#writing in third person

[3hks]

A Quick(ish) Comprehensive Guide to Writing in Third Person Limited

When we write, one of the very first aspects we consider is the perspective of the story. Is it in first person? Second person? Third person? Third person point-of-view is arguably the most flexible perspective, but that also makes it difficult to fully grasp and harness.

~~~

INTRODUCTION

Let's begin with the fundamental questions: what is third person and why do people use it?

> What is Third Person POV?

Third person POV is simply a narrative style in which the narrator has a broader view of all the characters and their thoughts. Unlike first person, which is seen through the eyes of one person, calling for the use of pronouns such as I, me, or my, third person uses pronouns such as he, she, or they to refer to everyone, including themselves. As the reader, we aren't meshed into the main character and viewing the story that way. Instead, we're moreso hovering from above and observing collective events, actions, and even thoughts.

There are three MAIN types of this perspective: third person omniscient, third person objective and third person limited.

Omniscient is where the narrator knows everything about the characters, events, and emotions, revealing many, if not all, of these aspects of the readers.

Objective is when the narrator focuses solely on the actions and behaviors of the characters, without providing insight to thoughts or emotions. It's an objective narration style.

Limited is where the narrator focuses on one character (which would likely be the protagonist) and centers the story around that character.

> Why Use Third Person?

To put it simply, third person can allow you to write more. You have access to multiple POVs and there is often less bias. In first person, the narrator is the character, which can cause warped views influenced by their bias.

However, for third person, the narrator is an external voice (oftentimes you), so while there can be some bias depending on the character you're hovering, there is significantly less.

***

THE BASICS

In this post, I won't be talking too much about third person omniscient because it's more uncommon in writing. Instead, I will be talking about a popular variant of third person limited in which we use the POVs of multiple characters one at a time.

> Using the Correct Pronouns

In first person, we use the pronouns "I, me, my, we, etc." to describe the narrator. In second person, we use the pronouns "you, your, etc." to describe the protagonist. In third person, we use the pronouns "she, he, they, etc." to describe the protagonist.

Avoid using first or second person pronouns unless you're writing thoughts or dialogue.

> Making the POV Clear

Since we're using the perspectives of different characters (at different times), it's imperative to clarify who the perspective belongs to. You can do this simply by listing the POV before writing the part or by starting a new paragraph, which begins with a sentence starting in active voice by the focused character.

EXAMPLES

Lexi's POV: She was astounded when she realized that... V.S. Lexi was astounded when she realized that...

Both examples are in third person and evidently centered around Lexi.

> Be Consistent

Be consistent with pronouns; unless you're writing thoughts and/or dialogue, make sure you're always using third person pronouns to address everything. It's easy to let it slip, but it's important not to.

Ex:

WRONG: She stares at the mirror. My hair is kind of messy, so I grab the brush. CORRECT: She stares at the mirror. Her hair is kind of messy, so she grabs the brush.

Another thing to consider is keeping the type of third person POV consistent. If you're writing in third person limited, don't suddenly switch to omniscient. Granted, many readers may not be able to identify this kind of mistake, but it's good to practice consistency!

***

GENERAL TIPS

Now, let's discuss some general ideas to keep in mind when writing in third person limited.

> Use Names

You might be thinking what? No duh I have to use names, but I'm being dead serious. In third person, you might find yourself writing out names of characters more often than when you might be using first person. This is because pronouns get confusing. If there are two girls talking, then which one is 'she'? Remember that your protagonist is also an outside character.

Use names, use different ways to identify people (the taller student, the younger employee, etc.), because even if you know who is who, the readers might not.

> Objectiveness

One of the pros of using third person to storytell is the objectiveness that it grants. First person comes with many biases, which can warp how the reader views the characters, actions, and events of the story.

However, in third person, you want your narrator to be as unbiased as possible. Be objective. Describe things as they are. Sure, sometimes a character's opinion might influence the story, but it shouldn't be too excessive.

> Be Descriptive

I'm sure I've said this only about one million times now, but third person POV is broad. You can talk about anyone, anything, and you can even explain events unrelated and outside of your protagonist's bubble, which you normally can't do in first person.

So be descriptive. You don't have to worry about how a specific may view something because we're in third person. There's so much more for you to describe, you just have to take advantage of it.

You can describe your protagonist's enemy with both distaste and detached neutrality; you can describe minute details of a tree without making your main character seem overdramatic--you just have to do it.

***

ADDITIONAL TIPS

> When to Change Perspectives

In third person limited POV, it's common and often necessary to change the character the narrator hovers around. This is because only following the protagonist is, well, quite limited. So, when do we change which character we follow?

Show Events Outside of the Protagonist: If you have part of the cast (such as the antagonist) that's taking action outside of what the MC is aware of, and you want to show what's happening, this is a good time to switch perspectives! ----

Show Different Reactions to the Same Event: Let's say an intense incident just occurred that affected multiple people. Switching perspectives here can be quite useful because it allows you to show how different characters handle and view the same situation. This also helpful because it gives the reader deeper insight to the characters!

> Incorporating Character

I talked about this alone in a separate post, but I'll reiterate it again. Many people believe that third person POV is less interesting because there's "less personality" in its writing compared to first person.

This is mainly due to the standard objectivity that comes with third person, but it doesn't mean you can't include hints of character within your writing outside of dialogue and thoughts.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to word choice and a bit of sentence structure. Different words and phrases have different connotations, and though it seems like a very subtle detail to focus on, it does impact your writing.

Try to use vocabulary that fits the character you're hovering. Vocabulary that they might use.

If you're writing from the perspective of an angrier character, maybe you'll use cruder language during their section. If it's a more dramatic character, perhaps you'll use more theatrical language and flowy sentence structures mixed with choppy ones.

EX:

1. He felt stupidly annoyed at the man's assumptions. 2. He felt irritated at the man's assumptions. 3. He felt fed up with the man's assumptions.

Those three examples all have similar meanings and identical sentence structures. However, you'll notice that there are slightly different connotations per each sentence.

For number one, it sounds like the character is upset that he's so annoyed. This offers the idea that the character feels he shouldn't be as annoyed as he is, quietly hinting that he isn't the type to get ruffled easily or at least, not towards such assumptions.

For number two, the statement is very direct. The character is irritated. He might not be as displeased as number one or three, but he is still annoyed. However, the forwardness of the statement might suggest that he's a pretty straightforward guy who's expresses his emotions frankly.

Lastly, for number three, the character sounds more tired and possibly angry. He's done with the assumptions. It can be assumed that he's the type who's more likely to take action than the other two.

Now, these are really simple examples, but you can see that the word changes do slightly alter the meaning of the sentence and evoke separate emotions based on the character of the perspective's owner.

If the character uses the word "excessively" instead of "very," we might think that the character is more eloquent.

Yes, all of these descriptions technically belong to the narrator, but there's no linear way to write the narrator. In this case, they act like a mirror, reflecting the voice of the character.

CONCLUSION

We're at the end! This was a MUCH larger post than I expected to write, so kudos to anyone who's read more than 50% of this LOL.

All in all, third person POV isn't actually terribly difficult to get the hang of. You'll need some practice, as with anything, but you'll understand it better the more you work on it--with or without my help!

The biggest point is to make sure your pronouns are in check. Don't use "I, me, my or you, yours, you're" unless you're writing dialogue or thoughts!

Hope this has been helpful! Reach out to me for any questions; I'd love to answer them!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[smoosie]

(Which arm, Viktor, huh ? Which one ??)

They were not a couple so, Jayce (who had a very bad day and just wanted to hug it out) proceeded to freak out, backed out of the lab and never mentioned it again but, Astral Viktor, that mf ? He'd be delighted to remind Jayce of that moment in time, of that missed call and watch him die from embarrassment and resentment over himself

(I'm glad they've never beaten the gay allegations and never will)

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

[insert poetic title here]

fun fact: this did not start out as isat fanart

(rambling in tags)

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

Patrons get to see many of my stories a week ahead! If that interests you please check me out here (X)!

[rookanisstuff]

My GOD I have an urge to write a fic about servants of house Dellamorte discussing what they need to put on the morning tray taken up to Lucanis and Rook’s room. Do they need to bring hot chocolate for Rook? Is it too early for that? Or do they like tea? Lucanis is easy he just likes coffee, he always has but ROOK is NEW and DIFFERENT what do they DO??? NONE OF THEM THOUGHT LUCANIS OF ALL THE DELLAMORTES WOULD BRING BACK A PARTNER???

[gold-onthe-inside]

gingerbread kisses

who? spencer reid (s4) x bau!reader

summary: your first christmas as a couple with spencer involves baking, construction, and lots and lots of kisses

word count: 1.9k

content warnings: oral (f receiving), spencer calls r 'sweet girl', minors dni

"Yours looks so much better than mine," you whined, looking over at Spencer's gingerbread house, perfectly cut panels holding together to form a house while yours sagged at an angle.

"It's not that bad," he replied, if only to make you feel better and shifted closer to see if he could fix the angle of it, and you peered over his shoulder, watching his nimble fingers carefully adjust the panels, reapplying icing like it was glue. "There," Spencer said, pulling his hands away... and then it sagged lower and he frowned at it, puzzled, and you stifled a giggle against his shoulder at his utter confusion. Your nose pressed into his soft woollen sweater, arms wrapping around him. "Maybe if I--"

"Just leave it," you told him, kissing his cheek, your lip balm sticky against his warm skin. Even now, 6 months into dating, his cheeks flushed at your kiss, and he looked down at you, chasing your lips, his hands finding your cheeks, fingers equally sticky with icing. It was always so earnest, filled with as much longing as the first time you'd kissed him. He doesn’t want to let go when he pulls away, but then there's a streak of icing on your cheek and he can't help a wince.

"Sorry," he said, oblivious to your dazed look, moving to wipe his hands and you let out another soft groan of protest at the loss of him, only for him to come back to gently wipe your cheeks clean. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, looking at you intently.

"Always," you replied with your sweet smile and adoring gaze.

"This is the best Christmas I've ever had," he said, putting the cloth away, and you wished you could express how much you loved him in this moment, but you've never been as articulate with your affection as him. So you do what you know best; you tugged him closer, kissing him. You could live in this moment forever, his lips on yours, sitting on the floor of your apartment. Spencer pressed you back against the couch, his hands seeking your jaw, his tongue darting to your lower lip. He's always careful with you, slow and thoughtful, his thumb gently angling your chin higher.

You parted your lips, his tongue languidly exploring your mouth. His hand carefully slid down your neck, his thumb finding your pulse and he broke for breath, placing warm gentle kisses along your soft jaw. "My sweet girl," he murmured, reaching your ear. "I could do this forever."

