#“It looks like Nick is *so* in love with you”

[librarygarten]

I love your ideas for isekai reader! but what about a reader who is a professional or hardcore gamer? in the sense that will probably finish the videogames with the minimum of items or with lower level weapons

all this based on my friend's experience, who when he completed final fantasy discovered that the weapons could be improved or that there were more powerful weapons to defeat the bosses

—————

the chain: this enemy is very difficult, we should upgrade our weapons and come back later-

Gamer reader: the life bar moved, it can bleed

the chain: ...b-but this enemy attacks from very close range-

Gamer reader: then attack from afar

gamer reader: If the enemy can bleed, it can die

As a certified baby that can't complete any game without a walkthrough, this is absolutely not my lived experience. It takes a special kind of crazy to do that. /pos

The battle was fierce. The monster was strong. The HP bar, something that apparently only you could see, hadn’t moved an inch. Honestly, it felt like you were playing Souls again.

You were no stranger to tough fights. What made this one different was the fact that you were actually in the fight, as opposed to controlling a game character. Getting up close and personal with a monster sure did change some things.

“We need to fall back!” Time yells over the sound of swords clattering uselessly against the monster’s thick skin. “Champion, cover us!”

Wild obeys, pulling out his Sheika Slate and sending chains of energy towards the beast. It will only keep it in stasis for a few seconds, but it was better than nothing. Sky lands one more hit as he flees and you see it: the health bar moves. It probably only lost 1 hp, but it was better than nothing. A few thousand more hits like that, and it would fall, no problem!

“The health bar moved!” you excitedly tell Time and Warriors as you sprint away through the forest.

“Congratulations?” Wars looks at you in confusion.

“That means we can beat it!” you insist. “We just need to get a few more good hits in and it’s toast!”

“We can come back after we upgrade our weapons,” Time decides. “The monster is too powerful to take on at the moment. We were barely able to get away as it is.”

“But we damaged it!” you try again.

“Not enough. We need to do more damage in a shorter amount of time if we stand any chance at beating that thing.” Legend pipes up, and you glare daggers at him. He wasn’t even part of this conversation! What was he doing, butting in and sharing his completely incorrect idea?

“Are you talking about the little nick I gave it?” Sky asks, coming to run alongside you. “I’d hardly call that damage. It barely bled.”

“If it can bleed, it can die.” You mutter. This was getting you nowhere. Fine. If they wouldn’t listen to reason, you’d finish the job yourself. Without so much as a goodbye, you turn on your heel and begin sprinting back through the trees towards the monster.

In your haste, you nearly mow over Four and Wind. Four curses as you pass by, momentarily thrown off balance. Wind somehow puts Four to shame with his own expletives.

“Where are you going?” You hear a voice call after you. “Do you have a freaking death wish!?”

You ignore it and keep running.

The monster is exactly where you left it.

You steady your breathing as it locks eyes with you. It charges. You roll. Your sword strikes against its side as you dodge.

-1 hp.

The best slams its fist into the ground, trying to squash you. It misses my millimeters. You stab at it again.

-1 hp.

Again. And again. You dodge. You strike. You slowly chip away at its health.

You’re not sure how long it takes. You can’t focus on anything other than your movement patterns. When it finally falls, the sun is beginning to rise. Weird. You thought it was afternoon.

“Y/N! What in Hylia’s name were you thinking!?” Your limbs feel like lead as Wild shakes you. It takes a few moments for you to connect that he’s even talking to you. Was he… scolding you? Him??? Mr. I-sled-down-cliffs-for-fun?

“That was… insanely reckless,” Time sighs. He’s standing behind Wild, and he somehow looks even more tired than you feel.

“Where did you guys come from?” You try to think back, but your thoughts are about as fast as cold molasses. They had left, hadn’t they? Why were they here? You feel yourself being sat down as Hyrule begins to heal you.

“Most of us went back to town,” Wind explains. “We were gonna fight it with better supplies.”

“I stayed back to watch. I was planning on pulling you out of the fight, but you… seemed to handle yourself alright,” Warriors massages his temples. “I swear, if I gray early I’m holding you and you alone responsible.”

“Why didn’t you wait?” Legend asks. His familiar snark feels strained. Awww, was he worried about you? If you didn’t feel like passing out, maybe you would tease him a bit. Instead, you decide to answer his question.

“Why would I?”

You can hear multiple Links’ blood pressures rise as they take in your words.

Congrats! Every Link has even more anxiety now! Are you happy?

[chrisbratt333]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔･°‧🍒 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃! 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭

Mdni: stomach ache, sub!matt, smut, fluff

𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 walked into her shared house with her boyfriend Matt and her best friends, Chris and Nick. 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 notices only Chris and Nick’s enthusiastic voices in the living room and not Matt’s. Confusion laced across her features, 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 continues up the stairs and is met with Chris grabbing a soda out of the fridge and Nick sitting at the table working on editing a video for next week’s Friday upload. “Hey gorgeous.” Nick chimes. Chris following behind with a hug and a soft, “Hi, Matt’s in you guys shared room, he was complaining about his ankle per usual but also his stomach hurting too.”

“Yea and he’s being a big fucking baby if you ask me.” Nick exclaims with an eye roll. 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 only laughs at Nick’s side remark, knowing it was completely true, Matt had a habit of acting like a whiny puppy when he was sick. “What do you two have planned for tonight?” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 asks as she grabs a water from the fridge to bring to Matt knowing he probably hasn’t been drinking enough water lately. “Nothing much, might watch a movie or play Fortnite if Nick is down to.” Chris responds as he flops himself on the couch, cracking open his pepsi can. “Surprisly enough I actually feel like playing Fort today, so you’re in luck Chris.” Nick says as he closes his laptop. “You need any help taking care of big baby?” Chris laughs looking at 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃. “No I’m good, hopefully some water and a few crackers will help ease the stomach pains.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says as she takes off her shoes and makes her way to her and Matt’s room. “Goodnight boys.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says blowing them kisses playfully. Both Chris and Nick respond with dramatically blowing kisses back her way.

Once inside, the smell of Matt’s cologne filled 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’s senses. Pouting softly at the sight in front of her, Matt is completely bare. His shirt discarded on the floor near her feet, his baggy basketball shorts following and lastly his boxers all clumped in a pile. Matt’s soft snores are interrupted at the sound of footsteps, upon seeing his beautiful girl, Matt croaks out a soft, nasally, “Hi baby.” Emitting a loud cough as he weakly reaches for her hand. “Missed you.” He mutters looking up at her with a pout on his chapped lips. Once Matt gets ahold of 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’s hand he places a weak, but loving kiss to her knuckles. “I missed you too sweet boy.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says while removing her clothes off her body, already getting that out of the way since she knows Matt will whine and pout about wanting to be a close as possible. “I brought you some water, here sit up pretty.” She says softly. Coaxing him up with her hands applying slight pressure to his sweaty back to help assist him upwards. Matt lets out grunts and groans at the uneasy feeling on his stomach at the sudden movement. “Mmmm babe…” Matt groans out in pain, slumping himself against her naked body. “So pretty.” He mutters to himself, even being sick doesn’t take away Matt’s ability to praise 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 and be in absolute awe of her beauty. “Here sweet boy, just a few sips to keep you hydrated. Then we can lay back down.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 cradles Matt’s pale face as he barely opens his mouth to receive the water. “Good boy.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 praises once Matt takes a sip. Matt lifts his face just enough to look into 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’s eyes. “Thank…thank…you” Matt croaks. 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 hums softly as a response. Lifting herself off the bed to go turn on the fan and place the water bottle on the dresser, 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 hears a soft cry. Turning her head to face Matt she sees a single tear drop run down his pale, sweaty face. “Please…please don’t leave.” Matt whimpers. 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 gives Matt a soft smile, moving the covers and placing herself next to Matt. “Not going anywhere sweetheart.”𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says placing a soft kiss to Matt’s damp hair. Matt nuzzles himself into 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’s embrace, thankful for her nurturing care. Looking up at 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃, Matt lets out a soft whimper, “wanna taste you please.” Matt whimpers pawing at her hardened nipples. “Go ahead baby.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says pressing a kiss to Matt’s forehead once again as she wraps her arms around Matt’s shaky frame. “Get some sleep baby, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 says. Matt lets out a soft hum at her words as he wraps his lips around her nipple humming at the taste of her. “Baby?” Matt says mumbled against her. “Can you warm me?” Matt asks with a pout. Pressing a kiss to his lips 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 lets out a small, “Of course baby, come here.” 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃 grabs Matt’s leaking length and slides him into her wet folds. The two releasing breathy moans at the sensation. “So good.” Matt whimpers.

Matt falls asleep with 𝒞𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’s soft nipple in his mouth, his hand laces around her other breast, his leaking cock inside, and lastly his other hand gripping her ass.

Adorable dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

Taglist 🍒🤍: @chrepsi @sturniolo-szn2 @sturniolosymphony @loveliest-sturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @colorthecosmos444 @pasteldreams @courta13 @jensturnss @grace-sturnz @riasturns

[scringleydingleydoo]

I'm Mad About ROTTMNT

I miss this fucking show bro. I miss when it was huge and we were all still hopeful about it's revival. I miss waiting for fancomics and when there was new fanfics everyday. I miss the community man. It's not fucking fair it never got the chance it deserved. So what the merch was ugly? MAKE NICER MERCH? PLUSHIES WOULD'VE SOLD SO FAST. POSTERS. FUCKING FLAGS WITH THE HAMATO CREST? INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER FLAGS? BRACELETS, NECKLACES, SOCKS, STYLIZED HOODIES THAT LOOK LIKE THE TURTLES SHELLS OR MARKINGS.

Man I WANT this show back. And in another universe it got the seven seasons it was supposed to get. It sucks that we didnt get that. BUT!!!!

THERE IS STILL A CHANCE.

