chest
“hi”
“hi”
…
you lay there in silence for a while after that, and he closes his eyes again
then you start kissing him
sweet little pecks across his chest, up his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, his cheek, making your way to his lips-
“did you want to ask me something?”
he’s very straight forward and to the point, and he doesn’t want you to beat around the bush if you have something you want to say
but then your hiding your face in his chest, core pressing ever so subtly against his thigh
and of course he notices, because he’s in tune with every little thing about you
“ohhh, i see. is that what this is about?”
he presses his thigh harder against your clothed cunt, almost like a test, reveling in the little whimper it pulls from your lips
he loves being right, especially when it comes to how well he knows you
he would compete in a trivia all about you if he could and he would probably win by a landslide
he’d reach his hand down, so close to where you need him, but not yet giving you what you want
he likes teasing you and getting you all whiny and eager
“want me to take care of this for you?”
“please-“
no matter how tired he is, he’ll always take care of you when you need him
especially when you ask so nicely
besides, the fact that you’re needy for him is enough to make him a little wound up himself
if he’s really tired he’ll let you ride his thigh, helping your hips move back and forth at a lazy pace
“is that better? does that feel good, hm?”
“thats it, just keep going like that”
“just get yourself there, sweetheart”
“doing such a good job”
but sometimes he’ll even let you ride his dick, relaxing into the pleasure and watching the view as you chase your release
“slow down, sweetheart, it’s not a race”
“yeah, shit- nice and easy, just like that”
“i know, honey, you’re so close”
he’ll leave lazy kisses all across your collar bone and your shoulder, and soothing strokes of his thumb on your hips
eyes lidded and tired
when you’re hips start to stutter and it all feels like too much, he will not let up no matter how tired he is
because all he wants is to make you feel better
and he loves watching you slowly unravel
he’ll grind your hips himself when it all becomes too much, pulling you down harder and watching in awe as you come undone on top of him
definitely a good relaxer before bed
gets both of you warm and fuzzy and ready to fall asleep wrapped up in each other
sanji
you’re already in bed and half asleep when sanji comes in
he curls up into your back, moving your hair aside to leave delicate kisses up your should and neck, landing at the sweet spot behind tour jaw
the action makes you stir, whining a little and shuffling around, a little fruatrated at being woken up
“hello, my darling.”
he greets between kisses, working at your sweet spot until you let out another pretty whine
his hips twitch involuntarily into your ass, and you come to your senses a little bit when you feel how painfully hard he is
“sanji, it’s too late for this”
you go to turn and look at him but he hold you in place
“no need to move, dove. you don’t have to do anything at all”
“just relax, i’ll do all the work”
“just need to be inside you so badly, mon amour”
“please let me feel you”
his desperate words, whiny tone, and sweet kisses are all more than enough to make your panties damp
he’ll pull your panties to the side under your night dress, holding you close to his chest as he slowly eases himself inside you
his mouth presses tender kisses right under your ear, allowing you to hear all of his pretty noises loud and clear
he’s absolutely desperate, having watched you walk around in a pretty little dress all day
his hips move almost on their own, needily rutting into you from behind with strings of “thank you”s flowing from his lips
of course now you’re really needy too
“shit- harder. need it, please-“
and his hips are pressing into you harder before you can even finish your sentence
he can’t last very long, because you’re squeezing him so well, and your so warm and wet, and he’s practically trembling with pleasure from being on edge all day
but he wants to feel you cum first
so he brings he fingers down to gently swirl against your clit, coaxing you towards the edge
“i’m so close, my love”
“you feel so amazing”
“want to feel you cum around me. will you let me feel you, angel?”
“please cum for me, darling”
so you do, and he follows suit seconds after you, eyes rolling back into his skull as he buries his face in your neck
asks open!
#brairslair#brairs fics#one piece x reader#one piece smut#one piece sanji#one piece zoro#one piece luffy#one piece#opla#opla zoro#opla sanji#opla luffy#opla x reader#opla smut#monkey d. luffy x reader#monkey d. luffy smut#luffy smut#zoro smut#roronoa zoro smut#roronoa zoro x reader#sanji smut#vinsmoke sanji smut#vindmoke sanji x reader#fic writing#requests open
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Rigor Mortis (part 10)
College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader
(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,
Part 9, Part 11
summary: In the morning, Miguel reminisces.
warnings: smut! grinding, humping, alcohol, PIV, switch-y behaviour (what's new), aftercare, mentions of depression. 18+ Minors DNI
a/n: soft melty mig >>>
Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3
Join my taglists here
wc: 4.5k
Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3
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between your bodies;
You wake up with a headache and a lump in your throat.
Bleary eyes; and you rub away sleep, rosy and warm around the edges. Everything smells like him, is your very first thought. It's the kind of thing that has you reeling, tossing and turning in unfamiliar sheets before looking up at a mottled ceiling. Light creeps in from curtains cracked open, rays spreading like wildfire on everything it touches. Miguel's bed is by the window, and you can't help but curl up what little light spills in with your hands; palm upwards, slowly balled into fists. It's warm, and your hand feels a little different.
Oh.
Like a bolt of lightning, memories of the night before run up your spine; dancing up and down between the sheets. Miguel's hand in yours, his skin pressed up against you, a room spinning in the kind of way that seems romantic. Seems romantic; you note. It could've been the alcohol, but you had felt something between you two, yesterday. Something… different . Your cheeks grow warm at the thought of last night; drunken revelations and so much light, it burns.
I like the way your eyes scrunch up when you smile. I like the way you look in the morning, squinting at labels and cereal packets. You've got the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Miguel.
You burrow under the covers as you recall it; the memory of Miguel between your thighs, his head in the crook of your shoulder. The way he had half-laughed, heady and heavy and thick with want, low groans pooling by the shell of your ear. You're not too sure if you meant it; really, really meant it; and you're scared of what that means. Casual sex was the agreement, and you didn't think you had the capacity for much else.
Sighing, you stretch your leg out from under the covers, dipping a tentative toe on the rug. Bare, except for a T-shirt whose hem kisses your thighs. Mig's t-shirt, of course, and you tug it down as you slip out of his bed. The aftermath, things tossed off shelves and awards that had clattered to the ground, lies in last night's wake. Guiltily, you root around to pick up his things.
They're more personal than the things around the house. You notice a plaque or two from undergrad, his diploma - biomechanics and chemical engineering with honours - and even a certificate from a middle school science fair. The image makes you smile: little Mig with braces and a distinct frown, handed a plastic trophy in front of a spotty crowd. 'First Place' it says, and knowing him his entry was less baking soda volcano and more miniature Hadron Collider . If he's anything like he is now; he was probably a mouthy little pain-in-the-ass, too.
You take a watch off of the floor, half hidden under his bed. A knee brushes past a clear box; that jostles and rattles around like nails in a metal can. From vague outlines, you can see a box of junk , in every sense of the word: scrap metal, wires, plastic tubing. A whole scrapyard under his bed, and you reach for it, curious. Something knicks at your hand in the process. Glass, from a broken pane of a frame slipped under the bed. Softly, you hiss, sucking at the cut that draws blood.
More careful, now, you push the frame towards you, sweeping up the glass as best you can. In the lowlight, you can't make out much. Carefully, you hold it by a corner - an intricate thing, all twisted metal and brushed bronze. From out under the bed, you see it, or rather, him: Miguel, a little younger, surrounded by a couple of unfamiliar faces. A taller man, a much older woman - and they both smile in the way he does, crows feet and with the kind of warmth that reaches their eyes. In his arms (Miguel's, but not your Miguel) is a little girl. She is small; wide-eyed, gap-toothed; looking up at him, as if the camera wasn't there. The adoration in her face makes you smile. His sister, maybe? His brother, Gabi, and his dear mama ?
Gently, you place it on the side table. You sweep up the glass into your hand, ignoring the sting that spreads to your palms. It's not a deep cut, but you head to the kitchen anyway, in search of warm soapy water and something to mop it up.
Slipping past the doorway, it is deathly quiet. Morning spills in through a window, illuminating a lone figure - broad shoulders, tan and bare save for pyjama pants, hunched over the dining table.
Miguel doesn't seem to notice as you get closer, finally able to hear slight noise and chatter from a tinny phone. Cup of coffee in hand, you watch as he scrolls, replaying the same video over and over. From over his shoulder, you can just about make it out: music that had deafened you at the time, loops with a pathetic whine. A video from last night, it seems, and you recognise the icon of Lyla's story. Bright lights, your dress sparkling and a pretty little laugh drowned out by Lyla's - he seems to replay the same couple of seconds over, and over, and–
“Mig?” He jumps, leaping almost 3 feet into the air, it seems. His phone shuts off with a clatter, slammed onto the table. Turning, he seems guilty, before flattening his face into something more socially acceptable.
“H-Hi. Morning.” He clears his throat, giving you an awkward nod.
“Morning,” Softening, you slink down to take a seat. He knows, of course: he knows that you know, that you saw exactly what he's been doing. But you're both going to ignore it, let it settle in the gaps between you - a gap that quickly shrinks, he notes.
The chair drags across the floor, almost catching at a rug on the wooden slats. When you seat yourself by him; closer, closer, oh-so close; you can't help but brush your legs to his, addicted to the way it makes him shiver. Payback, you think, grabbing at his mug and stealing a sip before he can say anything. For all the times he's fucked with your head.
Miguel knows better than to protest, crossing his arms resolutely. He sighs - not maliciously, but with a tinge of defeat. You're too pretty, and too close for him to think properly; to even muster up the energy to argue. And so he doesn't, opting to chew at the inside of his cheek.
“ Hey .” You say, hand coming up to cheekbone, stroking at it with your thumb. Miguel tries not to lean into it, to melt into the touch. “ Careful. Where'd you go?”
It makes him laugh, bitterly, ruefully - whatever you want to call it. Where'd you go? And you say it like you've got an inkling of all the shit that goes on in his head. He goes to the same place he always seems to be, these days. Somewhere that reminds him of you , of your nights together, of your nights apart–
“Did you sleep well?” You're asking, and it takes him a second to process it.
“Sure.” Shrugging, he lies, and you pretend to believe him. “Long night, I suppose.”
When he picks that moment to look at you, to bore into your soul, you take your hand away; feeling naked , feeling bare .
“What about you? Did you sleep well?”
And you hum, non-committal, in response.
“Can’t remember much.” It’s a bold-faced lie, and he knows it.
He chews at his lips, eyes dragged down to your figure. He’s shameless, lashes fluttering before he sighs - with the kind of tiredness that rattles at his chest - scratching at a 5 o’clock shadow.
He’s pinching at the bridge of his nose like he’s battling a headache - and losing miserably. Miguel; your Miguel, this time; looks so pathetic, with the countenance of a wet mop. It’s not a grimace, nor a frown, like always. It looks like melancholy - thinly veiled, bone-deep - and it makes your heart splinter.
You just… you just want to comfort him. To hold him in your arms and stroke his hair, to press kisses into the crinkles at the side of his mouth, his forehead: to be warm and soft and somewhere safe , for him.
It’s a compulsion you can’t fight, clambering over him to sit on his lap. His gaze flickers, pointedly trying to ignore you, but his hand rests comfortably on plush thigh. It sends a shiver down your spine; how tender his touch is, even when like this.