Your heart fluttered the way it always did. He’d called you his since the beginning, sweet girl. He’d say it often, a gentle declaration of his affection. His hand slid down, thumb tracing the collar of your sweater, his face buried in your neck as he left his own mark on you, teeth grazing gently against the soft skin and your breath hitched. “God, Spence…” He felt you shift underneath him, already overwhelmed by his touch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a little when he mouthed at your neck. One of his hands rests on your hip, his thumb brushing the skin under your sweater.

He couldn’t help himself. You felt so warm and soft, so lovely wrapped in his arms. He pushed your sweater up gently, baring more of your skin, his touch warm, and light. He could spend hours just tracing his fingers across your skin. You tasted sweet, like sugar and vanilla, and he shifted, adjusting to slide between your legs. You tilted your head back, looking up at him, your eyes slightly unfocused, lips parted with your heavy breaths. His head dipped, mouth leaving marks along your neck as he pushed your sweater up again, just over your ribs, your breath stuttering as his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin. Your hand fisted in his sweater, a needy whisper escaping you, "Spencer..."

"Let me take care of you," he murmured against your shoulder, pushing your sweater high enough for you to wordlessly lift your arms so he could toss it to one side, and he needed to catch his breath as he looked down at you. He’d seen you a hundred times before, all those soft smooth curves, your soft sighs and breathless gasps that he lived for. You were so trusting in his arms, the way your fingers threaded through his hair, your back arching when his mouth found your stomach, kissing reverently at your soft skin. “So perfect,” he murmured.

You don't have the brainpower to spare to respond with anything other than his name, said so many times that it should have lost its meaning by now, but it never does. The way it came out all breathless and needy, desperate and reverent, the way you’d call his name as he pressed you into the couch, body over yours, pinning you in place as his mouth found your skin, tracing a path along your hip. You pulled uselessly at his sweater, biting your lower lip. “So impatient, my sweet girl,” he murmured, and your whine sent a spark straight through him.

"Want to see you, angel," you pleaded and he couldn’t deny you, even if he wanted to, not when your hands already reached to push under his sweater, your hands warm on his skin and he pulled back, pulling the offending garment off completely. You smiled, looking at him fondly. "Much better," you murmured, shifting up to kiss him again, your warm lips meeting his.

He met you readily, pressing you down again, his body covering yours, a warm comfortable weight. He could never get enough of how you fit against him, the feel of your soft skin against his fingers, the way your mouth moved against him, sweet and willing. The way your legs moved to wrap around him. "Okay if I take this off?" he whispered, hands finding the waistband of your pyjama pants, beige with little cookies printed over them, hot breath fanning over your face, eyes watching you as you nod. He slid the soft material down your legs, leaving you bare before him. It was a view he loved, all your bare skin, all his to touch and explore.

Your breath hitched as his hands gently nudged your thighs further apart, and he slowly sank onto his knees between them. You let out a small groan involuntarily, just at the sight of him between your thighs. "Angel..."

He shushed you gently, fingers tracing circles on your thighs, so close to where you wanted him. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail, your breathing and the way your legs twitched. “Just relax, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing strokes across your skin.

"You're not making it easy," you muttered back.

He couldn’t help the smile at your comment, his hands slowly shifting your legs, lifting them to pull off your panties, and he could feel the way your breath caught, your body shifting slightly to help. He was so close to you he could practically feel your heat against his face. He was still gently running his fingers over the skin of your thighs, trying to keep you calm. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice impossibly soft.

His warm breath against you made your head spin, and you were too lost in the feel of his hands and mouth to do anything but gasp his name and tilt your head back. You were so wet, so needy for him, and you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted, pleading for more. He gently nudged at them, spreading you open further for him. He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, the sight of you underneath him, leaning back against the foot of the couch, your chest heaving and your body tense, just for him.

He leaned in, and he didn’t miss the way your body jolted when his tongue licked over you, and he hummed against your skin. You tasted so sweet, so perfect, and he was slowly getting addicted to the taste, his hands holding your thighs in place as he slowly explored you. He’d wanted to make you fall apart, the way you’d done so many times for him, bringing him to the knife’s edge before pulling him over. But he couldn’t wait long, and he pushed forward, his tongue circling before he suddenly thrust forward, tasting as much of you as he could.

The effect was instant, and he felt you jerk against him, your gasp turning into a long moan. The sound made his hands squeeze at your thighs, wanting you closer. You were always so responsive to him, so sensitive, and you were already on edge from his light teasing. He loved the sounds you made, all those soft noises that you seemed unable to help when he was like this. He loved the way your skin felt under his hands, the way you would pull and tug at his hair when he was teasing you. He loved the way you felt, warm and soft all around him. He loved you, and he wanted you to fall apart. He was almost relentless, tongue working over you, delving into you, wanting you to come completely undone.

He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to keep going, to take you as close as he could, but you were already teetering on the edge, so close to climax. He loved how responsive you were, how he could pull those sweet moans and gasps so easily from you with just a few caresses. He wanted to see you come, wanted to feel your body shaking against him. He pulled back for a second, breathless, his voice already wrecked from how sweet you sounded, “Come for me, my sweet girl."

Your fingers scrabbled for his hair, needing something to hold onto as he brought you through your climax, his tongue not leaving you until you were begging him to stop, your body sensitive and overwhelmed. He let his hands gently trail across your thighs as you fell back onto the couch, boneless and still quivering. He couldn’t help a little smile at how wrecked you looked, your hair falling over your eyes, your body trembling. And yet you still looked beautiful, your bare body on display for him, your skin flush and warm. He shifted forward, his lips gently kissing your stomach and travelling up your body, until he laid down on top of you, his weight carefully resting between your legs, his head buried in your neck.

"I love you," you whispered, holding him, your fingers trailing over his back.

He lifted his head at your words, still so touched by your sweetness. After all this time, you still managed to surprise him. He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you, his gaze soft and adoring. “I love you more,” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

"Not possible," you murmured.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Agree to disagree,” he teased, his hand gently caressing your hair, fingers carding through the messy strands. He liked you like this; soft and pliable in his arms, your body still trembling from your orgasm. His fingers traced down the side of your face, before his knuckles grazed gently over your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder.

"You were right," you murmured, looking at him. "Best Christmas ever. Even if I can't build a gingerbread house for the life of me."

He looked at the wreckage of the house, then back to you, hiding a smile. “You’re good at a lot of things, sweetheart, but decorating is just not your strong suit,” he teased and you huffed and shoved at his shoulder in mock offence. He just pulled you on top of him, kissing you deeply all over again.

[reveryfics]

Late Night

Pairings: Eddie Brock & Venom x Male reader

Summary: Having just gotten out of the shower, you're met with Eddie and Venom both of which have more exciting plans then your moping around.

A/n: redoing this aesthetic on this post and some others. As always thanks for the likes and enjoy!

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A young male steps out of his clothes, his bare feet sending chills across the cold floor. He grabs a towel from the rack hanging crookedly on the back of the door, its threadbare surface rough against his skin. He turns on the water, wincing as a rusty groan echoes through the pipes before a sputtering spray erupts from the showerhead.

He waits, counting silently under his breath as the water heats up. The minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity of anticipation. Finally, the scalding water begins to mingle with the cold, sending wisps of steam curling around the chipped porcelain walls.

He steps into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water cascades over his tense muscles. He lathers up with cheap soap, the acrid scent filling the small space. He scrubs away the grime of the day, the memory of his dead-end job, and the gnawing hunger in his stomach momentarily forgotten under the soothing torrent.

As the hot water washes over him, the male allows himself to close his eyes. He pictures himself somewhere else, someplace far removed from this dingy apartment and life filled with supernatural beings. He imagines a pristine beach, the turquoise water lapping at his toes, the warm sun drying his skin. He breathes in the scent of salt and seaweed, the sound of crashing waves washing away the city's din.

But the dream is fleeting. The scalding water begins to cool, and the harsh reality of his situation seeps back in. He opens his eyes to the peeling paint and cracked tiles, the chipped shower head spewing its meager spray.

He finishes his shower quickly, the cold air sending goosebumps prickling across his skin. He steps out, wrapping himself in the scratchy towel. He looks at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, seeing not the sun-kissed tan of his daydream, but a skinny kid with tired eyes and haunted shadows under his cheekbones. He sighs, a gust of steam swirling around him like a fleeting wisp of hope. He knows he needs more than a hot shower to escape his reality. But for now, it's enough. It's a small victory, a stolen moment of warmth in the cold grip of his circumstances.

There was a tense silence throughout the bathroom, broken only by the dripping water from the showerhead and throaty cough coming from behind the young male. The male's tired eyes peered at the man from the mirror, a low groan escaped past his slightly parted lips as he hung his head low. A pair of hands gripped his hips, the towel slowly slipping off his waist and onto the bathroom floor. The once scratchy feeling now replaced by the feeling of soft fabric against his bare skin.

Their eyes locked in the reflection of the mirror, both worn and tired from the day. The older male's hands slid up the others back, slowly massaging up and down his spine, shoulder blades, and neck. “You seem tense.” He whispered softly.

A soft chuckle sounded from the younger male, his body slightly relaxing against the other's soft touch. His muscles slowly unwound against every small and deliberate touch against his achy body. “Tell me about it.” He huffed, pressing his body against his partners.

There was a silence between the two for a moment, only for it to be broken by a quiet gasp as black tendrils wrapped around the young male's body.

The two guided him towards the bedroom, their hands cupping his face as Eddie gently pressed his lips against his partner's. Eddie's lips were soft, something he'd grown to love about the man. His own hand found its way around the back of Eddie's neck, pulling him in closer.

Eddie led him back and towards the bed, breaking the kiss when the two needed to breath before pressing back up against them quickly. The gentle kiss turned heated as Eddie sat against the bed, his partner straddling him. Eddie's hands now rested against his shoulders, while Venom still held into his waist.

The male pulled away, a small gasp falling from his lips as Venom's long tongue slowly trailed over his neck. The symbiote left out a low grumble, his tongue passing over each and every sweet spot he could find. His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the feeling of Eddie and Venom kissing his exposed skin.

Eddie's hands gripped the soft skin of his partner's ass, earning a low groan from the male. He could feel Eddie's cock twitching in his pants, rubbing against his own exposed and growing erection.

The male pushed Eddie back against the bed, making quick work in removing his hoodie and shirt. Eddi hissed at the feeling of his partner's cold hands against his exposed chest and abdomen.

“Enjoying this aren't you?” He hummed, slowly grinding against Eddie's lap.

“You have no idea.” Eddie's voice mixed with Venom's, as the two groaned in response to the pressure.

His hands continued down Eddie's chest, stopping just above his sweatpants as he slowly came to stand in front of him. The brunette groaned as his undergarments were tossed aside, and the cold air of the apartment nipped at his erect cock.