IF PARAMOUNT/NICK REALIZES THE POTENTIAL A CROSSOVER BETWEEN MUTANT MAYHEM AND RISE. IF THEY REALIZE JUST HOW COOL THAT WOULD BE? MAYBE. JUST MAYBE. WE COULD HAVE IT BACK? BECAUSE THE AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU COULD MAKE WITH TWO NINJA TURTLES SHOWS AIRING AT THE SAME TIME? WITH MERCH? AND PANELS? CONVENTIONS? I WISH THEY COULD SEE THE POTENTIAL THIS HAS!

WE COULD JUST INJECT EPISODES INTO THE ALREADY MADE SEASON ONE AND TWO! JUST ADD THEM TO THE SEASONS. AND WE COULD HAVE SEASON SET AFTER THE MOVIE!! WE COULD EXPLORE CJ'S LIFE IN THE APOCALYPSE! LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO RAPH AND DONNIE! LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO SPLINTER! INTRODUCE THE TRICERATONS! AND MEET RISE'S VERSIONS OF USAGI AND MONA! MAYBE EVEN LEATHERHEAD??? THERES SO MUCH POTENTIAL IN THIS SHOW! AND NICK/PARAMOUNT. YOU HAVE ADULTS WITH ADULT MONEY WHO LOVE IT! PEOPLE WILLING TO SPEND MONEY ON MERCH AND CONVENTIONS! PLEASE I BEG YOU BRING IT BACK!

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Vivian Pryor's Barber Shop | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: Just a little fluff between Vivian and Bruce.

"You know, I always imagined you be using those fancy razors when you shave," Vivian entered the bathroom and watched.

"I used to but this is more convenient," said Bruce. 

"You know my Dad taught me to shave his beard using it."

"Is this your way of saying you want to shave my beard?" 

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Bruce set up a chair in the bathroom and took out his old razor that was still polished and sharp thanks to Alfred's upkeep. Sitting down, he let Vivian put shaving cream on him, propped the towel over her shoulder, and took the blade from the counter.

For a moment, Bruce gulped and looked at her to ask, "You do know what you're doing, right?"

"Are you asking if I've nicked someone's neck before like in Sweeney Todd?" Vivian said as she pressed the blade to his cheek and glided it over his stubble and the cream. "I didn't kill anyone while shaving them... well, there is one time when I dealt with an undead barber and I did slit his throat with the razor..."

Bruce didn't breathe when she glided the blade on his skin again, when the blade was gone, he let out a breath and said: "Not helping my situation."

"Relax, Wayne. You're in good hands. I told you, I would shave my Dad's beard," her voice turned soft as she focused on her work. "One time, I asked him if I could practice again, he brought me to his gym and then put up a sign that said: free shave, and when they saw who was holding the blade they were white as a sheet. But they went along with it. My Mom gave me a stepper so I could reach the taller guys, and each one of them gave me a quid. There were about a dozen of them, so I bought myself a book from the bookstore."

Bruce smiled. "What was it?"

"It was Frank Herbert's Dune."

"A science fiction, I wasn't expecting that," Bruce turned to her in shock, she positioned his head back to how it was earlier and finished off at his cheek before she had him look up so she could clean up the area of his jaw and neck.

"It was one of the only science fiction I loved. I borrowed it from the library but I never got to finish it... when the guys at the gym found out, they started calling me over there and they would bring descent people to get a shave so I could buy the whole series."

Bruce waited until she finished her work before he spoke, "That was nice of them."

"In Liverpool, especially in our community, everyone's family. It's one of the things I miss so much about it. How I'd walk down the street and someone would greet me good morning or invite me for a pint, how when I'd get in a cab and the driver would ask me: where to, love?... it's home."

When she was finished putting away the blade and the towel, she took a fresh towel, dampened it with hot water, rinsed it, and then carefully placed it over the bottom of his face, but Bruce took it off and pulled her to sit on his lap.

"Do you miss it?" Bruce asked her.

"Yeah, I do."

"Are there days where you just want to go back there?" 

"There are but... some things make me want to stay here in Gotham," she smiled.

Bruce took her by her chin and pulled her to a kiss, just a short one.

"Then let's go to Liverpool tomorrow."

"Bruce."

"It's the weekend."

"And what about flights? We haven't packed! And I don't have work tomorrow, but what about Mr. CEO?"

"My appointment tomorrow can be moved to another time, and we can take the jet. Let's go to Liverpool, I want to see it. I want to see where you grew up."

"I grew up in many places, Wayne."

"I want to see the place that makes you smile like this..." he traced her lips with his thumb. "And I think Alfred would appreciate seeing England again, and Dick would enjoy the trip too. So?"

Grinning, Vivian pulled him to a kiss again.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bruce said.

"You learn fast, Wayne... now put this on!" She placed the warm towel on his face, "so you won't have ingrown hair!" She kept her hand on the towel over his cheeks and added a bit more warmth to soothe the irritated skin.

Bruce laughed and let her hold the towel over him, and he held her in place on his lap, not wanting her to leave.

[ficnoire2]

A Little Oathbound Symbolism (SPOILERS AHEAD!!!)

Hey y’all!  If you’ve read Oathbound, how is everyone feeling tonight?!  If you are like me, you probably needed several mental health support breaks to cope with the yearning, reverence, heart-stopping terror, and that ending.  I loved the third installment of the series and especially enjoyed the new batch of symbolism Tracy poured into the pages.  That being said, let’s get into it! But first, some definitions and happenings.

Penumbra - a space of partial illumination (as in an eclipse) between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light.  It is often described as a grey area. Shout out @medium-bloodcrafter-scion

In April 2024, there was a solar eclipse (the first I have ever seen). In 2025 there have been two lunar eclipses and in February a parade of planets was visible in the night sky.  A rare celestial event that won’t show itself again until 2040.

 Light and Dark (Shadows)

“Shadows are birthed from both light and darkness, Briana Matthews.”

Erebus says this to Briana after a particularly cruel training session.  This series has played with duality from the beginning, and I love this turn of phrasing. No one is who they say or think they are (whether they are aware of it or not).  We, as readers, are left to ponder what the shadows may mean in and for a character.  When Erebus takes the chunk of Bree’s soul, the people she loves become a “Shapeless gray mass bathed in mist.”

“I am not a shadow.”  I shake my head.  “Take me back.”

Oh, but you are Bree. The parallels with the light and the dark with each of the boys mirror both sides of who Bree is.  In Bloodmarked we get Sel saying, “I am not born of shadows!” and when Bree is being pursued by Merlin in the dreamscape, she proclaims, “I am not shadowborn!”  After Merlin’s “There you are, little Cysgod.”

The Moon

In my reading, I found it intriguing that the moon is a feminine symbol representing immortality, enlightenment, eternity, and the dark side of nature.  The moon’s gravitational pull controls the earth’s tides (Nick and the water references associated with him) and determines the length of our days and our seasons.  It reflects inner knowledge and the realm between the conscious and unconscious.  It is a symbol of the soul (Otherworld). It reflects light.  Selwyn embodies these traits so effortlessly, just look at the pull he has had on the fandom.  Epic.

“The clouds shift overhead to reveal a bright crescent moon hanging low in the sky.”

A crescent moon can symbolize a transition from one phase to another, a transformation.  In the scene where Selwyn finally catches up to Bree and Nick, this is the moon described in the sky.  As we know, Selwyn is headed for his new destiny. He has transitioned (quite literally in death) to his new form, his more eternal state of being, the Prince of Shadows.  I believe that, going forward, this will be a period of growth, release, and change for Selly.

The Sun

“Nicholas Davis and Selwyn Kane. The sun and the moon. You are warmth and the light, and I am the bitter deep cold…”

I love this scene so much because it is a culmination of heartbreak and confession between both boys.  It also shows how they see each other through the lens of everyone else but are slowly coming to the place where they truly see each other. 

The sun is life, quite literally.  A masculine symbol of divinity, enlightenment, and order that sustains life and lights the way for spiritual illumination.  The sun represents the cycle of life with its rising (birth), its journey across the sky (life/living), and its setting (death/rebirth).  It follows the soul’s journey.  It is a catalyst for change and lights the way for enlightenment and self-discovery (Bree’s quest and his). 

“Your supremacy,” Nick says, brows tight.  “Your misogyny. Your racism. Your cowardice.  I only state out loud that which you enact in plain sight.  That which we can all see, if we can stand to bear witness.”  Nick seethes.  “Will you punish me for doing so?  Your chosen son?”

The sun is also a symbol of authority and hope.  Throughout this series, Nick is seen as the chosen one.  The golden boy who will lead the Legendborn valiantly into battle.  The way he uses his light to fight for a more righteous cause is masterful.  He illuminates all the ways the Order and the Regents are evil.  He casts light on all of the dark places they would like to remain hidden.  

Solar Eclipse

“Sel blurs in front of him in a blink, eyes flashing up at the taller boy.  He bares his fangs, words spiking between them with a hiss.” 

Tracy rarely misses an opportunity to show us the size difference between the boys.  Nick eclipses Sel’s form every time (he does this with everyone, really).  Across time, solar eclipses have been seen as a gateway for transformation and renewal.  The sun’s light is obscured, opening the door for revelation and insight.  It is described as a cosmic dance that shows its interconnectedness with all things, inviting change and bringing individuals to their highest selves. Nick and Sel are doing that dance in this scene.  While there is much to still discuss, these two cosmic forces align, one casting a shadow and the other illuminating the dark places. 

The Center of The Universe - Bree Matthews

“A soul like yours is something to kill and die for, Briana Matthews.  Your soul is the engine behind the power that could change the world.  Unparalleled, in this dimension or the next.  Beyond priceless…”

Valec says this with pure reverence and passion (with a hint of rage).  In this series, Bree is the center, the plan, and the action, and she inspires everyone around her to be their highest selves.  In relation to the boys, they are both sides of her, the light and the dark, the sun and the moon.  She is their world.  Earth is described as the cosmic cradle where life begins and thrives.  The minute Sel and Nick meet Bree, their trajectory changes.  Their destinies become something more.  Mother Earth is power, nurturing its inhabitants. 