“I…” You start, tracing a hand to his scratchy jaw and gently tilting him towards you. “I remember enough.”
He can’t help it, hand travelling a little further up and eyes flitting to your lips.
“... Yeah ?” And it comes with an unceremonious squeeze at your ass, wetting his lips with pink tongue.
That gap between you shrinks even more as you press your chest to his, with a hand at his shoulder. God, his skin is hot to the touch; lean muscle that tenses under your palm. He gets closer.
“What are you doing today?” He’s trying so hard, forcing himself to look you in the eye - betrayed only by a pounding heart and a lingering look to your lips.
Coupled with the way he looks at you; kneading at your thighs, leaning into your gentle palm; it makes your throat close up.
“...U-Umm, I think–”
“It’s Friday, right?” He hums, head cocked as if deep in thought. “You’ve got… stats and lab prep, today.”
You frown. “Yeah, actually. How did you–”
“You’re always complaining about Fridays.”
“I didn’t yesterday.”
“I’ve barely seen you all week, sweetheart.”
“ And who’s fault is that? ” Muttering, you roll your eyes, trying not to show him the way it makes you melt.
“I listen.” He says, soft.
“...sometimes.” You finish, but it’s half-hearted. You know, he knows; he listens . He always has.
“I think…” You clear your throat. “T-Think m’gonna take the day off. I’m pretty–”
Tired. Exhausted. Ready to kiss your roommate if it meant he would look at you like that for a little longer.
“ – hungover .” He whispers, thumb stroking your hip as you snort; ready to bat him away.
Wriggling, his grip tightens, slotting you closer as if in a trance. You’re laughing, a sharp retort at the tip of your tongue, but his wry smile seems tinged with something else. It’s a something that makes your heart skip a beat – but it’s his next words that have you reeling.
“I’ve got the day off, too.”
You’re taken aback. “Don’t you…? I-I mean I thought you’re taking extra hours at Alchemax…”
“Nope.” Resolute, he shakes his head. “We’ve got appraisals or something, today. Upper management only. I thought I told you.”
Brows kneaded, you give him a look he’s well accustomed to. And Miguel; because he’s Miguel, of course; counters it almost immediately.
“Don't give me that … You didn’t even know I wore glasses until yesterday.”
“That’s not fair , Mig.”
“You don’t want to spend the day with me? Dios mio, hermosa.”
“Mig–”
Dramatic, he tips his head back, clutching at his chest. “Am I that bad? You can’t spend a couple hours with me–”
“Mig –”
“Just a couple, sweetheart, and then I’m out of your hair, and you can complain about me to–”
“ Mig! ” You exclaim, giggling whilst you nudge his head forward to meet your gaze.
“You called?” He flutters his eyelashes playfully, with a hint of a smile.
It looks good on him, you think; glad that he feels comfortable enough to finally let go.
There’s a gentle lull and he places hot palms at your thighs to hike you up even closer. You adjust yourself on his lap, watching the way he groans with his head in your hands. It makes you bold: the way he moves to clutch at your hand and dart under the lip of your shirt to press you closer.
A roll of your hips makes him purr , eyes fluttering as he rocks up in thin pants. Quickly hardening, he’s wearing a dopey smile - one you return as you press your forehead to his. He angles his hips just right, causing little moans to spill out from pretty lips. The hand at his jaw travels to the nape of his neck, tugging in that way you know that he likes. You know him, and that makes your chest warm: the way he purrs and rumbles as you touch him in a way only you can.
Roughly, he swallows, head tilted up to catch at your cheek.
“Do you remember what you said last night?” It’s whispered into skin, soft and barely-there. “What you asked me to do?”
Kiss me. Why won’t you kiss me?
Like something sharp and intense through your veins, the memory makes you shiver, leaning into Miguel so his clothed cock catches at your clit. Like this , you don’t want to look at him - you can’t.
Ask me tomorrow.
And so you shake your head, nuzzling into his side with a weak whimper.
There’s a pause so imperceptible you might have imagined it. If Miguel is disappointed - or relieved, or frustrated - you can’t quite tell. Unceremoniously, he latches on, taking large handfuls of your ass and sucking ugly hickies into pretty skin.
“You asked me–” He says it between wet kisses, sloppy and hungry and quickly deepening. “You asked me to fuck you .”
You gulp, hips rolling as you close your eyes.
“ Just the tip, you said.” He lifts you up slightly, rolling back plaid pants. He nips at your neck, all tongue and teeth and claws. “Do you remember now?”
He’s not even inside, teasing your bare folds with the wide head of his cock. Your head tilts to give him more access to that juncture of your jaw. A dry chuckle leaves your lips at his tone and countenance; asking if you remember as he does his best to make you forget even the simplest of things. And that’s the thing about Miguel O’Hara, saccharine-sweet, gorgeous -in-the-low-light O’Hara: he makes you feel so good, everything else falls away.
“ Fuck.” He heaves. “”J-Just the–”
Impatient, you shift your hips, slipping him inside with one delicious movement. You can taste it: pleasure , white-hot and building up just below your gut. Miguel separates with a wet pop, hands trailing up to rid you of your shirt – his shirt, you realise with a moan. Exposed, he eyes your pretty stomach and then the peak of your breast. He keeps you flush to his hips, right at the sharp cut of his v-line, tufts of hair leading to where you both meet. With the way his eyes flutter, you can tell: he wants to kiss you, slathering up your chest to collarbone, and then from collarbone to jaw. He gets close, pressing shaky kisses to the corner of your lips – threatening to break the promise you made to each other long ago. And God , with the way he pistons up into your cunt, you… you just might let him.
Then his hips shift, pubic bone at your clit in a way that brings pleasure to the burn. You’re stretched out, filled to the brim and then leaning back to press your forearms onto the grain of the dining table. Like this, his hands stay squeezing the flesh at the tops of your thighs; only able to watch as you take over. You use a bit of leverage to tilt your hips this way and that - eyes low, not leaving his.
“Feels good , Mig.” You’re whining, eyes locked onto his because you want to watch him fall apart - to watch as all his troubles melt away. “So good. Uhh –Always does. I remember… shit … remember this. ”
And you take his hand, wrapping your lips around his index and middle finger - thick and large - with the memories of how they felt inside you only making you wetter. Gushing praise as best you can, you slobber and slather over his fingers, studying every twitch and gorgeous groan that he gives. He pulls his hand away from you; gentle, but cursing nevertheless; alternating from slapping your ass to tugging at the stiff peak of your nipple. It’s your turn to stutter, hips jumping as you cum - an orgasm so hard he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from spilling into you. There’s blood in his mouth, he notes as he studies the way you look: beautiful, always beautiful; framed in the gentle pink and purple from a rising sun.
Miguel slips out of you, painfully hard. Still heaving from your orgasm, you lean forward to press his cock between your bodies: bare and gorgeously framed in morning sun. Writhing, you kiss his neck, trailing up to the shell of his ear, whispering sweet nothings.
“Want you to cum, Mig.” And you do… oh God , you do. “You close?”
All he does is groan, nodding fervently into the crook of your neck. Diligently, you wrap him up in your arms, crooning and sweet, carefully rocking into him so his cock slides up and down your soft skin. For once, he doesn’t complain, holding you just as tight.
“M’gonna… o–ohh ffuck …”
“Cum, Mig. For me.”
You’re firm but gentle, pressing your tits up against him and making sure his cock gets that well needed friction. As such, you can feel it almost immediately; hot cum slathered over your tits and body - leaving so much glistening on your skin.
With a rough gulp, he heaves, eyes screwed tightly shut. You can’t help it, brushing away stray hairs from his face, leaving soft kisses in your wake. And maybe, just maybe, you hear him sob - muffled whimpering and whining with every slight shift of your body against his. And oh . It makes your heart melt when you realise, still carding your fingers through the nape of his neck.
He’s overstimulated. It’s too much.
Limp, he stays wrapped around you for a while, muttering nonsense into your skin.
“ Sorry. ” Shakily, he says – like he even has anything to be sorry about. “M’really— fuck. I just need a moment.”
You hum. It makes your heart heavy that he thinks he needs to be ready now , that he thinks he doesn’t deserve more than a moment to process his pleasure. You want Miguel to feel good, you always have. But with the realisation that you want him to be happy ; to feel safe, to feel loved; well…
…it scares you more than anything.
~~~
Aftercare .
Miguel admits, he’s not too familiar with the term.
It’s not something he’s proud of. With many a one night stand under his belt - even, occasionally seeing a girl more than once - he’s never been too good at it. He’s tried, definitely. Tried so very hard to stick around a little longer, to stay curled up in bed and guide his partner through their comedown. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite come naturally to him - oft susceptible to a glass of water by the bedside and a gentle nudge to an Uber. That physicality: the cuddling , and kissing, the sappy, wholesome, relationship-adjacent thing? He’s never had that desire after sex, much too stuck in his own head for that.
So why does this feel… so good?
You’re taking care of him. He’s not stupid; knowing that your bedside manner is much better than his. You’re merely doing the right thing and helping him past such an intense orgasm: and that seems to come in the form of his head on your chest, limbs tangled up together on your beat up old couch. This doesn’t count , he’s convinced himself: all those rules and boundaries you’ve both come so close to breaking - a little cuddling doesn't even scratch that surface. And if it feels so good to have your hand playing with his hair, to ground himself with the steady thump-thump of your heart, then who is he to complain?
He’s just a man, he decides. A mere mortal, unable to resist that taste of heaven he’s been given - unable to say no . Absentmindedly, you’re humming some stupid song you’ve had stuck in your head for at least a week, now, eyes trained towards a cheesy soap on the TV. There’s a mug of coffee on the table - it tastes like shit, but Miguel is more than happy to gulp it down if it makes you feel better - hot and steaming as you tug the blanket so it covers him a little better.
Unknowingly, you’re lulling him to sleep - the very same sleep he’s been chasing for the past couple of hours. Tossing and turning at night, but barely 10 minutes in your arms and his body only seems to listen to you , for some reason. Traitorous bastard, he thinks, fighting to keep his eyes open.
You’ve cleaned the both of you up - even though he had insisted otherwise. Let me take care of you , he had slurred, and you just laughed ; that pretty, infuriating laugh, with that pretty, infuriating smile – the very same one he’s wanted to kiss off of you since the beginning. Weakly, he protested, following you into the kitchen only to make a nuisance of himself.
It’s like you're drunk, Mig.
In some ways, maybe he is. You had steered him away, and onto couch cushions. Which must have been quite the feat, he notes, able to control all 6”5 of his sleep-deprived, hefty limbs. But he supposes, yet again, his body doesn’t quite listen to him anymore. Only you.
Was it that good? Did I fuck the fine motor skills out of you?
He remembers groaning. He remembers trying not to be drawn in by that lilting giggle, covering his ears with a rough blanket. Most of all, though, he remembers the feeling of your body on his, slipping on top of him to dig him out of that heap.
Miguel? Baby, it’s a joke! I’m kidding, I promise.
He had poked his head out. Baby. He likes that, likes the way his name sounds out of your mouth. It anchors him to this mortal plane like a sharp hook, cutting through the brain fog and burying itself into his chest. You had clasped your hands around his face, steadfast despite his wriggling.