He got on his knees, hands holding Eddie's hips down against the bed. His tongue ran underneath his cock, lapping up the beads of precum that leaked down his shaft. He continued, only stopping when Eddie's cock began to twitch and spasm against his lips and tongue.

Eddie pulled him up, his hands cupping his face as he leaned in to kiss him gently. He sighed against Eddie's lips, moving onto his lap like he had been before.

“Relax.” He hummed, pushing Eddie back against the bed.

The male slowly sunk down onto Eddie's cock, his head shooting back in pure pleasure. He let out a strangled moan as the brunette bottomed out, his cock twitching and pulsating inside his partner.

Eddie's hands found their way to his partner's hips, gripping them harshly. Venom's long tendrils wrapped around the male's cock, slowly jerking him in time with the steady pace of him bouncing against Eddie.

The two became a panting mess, strings of moans falling from their lips as their pace only quickened. Eddie pulling out only to slam back into his partner as Venom continued to jerk him off.

“Fu-fuck..” He moaned, his own cock twitching and leaking precum as Eddie slammed into his prostate.

A particularly hard thrust left him gasping for air as he choked on his own whines and moans, and caused him to clench around Eddie. As he continued for a second time, then a third, and finally a fourth, his partner came across his chest spasming in Venom's grasp. Eddie came not long after, burying himself deep inside as he rode out his orgasm.

Neither moved for a while, basking in the initial moments of their orgasm before Eddie slowly pulled out. He whined, collapsing in the bed beside Eddie and the symbiote, his chest heaving up and down as he caught his breath.

“You owe me a good bath.”

“Whatever you say.”

[myokk]

WIP day💓

Thank you so much for the tags @sage-pages @okeydokeylackey @amethystandemma 🥹🫰

I honestly WASNT going to post any wips bc you are all BLEEDING ME DRY !!!! But actually you know what? I do have a few more😌

“I,” he says again, looking down at her, his warm breath fanning across her face, “cant get you out of my damn mind. You’re always there, and it’s…”

She feels his words tremble down her face, slide down her neck; she shivers. In fear? In anticipation? Heat pools deep in her stomach at their intense eye contact, at the fact his mouth is mere inches from hers, the fact that he’s looking at her like that.

Like he wants to devour her.

And then a really fast sketch thst I think I will color digitally🙏

Sebastian doesn’t get any studying done really bc she’s actually so annoying and needy🤭

No pressure tags🫶🫶🫶 @anto-pops @starry-slithers @bassicallymaestra @holdmymallowsweet @morelikeravenbore @gothic-lottie @writing-intheundercroft @rosehp @ravenwind-75 and genuinely anyone else who wants to share wip!! But this has been going around way too much these days so i understand if there aren’t any wips to share at the moment😆

[cmkren]

— do you yield?

; gregory house x gn! Reader

Unsurprisingly, a night out between House and Wilson doesn’t end up uneventful. Tensions were strung in a-- stranger way, now with Amber in the picture. One of House's grand schemes goes sideways when the person he provokes ends up punching him right in the face. In an attempt to get Wilson in trouble (due to the whole curfew agreement), House got ahead of himself and now Wilson dumps him onto someone else rather than face the wrath of his girlfriend.

And of course, no one’s ever happy to see House on their doorstep.

a/n; sorta just ! Self-indulgent!! This fic leans towards sub bottom house roles, no sex just sloppily making out. Written in 3rd person, they/them for reader! Honestly not too proud of this, but I wanted to get this out 😓

tws!! Suggestive, minor blood play (like incredibly minor), and house bein house — 4.5k words

The plan had been going smoothly. Drinks were going down quickly for Wilson, lord only knows how stressed he had been to be downing alcohol like it was water, and thankfully for House he recalled scoring over God a couple years ago. Meaning he knew what had been haunting Wilson's always-ready-to-please mind.

The connection that Amber had been so similar to House had already been scrounged up, and even House would be lying if that made him think just a little too. Oh, nothing crazy maybe just the fact that if he'd been a woman, Wilson might have been all over him. Her?

The details didn't matter.

What did matter though, was his loss of control over the situation. House didn't know what he had been thinking. No one had been paying them much attention, and his goal was to just get Wilson drunk. Only Wilson. He supposed that he thought he needed to convince his friend to keep drinking? Maybe that's why House started drinking too. And maybe that's why he started picking fights with strangers.

It started off as passing remarks he made to Wilson, the infamous smug smirk that showed how he thought himself omniscient in a sense. That he was so sure he could read people like a book. To a certain degree, that was true. How else was he capable of coming up with schemes that would puppet the parties involved for his own benefit?

Eventually though, passing remarks would eventually turn into what seemed like heckling. No wonder he ended up getting socked right square in the face by a patron. House was always self-sabotaging, but sabotaging his own plans to sabotage Wilson's relationship with Amber? Now that was a little ridiculous.

Didn't change the fact that it happened though.

"Oh-- come on House, I can't bring you back to my place and you know it." Wilson's voice had some strain in it, one of his arms hooked around his friend's (questionable title given to the likes of House) waist as he led him to his car. "Especially not since you started this... this meaningless war." He muttered, the hesitance in his voice to say meaningless suggested that maybe he didn't think it was entirely meaningless. Perhaps a hint to the fact that he did find amusement in it. Hell, maybe even enjoyed it for a bit.

House was disoriented. Not by liquor, but by the fact that he had blood gushing out of his nose and perhaps even a bit of a broken nose at that. "She's got you on a leash, Wilson." He swallowed, wetting his dried mouth. "If I say I'm sorry for leaving you at the pound and give you a treat, will you come running back to me?" He spoke with a certain monotonous that always indicated that he was just being a dick. Everyone's heard it enough to recognize it.

On the other hand Wilson decided to ignore that remark and start tapping away on his phone. Scrolling through contacts in an attempt to make some sort of solution for this mess. “I’m handing you off to someone else House. Whether you like it or not—” he swung open the car door to the passenger seat, muttering a few ‘careful’s as he lowered the man into the seat. Impaired judgement kept him from stopping the bloody nose first, and instead opting to do it when he got into the driver’s seat first.

”Are you dialling Thirteen?” House tilted his head forwards, just letting his head hang before Wilson shoved a bundle of tissues against his face. In turn he winced and complained ‘oww!’ dramatically. “Better be Thirteen.” His voice all muffled by the tissues.

Little did he know, it was the nurse that worked under a couple of his former ducklings.

House usually didn’t care for the other staff around the hospital, but he cared when he thought he could squeeze out some information out of some. That’s what he’d done to them. But not only did they refuse to sell out their fellow coworkers, they had also exacted revenge on him not too long ago. They didn’t necessarily win but they also didn’t lose.

What they were capable of doing, was bruising his ego.

After that, the two just kept interacting. The rivalry the two shared was almost akin to a friendship, but neither of them would admit to such a thing. After all, they hated each other’s guts.

There was a mutual respect there though, hidden somewhere. Wilson liked to think that at least. He would mention it or make a comment about it to House but of course he was always met with a response like—

“Tomato, To-mah-to. Only respect they ever receive from me is purely superficial. Happy to see them go, even happier when they turn around and I get to watch them leave.”

Wilson had rolled his eyes then, taking it as another one of those jerky comments House made to be a dick for the fun of it. The longer he had let it marinate though, and the tone shift at the time, perhaps it had an underlying meaning to it. Or he could just be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Again.

The car engine roared to life when Wilson inserted his car key, his other hand pressing his phone to his ear as he gave his friend one singular glance to make sure he wasn’t doing something stupid. He wasn’t. Just popping some more pills.

”Wilson it’s—” a voice picked up. They paused, as if looking off to the side.

”It’s 10 pm. This is well after office hours.” They spoke with a certain exhaustion in their tone. Expected, to be fair. They were all employees of a hospital, hard to keep up a good amount of energy when you’re running around the place all the time. Especially a nurse.

”Listen, I know this is a big request but,” he put his hand on the steering wheel, grunting when House would knock the butt of his cane against his forearm, “House— you’re going to cause us to crash!”

“House? He’s with you?” They sounded surprised at first before it all melted away, “Oh, who am I kidding, of course he’s with you.” The tone of their voice simply went from quizzical to bemused really quick. “I’m not doing anything for that bastard— this is too big a favour to ask of me Wilson.” Their indignation to aiding him in whatever he was about to ask didn’t keep Wilson from having his foot on the gas pedal though. He was convinced he was going to have them agreeing by the time they get there. If they don’t agree well… too bad they were going to show up to their house anyways.

As the conversation continued out on the phone, it didn’t take long for House himself to realize who had been called to their rescue. It made him scoff in amusement, “oh yeah smart move Wilson. Get stick-up-their-ass to keep me from bleeding out at their place that’ll work out!” He raised his voice loud enough that he knew he’d be audible through the phone.

Wilson furrowed his brows, his mouth agape for a second as he struggled to formulate a sentence but they cut him off before he could.

”Bleeding out? What the hell were you guys doing?” The concern was real but they eventually sputtered and tried to backpedal, “you know we’re not close enough for me to be covering whatever illegal activities you guys are doing!” Which was reasonable reaction, honestly.

“No— no— nothing illegal!” Wilson opposed, having to fight the urge to just knock his head against his steering wheel. God, it was like having two children in each ear yelling at him. House was talking about something but so were they. It just became a garbled mess. Not to mention the fact that he was still driving.

”I warned you. We’re on our way.” In the end, Wilson stood his ground. Pocketing his phone, he would keep his eyes straightforward on the road.

__________________________________________

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Wilson.” They murmured, lips pulled taut as they dabbed a cotton swab around the other’s nasal area. It was reddened with blood, bits of it dark from it already coagulating and drying out. House remained still, for the most part. Pale blue eyes staring right at them, not necessarily happy about this situation either. He wasn’t even tipsy anymore, just sober and in pain.

To be fair though, that was kind of regular day to day for him.

House’s eyes looked down briefly, flexing his fingers. “Yeah? Well friends like Wilson end up dumping you to get butchered up on a chopping block.” Then he wiggled, “or I suppose on a kitchen counter.” Not even an amused noise from them. Just the knitting of brows as they were wary of his squirming to make his point.

They were firm with him, as many would have to be with House. A hand holding his face steady, thumb and index holding his chin so they could tilt his head if needed. House was surprisingly cooperative.

”Well good for you,” they paused their actions, giving him an obvious look over, “nobody actually likes old meat. Too tough, too chewy.” They scoffed, before going back to dabbing the bloody areas of his face. Unfortunately, he’d also gotten a busted lip. It wasn’t drastic but it was most definitely going to take more than just a couple weeks to fully recover from it.

House had his neck craned up, brows furrowed a little as he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes would shift downwards, looking to his begrudging caretaker. They had their lips pursed, their eyes a bit sunken from a long day.