“Honey wine. Amber.  Green things growing.  The tiniest hint of copper, like fresh blood.  Something else…” A deep inhale, and I feel him shudder.  “Power.” 

Earth is the concrete physical reality in which we all live.  It is this reality that Bree brought with her the minute she stepped on campus. Earth represents the balance of yin and yang (our sun and moon).  It ushers in harmony.  

“Epiphyllum oxypetalum.”  Hazel’s eyes have gone teary.  “More commonly known as queen of the night.  These flowers require regular sunlight to flourish and yet they only bloom in darkness, only one night a year…”  

“These flowers take faith, Bree.  Even when we can’t see their progress, even when we forget they’re growing, they bloom.  And they are worth the wait.” 

Hazel’s words could not be more impactful.  Much like this flower, Bree needed Nick’s warmth, his light, to flourish.  She needed his safety and protection to rest and meet the task she faced.  To bloom, she needed Sel.  He carried her through the dark places (literally and figuratively) to help her be her best self.  To help her flourish.  She is now giving that to both boys.  

King shit indeed.

Book three was so rich with themes and motifs.  I could not get enough!  Let me know your thoughts, I’d love to hear them!  

P.S. I think it is high time for a Nick Davis and Valec top moments.  Whew chiiiile, the material!

[sanesaviour]

Solarion (1st image is character sheet, 2nd is another outfit exploration I did) read more below⬇️⬇️⬇️

I’ve decided to mess with you little bit like Solarion messes with people lol, so plot twist- Solarion is girl, I know, shocking- her real name is K… yes just K (I wanted to call her so me really long complicated name… but I find it quite interesting having only one letter as name)

She uses voicechanger bc she knows that people will take her more seriously as male vigilante than if they knew the truth, but she also does that to protect herself and her identity… Of course spidey team doesn’t know about her true identity and neither does S.H.I.E.L.D. ... It’s really hard to track her down bc everyone is convinced that Solarion is a man, but also bc she no longer has family nor friends, she dropped out of highschool and she doesn’t do nearly anything else besides vigilante stuff (maybe she sometimes goes clubbing at night to lose some steam)

I kinda think she is not American (well bc I’m not too lol so you have to deal with it now), she is from somewhere in Europe (haven’t decided from where yet, but when I will write someday about her origin story I will definitely mention it so stay tuned)… after one incident she had nothing left to lose so she moved to New York to fight villains and help people (she needed to find some meaning to her life)… she became masked vigilante named Solarion and quickly became really popular amongst people (you can read more about that stuff in my previous post)

Ofc Spidey team is not happy about Solarion, he sometimes get to places faster than them and defeat villain before they even arrive, so naturally they sees him as competition (I write him bc they think she is man, I know it’s bit confusing), but lot of times he is very cooperative and helps them in fights and on the other hand they often save his ass from getting beaten too, but still they don’t like much each other mainly because how unserious and reckless he can be, because of his double meaning jokes, but also bc of how well he can connect with regular people (lot of people root for him)

I already wrote about Solarions relationship with Spidey and Nick Fury in my last post about him but here are some headcanons and stuff about him and other characters:

1. Nova really despises Solarion, mainly because of how he constantly humiliates him, but also he is bit jealous of Solarions popularity amongst young people, how they adore him or how they copy his style… Nova always pokes fun about Solarions outfits like “nice outfit, did you find it in dumpster” but secretly he is just bit salty about that he didn’t came up with that idea before Solarion… also I think he once tried to wear regular clothes over his hero suit but got memed on social media so bad (or called Solarion fanboy or wannabe) that he never did it again… they make fun of each other all the time, but that doesn’t stop fangirls from shipping them (Nova hates it, Solarion loves it lol)

2. Powerman doen’t really get how others can be so annoyed with Solarion, he knows that Solarion likes to rage bait them and always tells Nova to just ignore him and focus on mission (nova never listens), he actually doesn’t mind him that much as long as he helps them and actually thinks that Spidey and Solarion are not that different maybe because how they both manage to joke in most inappropriate situations… also at some point he starts calling Solarion bro (Solarion is so happy about it and tries to hide it, but sometimes that spark of joy is way to visible) and he calls him bro back ofc

3. White tiger also despises him, mainly because Solarion jokingly flirts with her and calls her kitty, she finds it disgusting (for Solarion it is mostly just a cover to hide his identity, although he really likes how she looks while fighting, bi curiosity lol)… she hates how arrogant he can be, whenever he smirks at her during fight she gets irrationally annoyed but doesn’t know why… out of everyone Ava is most suspicious about his identity, something about his movements and mannerism feels off, but she can’t put her finger on it

4. Iron fist never gets frustrated with Solarion’s sarcasm, he treats it like a puzzle rather than problem - he just observes him and tries to find some patters and reasons why Solarion might be like that… after listening to his rants he just tells him “you should try out meditation and finding some balance” and solarion answers “I am balanced - balanced between being super awesome and being super hot”, also Danny either really hates Solarions inappropriate jokes (mostly because his mind suppose to be stay pure and focused) or he doesn’t get them at all

So in nutshell they are not very happy about Solarion lol, although Peter is more sympathetic towards him than others… they sometimes hang out on rooftops for moment after long day and just talk for while… but this all is how things are before they find out Solarions true identity

Also I m so sorry for how poorly is this written but I just can’t do better today, but I swear I will write more stuff (and hopefully better stuff) in near future… hope you like my rant but also art :))))



[bbywriter]

quiet days | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: when you drown at the scene of a mass casualty incident, chris will do anything to make sure you live.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader, doctor!chris x doctor!reader

warnings: heavy angst, drowning (oc almost dies), they’re briefly mentioned but matt and nick are also doctors in this lol, probably very inaccurate medical terms and procedures that i just learned through greys anatomy and reddit.

notes: hi guys<3 this was inspired by that one episode of greys anatomy where mer drowns, and also a finnick odair fanfic called ‘two souls, one heart’ by @wife-of-all-dilfs. this author probably has no idea i exist but she actually made me wanna start writing. check her fic out if u love heart breaking angst like me</3. also i’ve been in so many fandoms in my life lol can u tell?

please lmk what u think about this one, im rly proud of it<3

word count: 6.2k

—

Quiet shifts are no good. Sure, it should be a comforting feeling for a place like the hospital. The stillness of stable patients means nobody is on the verge of death, and everything has a chance to breathe. 

Nurses can chat quietly over stale coffee and residents finally sit down for a moment. The clock on the wall ticks cautiously, each second dragging its feet. Even the overhead speakers rest. But it’s quiet—the calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and you should have been too…

“Baby, come sit,” Chris starts. He’s settled on the old lumpy couch of the resident’s lounge, his arms tucked behind his head as he talks to you with shut eyes. “I feel tired just looking at you.”

You glance at him and chuckle. “Your eyes are closed.”

“Yeah, but I can hear you walking.” He cracks one eye open to watch you pace back and forth across the room, then teases with a tired smile, “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you reply with a laugh, but you know he’s right. You should sit down and try to relax—but you just can’t. 

There’s a restless energy simmering in the air. It’s an unspoken rule every doctor knows too well: stretched silence always leads to chaos. You never say it out loud, that “it’s quiet,” because admitting it might summon the mess faster. 

But everyone feels it. The whole place holds its breath, bracing for the inevitable.

You linger by the doorway, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, half considering his advice. As if he can hear the silent battle unfolding in your mind, he lets out a sigh. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke worrying about nothing,” he says, softer this time. “Maybe tonight’s just… easy.”

You want to believe him, but your gut just refuses. You’ve been through this before. Countless times. When the quiet lulls you into a false sense of security before havoc shatters it without warning. An ambulance could come barreling in any minute. Multiple traumas. Code blues. Someone crashing hard and fast.

And although you think that worrying could somehow hold back disaster—as if keeping your mind in the same state of adrenaline as a hectic day could trick the universe into giving you a break just this once—if you’d known your life would soon be pulled from your fingertips, you wouldn’t have been so stubborn to just sit down and hug Chris for five extra seconds.

He drapes his arm across the back of the couch. 

“C’mon,” he coaxes, offering you a spot in his cozy embrace. “Just for a minute. You’ll hear the alarm if something happens.”

You hesitate, biting your lip, but finally give in. With a quiet sigh, you cross the room and sit down next to him against the cushion. Chris shifts to pull you closer into his side, his fingers drawing soothing circles along the sleeves of your scrubs. 

“You work too hard, gorgeous.” He places a soft kiss in your hair, the scent of ethanol and latex lingering, but he doesn’t mind. “This place will run fine without you for a couple minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as you look up at him. “Feels like it might fall apart any second.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Then let it. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”

Chris doesn’t give you a chance to counter him, silencing the reply you’re about to argue with a gentle kiss to your lips. You know the silent words he's trying to convey. 'You don’t need to worry, baby. I've got you.' 

When he pulls away, you can only smile at his reassurance. You sink a little further into his touch, letting the tension slowly ease out of your shoulders. How could anything ever go wrong with Chris by your side?

His hand moves up to your neck, his thumb brushing softly over your nape, and even if it’s just for a fleeting moment, it’s enough to let your guard down.

Mass Casualty: Train derailment—Charles River. Trauma incoming.

Quiet is shattered in an instant. 

Your pagers ring simultaneously and Chris stiffens beside you, his hand instantly dropping from your neck as both of you fumble to check the message. Eight words–like a punch to the stomach.

Chris mutters a soft curse under his breath, his relaxed demeanour evaporating as he locks into focus. He’s on his feet before you can even process it, grabbing his coat off the back of the couch. 

Adrenaline spikes through you. It cuts through the lingering warmth of his touch. You follow him without a second thought, leaving behind the couch’s momentary comfort and stepping back into the unforgiving pulse of the hospital.