…Oh God, even worse. I think I fucked the common sense out of you instead.
He remembers wanting to kiss you. Your lips curled up into that stupid smile, clearly so pleased at a shitty joke. It makes him warm, thinking about it now. Or maybe, it’s just the blanket you’ve tried to suffocate him in.
“When did you sleep?” You ask, and he has to blink up at you to collect his thoughts.
“Late.” He says it simply.
That answer doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re poking and prodding at his face, gently pulling at slowly deepening eyebags.
“ No fucking wonder .” You mutter. “You’re turning into me. No more late nights, Mig.”
When he frowns, you stick your tongue out, gleefully watching as his grimace deepens.
“Or what?”
“Or we stop having sex.”
That makes him rocket u pwards, indignant. “ You can’t just– ”
“I can do what I want.” Slowly, your face morphs into what must be worry. At least, he thinks it does, not too familiar with someone worrying about him like this. “No more late nights, please”
You say it so softly his heart might break. He clears his throat of its cobwebs.
“That's not really up to me, sweetheart.” Thesis deadlines. Tutoring. Taking on more hours at Alchemax in preparation for a big event. Slowly, his plate mounts, and it takes everything in him to keep going.
“I know,” You settle his head onto your lap, now. Absent-mindedly, you wrap one of his curls around your finger, hand in his hair in a way that feels more intimate than the past hour, days, weeks spent together. “I just wish you'd take care of yourself better.”
It's not said to chastise him, and you don't sound disappointed ; not tinged with the same flavour of guilt that his mama has over the phone, or that Gabi has when he hits him with that deep sigh. It's pure, selfless, plain-and-simple worry. He doesn't deserve it, he thinks.
He looks up at you. Beautifully oblivious, your gaze is still pinned to the TV. It’s domestic, comfortable in the afterglow of sex. That’s what it must be: contentment and bliss settling over him like a warm blanket. The aftermath of being in your arms, of your body on his; purely physical , that follows the kind of euphoria that he imagines can only be found in a needle. Honestly, he’s still expecting a sharp decline, a rough comedown that tastes like regret, or despair, or deep, deep empty. It doesn’t come.
Always the pessimist, but Miguel can’t help it, really; he’s been chasing something just out of reach for too long.
“You’re gone again.” You say it so quietly he almost misses it. You give him a weary smile, hand clutching at the fabric that pools around him. He watches as you rearrange it by his shoulders, pinching the folds with a kneaded brow. Finally satisfied, you look him in the eye. “Like Ophelia. ”
He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or any of the half dozen ways he’s learnt to repress difficult emotions. Slipping under the water - the makeshift waves made of a ratty blanket - passive to his own suffering. You don’t say it, and he hasn’t even told you the half of it; but somehow, you see it . You see him.
He remembers the first time he met you. Thundering and clattering through his space; bulldozing every carefully placed wall he’s spent years putting up. And then he remembers the first time he actually met you; behind the sharp tongue and quick retorts, finding you watery and forlorn on the floor of your shared apartment. Beautiful, of course – always, always beautiful. But that time, the kind of beauty only found in a painting: tragedy captured in oils, careful brushstrokes muddied by time, by loss, by hurt. You’ve been hurting for a while, he thinks, well before any mention of shitty ex-boyfriends and missed lectures.
Miguel recalls late nights spent trying to still his heart, fixated on a sudden, betraying question that rattles around in his head. Are you like him? Do you understand ? Born with something missing, a tick-tick-tick of the count, radioactive and broken and–
Your hand drapes lazily across his chest, tapping and pointing at something on the screen. He hums, non-committal, the words out of your mouth barely registering. It feels familiar. It feels warm. It feels like nights spent on the couch trying not to laugh at your frustratingly witty remarks. He remembers holding his breath when your leg brushed against his; stealing careful glances to his side; trying not to stare at the way the gloom of the TV looks ethereal against you, snug to the slope of your features, cut this way and that.
But more than anything, he remembers wanting to kiss you. God. Maybe he always has.
_
_
_
Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs
@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote
#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o hara x reader#kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara smut#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#angst#mutual pining
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Hello! I love your posts and have actually been following you for a long time, but through hashtags. I really enjoyed your posts about ghost!ghost and cyberpunk au. I would be very grateful if you could write a short piece of fiction. ☺️
Sorry, English is not my first language and I've never made a request before! I'm hiding behind the fence and watching you. 🫣
Let's do more cyberpunk! I love my big android Ghost <3
You sit in a loose fitting tank and shorts, your goggles pulled over your eyes to guard against the soft glow of heated metal. It's boiling in your workshop, you'd try to fix it yourself but despite your mechanical know-how, you're not an air conditioning repair expert. Not that that's stopped anyone from stopping by your cramped shop to ask about it. You curl forward, rub the leather of your glove against the burnished surface of the bot you're working on. The filigree is coming along nicely, you always enjoy being able to add your own special touch to mechanics. There's a knock against your door frame. You ignore it.
"I can't fix the a/c, take it up with the captain if you're that desperate," You toss over your shoulder, pressing the super heated wire against metal again.
"That all you're hearing today?" Ghost's voice fills the air. You sigh and lean back to switch off your machine, pushing your goggles up to look at the android. The sleek black of his face plate is unreadable as always, but his posture is casual. His arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall to watch you.
"What's broken?" You ask, not bothering to rise to whatever bait he's throwing you. He takes the opportunity to push off the wall and pick his way towards you, stepping over tubes and wires, computer cases pulled open to keep them cool. You're doing everything you can to avoid a system failure here.
"Fingers are twitchy, need a screw loosened," He tells you easily. Thank god for diagnostic checks, makes your job a hell of a lot easier when bots know what they need. You reach behind yourself for an extra stool, pushing off the casing to make room for your newest frequent flier. You pat the stool and go to grab your tools as Ghost takes a seat.
Micro-screwdrivers for micro-screws, a mini-soldering iron, a few spare wires and circuit connectors, your magnifiers, you even drag the big light over. Ghost watches you, his cameras clicking as they adjust to the new light, as the adjust to your movements. He makes a quiet noise when you get tangled in the wires hanging from the ceiling that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
You take your seat and hold your hand out for his. You trace the seams of his synth-skin when he gives it to you, looking for the latch on his hand. Synth-skin always makes you a little squeamish, something Ghost obviously doesn't share when he shoos your hand away and tugs the synthetic skin off his hand like a glove. You put aside how nauseous that makes you in favor of studying the new mechanics.
You turn the dial on your magnifiers to look closer at the intricate overlay of his hand. The mechanics of it are mostly familiar to you, but you've never seen anything quite like it. One of his fingers twitches and you shift your focus to it. Curling closer to his hand, your light follows your movements, shining clearly on the interlinking strands that slip around the wires and metal. You poke one of the white ribbons with your screwdriver and his hand flinches.
"God this is beautiful," You mumble to yourself, tipping your head to try and find a new angle to work at. You tap the metal plating at the tip of his twitchy finger, following the lines of spring and ribboning to the root. You're gentle as you can pushing wire and cording(?) aside to inspect the inputs at the base of his finger.
"Fuck," Ghost grits, you glance up at him, his head turned to look away from you.
"Sorry, trying to be gentle," You offer, unsure why you're even offering it, when you look back at your work, "You wanna walk me through the specs? Might help."
"What do you wanna know?" It sounds forced. Strange as that seems to you, you find bots are just as reluctant to peak at their insides as humans are. Traces of their creators still stuck to their servos.
"The tensioning," You decide that's what it is as you locate the offending screw and grab a different screwdriver from your kit, "I've never seen this material before, it feels almost organic."
"It is organic," Ghost's hand twitches when you look up at him, pressing a little too hard against a ribbon.
"What?" You frown, "No it isn't, no one manufactures with organic materials."
"I'm a custom job." Is the only explanation he offers you. You sigh and give his tight screw a good turn. You suppose that makes sense, military made, custom for... well for the 141 you suppose.
"Military really shouldn't be using organics," You grumble, "it's illegal for a reason." You push check the other screws in his hand. Precision is always the name of the game for androids, you don't see any sense in including something as unpredictable as organic material. Not to mention is all has to come from somewhere. You eye the ribboning, the tendons of his hand that lace mechanics together like muscle, likely feeding into some sort of neural net that reads the signals of it.
"Lot of things are illegal," Ghost grumbles, his voice slipping in and out of modulation as his tone lowers, "doesn't stop folks from doin' it."
"Hows the hand feel?" You ask, redirecting the conversation somewhere more comfortable. Ghost flexes his fingers, and you watch with gross fascination as his hand moves, the tendons tensing and releasing with the metal and wires.
"Better."
"No twitches?" You hear the soft processing noise of his diagnostic before he shakes his head. Ghost grabs his glove from the top of your tool kit and tugs it over his mechanics. He locks it to the rest of his synth-skin and flexes his hand again to check everything is in order.
"None to report." He stands, pushing up with his hands on his knees. You carefully replace your tools into their respective holders, try not to think of the feeling of his- your stomach rolls at the thought. This is exactly why you became a mechanic and not a doctor.
"You don't-" You start, unsure how to phrase the question, "you don't have any other organic matter in you, do you?" Ghost stares at you for a long moment, his face plate unreadable, not even the click of his camera could clue you in to his thoughts.
"No." He replies, and the relief that passes over your face is almost worth the lie.
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#simon riley cod#simon riley x reader#android au#android!ghost#cyberpunk au#ghost cod#ghost mwii#simon ghost x reader#tw body horror#mechanic!reader#oh? what's this? lore?
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You’re Alive (Gaz x GN!Reader)
gaz masterlist - gazfest 2023 @glitterypirateduck
PROMPTS: “One-shot” + “Safe House” + “Let Me See You”
SUMMARY: After receiving a facial scar, you have been jumpy—Kyle is here to show you that’s it’s all okay.
A/N: Honestly, I’m not the happiest with this but I decided to stop being picky with it!! So I hope my contribution to gazfest is satisfactory <3
[WARNINGS: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, moderate descriptions of gore, allusion to PTSD.]
Your leg kept bouncing like whatever gnawing feeling in your gut wasn’t going to stop unless your leg was going a million miles per minute. The clock on the wall ticked every second oh so quietly, and it was overall silent aside from the ticking and your body squeaking. You felt like a live wire attached to a brick of dynamite, ready to explode at any given time—ready to kill whoever holds the brick. Despite it being an hour or two since you and Kyle arrived at the safehouse, you remain at the only window in the entire building. In your arms rests your rifle with your safety switched to “semi” for semi-automatic, like you’re expecting someone to come barreling in through the door, or come through the tree line.
Kyle doesn’t blame you for the way you have been acting, honestly. He knows you’ve been different since you got your facial scar a few months back—you were required to go through a psychological evaluation to be deemed fit for duty, and it’s moments like this where Kyle—guiltily—wonders how you passed “with flying colors”, so the doctor said. He doesn’t understand how the Captain hasn’t see your behavior either, or if he has, he hasn’t done anything about it. Kyle means well about all of this, too. He’s worried about you. He’s seen the way your eyes scan every room, the way you’re too ready to raise your weapon to kill, the way you snarl at anyone who is casually holding a knife outside of combat.. There’s so many signs pointing to something, a deeper problem, that he is wondering how the psychologist still has a job.