He took the time to look at them though. Oversized band shirt over a pair of shorts. If he craned his head to the side just a bit, he could see that their shirt had hiked up just a little. Resting right above the small of their back, making it so that the front draped down but their ass visible.

His obnoxious ogling was cut short when he felt a dull pain, hissing as he felt just a little too much pressure being applied on his wound.

“I’m doing this for free already. If you want more, you’re gonna have to pay.” They muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

House let sucked in a breath, “is this about the hookers? Just because I support sex work doesn’t mean I’ll let you drain me dry of my money! You’re not even a hooker.” He winced again, but not because they pressed too hard again. It was more a culmination of his leg and the busted up face situation.

For a brief moment, their eyes softened. They paused for a moment, pulling away and putting down the cotton pad they had held in their hand.

”Your Vicodin?” They questioned, as if expecting him to already be reaching for any sort of pill bottle. House gave a frown, not even really trying to feel himself to find said pill bottle.

He clicked his tongue, “must have dropped it back at the bar. Maybe Prince Charming will find it and return it to me and we’ll live happily ever after.” Actually, he was pretty sure if he ever came face to face with the guy again, he was going to end up with a black eye next.

They rolled their eyes. “I’ll get you something. Hold this.” They then passes him a bag of frozen… strawberries. Huh. Then they left the room, going to fetch something.

”Don’t even bother,” he held the frozen strawberries, and instead of using it as intended he opens the bag and pops one in his mouth, “it’s not going to even work.” His face contorted when the frozen fruit touched his tongue.

He supposed that was effective too. Brainfreeze. Maybe once or twice.

”I’ll just go on and skedaddle as soon as I can. Say, where are your car keys? A question of curiosity.” He called out, already turning his head to look about. When they popped their head back into the room they held what seemed to be clothes and a bottle of pills.

”You’re not getting my keys House.” They huffed, before walking back to him. The grown man sitting on their kitchen island with his legs dangling off the side, shirt bloodied and smelling of a rank bar.

This exchange caused him to raise a brow.

Not necessarily because they wouldn’t give him their car keys. But the fact that they held a change of clothes for him. Either they were just feeling generous, pitied him, or… they had actually planned for him to stay the night.

”Are you trying to get into my pants? You know, there’s different ways to do that—”

”Yes I want to have sex with you.”

The two stared at each other. His mouth agape as if he was going to speak, but they cut him off.

”No, House,” they gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I’m not trying to have sex with you.” They dropped the clothes right next to him, “you just smell like dog food and shit.”

Then they showed him the bottle they brought with them.

”Ibuprofen? That shit doesn’t do anything!” House reached out for it, though his tone spoke of a child who had maybe received fish sticks instead of his preferred mozzarella sticks.

At his complaint, they clenched their jaw. “Either take some or I’m going to shove them down your throat.” That made him give a faux look of offence, “and you work at the hospital! I’m surprised Cuddy hasn’t canned you yet.” Though the look they gave him made him finally unscrew the cap.

They took a moment to watch him take a couple, before walking aside. “Go take that shower. I’m not taking you anywhere, but honestly,” they turned to give him a look, “I wouldn’t stop you from wandering out.”

House recognized that their first instinct might have actually been to care. Hence the actual attempt at cleaning up his mess. Even giving him clothes and letting him take a shower. But he also knew that their history wouldn’t allow them to just will themselves to be happy around his presence.

That’s why, as a fuck you towards them and Wilson, he was going to stay. Prove Wilson wrong by pissing them off they just have to go yell at Wilson tomorrow morning.

__________________________________________

The bright light of the TV flickered, colours danced along the surface of his gruff face as he sat on the couch. He made himself comfortable in their home, meaning he made a mess of the living room. It was almost midnight now. They told him off earlier, but after him not budging the slightest, they just slinked away into their room.

He knew they were still awake though.

It was that stupid pirate cartoon. Only played at night! When else was he supposed to watch it?

“House.”

He looked over, a clueless expression on his face as he then looked to his wristwatch, “is it early morning already? Wait, nope. Go back to sleep.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if shoo’ing them away. From their own living room.

The look on their face wasn’t even exasperation or frustration. They just looked done. They walked over, stepping in front of the television screen with their arms crossed. “Turn it off, you need rest.”

He tried to look around them at first, but it was all but futile! He groaned, “get out of the way. You really going to stand there the entire time?” The irritation in his voice didn’t necessarily match the glint in his eye. Amusement, perhaps even a hint of a challenge in them.

They squinted their eyes at him.

It was always that. The look in his eyes that presented a challenge that was supposed to push people away. Yet for people as stupid as those who willingly stuck around House, it did the opposite. Before their own experiences, they always thought it strange for Wilson or hell, even Cuddy to entertain him. Because for a lack of a better word, that was exactly what they do.

Now that they’ve been in a similar position, they understand why.

“Does it turn you on to be such a dick? Surely you’re getting some sort of sick gratification from what you do.” They sneered, approaching him and his smug son of a bitch face. He stared, like he always did, before turning his head and sticking out his lip a little ‘in thought’.

Then he gave a shake of his head, his expression dumb as he said, “my body says no but my mouth says yes.” Then taking a moment before furrowing his brow, “actually, pretty sure I mixed that up.” Just another one of his snarky remarks that made the recipient’s anger burn hotter. It wasn’t even good, the things he said sometimes. Not objectively.

Sometimes they were so stupid that it provided the same effect. The same results. And that was all House ever wanted— results.

Before they could get in another word though, House graciously interrupted them. “I’m not kidding. Step away.” He nudged his hand again, trying to wave them aside. His other? Rested on his thigh. Running along the problem site, up and down as if trying to soothe. Not that it ever worked.

“You didn’t take the ibuprofen.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. “No— I did. Would my incompetent nurse like to see me try again? It’ll only keep proving that I’m right.” He inhaled sharply, wincing. “It. Doesn’t. Work.”

At that, they finally took one step to the side. Allowing for the light of the TV to light him up again. He was sweating, just a little bit, on his head. If he was in so much pain wouldn’t he get up and go? Or was there something else he was trying to prove? Surely he didn’t hate them enough to endure his own pain to inflict pain upon them. Then again, that would be a House thing to do.

Silently, they sat beside him.

House scrunched up his nose, turning his head as he shifted, leaning further back against the plush of the couch. "That’s it?” He let out a shallow breath, turning ever-so-briefly to look at them. They didn’t return the gesture, just staring straight forward.

”That’s it.”

There was a quiet lull between the two, only the over exaggerated voices of the pirate and the princess audible in their space. Quiet wasn’t really House’s thing, though. He turned to them again, arm raised to rest against the back of the couch, “you’re just giving up? Just like that?”

Giving up?

They snorted. “I’m not giving up anything. You were the one with expectations.” Then they finally turned to meet his eyes, “I’m not in the mood for games, House. If you aren’t going to listen, then you aren’t going to listen.”

For some reason, he looked confused. “You don’t just give up. It’s the one thing that actually makes you interesting.” He spoke as if he was the one getting offended. Even if he wasn’t planning on it now, they couldn’t help but feel some anger bubbling up again. What did he want?

”Then you should fucking leave, shouldn’t you, Greg?” They hissed under their breath, trying to turn back to the meaningless cartoon.

Out of all the petty things they’ve argued about, this felt the most genuine. Over an… animated cartoon?

”No. I shouldn’t. You’re supposed to— to…” he paused, biting his tongue. As if the Gregory House was hesitating. When there was virtually no reaction from his uncharacteristic doubt, he grunted. “You’re supposed to fight back. Keep me here.”

A look of surprise crept up to their face. “What?” They blurted out, turning back around to see the man with his head down, eyes flickering up to get one glance at their face. To see what reaction he had received. There were so many things that could be said. So many things they probably should have said. One of them being ‘get out’ which so gingerly danced upon the tip of their tongue.

His head swayed to the side, mouth opening once but then pressed together in a thin line.

This was probably the withdrawals talking. The pain talking. It wasn’t anything he could really stop from spilling out, either way. “Come on. You’re not stupid now, too.” He clenched his fist, then unclenched, nervously fidgeting. “You might be boring but you’re not an idiot.”

”Stop speaking in fucking riddles and spit it out.”

House scoffed, maybe out of amusement. He made eye contact again and straightened out his back just a little. “You hate me. I like pissing you off.” They raised an eyebrow at this, opening their mouth to speak but House shut them up by just putting his whole hand over their mouth.

”Shut up. I know, stating the obvious.” He mumbled, watching them carefully before slowly lowering his hand again once he deemed that it was ‘safe’. “But you haven’t made any real effort into pushing me out. And I…” he furrowed his brows, pinching the bridge of his nose.

”I don’t know.” It all came to an abrupt end. House looked at them as if he expected them to understand what he was saying. What all this stumbling over words meant. There was a certain look in his eyes though, one that had replaced his smug piece-of-shit look from before. The one they were used to.

Too many silences. There’d been too many between them in such a short period of time. But whose fault was that, huh?

”You’re saying… that I… need you? Or what? That I like you?” Shock was still riddled all over their face— a mixture of shock and anger that is. Every time they calmed down he always managed to rile them up again. That has got to be a skill.

A sort of relief seemed to wash over him as he leaned back again. He made a gesture with his hand, giving them another look. The ever familiar House stare.

He was still playing a game. Whether or not his intentions were to simply screw around with them no longer mattered. Because even if he was being genuine the bastard didn’t know how to express himself without hopping through loops. His reaction to them finishing his thought spoke louder than any sort of response he could have followed up with. Even if they said that it was completely untrue it was too late, he made up his mind.

His reaction also meant that the thought of them needing him wasn’t a thought he disproved of.

They relaxed, eyes downcast for a second before they met his eyes again, “you’re a piece of shit.” They muttered, eyes then shifting to his hand that was closest to them. His other was still on his thigh. It had been the entire time. Right now though, it slowed down its ministrations. His attention was on them.

”I should be proving you wrong.” They were slow, grazing their hand over his before interlocking their fingers with his. Warm. Stiff but not dismissive of the touch.

”But you’d see through me, right? Because you always do. You know so much.” He didn’t lean in, but they did. It was like the air had gone still, nothing held either of them back. Not sure House wanted to be held back in any way. Especially considering the way he looked to their lips, ever slightly parted for him.

He was quiet. Waiting. Wasn’t this what he expected? Or— something adjacent?

They tilted their head, lightly lifting themselves off the couch to reach him, leaning over him just a little. “You’re not stopping me.” They mumbled, taking a brief pause. Their eyes stared at his face, appraising him. What did he look like? Hazy. Supposedly, they should back off now.

They got their answer. Didn’t they?