He glances at you, eyes sharp and steady. “Mass casualty protocol?”

You nod, already switching gears, letting instinct take over. “We’ll be triaging in the ER. Let’s move.”

The halls are alive with motion—nurses prepping gurneys, interns sprinting to set up trauma rooms, senior attendings barking orders over the rising noise. You slip into the rhythm of it without missing a beat, your mind running through every checklist, every step you need to take.

As you push through the double doors into the ER, pieces of conversation hit you– “How many victims?” and “Bridge collapse?” and “This is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the urgent orders being directed your way, Chris squeezes your shoulder to gain your attention. His tone is firm but calm. 

“You good?”

There’s no room for nerves, no space for hesitation. You’ve handled chaos before, faced down death too many times to count. You know how to keep your head above water, even when the tide threatens to pull you down. 

But you notice it the second he asks you—a feeling in your stomach. 

Mass casualty incident? Of course, nothing good could ever come from one of those. A train just fell off its tracks. People are hurt, injuries are inevitable. No instincts are needed to know that. 

But there’s something else. Something about this, about the sheer scale of it all, that feels different. 

It feels personal. 

And as much as your conscience screams at you to be selfish, just this once, to tell him you know something else is wrong, you go against it. Because you’re a doctor, and saving others will always be your highest calling.

So you lie. 

“Yes.”

A hint of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth as he squeezes your shoulder once more, then takes off toward the admin desk. You direct a group of interns to prepare airway kits and trauma supplies, keeping your voice clear and decisive despite the unease gnawing at your instincts. 

You force yourself to take a breath, find your center. 

When you lock eyes with Chris one last time, there’s no trace of fear left—just focus. He gives you a nod of encouragement and then you’re both moving, splitting off into the storm, ready to do whatever it takes to keep these people alive.

———

Standing at the head of a gurney, one of your hands steadies a patient’s jaw while the other carefully guides an intubation tube past swollen vocal cords. Sweat gathers at your temple, but you don’t dare blink, not until the tube slips into place. 

“Tube in,” you call out.

The nurse standing by immediately starts squeezing the Ambu bag, forcing oxygen into Jane Doe’s failing lungs. Her monitor beeps unevenly, but it’s something. Airway secured. 

You barely register the sound of footsteps entering the room when Dr. Reid calls your name, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“___,” he says firmly. “We’re short on trauma docs at the scene. Finish up here, you’re leaving now with the next ambulance.”

The words barely register before you nod and strip off your gloves. The air stings slightly against your damp skin as you step back into the trauma center.  

It’s only been twenty minutes since the initial alert, but the ER is packed like you’ve never seen before. Patients have piled into every corner. Monitors are beeping in frantic discord. Nurses move quickly, calling out vitals and pushing meds in practiced chaos. 

The sharp scent of antiseptic barely masks the underlying tang of blood and burnt fabric. Overhead, the trauma board is a mess of names and injuries, constantly shifting as people continue to flood in.

And that’s when you see him. 

Beneath the TV screen, Chris’s sleeves are pushed up, blood streaks along his forearm as he finishes with another patient. You’re supposed to be heading to the ambulance bay, but instead, something tells you to weave through the maze of stretchers toward him—to quickly let him know you’re leaving, to say goodbye. 

He looks up just as you reach him, equal parts of exhaustion and relief flickering across his face. Before you can speak, his hand brushes against yours in a wordless acknowledgment, and then he’s steering you a few steps away. 

It’s out of the frantic flow of the ER. The noise still hums around you, but here, in the dim space between an empty gurney and the wall, it feels like you have a second to breathe.

“They need me on scene,” you say, voice quiet but steady. “I’m going with the next ambulance.”

His brows furrow for a split second before he nods. “Reid just told me the same thing,” he says. “I’m heading out with the next unit after you.”

The earlier feeling returns as a coil in your gut, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you reach for him, gripping his wrist for just a second before he pulls you in. The kiss is brief, a stolen moment amid the madness, but it grounds you both.

"Be careful please," he murmurs against your lips.

"You too." Your fingers tighten on his scrubs before you force yourself to let go. "I love you."

His eyes soften just for a second, just long enough for the chaos around you to blur.

"I love you too."

And then you’re gone.

———

The ambulance jolts as it pulls up to the scene, tires screeching slightly against the rain-slicked pavement. The moment the doors swing open, havoc rushes in.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and gasoline. It burns the back of your throat. Flashing lights of blue and red strobe against the darkness, reflecting off the twisted wreckage of the train cars. Metal rasps under its own weight, half-derailed carriages stacked like a horrifying house of cards. Some are overturned, others crumpled like paper, their insides spilling onto the tracks below.

The ground is a mess of shattered glass and personal belongings strewed among deep pools of rainwater and something darker—blood.

A relentless mix of crying, screaming, and distant metallic creaks fills the air, like the train itself is still groaning from the impact. Rescue teams work frantically under the harsh glare of floodlights, but this devastation simply stretches far beyond their reach.

You take a breath, pushing down the sick feeling in your stomach, and step forward into the disaster.

Amidst all of it, you spot him—a little boy, barely five, standing alone by the water’s edge. His tiny frame is shivering in the cold. The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across his tear-streaked face, his wide eyes darting frantically through the chaos. His lips tremble as he sobs. He calls for his mom in a voice so small that nearly gets lost in the storm of sirens and shouting.

Your heart cracks in half.

You know there are people with worse injuries, people who need your attention more, but you can’t ignore him. He’s alone. He’s terrified.

You kneel to his height and set down your trauma field kit, keeping your voice soft despite the surrounding noise. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna help you find your mom, alright?”

He sniffles, lips quivering but silent as he rubs his sleeve against his face. Dirt and tears smear across his cheek. You extend your hand, and after a brief hesitation, his trembling fingers slip into yours. They’re ice cold, and it sends a new wave of urgency through you. You squeeze his hand gently to offer what little comfort you can. “You’re gonna be okay. Let’s get you somewhere warm, yeah?”

The boy’s teary gaze flickers between your face and the chaos behind you. His voice cracks, “Mommy’s still there... she’s... she’s hurt.”

“I know, honey, I know. We’re gonna find her,” you assure him, pulling your jacket off and draping it around his small frame. It’s too big for him, but at least it will keep him warm for now. The cold air bites the second it hits your exposed scrubs, and you can feel the chill in your bones, but it doesn’t matter. He needs it more.

Rubbing a comforting pat on his shoulder, you start to lead him away from the water. Your plan is simple, just a quick detour. You’ll bring him to a police officer, make sure he isn’t alone in all this, and then you’ll get back to the scene—

A sharp, desperate tug.

“No! Mommy’s still there!”

Before you can react, he wrenches himself free from your hold, stumbling toward the water. His feet splash into the shallows, the current pulling at his small legs.

Panic jolts through you.

“Wait!” You lunge for him, grabbing blindly—

Your foot slips.

The rain-slicked ground betrays you, and suddenly, the world tilts sideways. A sharp gasp rips from your throat as your body pitches forward. 

The icy grip of the river swallows you whole.

The water closes in around you immediately, dark and suffocating. The current tugs at your limbs, and no matter how hard you try to fight, the surface only seems to slip further away. Panic claws at your chest. A bitter sting of cold water rushes into your throat and your body feels heavy, your breath shallow. Chris. Where is he? What’s happening? Why can’t you breathe? 

Your limbs kick out, the instinct to survive kicking in. With every desperate movement, you reach for anything, grasping for hope. 

But it’s as if the water is alive, pulling you under with a cruel certainty. You cough and sputter and scream but your lungs only fill with fire at every gasping attempt to inhale. Why won’t it stop? The thought echoes in your head, drowned out by the deafening rush of water and panic.

The infinite stretch of space around you twists and turns, safety slipping further and further from your reach. Where are you? Where is everyone? Nothing makes sense. The world is suddenly so big, so unfamiliar, and you’re so, so small. The weight of the water is pressing down with a relentless, almost inviting force. 

And then, as if the time has paused for a moment, a chilling clarity washes over you. The panic and thrashing give way to a sudden stillness, and the water envelopes you in a quiet embrace. 

The calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and now, you have no choice but to surrender to the repose. The chaos above is no longer your concern. This is it. There is no future. No hope. You’ve given up on the surface; it isn’t yours anymore. This is where you belong now.

The water cradles you gently, and you let it. It feels... peaceful, in a way. There’s a strange comfort in the silence, in the weightlessness. You can still feel your heart pounding, echoing against the cold emptiness. But your mind begins to drift, like a ripple in a still pond. It’s easier this way.

In that final moment, your waterlogged mind grasps for one last thought. Chris...

And for a fleeting second, you think you feel him—feel the heartbeat you once knew, far above you, just out of reach. But then the water blurs everything again, and the darkness transforms into light, bathing your surroundings in comforting rays as you sink deeper, farther into the depths.

———

Chris arrives at the scene just minutes after you, faced with the same chaos. The wreckage of the train looms in the distance, twisted metal and shattered glass are scattered like broken bones. 

Makeshift assessment beds now line the pavement, medics moving between them in hurried strides. The air is thick with the wail of sirens and the muffled cries of the injured. It’s overwhelming. Disorienting.  

But then he sees it.  

Your bag.  

Sitting under the glow of a streetlamp, untouched, your unmistakable pink bow keychain catching the light too perfectly. It almost looks staged, as if placed there deliberately, bathed in a quiet, eerie spotlight. His stomach twists. His breath catches. The chaos around him dulls for a second, because your bag is here—but you aren’t.  

He moves toward it, heart pounding, and that’s when he notices the little boy.  

The same boy from earlier. The one you had been with. He’s curled in on himself, still wearing your jacket, staring at the water with an unsettling stillness.  

Chris crouches beside him, voice tight. “Hey, buddy... where’s ___?”  