You’ve begun to wear a mask that obscures your face from your nose down.
You offered to take first watch—he notes that you’re like Ghost in that regard, you can’t calm down after a highly intense situation, so you gotta do what you gotta do, right? But the way you’re so.. jumpy, you keep jolting and looking at Kyle every time he shifts, making a slight noise?—that’s concerning. He’s used to Ghost’s incredible alertness, the way he doesn’t like his back faced to the door of the rooms he enters, Kyle is used to when Ghost sits in the far corner so he can see every inch of the room—but he was terrified when you began to do it, too. You’ve always been vigilant, sure, but you’re.. Something is very wrong.
Kyle watches from his spot on the ragged, torn couch that had to be taken from the curb in a nearby neighborhood. His own rifle is propped up against the couch, his pistol resting on the coffee table in front of himself. He watches the way your eyes flicker across the skyline, the puffy eyebags you have almost seem like they’re worsening by the moment. Kyle is also exhausted—you two have been traveling from safehouse to safehouse for about a week, trying to meet up with the rest of the task force.. With no support, of course.
He calls your name, and he makes a mental note of how your finger twitches closer to the trigger than before. “You need to rest.” He grunts out, pushing himself off of the couch. Kyle turns and grabs his rifle, holding the hefty weapon to his chest as he naturally copies your perfectly practiced pose. He looks up and looks at you—and you haven’t moved a muscle. “Hey, y’hear me?” Kyle voice is laced with concern as he takes his steps towards you, and he makes the mistake of tapping your shoulder—because suddenly he’s facing the silencer of your semi-automatic rifle. Cold panic shoots through his veins and his gut, his muscles going rigid as if he’s a deer in headlights. His eyes search for yours, locking eyes; and you’re out of it. He knew something was wrong.
“Oi,” Kyle speaks with the softest tone he can manage with a gun nearly pressing into the bridge of his nose. “Oi, it’s me. Gaz, mate. It’s Kyle.” Your eyes search his face desperately, and he’s silently begging for you to speak. The tension in his stomach is twisting and turning, threatening to snap—you show no signs of any recognization of him, someone who you have trusted for years by this point, someone who was the one to get your guts inside of your abdomen after an ambush, the one who held your face together after the attack—
Kyle does things before he thinks about it sometimes, and it seems to happen a lot more often with you than anyone else, so he’s silently cursing himself out when he slowly raises a hand to your cheek—his heart pounding against his rib cage, like it’s screeching to escape and run away. He has a rifle pressing against his nose, nearly right between his eyes, and what does he do? Kyle holds your covered cheek, his gloved hand cradling it just like how he did when he found you. Your eyebrow muscles punch inwards for a moment, your eyelids fluttering from the touch.
He watches the way your eyes scan his face, the way you’re trying to decipher whether he’s friend or foe—and he sees it when you know it’s him. Your eyes widen every so slightly and your rifle trembles in your grasp, lowering it and you flip the safety back on. “Gaz, I..” You croak for a moment, taking a small step back. Kyle let’s out a breath he didn’t he was holding, along with all of that tension holding up in body. He reaches for you again as you pinch the bridge of your nose, one of his hands swiftly taking the rifle from you, the other gently cradling your cheek again. “Shh, it’s alright,” He murmurs, his stomach tightening with anxiety. Your eyes fall closed for a moment as Kyle lets your rifle drop to the ground next to where both of you stand.
“It’s alright.” Kyle repeats, his other hand coming up to cradle your other cheek. You ever so slightly flinch in his touch, but you don’t pull away. Your hands come up to cover his own, a choked noise leaving your throat. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.” His lips are next to your ear now, voice dripping like honey into your eardrums, trickling down your spine with a warmth only he’s been able to provide for you. You can borderline feel his heat from beneath his gloves, seeping into your skin from on top of your mask, too. It grounds you enough for you to take a wonderfully oxygen filled breath.
“There y’go, yeah..” Kyle praises you softly, the air from between his lips brushing against your ear and causing you get goosebumps. You inhale once again, slower and deeper—and you get the comforting scent of Kyle, mixed in with the sweat and dirt. Nonetheless, it’s something you find extreme comfort in. As Kyle brings you down from your panicked feelings, he’s swaying you ever so slightly. After you let out a soft shuddering breath, he pulls away from your ear. “Let me see you,” He whispers, causing your eyes to shoot open, scanning his face with panic. You begin to shake your head but his hands remain in place. Kyle’s hands don’t move to remove your mask, as he’s always been good with your boundaries—but his eyes are pleading you.
“Please.” You lock eye contact with him as you debate this; you haven’t showed your face willingly since you were in the hospital, right? You began to cover your face as soon as you could without medical repercussions. You keep scanning his eyes, his muscles in his face, and then it hits you—Kyle doesn’t beg you of anything—the last time he saw your face, was when it was split in two, when he was holding your face in place. You know the attack fucked with him, too. Your barracks were next to his, and after the attack, you were hyper-vigilant. You woke up from every noise, and every night—you heard him stumble out of his room, always at night. Panicked.
You take a slow, deep breath—and you nod. You close your eyes, trying to give yourself some comfort. You feel his fingers hook into the soft material of your mask, and he pulls it down to under your chin. You don’t open your eyes just yet, but you can’t help the small flinch when you feel his gloved thumb trace part of your pink scar that’s deep in your lip. Your heart is hammering in your throat as his finger continues to slowly follow the scar’s path, from your bottom lip trailing to your nose, rearing a gory right, a deeper part of the scar scaling through your right cheek, and taking a harsh upwards turn, just narrowly missing your eye, but cutting deep into your eyebrow.
“There you are.” He whispers, his voice barely steady. Your eyes flutter open and you look at Kyle, and your eyebrows raise ever so slightly at the sight of tears brimming in his own eyes, pure relief all over his expression. “Thought I lost you forever, huh?” Kyle tries to laugh, but his voice cracks, causing a rare laugh to be pulled out of your chest. You reach up and your breath hitches as you wipe away a tear that had begun to slide down his cheek. “I’m.. I’m okay, Kyle.” You respond and he shakes his head, sniffling for a moment, his eyes tracing every part of your face, like you’ll disappear again. “You aren’t,” He confirms. “And that’s alright. You’re alive, and here with me, that’s enough for now.”
#call of duty#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#cod#mw2022#mw2 2022#modern warfare ii#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x gn!reader#kyle garrick x gn!reader#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#gazfest#gaz mw2#gaz#gaz cod#gaz call of duty#gaz modern warfare#kyle gaz garrick#cod gaz#gaz <3#i love gaz#mw2 fanfic#mwii#mwii gaz#gaz mwii#kyle gaz garrick x you#gaz x you
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Friends With Benefits Steddie Fics
Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 👀
let me be your (every)thing
starsdontsleep
Nancy has broken up with Jonathan and the moment Eddie hears the news, he realises his "thing" with Steve is about to be over.
Words : 2,882 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences (Mature)
AO3 : x
tangled up in barbed wire love
twelvexclara
“You’re so fucking—”
Before he can finish what he’s saying, Eddie grabs him by the shoulder, switches their position. Presses him into the door harshly and his head thumps back into the wood, sends a spike of something through his veins. He’s got a forearm at Steve’s throat, digging into his pulse point.
Daring him to say something.
He blinks dizzily up at Eddie, ignores the hinge digging into his back. They share breath, panting at each other, frozen for a moment. Steve’s heart is a hummingbird in his chest and he hopes, prays even, that Eddie can’t feel it.
Words : 39,260 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit
AO3 : x
Say Something Stupid
murdertrashbabyrat
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit fuck, goddamnit.
Steve cannot fucking believe he’s realizing this right now, when he is literally inside Eddie, cannot believe he is watching this man smoke a goddamn joint as he rides him and thinking oh shit, I love him.
Words : 6,159 Chapters : 4/4 Rating : Explicit
AO3 : x
It was only a kiss
corrodedbisexual (mishabawlins)
Steve and Eddie's nighttime coping with the horrors of their past brings them close in ways Eddie never would have expected. But that's all it is. Moments of mutual comfort, a fun distraction from the endless string of nightmares.
...Or is it?
Words : 5,377 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature
AO3 : x
if my body told the truth
literaldisneyprincess
“Hey, hi Eddie, hey, it’s Steve. Uh, do you know anything about cats?” he asks.
There’s a pause. “Steve, did you get a cat?”
Words : 19,321 Chapters : 3/3 Rating : Explicit
AO3 : x
Friends and Benefits, and Maybe Something More
oddermoths
“You know Harrington,” Eddie set his arm on the armrest of the chair. “If you weren’t straight, I’d kiss you silly right now.”
“Then do it,” Steve found himself saying before he could think.
Or, Steve and Eddie enter into a friends with benefits relationship, and Steve finds himself wanting more.
Words : 6,445 Chapters : 5/5 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences
AO3 : x
How to Be a Heartbreaker
literaldisneyprincess
Steve has a plethora of methods under his belt for getting his conquests to leave soon after they’re both satisfied. He’s used them all, with varying rates of success.
He doesn’t have much experience in getting someone to stay.
Words : 8,715 Chapters : 4/4 Rating : Mature
AO3 : x
Are You Flagging?
soidade
“Look, I’m just asking, okay? Not– I don't mean anything by it. But, uh.” His eyes darted back and forth, then he leaned in close to Steve. Steve had gotten used to that, kind of. The guy had no concept of personal space. “Are you flagging?” Eddie finally finished.
Steve shook his head slowly, eyes narrowed. He had no idea what that meant. He had no answer. “What?”
Eddie leaned away from Steve, facing forward again and nodding. “Okay, got it. That answers my question. Carry on.”
Words : 40,991 Chapters : 17/17 Rating : Explicit
AO3 : x
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The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3
This list contains ~290 items listed A to H
As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.
This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!
All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.
[I-Q]
[R-Z]
[NSFW List]
List below the cut:
#
"I don't need your help."
"I'm doing this to make you better"
"I'm fine, take care of them!"
“I’m Fine”
"Kill me instead"
"Let me in."
"Look at me."
"Should I know you?"
"Take me instead."
(No) Anaesthetic
A
A Good Ol' Sickfic
Abandoned
Abdominal Pain
Aching Wounds
Acne
Adrenaline Crash
Adrift (in space/at sea)
Agoraphobia
Airsickness
Alien abduction
Allergies
Alopecia
Ambulance Ride
Ambush
Amnesia/memory loss
Amputations
Anaemia
Anesthesia
Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)
Animal Attack/Bite
Ankle Sprain
Anthrax
Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)
Aphasia
Appendicitis
Arrested
Arthritis
Asking for help
Asphyxiation
Assumed Dead
Asthma/Asthma Attack
Auctions
Autoimmune disease
Avalanches
B
Backache
Bad Caretakers
Bandaged Head
Banished
Barbed Wire
Bear trap
Beaten up by ex-friends
Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)
Beatings
Bedrest
Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil
Begging
Betrayed by close friend/team/family
Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)
Biting
Black Eye
Blackmail
Bleeding Out
Bleeding Through
Bandages
Blindfolded
Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)
Blisters
Blood Loss
Blood Poisoning
Bloodied Knuckles
Bloodstains/blood trail
Bloody handprints
Bloody nose
Blunt force trauma
Blurred vision
Body modification
Body Sharing
Body Switching
Bounty on their head
Brain Damage
Brainwashing
Breakdowns
Breathless
Bridal Carry
Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)
Broken Nose
Broken Promises
Bronchitis
Bruises
Building Collapse
Bullet Removal
Bumpy roads jarring injuries
Buried Alive
Burning Building
Burns/Scalding
Busted kneecap
C
Cancer
Caning
Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)
Capsulitis
Captivity
Captured
Car chases (and maybe a car crash)
Carbon monoxide poisoning
Cardiac Arrest
Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.
Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.
Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.
Caretaker turned Whumpee
Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.
Carsickness
Cataracts
Catatonia
Caught in a fire
Caught in an explosion
Cauterization
Cave In
Cavity
Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)
Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles
Chained/Shackled
Checking for injuries
CHF - congestive heart failure
Chicken Pox
Chills
Chloroform
Choking
Chronic pain
Claustrophobia
Cleaning wounds alone
Cold/Flu,
Collapsed Lung
Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)
Collapsing after they win
Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out
Collars
Coma
Comfort after a nightmare
Common cold
Completely betrayed by their own team
Complications
Concussion
Confusion
Constipation
Constricted Airways
COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.
Corporal Punishment
Corset too tight and won’t unbutton
Coughing
Coughing Up Blood
CPR
Cramps
Crikes (intubation through neck)
Crush injury
Crying
Cuddle pile
Curses
Cuts/Grazes
Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)
Cyanide poisoning
D
Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords
De-aging
Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)
Defeat
Defenestration (throwing out a window)
Dehydration
Deja Vu
Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)
Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee
Dengue Fever
Denial
Depression
Dermatitis
Diabetes (type 1 and 2)
Diarrhea
Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)
Dislocations
Disorientation
Disowned by Family
Displaced hip
Dissociation
Distress call
Dizziness
Dragged Away
Dream sequence
Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car
Drowning
Drunkenness
E
Ear Infection
Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)
EKG
Electrical Burns
Electrical shock
Electrocution
Emergency field surgery
Emergency Surgery
Emotional angst
Emotional manipulation
Endometriosis
Enemy to Caretaker
Energy Drain
Environmental whump
ER
Execution
Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.
Exhaustion
Experimentation
Exposure
Extreme Weather
Eye injury
F
Facing Phobias
Failed Escape
Failure to thrive
Fainting
Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion
Falling
Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper
Falling Through Ice
Fatigue/Exhaustion
Fever
Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)
Field medicine
Fighting (while injured)
Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)
Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.
Fireman's carry
Flare ups
Flashbacks
Flinching away
Flu
Food Poisoning
Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)
Forehead kisses
Forgotten by team
Foul-tasting medicine
Found family
Found unconscious
Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)
Freezing / cold whump
Friendly Fire
Frostbite
G
Gagged/Muzzled
Gangrene infection
Gaslighting
Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)
Gastritis
Glass (shards, debris etc)
Grief
Gunshot Wound
H
Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking
Hallucinations
Hanahaki
Handcuffs
Handgag
Hard ground
Haunted
Hay Fever
Head injuries/concussion
Head trauma
Headache/Migraine
Heart Palpitations
Heartburn
Heat Exhaustion
Heatstroke
Heavy metal poisoning
Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point
Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)
Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)
Haemothorax
Hernia
Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues
Hiding
High Blood Pressure
High Fever (like dangerously high)
High Pain Tolerence
Hit by a car
Home Sickness
Hospital Codes
Hostage Situation
House burnt down
Huddling for Warmth
Human Shield
Human Weapon
Hunger
Hungover
Hunted for Sport
Hurt no comfort
Hyperalgesia,
Hypermobility
Hyperventilating
Hypo/Hyperthermia
Hypo/Hyperthyroidism
Hypoglycemia
Hypotension/ Hypertension
Hypoxia
TAG LIST:
Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)
@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion
#whump#a-z trope list#prompts#a to h#long post#extra long post#depression tw#anxiety tw#chronic illness mention#gun tw#angst#hurt#injury#illness#cancer tw#illness tw#alcohol tw#violence tw#medical tw
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Vox HCs #4: Theories about how he works like biologically
Cw: Sfw - but discussion about non-sexual anatomy type stuff
A/N because I've thought way too much about the logistics of him and robotic/tech demons and how they work/could work way too much. 💀 These are just some of the things I've thought about
- The main thing I see people wondering about is his face and how he drinks stuff, kisses people, etc.
- I think that the screen of his face is a full screen in its resting state, but he can influence the way it kind of functions/presents. ie. Manipulating the area around his mouth so he actually does have a mouth and its not just a projection on his screen.
- I don't think his mouth is a constant actual 3 dimensional thing though and is rather something he can change at will whenever he sees fit.
- If you were to touch it just in casual day to do life, his mouth would just be the screen / 2d.
- Also, I don't think his mouth feels like a normal mouth. If you were to kiss him I feel like his lips would not feel exactly like normal lips, and that his lips and tongue would kind of have that kind of static electricity sensation to them.
- Like if he were to lick you, I feel like you'd get that kind of static electricity sensation that makes your hair stand on its end.
- I'm not too sure about the rest of his face though. Maybe he can manipulate the rest of his face to become more 3 dimensional, but I don't think he would do it often as it's not necessary.
- Due to him being seen drinking during season 1, I think it's safe to assume that the way his internal functions are designed are relatively similar to normal humans.
- I believe he'd also have a somewhat similar body system as well. However, it just would be like metal parts, wires and artificial stuff underneath his skin rather than actual muscle, veins, ligaments, organs, bodily fluids, etc. Etc. That mirror those bodily systems.
- Having said that though, I do think parts of him are sensitive to being damaged by water. He may be just fine drinking water and liquids, but if they got in his ports (like on the back of his head), that would be bad.
- Because he prides himself on being up to date tech wise, he'd likely be waterproofed to a degree, but it still wouldn't be good. I can imagine him being damaged by it and bluescreening and forcefully shutting down to prevent any further damage to his less human reminiscent systems. (Do you think he lays down in rice when that happens? 💀)
- Also, I do not think he technically needs to eat or drink stuff. Judging by the fact he can plug into things (like how in the Stayed Gone video he plugs into all the computers and stuff), I think his main energy source would actually be charging using electrical wires and stuff.
- I think that him eating and drinking is just a preference of his, and that other demons who are similar to him wouldn't need to eat or drink. He can still get energy that way, but it's less efficient and more of just a preference/reminiscent of his past life as a human that he's held onto all this time.
- I also don't think he really 'sleeps' in the traditional sense or needs to sleep? He can likely regain power that way, but he wouldn't really need to sleep and could just stay awake all day and night if he's connected to a suitable charging source every couple of hours.
- I do think he would like powering down/switching off for a bit to rest though - just to not go crazy. Even if you wont die from lack of sleep, it's still nice to not have to think about things for a couple of hours.
Now I'm thinking about him laying down in rice after trying to go swimming without water proofing himself properly while bitching lmao.
#vox#vox headcanons#vox x reader#hazbin hotel#ive been thinking about this for quite a bit both for him and also my OC haha. i hope i articulated it well enough#I also want to write a short exerpt of him and what I think he was like while alive/ maybe even what his death was like in my own hcs?#Ive got part 2 of Snap in the works as well 🙏#lots i wanna do but no energy to do it with rn sadly
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hold tight - edward nashton x fem!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
{kinktober: day one. prompt: breeding. 🎃}
{contains: some obsessive yet shy edward, mentions of pregnancy, creampie, and very mild descriptions of overstim.}
☽ You suppose you should've seen it coming. Edward didn't fuck you, he made love to you. And he usually made love with a good dash of submissive obedience, a slight streak of bashfulness. His hands would roam your body with a soft and quiet kind of adoration, a gentle appreciation. He was so sweet to you, holding your hips like you were a glass ornament. Shattering your fragile frame would hurt him, too. He could not afford to have blood on his hands when it came to your comfort and satisfaction.
☽ He was different tonight...it was as if a switch had been flipped. He would never want to hurt you, but he hardly registered the way his fingers dug into your skin with a greedy hunger as he thrusted into you. He panted hard and deep as your hands gripped the sheets beneath you and your jaw fell open.
☽ "Eddie, Ed...wait."
☽ Your rushed words pierced their talons into his stomach. He felt sick to his lurching guts. What did he do wrong? He always has to go and fuck up everything good, doesn't he?
☽ But you're grinning as you catch your breath. He watches your bare chest tremble, rise, and fall. "Jesus, Eddie, where did this come from?"
☽ His cheeks are lit aflame as he fumbles for an answer. "Just...just wanna be inside you." You chuckle. "Hmm, yeah? Tell me about it."
☽ The coils of his brain are short-circuiting, the wires of his mind smoking and shooting sparks. How's he supposed to express how deeply he wants to be a part of you? How is he supposed to convey his darkest, most carnivorous desire without scaring you off?
☽ "I...I'll try," he mumbles, his hips starting up their quivering movement once again. "I d-don't wanna frighten you."
☽ Eddie whines as your legs wrap around his waist and pull him even closer. "You can't frighten me, honey. C'mon, tell me what you want."
☽ His thrusts are sloppy and jittery as his long fingers find their way to your lower stomach. They brush against your smooth, fluttering skin. "I...hmm, fuck...I think about it sometimes."
☽ He's too flustered to say it without the shroud of vagueness clouding his words, but it's clear what he means. "Oh, yeah?" you tease. "You wanna fill me up, Ed? Wanna get me pregnant?"
☽ Clearly, he was not anticipating your candor, because now he's gripping your hips like you'll disintegrate into dust if he lets go. You have to understand where he's coming from, though! He's never met someone who has put that level of affection and credence into him! For somebody to want to carry his baby...even if it's just pretend for now...him, of all people! He can't help but ravage your innards with reckless abandon. Just a bit.
☽ He can feel the steady heat rising in his gut. It's utterly humiliating how quickly he's close just from hearing your whiny cries to please, fuck, fill me up, I want it so bad, I need it, Eddie, I need it!
☽ And oh my, does it feel blissfully divine when the heat finally bursts. It's like he's floating. He can feel your quivering pussy gripping him tight. He grits his teeth through the shooting pinpricks of his overstimulation and fucks his cum deeper. The sticky, sodden sounds are delectably obscene. His face is burnt a feverish scarlet as he pulls out of you and watches his cum leak. It's such an alluring sight, the milky liquid dripping from your already soaked cunt. It takes all the power within to stop himself from diving down and tasting you right then. He wouldn't want to overwhelm you.
☽ Again, even if it's just make believe, a filthy fantasy you two indulge in...it's the thought behind the action that counts, the message behind your pleading for him to fill you up, make you full, that makes him want to grab hold of you and never let go. <3
#eli's writing#danonation#paul dano#edward nashton#the riddler#the batman#edward nashton x reader#the riddler x reader#edward nashton x you#the riddler x you#edward nashton x y/n#the riddler x y/n#kinktober#kinktober 23
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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 3)
N followed Uzi at her side as they made their way through the maze of hallways that was the bunker. If he hadn't, he might have gotten lost.
“I think this place gets bigger every time I come here.” He pointed out, taking one step for every two of hers, he wasn't going to point that out though, lest she poke him.