“You’re such a piece of shit.” They breathed out before kissing him. When did the mood change? Perhaps the very moment they decided to entertain his childish game of feelings.

House didn’t waste any time to reciprocate. His hand moved off his thigh, hiking around their waist and pulling them close, so they didn’t have to hover as much. Mouths moving in tandem, both of them warming up as hands travelled up and down and groped. He tried to advance, but they pushed back.

”Don’t you even think it House.” They whispered against his lips, one of their hands on his other thigh and another against his chest. Kissing him again, he chased after them as they pulled back again to give him a smug smile, “under my roof, my rules.”

”Taking my credit? For this? Didn’t think you a thief.” He spoke, but his eyes were trained back on their lips.

“You think I want the credit for initiating?” They muttered, their hand trailing up from his chest to his face. “No. I want the credit for this.” They leaned back down, inching their bodies closer as they kissed again. As feverish as they were, the heat of the moment wasn’t enough to cover the sudden sharp pain he felt on his lip.

His shoulders tensed, what was akin to a whimper slipping past his lips. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw them above him. A gleaming of something besides saliva on her own lips.

House’s hand goes up, pressing it gently against his lip, “you bit me.” There was blood, not too much, but enough. It was the busted lip they’d nurtured, now it was bleeding again. Yet he didn’t find it at all insulting. Instead, he almost looked pleasantly surprised.

”Want me to kiss it all better?” They mused, chest heaving still, and giving him time to either accept or decline. Maybe they should have asked first—

“You’d be sleeping on the couch if you didn’t.” He hardly finished his sentence before he reached for them again, the two clawing at each other desperately as saliva and blood was smeared against their faces. They were kind enough to not do much more to fuck up his lip more, instead going to plant kisses against the side of his neck and down to his chest.

A few red imprints left in their wake, which looked like red lipstick at the time but would most certainly just look like dried blood in the morning. And most certainly not look like kisses.

The hickeys though— that was most certainly going to be a conversation topic between House and Wilson in the morning.

”Admit it House,” they murmured against his skin, their hands quickly working to unbutton his shirt, “you’re the one who needs me.” They kissed and gently nipped at his skin, their hands moving to his belt when his upper body was exposed for them.

He tilted his head back, hissing out a breath as he tried to muster up some words without giving them too much gratification. Looking back, he eyed their close proximity to where he needed them most. “Says the one with their hands practically down my pants.”

“Fine. I’ll take them out.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Guess they were both going to be sleeping on the couch that night.

[bleedingichorhearts]

Ok so in it reader just wants to go home and sleep because what went down on 4546b had left them all around exhausted not to mention jumpy which results in them not realizing how long it's truly been ending up in front of the emperor's castle which leaves reader confused but also amazed because 1 place is pretty and 2 they don't know if their navigation system is fucked where they ended up somewhere else or it's been so long someone ended up buying the area then made the castle.

"Alright, let me see what my brain can cook with this cross over. Somethings are shifted to make more sense. I also used Subnautica's time era." - Ichor

Summary - "You eventually make it off of planet 4546B with the Primarch: Vulkan in tow. Only to figure out that so much time has passed and evolved without you."

"@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.” - Tagged

TW // Light Angst, Hint Of Roboute Guilliman.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| {𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈}

Your brain is absolutely frazzled.

You haven’t expected humanity to have evolved so much from when you were stuck on planet 4546B. The time on the planet was definitely different from the galaxies time, and to see yourself in a practical, different time? It was bamboozling you. Your brain just barely hanging around in your own skull with this highly praised Primarch: Vulkan by your side, leading you to new adventures.

Honestly, you didn't really believe that he was some sort of leader, but you were proven quickly wrong with how his followers, his sons embrace him once the both of you were pinpointed down by their systems. Their own heights towering, just like him. It was... it was rather amazing. It almost reminded you of the Sea Emperor...

Looking over to your ship for a moment, you remanence on it. Thinking of all the hard ships you have gone through just to get... here on what they call terra, and by the gods what it impressive and massive. Though, you preferer the architect from planet 4546B. You have lived on it for so long that you considered it home... You accepted that you would be lonely on that planet and wouldn't meet another person, especially with that Quarantine Enforcement Platform that shot down the Sunbeam with ease.

You accepted that you would die alone on that planet.

"Little one, are you alright?" The deep voice of Vulkan spooks you from your thoughts. Your form jumping in your spot as he placed his hand on your shoulder that nearly engulfs the side of you, but you have grown used to the size difference over time. Your eyes glancing back up to him.

"Fine." You simply say, looking around you once more. His... sons that gathered around, looking down at you in what seems to be curiosity. Did they have the same kindness their... father has? "Everything seems... new? Evolved?"

"New? Evolved?" One of his curious sons questions you, stepping forward a bit. The many eyes of the sons making you shift in your spot, underneath Vulkans' hand. "Just what time era did you come from?"

"...Uh, 22nd century?"

"22nd century?" A mutter goes through the group as some look at each other in confusion. They have never heard of such a time era, and well... you didn't know theirs to give a proper answer. You could only give them of what you remembered with honesty.

"What did your time look like?" They press, still looking curious. Your gaze flickering up the Vulkan in worry and suspicion. Were they going to try and pry what you barely even know anymore? It's been so long...

"Answers will come in time, my sons." He addresses them and dismisses them at the same time. His hand lifting for your shoulder while he looks out to his sons, or what you remember calling them "his Salamander's." "Let it be known this one is under my arms."

"Yes, Lord Vulkan." They all nod in sync, giving one more questioning look your way before departing to do their tasks that had been set for them. Their armors giving soft thuds on the ground on the ground as they walk away.

"22nd century?" Vulkan then starts to question you himself once the stressful situation of having a group well... questioning you all together. His eyes looking back down at you and giving you one of his charming smiles. "There is still more I don't know about you, little one."

You shrug your shoulders in response, unsure how to really answer that. Your eyes' glancing around you once more, taking in the... blue version of the salamanders, and gold? Were they different ones? They did have a different logo on their pauldrons... Was that a good sign or bad?

"Brother, you have returned-" You don't really pay attention to the newcomer. Your eyes roaming the area around you curiously, and maybe a bit of longing. Not for the... evolution of the place, but for remembering how "old" you have become. How the world always went off without you. This... new stuff almost scares you, almost. You have felt the same when you first crash landed upon 4546B and you were forced to adapt despite your cries of desperation. To not feel that abandonment. That loneliness. The Sea Emperor was your only true friend, but even then...

"This little one helped me, brother." You can hear Vulkan address you. Gesturing over to your form that seems in lost in thought again. A pang of worry coursing through him. You seem very different now from when you were on that water planet. Were you... homesick? Even when it wasn't a home, but your survival. Just how long were you on that planet that you started to believe that it was your home? Do you even remember what your... past life was like? Before the crash?

"Is that so?" His brother: Roboute Guilliman questions him with a risen brow. No doubt thinking of how a little baseline was helping him out within this water planet he was telling him of. His blue gauntlets resting on his gorget.

"Yes, brother." He nods with confirmation. Shifting his weight as his tone switches to more protective. "You have no idea what horrors laid on that planet: good and evil, and they have braved it through. From little hypnotizing fish to the biggest leviathan."

"Leviathan? Hypnotizing fish?" Roboute sounds like he was in a bit of disbelief, but he trusts that one of his most resilient brothers was not telling a lie. "If I didn't know you any better, brother. I would have assigned you an Apothecary."

Vulkan simply laughs at his words. His head throwing back, amused with his words but also grateful of them. It was nice to know that his brother trusts him. "No, I am perfectly fine brother. Just telling you have the new planet the little one called: 4546B. They were the only survivor on it."

"Only survivor?" His bother once again questions him again. His eyes sparking with a bit of interest until he shifts to look down at you approaching him and it seems to surprise him. Never was one bold to come close and touch his armor curiously. (You were to most likely to get back handed.) "My, you are a bold one."

"You are smaller than your... brother." You comment, slowly trying to comprehend everything around you. Your words exiting another laugh from Vulkan. "Look quite different too. Were you born from different mothers?"

"Ah, no." The big blue answers you with a bit of casualness. His eyes flickering over to Vulkan in more questioning. Just what kind of baseline did his brother pick up? "More like... we were created."

"Created?" You perk up at his words, more innocently curiously and it sways big blues hearts a bit. Maybe that is why Vulkan took and sheltered this baseline? For their innocence of the world? "So... what exactly are you then? You look human, but it's clear you are more then, well, a human."

"Thats a curiosity that can be answered at a different time, little one." Vulkan buts in, saving his brother from possibly saying something wrong to you. He knows you would distance yourself if one were to say something, a hint of dislike towards you. He figured that out on one of the days he was on that water planet with you. You have taken that "Cyclops" down into the deep without him knowing, and it stressed him out to no end. He had to give you credit for own resilience on being able to go out on your own, and you were lucky that day however, that you didn't return injured.

"Alright, doesn't hurt to ask." You nod, stepping back from the blue Primarch. Your eyes looking him over. "You remind me if the calm of the sea."

Roboute shifts at your innocent comments and... complements. A Primarch known to have some sort of praise from generals and nobles as it was known they could absolutely destroy them, but yours was different. Yours for some reason felt... pure. "I- may I ask what that means, for you?"

"I'm just saying you remind me of the calm, that you are calm, but it doesn't mean that a storm is hidden beneath." You shrug your shoulders as if what you're saying won't affect anything. "Your brother reminds me of a chirping forest. I haven't seen one of those in a long time..."

"Are they a poet?" Guilliman asks his brother his eyes watching you as you seem to look out in the distance again. His mind trying to figure out what you are, who you are. You are certainly an interesting baseline.

Vulkan shrug his own shoulders in response. Smiling at the smooth introduction that happened between the two of you. Glad that his brother was being reasonable. "The unknown is still precenting themselves. Even for them."

"Even for them?" Roboute repeats his words before deciding to test you on something. Shifting his weight as he gives you his attention. Saying something about a difference in the world, and his words seems to change your face while you cringe at them, seemingly not liking them. You honestly looked like you were in a crisis, or when Roboute himself begins his paperwork.

He figures though, that you were certainly not from their time. You were definitely older than them.

[lialox]

Doksoo week day 5

(posted on day 7 - the ‘do anything you want’ day)

Prompt(s): Angst, Neighbour AU, Time Travel

Summary:

In Kim Dokja’s time travel fix it, Han Sooyoung is not from the world that was fixed. (3k words)

[3hks]

Adding Personality Into 3rd Person

Some people find third person point-of-view boring in comparison to first person because "it lacks character". Well, I'm here to tell you that's not true! You can most definitely infuse personality into your 3rd person limited narrative (beyond just thoughts and dialogue); it's SUPER easy, and I'm here to inform you how!