The boy doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t answer.  

Chris swallows, trying again, his pulse now thudding in his ears. “Were you cold, bud? You’re wearing her jacket. Do you know where she went?”  

Still nothing. Just a slow, deliberate glance toward the water.  

The air is knocked from his lungs and everything inside him sinks, dragged down by the sudden unspoken truth.  

“Doctor.” A voice suddenly cuts in from behind. 

Someone’s talking to him now. Their voice sounds urgent, persistent, but Chris pays them no mind.  

“Doctor, we need you to move. We have a body that needs to be assessed.”  

He ignores it. Ignores everything but the way the kid keeps staring at the water.  

“Sir.” It’s a Search and Rescue worker, and he tries again, more forceful this time. “We need you to—”  

Chris doesn’t hear the rest. He knows. He feels it.  

You’re in there. 

He has to get to you.

The second his feet leave the ground, he hears the shouts behind him.  

“Sir—wait! You can’t—”  

“It’s our job, let us—”  

But he’s already in.  

The cold hits him like a sledgehammer, shocking and brutal. The water swallows him whole, and for a terrifying second, he’s blind. He can’t see anything. Can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart and the muffled roar of the river.  

Where are you?  

His hands swipe through the dark, pushing against the current, but it’s impossible—he can’t tell which way is up, let alone where you are.  

Suddenly, there’s light. 

It flickers through the dark, cutting through the swirling murk in shaky beams. Shadows shift, water distorts, and figures drop in after him. Search and Rescue, their gear making them move steady where he thrashes. The glow from their headlamps bends and wavers, illuminating glimpses of debris drifting past, the restless pull of the current.

And then—they see you.  

Your body is caught on a rock near the riverbed, motionless.  

One of the divers reaches you first, maneuvering through the water with steady, practiced movements. Chris doesn’t hesitate. He follows, kicking toward you with everything he has.  

The diver secures you, arms wrapping around your limp form, and starts the ascent. Chris is right behind you, chest burning, lungs aching, vision narrowing to nothing but you.  

You’re so still.  

Too still.  

But he doesn’t let himself think. Doesn’t let himself feel anything but the drive to get you out. To get you to the surface.  

Because you have to wake up.

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment your body is out of the water, he’s running—sprinting—toward the nearest ambulance, shoving past anyone in his way. He pays no attention to the shouts behind him, the frantic orders being thrown around. None of it matters. He needs to get you out of here. Now.  

When he reaches the ambulance, the EMT doesn’t move.  

“Sorry, Doctor, I’ve got orders to wait for another patient,” he says, nodding toward the scene. “They’re bringing him over now. Took a pole straight through the ribs—”  

“Then that guy is already dead,” Chris doesn’t let him finish, voice cracking, chest heaving. 

His thoughts are clouded with fury—It’s like he doesn’t see you in his arms. Like he doesn’t know there’s no time to waste on a lost cause. 

Only, the EMT does see and does know, and it’s exactly these reasons why he hesitates once more. 

Chris almost skins him alive.  

“Let the next ambulance bring him. You’re taking us back to the hospital, or you’ll give me the keys and I’ll drive there myself.”  

He looks at Chris, then at you—lifeless, limp and almost blue in his arms. And maybe it’s the way Chris is shaking, maybe it’s the tears in his eyes, maybe it’s the raw desperation bleeding into his voice, but the guy gives in.  

The doors slam shut, and the ambulance speeds off.  

———

Chris loves being a doctor. He thrives in the chaos of the ER, in the rush of saving lives, in the certainty that his hands mean something. Every stitch, every chest compression, every decision made in a split second—it all matters. It’s exhausting, brutal work, but it’s his. And if he believes in fate, he swears he is meant for this, meant to help, meant to heal.

But none of that compares to his love for you.

So when he presses his hands over your chest and feels nothing, when his breaths fail to bring life back into your lungs, he decides that there is nothing he hates more than being a doctor. Not when such a title refuses to save you. Not when all the knowledge, all the training, all the years spent fighting to keep others alive mean nothing in the face of losing you.

Chris' hands tremble as he swallows down a sob, forcing a breath into his lungs. He’s done this a thousand times before—countless compressions on countless patients—but never like this.  Never while his vision blurs and his breath stumbles and his body shakes so violently he can barely keep count. 

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

He locks his hands together, pressing down hard over your chest. Again. And again. And again. Each push comes with the full weight of his body behind it, but your body remains still, unyielding. No fight. No jolt. No desperate gasp for air.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Stay with me.”

Your head lolls slightly with the force of his movements, limp in a way that makes his stomach violently turn. Your skin, usually so warm and full of life, is sickly beneath the ambulance’s harsh fluorescent light. Strands of hair cling to your damp forehead, and your lips, usually soft and flushed, are now a haunting shade of blue.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

He tilts your head back again, pinching your nose and breathes into your lungs. Your chest rises beneath him, but when he pulls away, nothing changes. You’re still quiet.

"No–"

He starts again. Harder. Faster.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

No response.

His own breath is ragged, his arms burn, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Because any second now, you’ll suck in a sharp breath, your lashes will flutter, and your fingers will reach for his, warm and real and alive.

Any second now.

“Breathe,” he begs, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Fuck, breathe, ___. Please.”

But you don’t.

Maybe he should just give you his heart—tear it from its place in his chest and press it into the hollow silence of your ribs. If that is the only way to bring you back—trading his own life to hear your breath again, to see your eyes open and feel your warmth against his skin, he will do it without thinking twice.

He doesn’t care if it means his own end, because knowing you were alive, feeling your pulse beneath his hands will make any sacrifice worth it.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

A dull crack echoes beneath his palms, the sharp sound of a rib giving way to the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, silently waiting for you to gasp in pain. But there is nothing. The quiet feels heavier than any scream. And with that broken sound, he knows it wasn’t just your rib that has shattered. 

You are gone.

Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. 

He sobs silently at the realization, no longer able to hold back his tears that begin to fall in an endless stream. 

This time, his touch is softer, gentler. No longer frantic, no longer desperate. The rhythm of his hands have faltered over your chest. No longer driven by a troubled need to revive you, but rather, by something tender. 

It’s selfish, born of denial, the way his steady palms manually force your heart to beat. How his mouth manually fills your lungs with air. But he will do it forever—replenish your every breath and feign every pulse, merge you both together and sustain you as one if it means you are whole again.

"You’re okay, baby," he whispers, his voice cracking, barely a sound. His tears slip silently down his face as his fingers gently sweep strands of hair from your forehead, the touch trembling with a love he couldn't hold back. 

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours once more—not to force air into your lungs, but to give you everything he has left. As if love alone could bring you back. A true kiss of life. "Don’t leave me."

———

The ambulance screeches to a stop once more.

As the back doors fly open, Chris is met with his brother’s eyes. A flicker of relief briefly stirs in his chest, but the way Matt’s face crumples in confusion at Chris’s pained expression instantly makes him want to cry again. 

Chris doesn’t have to say a word. Matt instantly knows. Knows something is very, very wrong. For the first time since you were pulled from the water, Chris feels an aching comfort. 

The burden is no longer his to shoulder alone. 

The EMT starts his run down. “Jane Doe, found unconscious—”

“It’s ___, Matt.” Chris’s voice is raw, breaking mid-sentence as he looks at his brother with pleading eyes. “I found her in the water.”

Matt freezes. Just for a second. Long enough for it to feel like slow motion when his eyes glance over your pale, lifeless form And as he watches Chris mount the gurney, his hands never leave your chest, still forcing compressions as the stretcher is lifted and they rush you inside.

Unconscious. Found in the water.

The urgency in Matt’s movements sharpens, every step fueled by a surge of adrenaline, unlike anything he’s felt before. Not because other patients are less important—he’s sworn an oath to treat them all the same—but this is you. Chris’s girlfriend. The girl who’s become a sister to him.

After all the patients he’s already lost today, he refuses to let you be another.

They push into the trauma room. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, but Chris barely hears them over the ringing in his ears. Reid, Matt, and one of your interns work in a blur, voices overlapping with rapid commands. The machines beep. Someone calls for a crash cart.

Chris doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Matt’s hands are on his shoulders, forcing him back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Chris rasps. “I need to see that she’s okay.”

“She will be, Chris.” Matt’s voice is firm, unwavering. “But you’re not in the right headspace. I won’t let anything happen to her. You need to step out.”

Chris swallows hard, his fingers curling into fists. He’s losing you all over again, and this time, he has to walk away from it.

“Matt, I can’t leave—I need to—”

“Sturniolo.” Reid’s voice cuts through the panic, steady in the chaos. “Listen to your brother. Go change your clothes.”

He wants to fight. Wants to scream that he can’t just sit and wait. But then he looks at you. At the paleness of your face under the too-bright hospital lights. They emphasize the stillness of your body in a way that the ambulance lights made you look alive. His chest tightens, his throat burning with the threat of more tears.

He stumbles backward, his legs moving on autopilot until he’s in the waiting room. All he's left with is the cold of your lips lingering on his own—so different from the familiar warmth they held before you left. He clenches his jaw, nails digging into his palms.

All he can do now is wait.

And he does.

Days. Several 24 hour cycles. Thousands of millions of seconds. 

For the next week, Chris waits. Every minute is stretched out like an endless ache, his body hovering on the edge of exhaustion. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten right, hasn’t done anything but sit at your side, hoping, praying for some sign that you’re coming back to him. You’ve stabilized. Your colleagues say it’s just a matter of time. But as each day drags on with no change, the hope he clings to starts to feel fragile, like it might shatter at any moment.

“Nick and Matt are off today,” he says quietly, his voice heavy from the seat beside your bed. “But I think they’re gonna come by in the afternoon.”

He watches your face. It’s peaceful, and he can only hope that means you’re in no pain. But there’s no reply. There hasn’t been for the past seven days. 