Yes, poke, maybe shove or lightly punch. But he'd come to realize that when it came to the people she cared about, she didn't choose violence. Don't get him wrong, Uzi would often choose violence when it was an option, case in point; railgun. But when it came to him, and V to an extent, her mouth was the most dangerous thing about her.
That and maybe her tail, which did often actually bite.
“It's a maze on purpose, Dad thought it might throw you guys off to buy us time.” She hummed absent-mindededly, thinking as she lead him through yet another cross-section.
“It would definitely work on me. I'm already lost.” He laughed a little, looking over at her.
Her visor was lit up in an almost frown, eyebrows together in either concern or disappointment, her tongue was out again, which meant she was focused intently on something. N was always in awe of how she was always thinking, although she often overthought and made herself upset, he hoped that's not what she was doing.
His eyes drifted to the way she played with the ball joints of her own fingers, like she always had to have something in her hand, her tongue switched sides and her eyelights scrunched up, obviously trying to work through something in her head.
Cute… wait what?
“Oh! Crap I almost passed it. Here we are.” She stopped abruptly, causing N to nearly trip to avoid careening into her, there was a thick, fogged window looking into the nursery, where he could see a few blurry shapes of pillbabies recharging in their cribs.
“Ooooh! Babies!” N's eyes grew exceptionally wide, almost as if they had stars in them, his tail wagged behind him, his hands cupping his face and a squeal threatening to spill from his mouth.
“Yeah, probably here while thier parents are working. Come on, you can see them better inside.” She opened the heavy door with a swoosh, and a gust of sterilized air hit them both.
“I'm allowed inside? Wouldn't they… be afraid of me?” N took a step back, holding the wire of his tail in his hands, looking anywhere but her eyes. Thinking about how some of the workers still looked at him with fear.
“N, it's fine. And if they're not fine with it I'll make them fine.” Her tone shifted from soft to rough, and her fist balled to make her point. And, almost reluctantly, he followed her, head frantically taking in every single detail of the room.
The drone at the front desk wasn't paying attention. Wore glasses, and seemed to be from the same generation of drone as Uzi's Dad, with the slightly boxier body type typical from that generation. Her eyelights were a deep orange, and she was skimming through a magazine.
“Uh, Mrs. Rayn? It's Uzi, I'm back.” Uzi's voice seemed to immediately lack the bite it had a moment ago. And the elder drone peered over her glasses, first to Uzi, then to the disassembly drone awkwardly standing behind her. He smiled, trying not to look any kind of threatening. His tail wagging slightly.
“Not sure we can combine you two, and I'm not sure Khan would want me to…”
Oh robo-jesus-
“No! Uhm… No. I'm just here to pick up more oil! N wanted to see the babies…” Both of their faces exploded in blush, their eyes flicking over at each other briefly, which somehow made both their blushes far worse.
What would that even look like? Would they be a worker drone? A disassembly drone? Both? Would they have Uzi's eyes? His yellow ones? Inherit his white ones? Or would the colors mix and be brown? Or pink? Did it even work like that?
He should probably stop thinking about that…
“Ahhh, good! You two are a little young for that anyway. Uzi, you should have been good for another week! Is your condition getting worse?” She asked, and she immediately reminded N of a grandmother, voice soft, kindly, but crackly from age.
“No. N had to stay over at my house and was overheating, he needs a lot more than I do.” She gestured to him, which caused another nervous beaming smile to grace his face. He gave a small wave in return.
“I see…” Mrs. Rayn hummed, typing something up on the computer sitting in front of her. Every so often she would glance up at N, looking over her glasses, N felt as if he was being studied.
“Right, Uzi Doorman, upping your supply to five cans, instead of three. Just in case your “friend” happens to need to stay again.” She said as if she fully believed it would be happening more often, though neither young drone could discern why.
“N, was it?” She turned to him, making him jump, he nodded, his old worker programming forcing him to slightly bow, which would have been deeper had he not forcefully stopped himself.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He replied, taking a step forward, beads of sweat dripping down the inside of his visor.
“It's nice to meet you young man. If you ever need something, you come to me. Alright?” She smiled kindly at him, and his nerves immediately relaxed, and the next smile that came from him was far more natural.
“Thank you. I'll keep that in mind Ma’am”
“Well aren't you polite. Half the men here could learn a thing or two from you.” She gave a soft chuckle, motioning to the door that lead to the little dronelings.
“You're welcome to see them, just be careful. Let me go fetch what you need.” With that she was off towards the back, N noticed she heavily favored one foot over the other. Huh.
But an immediate distraction came in the form of pillbabies. He nearly sprinted, but felt Uzi grab his arm to stop him. Like it was a command from his own system, he stopped immediately.
“Careful, remember? Pills are made out of silicon, so they're squishy. They're also really sensitive to sound, so shhhh…” She explained, leading him into the nursery at a much slower pace. He nodded in understanding, keeping his tail tight against the floor to keep it safe and away from the tiny dronelings.
After realizing he was going much slower, she released him, finding a seat in one of the waiting chairs and crossing her arms, watching him as he made his way over to the closest baby.
It was so, so small, which he knew, but seeing one up close instead of in pictures didn't do it justice, the whole thing could fit in the palm of his hand. This one had white eyelights, but was currently in sleep mode, three little z's appearing and blinking on the little ones visor.
He smiled warmly, suppressing the urge to touch the little pill. He didn't want to disturb it, or hurt it for that matter.
The next one was green, and while it wasn't asleep it also didn't seem to be too concerned with his presence, too focused on dimming and relighting its eyes, N found himself chuckling, but moving on.
The last droneling was tucked into the corner, and as he approached he noticed that this one was actively looking at him, intently actually. And their eyes were a deep lavender, a shade lighter than Uzi's.
“Hey kiddo…” He wasn't sure what made him want to speak to it, maybe it was the eyelights, or the way it was staring at him. But he got the impression it wanted his attention.
The baby giggled, a smile appearing on it's screen as it began to rock from side to side. If it had arms, they would be reaching up at him.
“You're a happy one.” He felt Uzi come up next to him, her being a fair bit warmer than other drones, and he'd nearly memorized the sound of her footsteps by now.
“This one looks like how you did!” He pointed out quietly, trying his best not to disturb the others, Uzi didn't reply, instead leaning over the side of the metal crib.
“She's unclaimed… look.” She pointed to a tag at the foot of the crib. A pink tag saying “unclaimed” mocked him. Dang, how'd he not notice that?
“Oh… what does that mean?”
“It means her parents haven't come back to pick her up yet.” Uzi sounded concerned, her hand hovered over the pills chassis, before looking even more concerned.
“She's too warm, no one's fed her in awhile…” she looked from side to side, as if making sure no one was around, before gently picking up the small pill in her arms, something that seemed practiced, and natural.
“Oh no… do you think something happened to her parents?” N now shared her concern, although a part of him felt extremely giddy watching his normally edgy best freind hold a baby so gently. He wasn't sure why, but it made his core feel warm.
“Unless V went back on her word. I don't see what could have happened.” Uzi replied back, seemingly instinctually rocking the baby gently, one hand on top of the little one, holding her steady.
The little pill continued to smile up at her, giggling but eyelights getting droopy, and she stopped trying to roll to either side. His best freinds eyes softened, a small smile creeping up onto her face.
“So…?”
“You can sometimes make a baby accidentally… leaving a portion of your code in someone. She might have been dumped here after her parents got her a body…” She explained, glancing around the room, searching for something.
“Theres a bottle station over there, she needs some oil. Could you bring me one?” She motioned to a dispenser near the door, the picture was of a plastic bottle with a very narrow black tip.
“Yeah, okay.” He closed the distance rather quickly, clicking the very clearly marked button on the dispenser and a very small plastic bottle fell into his hand. As well as… a siphon?
“What now?” He asked, handing it to her. And she sighed, lifting up her hoodie and undershirt to expose bare chassis.
N’s head snapped away, being reminded of her displeasure of him being naked, Uzi looked up at him and looked nervous, and embarrassed.
“I'm not stripping in front of you N, I'm trying to open a panel on my side.” She explained, holding the baby in one hand, and opening a small panel on her side with the other, sticking the siphon into it, which caused her to jolt.
“Agh… been awhile.” She murmured, pumping the siphon with the hand pump, after a few seconds, warm oil began to fill the bottle.
“Woah… what?” N was mesmerized, watching her fill the bottle with her own oil, and also at the ease and familiarity she seemed to do it with. It was also his first introduction to a side panel, did all the workers have those? He knew he didn't.
“I used to volunteer here. When mom was still alive. We both did.” She explained, sounding rather sad for a moment, before shaking her head. “Babies need warm oil, usually filtered by their mother since they can't yet. But, I'm all that's here right now so…”
The bottle was filled, and she pinched the siphon, wincing as she pulled it out, before sighing.
“Ugh, that wasn't painful before…” She trailed off, moving her hoodie back in place and training her eyes back on the droneling. Softly scratching the silicon of the chassis.
The baby made a raspberry, seemingly enjoying the feeling.
“Yeah… it tickles, right?” Her voice suddenly went sugary sweet, so much so N felt a blush light up his face, it was like it was made of caramel, gentle and kind and deeply maternal. He wasn't even aware her voice could go that soft.
“There's that panel.” She opened a small panel on the pillbaby's front, where there was a small opening where N assumed the bottle would go.
She tipped the bottle into the opening, and the baby's eyes flickered shut, seemingly enjoying the coolant, Uzi seemed to be lost in the moment, nodding her head as a coo that sounded almost unnatural came out of her mouth.
N stayed uncharacteristically silent, watching the scene before him while an ocean of different emotions ran through him. Curiosity, both about pillbaby anatomy and Uzi's time with her mom. Awe, at her competence at this, how confidently she had taken control of a concerning situation. And how soft her voice was whenever she spoke to the droneling, it made the sensors on the back of his neck stand up, filling him with a warmth he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.
“Oh! There you two are. I thought you'd have had your fill by now.” Mrs. Rayn popped in though the door with a bag in her hand, five canisters of oil bouncing around inside, her face fell on Uzi, who was still looking at her task; feeding the baby.
“Well that's a sight I'd never thought I'd see again…” She said, trailing off when Uzi looked up sheepishly. A blush invading her face as she caught up with reality.
“She was too warm, old insinct took over. Sorry, I know non-volunteers aren't supposed to donate…”
“No it's quite alright, that one was printed out about a week ago. Parents were young, younger than you two. They haven't been back.” She looked sad, hobbling over to the two younger drones, and motioning to take the baby from Uzi's arms.
For a split second, N saw Uzi try to pull away, as if she wanted to keep the baby away from her. But that was gone a moment later, and she placed the droneling into her arms, the look on her face was indecipherable.
“It happens sometimes. Another week and she'll be put up for adoption, where someone who really wants her can take care of her.” The bottle was empty, and the pillbaby seemed to now be dozing off, purple eyelights dimming.
“Thank you for donating. My oil is getting a little stale at my age!” She laughed, though still smiled at them kindly, before looking at N curiously.
“Did you want to hold her?” She asked and her jumped in surprise. Raising his hands like he was defending himself.
“No! Well yes, but I'm afraid I'll hurt her and-” the baby was placed in his arms, shutting him up immediately, well aside from the “Oh Biscuits…” that came out in a whimper as he cradled them.