For starters, identify the character that's being focused on in the story. More often than not, it'll be your main character, but that's not always the case. Sometimes, the perspective shifts.

The key here is to pretend like it's that character who's telling the story. They're narrating themselves, like in 1st person, only, y'know, it's in 3rd.

Why does this matter?

Words, words, words. How we use them determines not only our story, but also the mood and tone, which is crucial to understand right now. With that being said, the vocabulary used can both subtly and blatantly add personality to your writing!

For example, let's say the "focused character" is more likely to use the word "super", instead of "very" or "really", so they use it once or twice when "narrating".

The sky was super dark that night.

The mirror was super shiny.

The man looked super suspicious.

And guess what? That's already adding your character's voice INTO the text! The use of the word "super" added a more childish tone to the text, avoiding what otherwise could have been rather flat.

Let's look at some more examples:

❀ Maybe your character is more serious. This might lead to a more "standard" style of storytelling, but it's something nonetheless!

❀ Maybe your character is more negative, so their pessimistic viewpoint may affect and/or warp the actual, objective situation!

❀ Maybe your character LOVES a certain show(s), so they occasionally drop references when comparing stuff!

So, if you ever feel like your writing is getting a bit plain or repetitive, this might help you out!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[ao3-shenanigans]

apparently people don't really like first person pov, but that's the style of writing that feels natural to me. first person, present tense. do you know why that is, so i can maybe make my fic more appealing to audiences that aren't usually drawn to that style?

It’s usually because we experience canon content (tv shows and films mostly) through the third person, so first person fanfiction feels alien to read and leaves a much smaller margin for mischaracterization as first person is such an intimate perspective- which isn’t always something that readers care about, but it stands out significantly more.

Some forms of written media, such as novels that were originally written in first person can translate into first person fanfiction a lot easier because it is the form and perspective the audience is most familiar interacting with the media.

I am at risk of telling you to abandon the writing style you enjoy in order to get more interaction, which I don’t want to do. If your goal is to try things other than first person, I’d suggest getting good at writing first person and maybe experiment with third or second on short projects (one shots or the like) to see if there are additional forms you enjoy, like an artist mixing medias. You can also try first-past, third-present, or even second person future tense!

Perhaps try working third person segments into a narrative frame, such as interludes between first person journal entries.

[vechter]

post-dickbats :)

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Nadezh' Interview

Summary: After Nadezh previous identity as the Firebreather, notorious Supervillain, was revealed, she thought she’d lose everything. She’s never been so happy to be wrong.

You can read Nadezh' first story (HERE)

--------------------------.

It’s decided that Nadezh will work in the finance department of Hero Force. She hates to leave her civilian job and her coworkers seeing the success of her budget fully bloom, but the other option is wearing the power suppressors 24/7, and their power frequency vibrates through her engagement ring in a way that reminds her of a bee buzzing, and she won’t take the ring off so.

The interview is a formality but they make her do it anyway. She prepares for it over the course of seven days, making Gannon rehearse every hypothetical question with her until the last minute.

Until the last minute meaning on the drive to Hero Force for the interview.

“There is a discrepancy in the packaging budget,” Gannon reads. He’s used to her driving and doesn’t flinch when she merges too quickly, and a chorus of Chicago drivers chastise her loudly. “There is a flat rate for three different sizes of package. According to the average order value and average product mix, packaging should be $3.5k—Nadezh, Hero Force doesn’t have a commerce division, I don’t think this is necessary.”

Nadezh knows the rest of this question. What steps would you take to reconcile actual and planned? “Of course, there’s the option to conduct a forensic audit, however—”

“We do have a forensic finance department,” Gannon concedes, “but that’s not—”

“—first would be to observe the whole packaging process. While there is a flat rate for all three package sizes that doesn’t mean all orders are being packaged for efficiency—”

Gannon reaches for her knee, thinks better of it, considering her foot on the gas pedal, and diverts to her shoulder. He squeezes, and all of the tension in her back magically eases. “Babe. You’re already overqualified. You’re going to do great.”

They’ve already had this argument, so Nadezh doesn’t say Overqualified? It’s amazing they’re even letting me into a Hero Force building, I could be the President and I still wouldn’t be qualified considering my past. Instead, she says, “Right. Right, thanks. You’re right. Right.”

“Right,” Gannon says seriously.

“Right,” she says and takes the next exit.

“Riiiiiiight.”

By the time they pull into the parking garage, Nadezh is laughing at the increasingly bizarre ways Gannon says the word right. The word barely has meaning anymore, and she’s fairly certain that if anyone else heard Hero Zone sounding so goat-like, they’d send him to psych for an evaluation.

Nadezh gets out of the car first, hurrying before he can say anything else that will set her off.

“Go save the day,” she says. Her face hurts from smiling. She tosses him the keys over the roof of the car after she closes the door. “I can get the train back.”

Gannon rounds the bumper and presses them back into her hand. He kisses her forehead. “No public transport from HQ.”

She blinks, the spot his lips touched tingling. “Is that a rule?”

“Our house rule,” Gannon says. He smiles reassuringly at her. “Just a precaution. I know too many people who get made getting followed out of HQ.”

Gannon always explains himself even though she never asks. Her heart is racing at our house rules. They have house rules. They’re engaged. They’re going to get married. She lifts her chin for a kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you.” He kisses her.

Kissing Gannon is the closest she feels to her powers these days. The warmth that runs through her, the heat in her cheeks, the pounding of her heart – actually she takes it back. It’s not like her power at all. It’s better than her power.

“Break it up!” a man calls from across the parking garage.

Electricity shoots through Nadezh. She didn’t hear him come up behind her. She tries to pull away from Gannon, to turn and protect them, but his hands on her shoulders stop her. Her brain catches up a moment later. Gannon is relaxed, warm brown eyes still happy. The voice is familiar.

“It’s not goodbye yet,” another voice says grumpily. This time Nadezh recognizes the speaker. When her tension eases, Gannon lifts his hands long enough for her to turn and greet Flare. He drapes his arms over Nadezh’s shoulders. Flare’s eye twitches. “There’s, like, a whole elevator ride to go.”

“There’s cameras in the elevator,” Gannon says.

Nadezh still doesn’t know what to make of Gannon’s Hero team. Omit – the leader of the team – is decent. Fast, sound decisions on the field, always knows when to retreat, which is important when your team is made of B and C-rank heroes.  His power – to eliminate an object from the enemy’s perception during battle – makes her uneasy. Despite his openness with her, she can’t erase the suspicion that he’s using his powers on her from her mind.

She likes Flare. The woman is bright and bubbly, almost six inches shorter than Nadezh, with all the energy of a hummingbird. Though she’s stationed on Gannon’s team, she’s in high demand across the city. There aren’t many fliers out there, and although her dragonfly wings aren’t exactly subtle, she’s fast enough and strong enough to conduct recon across Lake Michigan. Flare keeps Gannon safe when he’s out saving the world. Nobody sneaks up on them with her around.

Mostly.

“Us singles are feeling left out,” Omit says and tries to drape an arm over Flare’s shoulders.

Flare flits away. “Interview today?” she asks Nadezh.

“Right,” Nadezh says.

Gannon’s burst of surprised laughter lasts all the way to Nadezh’s floor where he waves goodbye breathlessly.

Even with his mask obstructing the crow’s feet she loves, Nadezh savors the memory of his joy all the way to her interview.

----.

Agent Briston isn’t like any other agent Nadezh has ever seen. He’s in his sixties, round, bald, and wearing a sweater vest under his regulation suit jacket. She thinks there’s a reason agents like him are kept out of sight. He looks like an easy target—no. She doesn’t think about people as targets anymore. She means that he looks like the grandfather in a commercial about watches, the one who takes the vintage watch off of his own wrist to wrap it around the grandson’s with an air of gravity.

“This interview isn’t a guarantee, despite your…recommendations,” Agent Briston says the moment Nadezh sits down. His desk has nothing but a computer, a notepad, and a pen. Somehow the harried look on his face makes it seem cluttered with paper. “We don’t have the budget for many staff. We need to be selective.”

Nadezh resists the urge to pull at the Hero Force regulation mask on her face or the power suppressors around her wrists. Part of her agreement with Foresight was that she’d wear the cuffs whenever Gannon wasn’t with her. The blue glow feels ostentatious, and she hopes Agent Briston won’t turn her down based on them. “Understood, sir.”

“Briston,” Agent Briston says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only the heroes call me sir. My staff calls me Briston.”

Nadezh nods. “I’m Nadezh Mel—”

“No last names, Nadezh,” Briston says. He pulls his glasses from a desk drawer and puts them on. He squints at his computer. “Now. Tell me.  Do you have accounting experience?”

“Yes, si—Briston.”

Briston’s thick white eyebrows raise and he abandons his computer to focus back on Nadezh. He seems skeptical. “Really?”

“I created the office budget for my last company,” Nadezh says. She has a better way to say this, she rehearsed this with Gannon— “My plan allowed for the purchase of new chairs and a copier.”

Briston stares at her. “You really have accounting experience.”

Did he not hear her? Or did she answer incorrectly? “I-I was also part of the team that allocated reinvestment funds—”

“Foresight’s recruits never have accounting experience.”

“—and payroll for over 500 employees—”

“Payroll!” Briston looks up at the ceiling. “She does payroll!”

“I—I’m sorry?” she says. She can’t read his tone. Is he disappointed or being sarcastic? She scrambles for her next interview answer. “I have a bachelor’s in accounting from Illinois State, but I plan to complete my master’s in the next five years—”

Briston makes a sound she’s only ever heard from frightened raccoons. “You’re hired,” Briston declares. He reaches over the desk to shake her hand. “I’ll draw up a counteroffer before noon.”

Confused, Nadezh shakes his hand. His grip is surprisingly strong. “Sir? The terms of my employment should already be in my file.” Foresight had made it clear she’d be starting at the bottom level of the pay scale.

“We aren’t paying my new director that,” Briston says. “We’ll start double that and see what they counter offer.”

“They? Aren’t you in charge of salary approvals?” Nadezh asks. Then, as his words sink in, “Director?!”

Briston beams at her. “Experience, a degree, and common sense! We’ll settle for 30% higher than the initial offer with a condition for an additional 10% at the next performance review.”

“Director,” Nadezh says. When Briston doesn’t answer, ignoring her in favor of typing feverishly, Nadesh says with surety, “You’re joking.”

Briston hums and doesn’t answer her.

“Right?”

----.

Briston isn’t joking.

Gannon takes a dazed Nadezh out for dinner and drinks to celebrate. The private room he reserves is in the back of a Japanese restaurant run by a former Superhero. There are flowers on the table, candles strategically placed around the room, soundproofing on the walls, and a chilled bottle of Nadezh's favorite white wine waiting. She processes all of this distantly. She makes Gannon read her employment contract between bites of sushi. Bemused, he dutifully announces her employed status and starting salary whenever she asks.