He gently takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. The warmth is there now, but the weight of it—limp in his grasp, the way your fingers don’t curl back in return—makes his heart crack. Another reminder that not enough has changed since the water.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

He presses his cheek into the palm of your hand, cradling it gently with his own, your hand now sandwiched between his face and the steady strength of his hold. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that you're the one comforting him, that he’s the one being held in your arms.

“I can’t do this without you.”

No more tears fall. They couldn’t even if he wanted them to. He has already cried every last tear he has, and now, the pain remains only as a weight in his chest. His heart wrenches at the sound of his own voice. Broken and honest. He really can not do this without you. Life no longer has meaning.

He rests his head on your thigh, draping his arm over your legs. His fingers gently caress your hip while his other hand holds your wrist, keeping your palm pressed to his cheek. Anyone who passes by your room can’t help but notice the sight. It's pitiful—an embrace between a living man and his unconscious lover, waiting in a silent plea for her to come back.

“Come back to me, baby, please.” He turns his face to kiss your palm, pressing his lips softly against your skin. One last desperate attempt. “I love you.”

———

In the vast emptiness, there’s nothing. No sound. No light. Just a void that swallows everything around you, making it impossible to tell where the darkness ends and you begin. The cold envelopes you into a silence so complete, it feels suffocating.

The isolation is absolute. It’s not loneliness, because loneliness requires awareness. Here, you’re just lost. Trapped in a place that feels like it’s outside of time, where the world outside is just a distant memory. You can’t remember how long you’ve been here, or how you got here. You can’t remember the last time you felt warmth or light. You only know the relentless pull of the dark.

But then… a voice.

It’s faint at first, like a whisper across a windless field. Barely audible, but it’s there, tugging at the edges of the silence. You can’t place it, but something about it feels so familiar, like it’s a thread that belongs to you. It’s a lifeline, delicate but real.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

The voice cracks, the sound trembling with raw emotion, desperation leaking through every word. It’s his voice. Chris’s voice.

It reverberates through the isolation, cutting through the layers of silence that have settled over you. For a moment, you don’t move, unsure of what it means. But the longer you listen, the more you realize: this voice is not just calling to you. It’s pulling you back.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Each word, each begging prayer, draws you closer to something—something warm and familiar and human. You don’t know how, but you can feel it. The weight of the isolation begins to shift, the oppressive quiet lightening just a fraction. His voice is the only thing you can feel. The only thing you can trust.

You don’t know if your heart is still beating, if it’s still alive, but his voice stirs something inside you. A faint echo of life. It pulls at the thread of your consciousness, urging you, nudging you forward.

“Come back to me, baby, please.”

The isolation isn’t gone, not yet. But his voice has cracked open a space in it, just enough for you to feel the warmth of connection again. The darkness is no longer whole, the quiet is no longer deafening.

And with that fragile sliver of sound—of love—you begin to realize you’re not alone. Not anymore.

“I love you.”

Those words, steady and strong, are the final pull. And with them, you feel the first true stirrings of movement. A heartbeat. A breath. A lifeline to pull you back from the endless void.

The warmth of his cheek is in your hand.

Chris feels it. It's faint at first, a gentle scratch of your fingers through his hair. The smallest movement, but it’s enough to make him freeze. His breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen in disbelief.

You’re awake.

He sits up slowly, hesitant, as if afraid he might disturb this fragile moment. His heart hammers in his chest, and he watches you with a mix of wonder and fear. Your eyes flutter open, soft and blurry at first, and then you lock with his.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his voice breaking as his hands cover his face. A new wave of tears that he didn’t know he was holding back breaks free, his body shaking.

You call his name, softly, but it feels like the most real thing in the world.

“Chris…”

The sound of your voice, so tender, makes his heart lurch. His body trembles with the weight of everything he’s held in, all the fear, the doubt, the pain. He looks at you, his hand trembling as he reaches out, unsure of how to touch you—how to hold you—now that you’re here.

He finally stands, his legs weak, and pulls you into his arms. Carefully, gently at first, afraid you might shatter in his grip. But then he holds you tighter, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, his body shaking with sobs he can no longer contain.

You hold him, your arms wrapping around his back, feeling the tremors of his pain against your skin. And in that moment, you don’t cry because you’ve returned. You cry because you can feel his hurt, deep and raw, coursing through his body. It’s too much. It’s everything.

“I'm sorry, baby,” you whisper, your voice a soft echo against his trembling frame.

Chris pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his lips find yours in a kiss—deep and urgent, as if he needs to make sure you’re really here, that you’re not going to slip away again.

The taste of your tears, mingled with his, falls onto your lips, but you don’t mind. You need him to feel you. You need him to know you’re not leaving.

When he pulls back, he stares at you with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he can’t comprehend what’s happening.

“I thought you died,” he says, his voice breaking.

Your heart snaps in your chest, and without thinking, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his again, more desperate this time. It’s a silent vow, a message you don’t need to say aloud: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you finally pull away, you look him in the eyes, your voice a steady promise.

“I will never leave you.”

Without another word, he pulls you into his arms again, holding you as if you are the very air he breathes.

“I love you,” he whispers once more.

And you whisper back, your heart full and alive, “I love you too.”

—

a/n: i’m sorry<3 thank u for reading<3 please lmk what u think!!!!

also idk if u guys care to know but another lias update: idk where to bring the story😭 i’ve written and rewritten the second part like twice now but im rly stuck w where i want the story to go. i’ll get to it when i get to it but for now we’ll have inspo for other things.

ok i love u guys<333

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in March 2025. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup ! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🩷 you're all i ever dreamed of by staybeautiful / @harruandlou

(E, 53k, established relationship) after a Monday lunch with Zayn, Louis finds himself reevaluating what "too soon" means, especially when it comes to Harry. Part 2 of such a beautiful dream

🩷 Rogue omega by @loretheloner

(M, 38k, omegaverse) Louis is a rogue on the run from his birth pack, who want to kill him because he's a male omega. A story about prejudice, prophecies, and rejection. Also a story about kindness, resilience and soulmates.

🩷 Give Me A Try by rainbow_kings

(E, 28k, roommates) AU where Harry is absolutely, hopelessly in love with his best friend, Louis. But Louis is dating somebody else. It takes them a while to figure it all out.

🩷 the evenness i fake by @shimmeringevil

(E, 26k, omegaverse) Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon.

🩷 Give it All by mirilik / @louis-arssets

(NR, 18k, uni) Somehow things get complicated when Louis starts dating Nick and Harry realises that he might have some feelings for his mate which are very not appropriate for a best friend.

🩷 lost stars by @tommolinson

(M, 14k, addiction) a story about losing and finding yourself again (and finding love within yourself, and others)

🩷 Neptune by Pumpkinspice_Lou / @c-e-d-dreamer

(G, 14k, high school) Harry has always been in love with his best friend Louis, but when new student and goal keeper Zayn starts getting close with Louis, Harry can't help but assume the worst.

🩷 waiting room is getting crowded by harrysboy / @calumsboy

(T, 13k, exes) broken-up harry and louis both decide to get their oops and hi tattoos covered. what they didn't decide on, however, was having their appointments booked for the same time.

🩷 feed a fever, starve a heart by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 12k, alpha/alpha) Most people don’t find their soulmates before they present, especially since soulmate identification can only come through pheromones released after presentation. But if a first rut or heat begins without the person’s soulmate present, so does dangerous rut fever.

🩷 contingencies by honey_beeing

(M, 10k, famous/famous au) where Louis and Harry are actors who long ago were married on set and find out too late. Like twenty five years too late.

🩷 Always Yours by heartbreakwthr

(E, 8k, roommates) Prompt 89: Jealous and Possessive Harry when someone new arrives in their group and has a crush on Louis.

🩷 You Keep Pulling Me In by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 5k, girl direction) Being invited to a high school reunion was pretty much the last thing Harry wanted, so of course it had to happen. What happens when her friend and co-worker, Louis, offers to be her fake girlfriend for the evening?

🩷 Harry Styles is NOT Refundable by IceQueenRia

(E, 4k, sex work) He needed a date. But it turned out ‘come to my ex-girlfriend’s engagement party’ wasn’t a great pick-up line. So Louis looked online and hired an escort.

🩷 You Can't Go To Bed Without A Cup Of Tea by @enchantedlandcoffee

(G, 333 words, canon) Louis can't sleep and stumbles across a sad Harry on his way to make a cup of tea.

- Rare Pairs -

🩷 The Duke and the Poor Sods Who Work For Him (series) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 8k, Zayn/Liam, Louis/Harry, Niall/Lewis Capaldi) “I have decided,” Louis Tomlinson, Duke of Elbany announces as he flounces into the room, “that we must have a hermit for our woods!” Liam Payne, not a Duke of much of anything, is very used to statements like these. They make him tired. “A… hermit, sir?”

🩷 (un)stuck by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(T, 3k, Zayn/Harry) Coworkers Zayn and Harry find themselves stuck in their office elevator together one evening after work. In such a small space, there may not be enough room for Zayn's crush on Harry to stay hidden.

🩷 Pink Guinea Club by @haztobegood

(NR, 837 words, Harry/Chappell Roan) Harry's one night stand was interrupted by four adorable guinea pigs.

[sunsettsam]

dressing the hero

I 80s! soldierboy x fem! reader

I warnings: none! pure banter, reader is a little apprehensive/shy at first, reader pining for soldier boy, possible friendship? fluff? soldier boy being a bit of a loveable jerk..

I synopsis: you knew the difficulties that came with being in a company like Vought, even more so having a crush on america's favorite hero.

god you had a massive crush on him..

I mean you really were in love with him, the entanglement of it all was so difficult to deal with.

You weren't a hero, no, you didn't have any abilities, and you didn't have a bomb dropped on you or some weird chemicals put into your system as a baby. You were as normal as one could be, working in the costuming department of Vought as a seamstress, you were a part of the team that manufactured the beloved hero's supe suits and event outfits, custom and american made, just how Vought portrayed themselves to be. you were never out in the field, you only ever saw a glimpse of him and shared quiet moments when he would be forced to come into the studio for nicks in his suit needing repair, or his shield needing polishing.