Uzi was right, she was warm, but N's sensors indicated she was beginning to cool down, she was also right about her being slightly squishy, as he felt her vents taking in air, and her silicon skin indenting even on a surface as soft as his overcoat sleeve.
He felt as if he had something priceless and oh so very fragile in his hands and he froze, his brain stuck between “this is the cutest thing in the world” and “don't screw up, please don't screw up”.
“You getting sleepy?” He asked, he didn't notice both woman next to him smile at his voice, or the way his tail began to wag as the baby sleepily smiled at him. He rocked them, much like Uzi had done, and slowly three z's appeared on her visor, and she rolled into the fur of his coat.
His core felt heavy, like it was made of solid lead. He felt tears prick on the edges of his visor as he looked up. Holding her close, he could feel a tiny core buzzing.
“She's the cutest thing ever!” He whisper-screamed. Causing both women to smile at him. Uzi's somehow looked bigger, with a look in her eyes that N hadn't seen before, but it made him swell with a warm sense of pride.
“You have good instinct, I hear it in your voice.” Mrs. Rayn said, smiling almost as if she knew something he didn't, though it didn't matter, his eyes were fixed on the droneling in his arms once again.
“I don't… understand how anyone could leave her.” At this, he felt something else rise in his chest, something angry, and protective, still warm but almost unpleasantly so.
“Young people make mistakes, sometimes they rush into things they're not ready for.” She replies sadly, Uzi looked away at her words, crossing her arms, her face falling into something that looked deliberative if not sad.
“Does she have a name?” He asked, reluctantly handing the small child back to the older woman. He could almost still feel the little ones core buzzing against him.
“Tera is what I've been calling her. But once she's adopted that's bound to change.”
“Tera…” He said under his breath, as if tasting the word, a small smile broke through. His eyes lingered on the sleeping pillbaby, before they landed on Uzi, who was taking the bag from Mrs. Rayn with a very polite “Thank you.”
Uzi was beginning to head towards the door, bag in hand, waving goodbye to Mrs. Rayn, who was placing Tera back into her crib. N followed, but not before giving a little wave to the tiny pill.
“Goodnight Tera.”
#md uzi#md n#serial designation n#biscuitbites#nuzi#murder drones#murder drones uzi#murder drones n#murder drones nuzi#md nuzi#uzi doorman#n and uzi#breaking my fingers at the speed im getting words out of my brain#fankid?#maybe?#they're in love your honor
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forbid, april 4 -- @jegulus-microfic -- 1,393 words
thank you to @magswrite & @ninety-two-bees for the cat names for this one, was really struggling to think of some <3
second microfic posted today, only because i want to keep up with the dates for all of them lol and i genuinely am procrastinating uni work
----
So, Regulus can safely say that making a cake is harder than he thought.
It’s not like he’s not following the recipe—he is. He scoured the internet two days ago for a good Devil’s Food cake recipe, eventually finding one he could follow along well enough; he even stopped by the supermarket on his way home from work yesterday to get all the ingredients, writing a list and ticking items off he as went to make sure everything was accounted for.
He’s being thorough, meticulous.
But he’s never baked anything before, and, with rapidly dawning fear, he realises he’s greatly underestimated the skill that goes into it.
Dread, and the crippling desire to make this cake perfect for James, leads Regulus to run flour-dusted fingers through his hair as he squints at the recipe for the buttercream. The recipe tells him not to “over-whip”, but how is he supposed to know what that means? He’s just thankful that James, clearly the cook in this household, has all the equipment and devices needed to bake, so at least he’s got that.
By the hob, two halves of something that resembles a cake cool on a wire rack. They don’t look exactly like the picture, but hopefully it will still taste good. Hopefully.
To be honest, Regulus will be pissed if it doesn’t, as the kitchen is … Well. He glances away from the stand mixer mixing the buttercream ingredients together to stare at the evidence of what he’s been doing this afternoon.
Used bowls and utensils overflow in the sink. The majority of the countertops are clustered with baking ingredients: the bag of flour still open next to the cocoa powder; the egg box flipped open with two eggs missing. If Regulus were to run a finger over the surface, he’d probably find it dusted with a fine layer of flour too, as he learnt the hard way that one has to open a bag of flour slowly.
James usually keeps it spotless, and whilst he doesn’t forbid Regulus from cooking—actually he wholeheartedly encourages it, gazing dreamy-eyed as Regulus tries to focus on what he’s doing and not imagine having him for dessert instead—there’s the unspoken implication that the kitchen is James’ playground, whilst the study/library is Regulus’.
But he’ll clean it all up. He has still an hour and a half before James is due to get back home from work, which is plenty of time to figure out this icing problem, put the cake together, and for Regulus to clean up.
There’s a nervous feeling of anticipation in his stomach when he switches off the mixer, peering in at the icing. It looks good actually, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Okay, this might work.
Just then, one of their two cats, Leo, walks into the kitchen, followed by the other, Astraeus. James had named the former, a gorgeous white cat with one black spot at the base of his tail, and Regulus had named the latter, a Russian Blue with glowing yellow eyes that, when they were adopting cats, Regulus insisted he couldn’t leave behind.
“Hello, you two,” he says, picking up Astraeus and planting a kiss between the cat’s ears before setting her back down again. Leo, always craving being the centre of attention, hops up onto the counter.
Regulus is about to fuss him, too, when he hears the scrape of a key in the front door lock, indicating James is home. Panic flares in his chest, because Regulus is nowhere near done with this cake, and it’s going to spoil the surprise.
“Hi, love!” James calls out, the door closing behind him.
“Hey!” Regulus calls back, glancing around at the kitchen. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath.
At the sound of their other father’s voice, Leo scrabbles into action. In his haste, he knocks into the bag of flour, sending it flying onto the floor—
And exploding everywhere with a loud thud.
“What the hell?” James exclaims from the hallway. “Reggie? Are you okay?”
Spooked, and probably scared of the consequences of his actions, Leo flees, knocking over—it really can’t get any worse, can it?—the box of eggs as he does so. Astraeus, pinning her ears to her head, follows instantly.
And Regulus? Heart literally jumping into his mouth, he manages to catch the eggs in time, only one of them cracking in its cardboard container. Putting them safely back on the counter, he sighs and rests his forehead on the cool surface, taking a deep breath in before answering, “Yeah. I’m okay,” and then turning around to assess the damage.
The bag of flour has well and truly split everywhere, sending white fireworks all over the floor and up the sides of the cupboards. It genuinely looks like a small flurry of fine, powdery snow has blown into the kitchen, as if every single piece of flour has expelled itself from the bag.
James darts around the kitchen doorframe, concern and worry written into the lines of his face, mouth open to ask if Regulus is okay again, when he freezes at the state of the kitchen.
For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Regulus can feel his heart thundering beneath his chest, loud like a drumbeat. Fuck, he’s in so much trouble. He watches James’ eyes flick from the flour-y explosion on the floor, to the cake cooling on the side, to the unwashed pans in the sink, and then back to Regulus.
Guilt floods through him. He should’ve just gotten a store-bought cake instead. He needn’t have gone to all this trouble, all this hassle, spent all that money, wasted all this time, because now their kitchen is an absolute mess, and they’re going to have to spend James’ birthday cleaning it up.
He almost expects a reprimand when James opens his mouth again, prepares himself for it, his body tensing, eyes narrowing, bracing himself for the reprimand to come—
He does not expect James to burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Reg,” James wheezes, pressing a hand to his mouth. “You— there’s flour all over you …”
Looking down at himself, Regulus groans to find that it’s gotten on him too, though thank God he’s wearing an apron. “Jesus.”
Still laughing, James crosses over, cupping Regulus’ face in his hands. “I’m not talking about the apron, love. It’s,” he gets out between laughs, “it’s on your face. In your hair. What— What have you been doing?”
Fighting a smile, Regulus lets James brush flour from his cheeks and get it out of his hair, and then jerks his face away. “I was trying to make you a cake for your birthday, but, uh. I guess it took a turn. Leo got excited to see you. And you’re home early.”
“They let me go early,” James explains.
“Oh,” Regulus says. And then, because he has to ask, “You’re— not mad?”
“Mad?” James echoes, confused. “Reg, this— is hilarious. I’m flattered, and so, so happy that you went to all this effort for me. You didn’t have to do that.”
“But it’s your birthday. Happy birthday,” Regulus says, as if he didn’t whisper it into James’ ear this morning. The relief that James isn’t mad at him makes his knees buckle.
“Thank you, my beloved,” James tells him, turning to the cake on the side. “Is this chocolate cake?”
Regulus nods. “Devil’s Food cake to be precise. I looked up a recipe. I don’t know if it’s any good, but …”
The smile on James’ face could light up Regulus’ night. He steps over to the icing bowl. “This the icing?” and before Regulus can reply, he dips his finger in and licks it off. Regulus’ eyes widen.
“This is good, Reg. Like, really good. You know, you could actually be a good baker.”
“You think so?”
James comes back over to his side, this time cornering Regulus against the counter, one that is, thankfully, empty. “Definitely.”
It’s a long while before they clean up the flour on the floor.
#frost's microfics#no because this is actually adorable#the cats are important characters actually#jegulus fic#jegulus microfic#regulus arcturus black#james fleamont potter#james x regulus#james potter x regulus black#starchaser#sunseeker#jegulus
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could you explain for the "it makes the game go faster" idiots like myself what a GPU actually is? what's up with those multi thousand dollar "workstation" ones?
ya, ya. i will try and keep this one as approachable as possible
starting from raw reality. so, you have probably dealt with a graphics card before, right, stick in it, connects to motherboard, ass end sticks out of case & has display connectors, your vga/hdmi/displayport/whatever. clearly, it is providing pixel information to your monitor. before trying to figure out what's going on there, let's see what that entails. these are not really simple devices, the best way i can think to explain them would start with "why can't this be handled by a normal cpu"
a bog standard 1080p monitor has a resolution of 1920x1080 pixels, each comprised of 3 bytes (for red, blue, & green), which are updated 60 times a second:
~3 gigs a second is sort of a lot. on the higher end, with a 4k monitor updating 144 times a second:
17 gigs a second is definitely a lot. so this would be a good "first clue" there is some specialized hardware handling that throughput unrelated the cpu. the gpu. this would make sense, since your cpu is wholly unfit for dealing with this. if you've ever tried to play some computer game, with fancy 3D graphics, without any kind of video acceleration (e.g. without any kind of gpu [1]) you'd quickly see this, it'd run pretty slowly and bog down the rest of your system, the same way having a constantly-running program that is copying around 3-17GB/s in ram
it's worth remembering that displays operate isochronously -- they need to be fed pixel data at specific, very tight time timings. your monitor does not buffer pixel information, whatever goes down the wire is displayed immediately. not only do you have to transmit pixel data in realtime, you have to also send accompanying control data (e.g. data that bookends the pixel data, that says "oh this is the end of the frame", "this is the begining of the frame, etc", "i'm changing resolutions", etc) within very narrow timing tolerances otherwise the display won't work at all
3-17GB/s may not be a lot in the context of something like a bulk transfer, but it is a lot in an isochronous context, from the perspective of the cpu -- these transfers can't occur opportunistically when a core is idle, they have to occur now, and any core that is assigned to transmit pixel data has stop and drop whatever its doing immediately, switch contexts, and do the transfer. this sort of constant pre-empting would really hamstring the performance of everything else running, like your userspace programs, the kernel, etc.