“Guess I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors about the department head,” Gannon says. Rather than surprised, his voice carries an element of relief. “You’re barely taking a salary cut with this.”

“Cut? This is a ten percent raise,” Nadezh hisses. She stares at her green tea. “Does Foresight know?” A jolt of sick fear floods with her. “I didn’t make Briston give me a raise, I swear!”

“Nadezh, of course you didn’t,” Gannon says. He reaches across the table to nudge at her clenched hands. Automatically, she unfurls them to reveal half-moon indents from her nails. He slides his palm against hers. “You deserve this.”

“But Foresight might think—”

“He won’t.” Gannon picks up his chopsticks with his left hand, content to let his right keep holding hers so that her dominant hand is free. He’s clumsier with them and frowns as he chases salmon roe around his plate. “Briston has almost unilateral say in the finance department. Nobody can sway him. He’s known for being short-tempered, cheap, and stubborn. I’m sure Foresight will just be grateful he finally hired someone.”

Nadezh narrows her eyes. “You said you didn’t know the person interviewing me.”

“Oops?” Gannon finally catches the salmon roe under a bite of rice and pops it in his mouth. He chews innocently. “Did I?”

“Fess up.”

“It’s not like I know a lot. People say Briston fires more than he hires.” Gannon’s eyes shift to the side.  “Aaaand that he can be heard yelling whenever it’s time to calculate overtime expenses. Or whenever the armory submits their expense report. Or when the audit team comes back with city damage claims. Or when—”

Nadezh drops her head into her free hand, letting her long black hair hide her for a moment. She forgot that Hero Force accountants dealt with destroyed skyscrapers and medical leave for when you got your arms ripped off in a fight, not copiers and desk chairs. “You didn’t think to mention any of this before the interview?!”

“You were freaked out enough.” Gannon pauses in the way he does when he’s about to say what he’s really thinking so Nadezh doesn’t interrupt. She waits as he chews until he finally says, “I’m glad he bumped your salary. I was starting to feel guilty.”

Nadezh’s hand spasms around Gannon’s. “Guilty?”

“Yeah,” Gannon says. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I argued against making you leave your job. Said it made Hero Force the sort of organization everyone always accuses us of being. Overreaching and, well…cruel.”

“You didn’t tell me about that either.” Had he been thinking that this whole time? While she made him practice interview questions with her? Did he think she was forcing herself? The thought of Gannon feeling even a tenth of the gnawing guilt that lives inside her makes her want to throw up. Nadezh shakes her head and leans across the table. She’s glad for the private room and how it allows her to show him how his words affect her. “Babe, you don’t have anything—"

“I know how hard you worked for that job,” Gannon interrupts. He licks his lips. Now it’s his turn to stare at his tea. “Please, just…listen.”

Nadezh would do anything Gannon asked. She squeezes his hand again and fights the words bubbling up her throat like lava.

“We haven’t really talked since that day,” Gannon says. He’s a Hero; he makes himself look into her eyes. “I haven’t really talked. I’ve been afraid to. I know your past isn’t…isn’t good. I do. And I know that you don’t want to forget about it or pretend it doesn’t exist.”

She wants to, but she can’t. Like hunger and emptiness, she doesn’t think Gannon will ever understand the weight she carries from the harm she’s done. The screams she’d once reveled in now haunt her in ways she could never have guessed. But he’s talking to her, so she doesn’t explain. She listens.

“I feel like I’ve been making you give up everything for me,” Gannon confesses in a rush. He speaks faster as her eyes widen, like if he makes his sentences a big enough river, she won’t be able to dam it up. “Your first civilian job, your past, and your freedom to do whatever you want to do – because you could do anything, you really could – and even your powers.” He rubs his thumb over the underside of her wrist where the power suppressors sit during working hours. His face crumples. “Every morning, I will have to take you to put them on. It’s…I hate it. It feels like I’m abandoning you, or like I’m part of your punishment, or like I’m not being the partner you deserve.”

She starts, half rising from her seat. “Gannon! How could you—?”

His grip is strong on her hand, and he gestures for her to sit with a quick jerk of his chin. His eyes close tight. “Please, Nadezh.”

She quiets.

It takes him a long time to start speaking again. He remains quiet until he’s able to look her in the eyes again. “You…that day. The day you saved my and my team’s life.”

The day she thought her fairytale had come to an end. Even now, the memory of his blank eyes as she revealed the red and gold costume of the Firebreather, one of the world’s most notorious and deadly supervillains, follows her. The cold wind whipping across the ship’s deck, the pillars of ice gleaming in the sun, his team haltingly asking her if she was going to take over the boat…and his eyes. The pain that ripped through her when she realized she would lose him was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. It had made her realize that she’d been a shell for years until she met him, that she’d been nothing until he showed her a world where she could be someone. In that moment, she’d known that she’d wasted his time on a dead end. That their dream to get married would never be the same if it happened at all and she had robbed him in her greed.

But he remembers it as the day she saved his life rather than dooming his future.

“I became a hero to save people,” Gannon says. His lips thin. “How did I put it? That day at the diner? To share the relief of having the day saved.” His face twists in a way she can’t understand. “You must have thought I was so naïve.”

“No,” she says simply.

He raises their hands so he can kiss the back of hers. “Thank you. I think I was naïve. Being a hero seemed simple, looking at the world that way, like everyone wanted to be saved and, in turn, wanted to one day go on to save someone else. Every moment of salvation would get repaid. Good things would always happen to good people.”

Well, when he put it like that.

Gannon continues, “But when I saw you standing there, dressed as the Firebreather, being saved was…different. It was all different.” He swallows hard. “For the first time, I realized saving the day wasn’t so simple. You had to reveal your identity to do it. You had to put your freedom and everything you worked for on the sidelines. Even us. You were ready to do it even if it meant we never got the chance to be married. I could tell that you weren’t going to let that stop you. You were going to save the day.  Instead of being relieved, I felt afraid.”

A small noise of protest builds in Nadezh’s throat. “Afraid of me?”

“No!” Gannon’s eyes widen and he leans over the table. “No, never. Never, Nadezh. Even when that last fireball singed the toes of my boots, I didn’t flinch for a moment. I knew you would never hurt me.”

Nadezh’s laugh is watery. “So that’s why you threw out those boots.”

“Regulation is closed toe,” Gannon says gravely. He plays with her fingers. “I was afraid because I realized there was a cost that I wasn’t willing to pay, but you were.”

“I couldn’t let you die,” Nadezh says.

“I know.” Gannon clears his throat and adjusts his grip on her hand so that he can feel her pulse against his thumb. “I know. I’m not saying that’s wrong.  Just…it was hard, wasn’t it?” His brown eyes search hers. “You knew before you even left the apartment to find me that you were going to lose everything.”

“But I didn’t,” Nadezh points out.

“But that’s what you thought.”

She can’t deny that.

“Saving the day is easy when it’s just a job,” Gannon says. “That day, I realized that I’d never really been a hero. It was a job, an important one, but not one that was going to take anything I wasn’t willing to give. That same job was the reason I let myself just stand there as Hero Force took you into custody. Like a coward. I hate myself for that moment.” His voice is raw with the admission. His free hand curls into a fist. “I should have run with you then.”

Nadezh barks a disbelieving laugh. It’s inappropriate, but the idea of Hero Zone, the most honorable hero in Chicago, running away with a supervillain is ridiculous. She hides her incredulity. “That’s—”

“I’m serious, Nadezh.” Gannon’s eyes burn through her, gaze unflinching. Her pulse jumps under his thumb. “I still think that. We could run now. Settle down somewhere and be civilians. Never show up on Hero Force radar again. Like Bonnie and Clyde hiding out from the law.”

“That’s not funny.” Try as she might, Nadezh can’t find any trace of humor on Gannon’s face. Her eyes dart around the room. When she can’t find any cameras, she leans forward and hisses, “Don’t even joke about that. You love being a hero.”

“I love being with you,” Gannon says. This time when he smiles the mole under his eye disappears with the force of it. “I told you, all I want is to marry you. No job will ever be worth more than that. So…” His smile wavers for a moment before he fixes it in place. “What do you say? Will you run away with me?”

Fuck. Her mind leaps ahead. They could get a place in the mountains. She knows how much Gannon misses his hometown on the East Coast. His family has long since disappeared from those ridges and valleys, but she can see him there, facing the sun with his arms held over his head in triumph. A field sprawled out below him blooms with green and a house sits just beyond that with a gently smoking chimney. Could she belong there too? With him?

Gannon mistakes her silence. “You wouldn’t have to wear the power suppressors ever again or worry about Briston yelling or what Hero Force will make you do. It could be just you and me like we always imagined. Together.”

Is he pleading with her? Begging her to say yes?

There will always be a part of her that wants to. The greedy and selfish part that wants to keep him all to herself, like the doll in her childhood that unraveled at the seams after only a month. The part of her that could hide him away is familiar. Too familiar.

“No.”

Gannon’s face falls. “No?”

“Not because I don’t want us,” she assures. Somehow, she feels lighter. Is this what’s been sitting silently between them this whole time? She could laugh. “I do. But I think you’re misunderstanding something. You’re not the reason why I’m cooperating with Hero Force.” She thinks over her words and then rephrases. “You’re not the only reason.”

“I’m not?” Gannon backtracks. “I mean, it’s not a problem if I’m not, but I thought…well. I thought given what you said in the interrogation room…”

“You will always be the love of my life,” Nadezh says. She finds the words as she says them. She’s had a lot of time to think about this – Gannon is not the first one to think what it’d be like to run away. “That will never change. It’s just…” Private room, she reminds herself. No one will be able to hear. She confesses, “I want to change. I don’t want to be the Firebreather anymore.”

“You’re not!”

Keep him, no one can stop you, power suppressors barely work once we really get up to temperature—Nadezh stops those thoughts firmly in their tracks. “There are parts of me that still are. I was afraid when I revealed who I was, but since then look how far I’ve come. You know all of me and you’re still here.” She lets her wonder and hope leak into her voice. Some mornings she wakes up to him by her side and can’t fathom how the universe let someone with hands as stained as hers have something so good. “I have a job. I have a way to give back for all the harm I caused. I…I think confronting my past has given me a chance to grow like I haven’t done before. A year ago, I couldn’t even accept the proposal from the man I love more than life itself. Now? I know that I can walk into work every day and have those power suppressors put on me by Hero Force -not you - and I can hold my head high.”

“Not me? Nadezh, I’m your containment,” Gannon says. His expression is tortured in the candlelight. “You say it’s Hero Force, but it’s me. I’m the one holding you back. Foresight said that Firebreather was sufficiently contained by my side, he awarded me custody—”

“Are you feeling guilty over that?” Nadezh’s mouth drops open. “Gannon, seriously?”