He was Soldier Boy - of course, he held the hearts of millions in the palm of his hand, with that cocky smirk and gorgeous face there's nothing he probably couldn't get away with. you worked in the fashion department why would he ever-

''anyone in here? need one of you fashion nerds to fix my damn suit'' That voice, oh it was him, there's a familiarity within it, you didn't even have to look toward him, knowing it was him just by the tone and gruff exterior. looking up from your sketchbook, your eyes met his, it was only for a moment before you quickly got up, putting your glasses on, assessing the damage on his suit.

''what happened? was this caused by a mission or-'' you couldn't even finish your sentence before he butted in, almost ignoring you

''some stupid slut decided it was a good idea to try on my helmet during a threesome..'' he looks to you, his gaze calculated and cold.

''oh well that's... i can see the scuff marks...'' you looked closer at his helmet, seeing streaks against the fibre, then seeing the faded white marks on his suit.

''yeah take care of that too while you're at it..'' he grumbles, handing you his suit, which is a bit heavy for you, letting out a small ''oof'' at the sheer weight of it, but nonetheless, bringing it to the large table, laying the suit down, smoothing it out.

he lingered for a bit, watching you work, meticulous with your tools, grabbing the material used in his suit, cutting out the spots that were messed up- presumably during the.. threesome.. and replacing it with better fabric, using black string to thread through the hard exterior of the suit, throwing away the scraps.

''so you're the one making all of our suits huh..'' he asks, pulling a cigarette out from his pocket, lighting it, his fingers encapsulated over the wrapped tobacco, tapping the edge of it before bringing it to his mouth, inhaling it, before letting smoke out.

''well its- not just me- its the department as a whole- but- i- did help Mr. Edgar with the design process..'' you hum, a pin in your mouth as you finish threading the new material onto his suit, making sure to knot it tightly, grabbing scissors and cutting the excess.

he nods, compliant - for some reason he doesn't seem as boisterous or brute as he usually is with Payback. ''so what.. you just.. stay here? in this cramped little studio all day?'' he asks, you nod.

''tsk.. that sucks sweetheart..'' he looks to you ''you look like you don't get out much..'' and you laugh at that, you really didn't. I mean sure you went out to dinner by yourself occasionally but- you were so busy with commissions from Vought that you hardly had time to try and go out on a date. you knew of his nature toward women, how even when he was 'apparently' with crimson countess - he still made himself available to other women, winking at them, acting all cocky, like a self-righteous knight from a fairytale.

''i try to go out..'' you reply, putting the tools down, picking up his helmet, looking at the scuffs before grabbing a can of wd40 and putting some on a cloth, gently rubbing it onto the marks.

''really? where? the bookstore?'' he scoffs, a playful smirk on his face.

''yes actually.. its quite fun.. maybe you'd find something you like in there..''

''readings for nerds..'' he rolls his eyes, trying to get a reaction out of you, to which you take offense - to which he grins.

''reading is for- intellectual people...'' you cite, trying to remain calm and not burst at the seams from his comment, throwing the rag away and grabbing some sealant paint, gently brushing it over the now faded scuff marks.

'riiighhht... yeah.. intellectual people..'' he repeats, smirking. ''well then maybe the next time you're at the bookstore.. pick something out for me.''

that's when you perk up, looking at him, adjusting your stylist glasses, your cheeks go just a tad pink and you blink. he- i mean- the soldier boy- wants you to pick out a book for him? out of your own whim?

''nothing boring okay? i fuckin hate long books.. need somethin with action.. maybe a hot lady on the front of the cover..'' he interjects before you can say anything, noticing your flushed cheeks.

''um- yeah- i can... totally pick up a.. book for you..'' you nod almost eagerly as you finish fixing up his helmet, the sealant paint now dry, and he comes forward, tapping the end of the cigarette on the ground, smushing it beneath his boot.

''good..and.. thanks for the fix-up sweetheart..'' he replies, taking his newly fixed suit and helmet from your hands, you feel a small jolt of electricity as your fingers graze his, and for a moment you almost smile cheekily, a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest, your brain going into overdrive. it was just a book.. he only wanted you to pick out a book for him.. but then again.. he wanted you .. to pick out a book for him... that nickname ringing in your ears like churchbells, and as soon as he leaves, you nearly explode. oh god.. you truly were head over heels for him..

authors note: soooo.. after a long while.. im back! i plan on making this a three part series.. so stay tuned lovies!! thank you all for being patient with me, i have so many ideas to put out!! <3

(please do not copy/ post my works on other platforms!! thank you thank you!!)

[angeliccumwhore]

𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 ' 𝐏𝟏

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐭? 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

quick warning: smut, cursing, vulgar language, lewd comments, references to sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, oral (both reciprocal), viewer discretion advised before reading ahead.ᐟ ( sexual content is NOT in this part, yet!)

another intermission: sorry! this is my first time publishing on tumblr so PLEASE bare with me! any mistakes spotted? inbox me! xoxo , stasia 💋

happy reading .ᐟ

————————————————————————————————————————

listen to . . . FREAK : DOJA CAT

chris was sweet. always funny and smiley. it was so genuine, it made you fall so in love with him. but, that was high school. from skipping school and sneaking in through your bedroom window, to late night giggling and him messily taking your virginity in junior year, you guys had always been close. it had been a long, difficult two years since you’ve even seen chris. which in a way, broke your heart. when you ended things with him, due to college and the desire to just stay friends, he immediately became distant. wanting to just be friends? pfft, with chris? that’s not gonna happen. you had grown to terms with it, being with a few different men. but of course, like he always does, chris came back around. not because he wanted to, but because your best friend, lindsey, was dating his one of his triplet brothers, matt. you had no problem with matt, or nick, you never really did. matt was like an older brother, and nick was like a close friend. but, the way matt was around, meant chris was too.

you weren’t accustomed to frat parties yet, but you were accustomed to drinking your ass off. plus, lindsey and matt were there. aaaand so was chris. when you walked in, you both exchanged brief ‘hellos’, but you didn’t plan on going anywhere farther, knowing exactly where you’d probably wake up. “did you talk to him?” lindsey asked, nodding her head towards chris. “i mean, just said hi. he didn’t really look at me. maybe he didn’t recognize me.” you replied, mumbling a little while sipping on vodka. “oh, come on. girl, you look good. but you always have. theres no way he doesn’t know that’s you. it’s been 2 years, not 4.” lindsey laughed a little, adjusting her dress strap. “well, matt is telling him to talk to you, so you can’t be mad at me.” lindsey giggled, walking off before you could react. you groaned, whipping your head around to look at matt talking to chris. it was easy to spot two boys next to each other who just so happen to look the same. but, matt wasnt really your focus. you studied chris, long hair cut short, studs on his ears, skin clear, jawline impossibly sharper, and the stubble. the fucking stubble. it was hard not to let your mind wander back to senior year, and how the face looming over you had changed. and he was hot.

but you turned away when chris met your gaze, matt had walked off after talking to him. you threw a sideways glance, seeing he was stilling staring. you looked around a little, before locking onto his blue eyes that could make you drown. he immediately had you in a trance, as per usual, but it broke the second you noticed he was walking, towards you. it caught you off guard, but you still fixed your posture and hair. your gaze on him didn’t falter until he was in-front of you. neither of you broke the silence, until chris did. he always did. “hey.” he said a little too quietly for his persona. “hi.” you responded, pretending to be very interested in the flashing lights at the party. “it’s been 2 years, you can’t even look at me?” he asked, face solemn, and you immediately snapped your eyes back to his face. “uh..sorry.” you muttered, eyes scanning his face. sleepy blue eyes, pink lips, pale skin, and the fucking stubble. if you said that didn’t make you wet it would be a lie.

chris opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, some drunk girl smacked into you, causing you to nearly fall and spill all your vodka on chris’s black shirt. he muttered a curse, and you froze up. “sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to i- i-“ he rolled his eyes. “stop.” he mumbled, slipping the shirt easily off his body (that which made you stay frozen considering the fact you can see his bare chest). “fuck, y/n.” he huffed, using the shirt to wipe off the vodka that seeped through onto his skin. “i’m sorry.” you muttered, looking at his shirt. “whatever.” he scoffed, throwing the shirt over his shoulder, before walking off.

back at your apartment, lindsey and you sat on one side of the couch, sleepy matt laying on the other one, loosing consciousness the second lindsey draped a blanket over him. you were quiet, contemplating the whole night and all of your choices. “you okay?” lindsey whispered, face looking sympathetic. “i guess,” you whispered back, “i’m so fucking dumb. i spilled vodka on him, the one chance that we actually got to talk.” you rubbed your face. “i know. was he upset?” lindsey asked, not trying to pry too hard. “i mean, yeah. rightfully so. he didn’t yell but he was totally pissed off with me.” lindsey frowned, “it was an accident, though. wasn’t it?” you shrugged, “well, yeah. this random bitch bumped into me and literally threw me forwards, smack into him. i still feel bad, even if it was an accident.” before lindsey could speak again, a harsh knock hit the door. it startled matt, rousing him from sleep as lindsey started for the door. lindsey pushed herself up on her tip-toes and glared out the peephole. she sighed, but reluctantly opened the door. for chris. he walked in immediately, “jus’ lookin’ for matt.” he mumbled, walking over to the couch where matt had fallen back asleep. chris sighed, expression softening. you stared at chris and then the door, he had came in the room to fast you had zero time to process anything. “uh, he’s pretty much out for the night. i’m about to bring him upstairs with me. y’welcome to stay til morning and the two of you can leave then.” lindsey suggested, the look in her eyes a bit pleading, she was yearning for you and chris to get back together. he huffed, but agreed with a stiff nod. “wait, what?” you asked. “he’s staying? why?” you stood up. lindsey glared at you, as if saying ‘let him stay! maybe angry sex will fix you two’. you sighed. “whatever.” lindsey brought matt upstairs, leaving you and chris alone.

sleeping on the couch knowing that chris was on the opposite side was nerve wracking. just his presence made you wary. you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. chris wasn’t asleep, the blue light coming from his phone illuminating his cheekbones. he was clearly distracted, and you immediately took the chance to study him. your eyes floated from his hair to his lips, to his collarbone, to his black shirt, to his low hanging sweatpants, and settling on his crotch. he noticed. he always noticed.