so for a long list of reasons, there has to be some kind of special hardware doing this job. gpu.
instead of calculating every pixel value manually, the cpu just needs to give a high-level geometric overview of what it wants rendered, and does this with vertices. a vertex is very simple, it's just a point in 3D space, for example (5,2,3). just like a coordinate grid on paper with an extra dimension. with just a few vertices, you can have models like this:
where each dot at the intersection of lines in the above image, would be a vertex. gpus essentially handle huge number of vertices.
in the context of, like, a 3D video game, you have to render these vertex-based models conditionally. you're viewing it at some distance, at some angle, and the model is lit from some light source, and has perhaps some shadows cast across it, etc -- all of this requires a huge amount of vertex math that has to be calculated within the same timeframes as i described before -- and that is what a gpu is doing, taking a vertex-defined 3D environment, and running this large amount of computation in parallel. unlike your cpu which may only have, idk, 4-32 execution cores, your gpu has thousands -- they're nowhere near as featureful as your cpu cores, they can only do very specific simple math with vertices, but there's a ton of them, and they run alongside each other.
so that is what a gpu "does", in as few words as i can write
the things in the post you're referring to (V100/A100/H100 tensor "gpus") are called gpus because they are also periperal hardware that does a specific kind of math, massively, in parallel, they are just designed and fabricated by the same companies that make gpus so they're called gpus (annoyingly). they don't have any video output, and would probably be pretty bad at doing that kind of work. regular gpus excel at calculating vertices, tensor gpus operate on tensors, which are like matrixes, but with arbitrary numbers of dimensions. try not to think about it visually. they also use a weirder float. they're used for things like "artificial intelligence", training LLMs and whatever, but also for real things, like scientific weather/economy/particle models or simulations
they're very expensive because they cost the same, if not more, than what it cost to design & fabricate regular video gpus, but with a trillionth of the customer base. for every ten million rat gamers that will buy a gpu there is going to be one business buying one A100 or whatever.
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Hello there!! Thanks for all the advice you’ve given thus far!! It’s been a huge help in my writing journey, though I find that the ONE thing I still struggle with is finding time to work on some of my current writing projects.
I work an 8-5 through the week, and on weeknights and weekends I’m trying to catch up on energy to prepare for the next week ahead. Do you have any tips or suggestions on what I can do to try and sneak some writing in? Thanks in advance!
Tips for Sneaking Writing Into a Busy Schedule
#1 - Figure Out Your "Three B's" - If you're struggling to fit writing into a busy schedule, the first thing you should do is figure out your "three B's"... the bare minimum, better, and best amount of time you can commit to writing each day. The bare minimum amount of time should be a ridiculously low number, ten minutes or less, that you can manage even on the busiest of busy days. The better amount should be the most reasonable amount of time... a balance between a logical amount of productivity and the reality of your schedule. If you have a lot of busy days, this should probably be somewhere between fifteen minutes and an hour. And finally, the best amount is kind of the "pie in the sky" number... the reasonable amount of time you'd commit to writing if you had a day off and not a lot to do. The goal here is to aim for that middle number most days, but on long days when you have no energy leftover for writing, you've still got to hit that bare minimum. You don't even have to actually write during this "writing time." You can re-read a scene or chapter, edit, revise, brainstorm, research, look at inspiration photos, read a craft book... anything that moves the needle on your WIP in some way.
#2 - De-Stress Writing - Our brains are wired to avoid things that cause us stress, and stressful things also take a lot of energy to deal with. So, if you get even a little stressed thinking about your WIP or writing in general, you're gonna have a harder time committing to that bare minimum, better, or best writing time. The best thing you can do to de-stress writing for yourself is to stop giving yourself a hard time for not writing, not reaching goals, not completing tasks, etc. Give yourself grace, tell yourself it's okay, you'll hit that bare minimum tomorrow. Other things you can do: set up a reward system for yourself for when you hit small but important goals, eat or drink a favorite treat while you write, burn a scented candle, or listen to some soft music.
#3 - Create a Writing Ritual - Sometimes it helps to take a few minutes to switch your brain into "writing mode." This can be any number of little things that tells your brain "it's time to write now." It can be putting your phone on silent, sitting in a particular spot, lighting a scented candle, repeating a mantra, doing some stretches or meditating, listening to a certain song or putting on a particular type of soft music, or even a particular treat or beverage. When you choose a few things like this to do every time you sit down to write, and only when you sit down to write, your brain will start to associate those things with writing which helps it slip into "writing mode."
#4 - Eliminate Distractions - This one is really important when you have limited time... When you sit down for your writing time, put your phone on silent or set up "do not disturb" so that only really important calls/texts will come in. Avoid radio stations or music with lyrics if the talk is going to distract you. Use an internet blocking app if you can't trust yourself to fall down Google rabbit holes. Let people know you're going to be writing during that time and ask them not to disturb you. Anything you can do to eliminate distractions will help.
#5 - Boost Your Energy - No matter how busy you are, most of us have time in our schedule to commit to writing, even if that means getting up fifteen minutes early. However, if we feel tired and lack the energy to write, it can be very easy to pretend that fifteen minutes isn't available or that we need every last minute of sleep we can get. In that case, try doing a little energy booster before your writing time. This might be having a cup of coffee or a high energy breakfast smoothie, it could be taking a cold shower or listening to an energetic favorite son. If you can move your body for a few minutes, that helps, too. Walking, running in place, or jumping jacks are great if you're able to do them. If not, energetically moving any part of your body can give you a little energy boost... enough to get you through that bare minimum writing time.
I hope that helps! ♥
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I’ve Got You (e. williams)
——————————————————
A/N:Okay, so this is entirely self indulgent since I was having a bad night. Mental illness was kicking my ass so here’s the result of that. I’m too tired to know if it makes any sense but I hope you guys like it either way. PLEASE read the content warning below, it’s a bit heavy because as stated, I wrote it for myself originally. I figured I’d share this in case anyone else is struggling. Love you guys, and I’m always here if you wanna chat <3
cw: mentions of heavy intrusive thoughts, and mentions of mental illness and its various symptoms as a whole.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧
You’re not sure what causes it. Maybe it’s the stress from work, or maybe it’s just something in the air.
The moment you get home, Ellie’s sat on the couch playing a game. She darts her eyes towards you quickly, still focused. “How was your day,baby?” She asks, flicking the joystick with her thumb.
You don’t say anything. This catches her attention, and she pauses the game and looks up. By now, there are tears streaming down your face.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She coos, placing the controller down and standing up. She opens up her arms, and you barrel towards her.
She strokes your hair gently as you sob into her chest, no doubt in your mind that you’re probably ruining her favorite sweater.
She doesn’t seem to mind though, as she lifts your chin to meet her eyes. “You wanna talk about what happened babe?” She asked. You shrug, moving to sit down on the couch.
She follows and plops down next to you, putting a hand on your back. You lean into her embrace and sigh, sniffling lightly. “I-I don’t know. It’s nothing really specific, I’ve just been upset lately. I’m not sure why.” She nods in understanding, rubbing your back softly.
While she’s silent, you suddenly feel bad. She probably just wanted to relax and play her game, and here you are, bothering her about nonsense. You knew she didn’t actually feel that way, but you usually preferred to not bring these thoughts up to her.
You were worried that if you did, she’d be upset that you saw her that way. You’d had many intrusive thoughts of harming either yourself or Ellie, and even though you know with absolute certainty you’d never act upon them, they still scare you. Some days, you felt like a monster. Incapable of loving or being loved.
Deep down, you know Ellie loves you. You love her too, more than anything in the entire world. You’d come to the conclusion one day though, that your brain wasn’t wired properly.
Before your thoughts could spiral more out of control, Ellie spoke up. “I get what you mean, baby. Some days it’s just tough, yeah?” She said. You nodded, a few stray tears slipping down your face. “The world just fucking sucks sometimes. Everything’s just so overwhelming these days.” You reply, curling into her side.
She laughs dryly. “You’re not kidding. It’s like in my case, I’m fine most days. But on the days I’m not, well you’ve seen me. It’s like a switch gets flipped or something.” Ellie said, running a hand through your hair. “It’s an exhausting feeling.” You reply, turning to face her.
She smiles. “It is. You wanna know how I get through it though?” You nod, and she cups your face between her hands. “I just think about you. World’s going to hell in a handbasket, but you’re always right there by my side. Remember that time I had a fight with Joel?” She asked.
“Mhm, I remember.” You say.
Ellie smiles. “Well, I was super upset that day. As soon as I stepped in the door, you knew something was off. I didn’t wanna talk about it, so you just kissed my cheek and went into the kitchen.” She paused for a moment, smiling.
“You made me chocolate covered strawberries, cause you knew they were my favorite. Then we cuddled on the couch and watched Star Trek. I’ll never forget that day.” She recalled fondly, her free hand tracing soothing circles on your thigh.
Your eyes well up. “I love you, Ellie.” You breathe, looking up at her. Her smile nearly splits her face in half. “I love you too, sweet girl. Always will, now and forever.” She replied, pressing kisses all over your face.
You giggle. “Ew gross, I’ve got snot and tears all over my face.” She fake pouts, brushing a piece of stray hair out of your eyes. “I don’t care, you still look adorable. Now c’mere.”
You playfully roll your eyes as she pulls you into a proper kiss, her hands cupping your face. When you both pull away, she leans her forehead against yours, stroking your cheek with her thumb.
“We’ll get through the hard days together, yeah? We’re a team, you and me. Like the byronosaurus and the citipati. Did you know their nests were adjacent?.” She asks you with a smile.
You laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah, exactly like that. You learn that from one of your little documentaries?” You ask her.
“I did, I watched a really good one last night.” She said. You chuckle, adjusting yourself to lay on her chest. “You’re a dork.” You tell her, playing with the strings of her hoodie.
You feel her chest vibrate beneath you as her laughter fills the air. “You love it.” She tells you, a cocky grin on her face.
You can’t help but roll your eyes and smile back at her. “I do. Not as much as I love you, though.” Ellie blushes, a nervous little smile on her face. No matter how many times you’d told her you loved her, she still got as flustered as the first time. It was one of your favorite things about her, something you’d never get tired of.
“I love you the mostest. So ha!” She exclaimed.
“That’s not a real word baby, but I’ll give it to you.” You told her. She fist pumps triumphantly. You cuddle further into her, and she sighs contentedly.
She picks up her controller and saves her game before exiting it. “What’re you doing?” You ask her. She kisses the top of your head. “I’m gonna put on that space documentary you like. That okay with you, doll?” You blush at the pet name and nod your head.
Ellie smiles lovingly at you before pressing play. As the documentary starts, you completely forget about the stress of life. Sure, things were hard. They wouldn’t change overnight, and it would take time for you to feel okay again.
But right now you had Ellie at your side, and you knew she would be with you every step of the way. She was the love of your life, and you were hers. With her, you knew you could face anything that came your way.
You fell asleep in her arms later that night, surrounded by her scent and warmth. You’ve never felt happier.
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams tlou2#ellie williams the last of us 2#ellie williams the last of us
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