“I feel like I’m choosing to be your captor over being your fiancé,” Gannon says.

“Just like how you knew I would never hurt you, I know you would never hurt me. I wouldn’t even have to use my powers. I know the second I didn’t want to put those cuffs on, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m still—”

“No.” Nadezh won’t allow any room for confusion here. “Gannon. Stop. I am the one choosing to do this. That day I gave you a choice, remember? I said that you could walk away and I would be—” fine is a strong word “—I would understand. I was going to keep the memory of us agreeing to get married and let you walk away.”

There’s gravel in Gannon’s voice. He reaches across the table to capture her other hand. “I would never change my mind.”

“I believe you.” He was patient with her, waiting for her to believe it. She holds his hands back. “I believe you. So here’s what I’m asking. You gave me a choice just now. Stay or run away. Please believe me when I say I want to stay.”

“Even if it means I have to be your captor?” he asks, anguished.

She nearly snaps at the question. Isn’t he listening to what she’s saying? His tone stills her. She studies him. His eyes are teary, and she can feel his hands tremble in hers. “This really bothers you.”

He nods wordlessly.

She tries to put herself in his shoes. She imagines that he’s working as a henchman who used to be a hero. She imagines putting cuffs on him before work every day, knowing that he’d be helpless if the Villain ever decided to turn on him—She winces. “Maybe we can ask Omit to put on the cuffs instead?”

“I…we could try that,” Gannon says after a long moment. He breathes in through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Then, “I really ruined this celebration dinner, huh?”

She snorts. Both of their eyes are red and swollen despite neither of them crying. “This is about how most of my celebration dinners have gone. Better, actually. Nobody is screaming and nothing’s on fire.”

“Yet,” Gannon says.

“See? There’s still hope.” They’ve been talking for so long that her wine is warm. She grimaces as she swallows. “Hey, captor? I think it’s time you took me to a secondary location.”

“That’s not funny.” Despite his words, Gannon’s lips twitch as he stands and pushes in his chair. “I’m really upset about that.”

Nadezh follows him to the door. She caresses his shoulder, ostensibly checking him for dust, but really needing the contact. “Should I comfort you?”

Gannon drops back to put his arm around her shoulders. “Hmmm, keep talking.”

“I think I have Stockholm syndrome—”

“I change my mind. No more talking.”

Nadezh laughs. “Riiiight.”

It’s not perfect. Nadezh knows that the conversation isn’t over. There’s a guardedness in Gannon she’s never seen before when talking about Hero Force. He doesn’t believe her, not yet. But that’s okay.

She’ll be around to convince him.

(Except for 9am-5pm Monday through Friday. She somehow doesn’t think Briston would take kindly to a hero responsible for flooding the docks every other week hanging around the office.)

----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to support me and what I do, please consider checking out my Patreon where I post all sorts of pieces earlier than I do on Tumblr!

Next week I have the continuation of my Cinderella retelling going up there first and then here later in March. You can read Cinderella here (Tumblr X) (PatreonX)

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[juuuuunaaaaaooooo]

She's Different

Thanos x fem reader : Angst, fluff, smut, mention of drugs, using of drugs, mention of death, blood, gore. The reader is a virgin. Happy ending! English Version! THIRD POV!

Chapter 1/? : Prologue

Thanos awoke to the sound of music worthy of a military camp. He ran a hand through his purple hair and straightened. He looked around, and saw a hundred people, all dressed in the same green jogging suit, and a number. “230.” He looked down at his sweatpants and winced. He stood up and made his way to the center of the room, stretching slightly, when a door opened and masked men dressed in pink burst into the large dormitory. The one in the middle, with a square on his face, spoke. “I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you. Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”

After this short introduction, some participants started asking questions. To be honest, Thanos didn’t give a damn who they were, or why they were so mysterious. All he cared about was, where his shoes had gone.

“What’s with these shoes? My shoes are limited fucking edition. They’re hard to find! You going to replace them if they get ruined?” Fuck! They had also cost him a fortune.

He grunted. They’d better give it back to him intact at the end of the game. Another player protested, insisting that he needed to follow the crypto market in real time. The man in the square pressed a remote control, and a video appeared on the screen.

“Player 333, Lee Myung-gi. Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called ‘MG Coin.’”

Thanos tilted his head to spot Player 333 in the crowd. The bastard was there too. Perfect, now he could beat the shit out of him. He was sure that he wasn’t his only victim. Maybe he’d find some allies soon. His proud smile vanished when his face appeared on the screen. He lowered his head in shame, watching the reactions around him. Seeing himself on the video and hearing the amount of his debt made him think back to that day, on the bridge. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was painful. Once he’d found out the final prize pool, and the giant pig, which was empty for the moment, it was time to officially signed up by signing the “contract.”

Thanos had just met player 124, Nam-su. The latter had also been MG Coin's victim. While waiting his turn, Thanos saw Nam-su approach MG Coin, who had just finished signing the paper.

“The amazing Myung-gi from MG Coin? Is that you?”

Thanos stepped out of line to join him. Player 333 took a few steps back when he saw him coming. He hadn’t even said a word to him, and this weakling was already scared... Interesting.

“Who are you?”

“You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin. I was subscribed to your channel. And I lost a shitload of money, asshole.”

“So, did I.”

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

The little bastard dared to deny it, although his name had been mentioned loud and clear. He tried to get through, but Thanos put a firm hand on his chest to pull him back.

“I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams, motherfucker.” He put his arm on his new ally’s shoulder. “Was your name Nam-su?”

“It’s Nam-gyu. From Club Pentagon.”

“Right.” He didn’t give a shit. “Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Nam-gyu here. Because we shared the same pain.”

“What do you want from me?”

Furious that he was playing innocent, Thanos grabbed him by the back of the neck as the other players looked on in amazement. “What do you think? Give me my money.”

Myung-gi withdrew his hand, as best he could, freeing himself. “Did I force you to buy that coin?”

“You told us to bet it all, you fucker. You swore it’d shoot up. You said we’d be fucking idiots if we didn’t buy it!” He was very close to sticking one in his face.

“You are responsible for the final decision on your investment. Didn’t you hear me say that at the end? You said you watched every day.”

This time it was too much, he couldn’t hold back any longer. The big jerk was out to get him, making him look like a fool. Thanos raised his fist to punch him, but a soft voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Technically, if you exerted any psychological pressure, you can be considered responsible.”

Thanos turned and looked at the young woman, a small smile on his lips. He slowly lowered his fist. “You see, listen to the lawyer.” She looked away, as if she regretted her intervention, but answered him anyway. “I’m not a lawyer.” Thanos’s smile widened. “Listen to the pretty, intelligent señorita.” “I didn’t force them to invest.” She approached slowly. “If in each of your videos, you push people to believe you by calling them idiots. By hearing it repeatedly again, they’ll trust you, even if they have their doubts.” Myung-gi, didn’t back down. “Everyone knows that trading isn’t an exact science.” He wanted to have the last word.

She let out a small sigh. “Sure. But if you didn’t take the time to specify it in every video when you know it very well. And if, on top of it, you put that pressure, you become responsible for it. You almost become a hustler, and they, the victims.” Thanos laughed out loud. He pushed Player 333 aside and approached the young woman, walking oddly. “If this asshole doesn’t make enough money, I’ll hire you to be my lawyer on the way out. To sue his ass.” This time she lowered her head, unable to look him in the eye. “Like I already told you, I’m not a lawyer.” Thanos raised an eyebrow, and watched her walk away, a smirk hovering on his face. He was amused and intrigued.

~~~~~

What’s happened in her brain to make her be noticed in the first hour? She had always stayed in the background, preferring to observe rather than speak. And yet, she had intervened in a story that was none of her business. She had opened her mouth, drawing attention to herself. Something she hated more than anything. After moving away, she sat down on the bed she’d woken up on, hoping that no one would come to make conversation, waiting for the first game. But she couldn’t help observing the purple-haired man. It was hard not to notice, with his style, the way he walked and talked. His confidence and charisma could break through the screen. He was so dramatic that it made her laugh, even though he was supposed to look dangerous. There was something else about him. Something she couldn’t define, but it intrigued her. That’s why she’d come between the two men earlier.

~~~~~

Thanos slowly approached the young woman, who was sitting on one of the beds, her back against the wall, her head bowed. He could see that she was fiddling with her fingers, pulling at the skin around her bitten nails. “Yo, señorita.” She shyly raised her eyes to him, but didn’t answer. She just looked at him curiously. Thanos clung to the bed frame on either side so he could climb onto the empty bed next to hers. He imitated her position, his back against the wall. But instead of crossing his legs, he bent one, his foot flat against the thin mattress, and rested his forearm on his knee, in a position that could be described as cool and relaxed. “Admit it, that was bullshit.” She finally looked up at him. “No, it’s all true.” “Really?” He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

She shrugged. “I suppose so. At least in cop shows, that’s the truth.” He let out a small laugh. He placed his index finger on her mouth, and placed his second on her lips. “It’ll be our little secret.” She couldn’t help smiling against his finger. “Okay.” “Hm...” He tilted his head into his palm, looking at her as if she were interesting. “What else have you learned in your series?” She looked at him very seriously and said. “How to get rid of a body, and especially, how never get caught.” This time, he burst out laughing. His painted nails came to hold his chest and little crow’s feet formed around his eyes. A little more comfortably, she continued. “You’d have to be a real idiot to kill someone in your house with a hammer, with all that blood splattering on the walls. Oh, the worst are those who have an accomplice, and send a message like... ‘It’s done.’” “You’re really something, beauty lawyer.”

The way he said it, with his exaggerated accent and brilliant smile, made her feel a pleasant warmth that spread throughout her body. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks, her shyness resurfacing. “I...” She cleared her throat to regain her composure. “I’m not a lawyer.” He shrugged. “I know, bitch.” She should have insulted him at the nickname, but instead she almost snorted like a pig. It sounded so funny coming out of his mouth. And the look on his face! He tried to act tough, but he just looked comical. She didn’t know if his craziness was contagious or if she felt like she could be herself around him, but she added, raising her hands. “Okay... Bitch.”

His eyes widened, surprised at first, then he let his head fall back, laughing out loud. He was a ball of red energy, while she was a tiny blue crescent. He was her opposite, and yet she had the feeling that, if she dug deeper, they might be a lot more similar than she thought. The whole situation was crazy. It was, like, fourth dimensional. But it was pleasant and calming. She felt much lighter and less stressed before starting the first game. They’d just arrived, and maybe she’d already found an ally, which was cool.

This is my first characters x reader fic... Ahhhh!!!!! Please, be kind <3

You can read it on ao3 here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/64543561/chapters/165760486