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Undercover (Steve Rodgers x Reader) 

“Rodgers! Y/L/N!” Nick Fury walked into the Avengers tower, calling both your name and Steve’s. You got up from where you were reading at the table, and Steve walked into the room. Tony snorted at how much more respectful you both were to Nick than he was. Nick shot Tony a look, and returned his attention to you. “I’ve got a mission for you both. It’s undercover, aliases, the whole ordeal.”

You nodded, and so did Steve. “What are the aliases?” you asked curiously. Steve glanced over at you, then looked back at Nick for him to answer the questions. 

“You two will be posing as a young married couple at a gala. There’s a man who works at Hydra who has a good amount of intel, and he’s bringing his wife. Your best in will be to small talk the information out of them. Should be easier, considering there’s going to be a lot of champagne and probably other forms of alcohol,” Nick informed. 

You felt like your eyes were going to pop out of your skull. Young married couple?? The thought already made you nervous. Acting like you were married to Steve… it sounded both like a dream come true and your worst nightmare. You had definitely developed a pretty big crush on him, which was going to make this easier, yet more difficult. And how were you supposed to focus if you kept concentrating on him and acting like you were married? Ughh, why did Nick have to give you this mission? Granted, you would’ve been jealous if he’d asked Natasha to pretend to be Steve’s wife, but you were nervous as hell.

Little did you know, Steve’s nerves were jumping off the walls of his insides as well. He adored you. He thought you were the cutest, most incredible human on earth, and he would love to pretend to be your husband for the night. His biggest fear was that something would accidentally slip out, and he’d end up confessing his feelings to you. And that? That was terrifying. What if you thought he was crazy and never wanted to be around him again? What if you felt uncomfortable dating a guy who was technically ninety-six? Of course, he still looked twenty-seven—he felt twenty-seven— but he was from a different time. Worst of all, what if you just didn’t like him, at all? Horrifying thought. Nope, no way he was going to confess to you. He was going to keep his mouth shut as much as he could possibly help, and hope that nothing slipped out while you two were on mission. 

“Conveniently,” Nick continued, and you snapped out of your thoughts. “You, Steve, are physically impossible to get drunk. If he challenges you to a drinking contest, you do it. But keep an eye on how much he drinks. You want him loose-lipped enough to get some information out of him, but not so inebriated that nothing he says is coherent. Find the balance.”

Steve nodded in understanding, and Nick turned to you. 

“You know as well as I do that wives often know more than they let on. If you can get his wife comfortable enough with you, I would see what information she has to offer. She might be a valuable asset,” Nick suggested. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” you answered. 

In the kitchen, Natasha leaned over to Tony and whispered, “what are the chances you think Fury’s putting them together to see if they’ll actually get over themselves and go on a damn date?”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “Fury? Really?”

Natasha shrugged. 

“I mean, you or me I could definitely see doing that, but Fury? Man’s all business,” Tony said. “It’s annoying, actually.”

“Okay, sure, but a young married couple?” Natasha pointed out. She was still keeping her voice done. You and Steve weren’t terribly far from the kitchen as you listened to Nick explaining the details of the mission, and she didn’t want her conversation with Tony heard. 

“Yeah, that’s a little suspicious,” Tony admitted. “It does work for the mission, though.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Natasha said, a hint of agitation seeping into her voice. “I’m just saying. I think that Fury’s put them together intentionally.”

“Do you wanna place some bets?” Tony offered. 

“Ten bucks they get together, five bucks Fury chose this for them intentionally,” Natasha replied, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“Deal.”

Tony shook Natasha’s hand. 

— — — 

Steve was dressed in a suit and you were wearing one of your favorite formal dresses. He was in the driver’s seat of the car, driving you both to the gala. “You ready for this?” he asked. 

“Sure am,” you lied through your teeth, smiling at him. 

Steve gave you his fist, and you fist bumped him. “Mr. and Mrs. Wright,” Steve said with a smile. 

“That’s right,” you nodded. 

“Or Wright,” Steve quipped and you started laughing at his cheesy joke. He grinned at you. “We’re gonna do this…” he said in sing-song as he pulled into the parking lot of the venue. “Remember, if you’ve got anything we need to talk about, you tap a glass three times and I’ll meet you in the resting room by the bathroom.”

You nodded in agreement. “Fancy. A resting room by the bathroom.”

Steve laughing. “Sure is.” He got out of the car and walked around to open your door. He held out his hand and helped you out of the car. 

Once you were in the venue, you each got a drink and began to mingle around, looking for your targets. You tried to stay relatively close together, trying to act in a way that would make people think you were a newly married couple. 

Steve nudged your arm slightly, nodding toward a small group gathered near the dance floor. Your target and his wife stood at the center, clearly enjoying the conversation.

“I’ve got an idea,” Steve said. Before you could ask, he was already leading you over, stopping just close enough to catch the attention of the man’s wife.

“Excuse me,” you said with a warm smile. “We’re new to these kinds of events—do you mind if we join you?”

Her face lit up with the kind of politeness that came with social etiquette. “Oh, of course! We were just talking about…”

And just like that, you were in.

— — — 

Soon, you were talking to the target’s wife—her name was Amanda Jefferson—making small talk to get her more comfortable with you. “So, you’re newlyweds? That’s exciting,” Amanda grinned at you. 

“Yes, we are,” you smiled. 

“How long have you been married?” 

“About eight months. He’s just…he’s amazing, I love him. He’s been a pretty consistent part of my life for almost five years now, and I just… I can’t picture life without him anymore.”

Amanda’s face softened. “I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned. “Thank you so much.”

Amanda took a sip of her wine, her smile faltering just slightly as she turned her glass in her hands. “That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s nice to have that kind of certainty.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t sound convinced.”

She let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “No, no, it’s not that. I just—” She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about love like that. Like it’s… easy.”

You frowned. “Love isn’t always easy, but it should feel right, shouldn’t it?”

Amanda exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the other side of the room, where her husband stood, engaged in conversation with a group of people—none of whom were her. “I suppose so.”

You followed her gaze. “How long have you and Mr. Jefferson been married?”

“Six years.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. “Feels like longer.”

There was something almost weary in the way she said it. You watched as she glanced back at her husband again, her expression unreadable but distant, like she was seeing something—or someone—you couldn’t.

“Six years is a long time,” you said carefully. “But… that’s a good thing, right?”

Amanda’s lips pressed together in a thin, tired smile. “Sometimes.” She took another sip of wine. “And sometimes, it’s just… time.”

— — —

Meanwhile, Steve was having a drink with Mr. Jefferson, who seemed relaxed but ever so slightly calculating—like a man who never truly let his guard down.

“You seem like a man who appreciates the details,” Mr. Jefferson remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Steve gave a polite nod. “I try to be.”

Mr. Jefferson smirked. “Good. I respect that.” He set his glass down and adjusted his cuffs. “Actually, I think there’s something you might find interesting—some files I keep in my study. Would you care to take a look?”

Steve met his gaze evenly. “Lead the way.”

— — — 

A couple hours later, you tapped your wine glass three times and gave Steve a look—he’d returned recently from looking at the files with Mr. Jefferson—and then walked to the resting room. A moment later, Steve excused himself, and joined you in the resting room, closing the door behind him. “Oh my God, she hates her husband!” you whispered to Steve. His eyes widened. “She told me a bunch of stuff,” you whispered. “Like the vault in—”

“The vault in Brooklyn!” Steve whisper shouted. 

You grinned. “He was talking to you, too?”

“Well, he’s kind of drunk now, but I got to see a bunch of files. I memorized the code he put in,” Steve said, keeping his voice down still. 

“Oh my God!” you whisper shouted back. Then you heard footsteps approaching, and someone was about to open the door. Shit. What if they found out what you and Steve were doing here? Suddenly, Steve cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. You were shocked but quickly fell into it, and then the door opened. 

A man walked in. “Oh, sorry, guys. I’ll just… leave you alone.” And he left. 

You turned to look back at Steve. He looked nervous. “I’m sorry, it was the first thing I came up with and—”

Before you could rethink your decision, you cupped his face with your hands and pulled him back to you, kissing him again. He immediately started kissing you back, his hands finding your waist and barely holding you there. He was tentative, careful. When you broke away, you said softly, “we should probably, uh, go back to work.”

Steve shrugged with a slight playful smile. “Eh. He’s drunk off his mind anyway.” 

You smiled and he pulled you back, kissing you again. “So…” you said a moment later. “Should we go home…?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking at you affectionately. “And maybe…maybe I can take you on a real date tomorrow…?”

You grinned. “Yes.” 

[stopper-my-heart]

Heartstopper S2E4

I love this moment after Nick sits where he just takes Charlie in (and takes in loving him, if his subsequent lip bite is anything to go by). Charlie's delight at it and at Nick is also fantastic.

[nnicknnelsonn]

knows what nick has in mind

is fully onboard with that plan

{prev} so in love {next}

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations

[lilcathsmith]

Crime Show Meme - CSI insp [3/5 characters]

"Do you believe in past lives? No, ma'am. How come?. Because I'm just trying to make it through this one." - Nick Stokes (portrayed by George Eads, 2000 - 2015)

[sundayin96]

watermour + text post meme (part 38) // inspiration credit to @watermourdivorce and their top tier watermour coded reblogs