#stop looking for logical truth and start feeling emotional ones

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“ 

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths. 

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds. 

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping. 

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.” 

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner. 

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute. 

“Pretty banged up.” 

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else. 

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?” 

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym. 

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm. 

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause. 

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.” 

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more. 

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home. 

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise. 

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s not awake.” 

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see. 

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion. 

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.” 

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision. 

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation. 

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”  

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go. 

She's not wrong. 

You need to go to bed. 

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him. 

Simon asked you stay with him. 

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back? 

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap? 

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all. 

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs. 

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery. 

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients. 

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment. 

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh? 

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here? 

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested. 

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath. 

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown. 

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job. 

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck. 

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway. 

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

THEODORE NOTT— a popular slytherin, an introvert at heart, despite his reputation as a womanizer. theodore nott, who has a big, terrible communication problem.

with the pure terror of displaying his vulnerable emotions, theodore smokes cigarettes to force his emotions to disappear with the wind; bites his inner lip and cheek until his mouth bleeds, so no tears threaten to make way to his eyes.

when theodore nott cries, he stares blankly into the wall. he doesn't sob— sobbing would make him even weaker, more vulnerable, less capable and definitely useless, in his father's eyes.

silent tears are the epitome of theodore's sadness, because other than that, his sadness, stress and troubled thoughts are never known. hidden by a mask of stoic expressions.

theodore nott is 'stupid' smart. if he wasn't a slytherin at heart and soul, then he'd be a ravenclaw, or at least that's what the professors comment amongst them. theo enjoys reading, and would easily spend his afternoon on a silent, vacant corner of the castle, devouring a book in few hours.

he lies, saying that it's simply because knowledge is a good weapon. he'd be saying the truth, if theodore confesses that he reads this much, because whether be it fiction or not, he can escape his thoughts to fully concentrate on the book's contents.

theodore nott is knowledgeable, theodore nott is a good, straight-A's student. theodore nott is quick-witted; you wouldn't want to banter with him, because usually, he gets the last word with a victorious, cheeky smile— an insufferable cocky grin.

and yet, shamefully, theodore nott has no idea how to verbalize his feelings.

every good liar is like this, he'd argue. in exchange of spilling the most atrocious lies with a straight face and nonchalant tone, theodore finds it awfully hard to tell the truth.

ask him what's wrong— you can do that, sure. now, if theodore will answer you, that's another story. and to give you a genuine answer, if he doesn't snap? then an angel must have fallen down its altar.

then, if he can't verbalize or trust anyone, not even mattheo riddle or lorenzo berkshire on a good day— what does theodore nott do, to deal with his full mind and empty heart?

theodore nott destroys.

he destroys other living beings,

being the first one to join mattheo riddle, with a smile on his face, when his best friend snaps at the smallest hint of disrespect. throwing a (not really) deserved punch at a guy that honestly, if you ask him afterwards, theodore has no idea what he done wrong.

when lorenzo scolds mattheo for starting a fight and reprimands theodore for indulging it, the slytherin simply shrugs. he's "looking out for his bro", he says. that's only partially true, as much as he deeply cares for mattheo.

everytime that he starts fights, like a rabid dog. theodore doesn't really know when he stopped being il dolce ragazzo of his madre. when he became a dog that bites without thinking about barking first. "so much for claiming to be the logical one," — lorenzo muses.

... he destroys himself.

which would explain the concerning amount of muggle, wizarding, flavored, all shaped packs of cigarettes he owns. there isn't a brand that he didn't try, at least once— the more harmful, the better.

smoking until his lungs become as black as his heart, as his dark thoughts. smoking, until he drops dead with his worries. smoking, until theodore nott becomes a better man (something that he doubts he could do, for he was born a broken man— born from a couple that should have never crossed paths with each other).

consequently, damaging his hands. skin that becomes calloused and slightly scarred from the cigarettes. knuckles constantly bruised from throwing punches at gryffindors or smartass ravenclaws.

so, theodore nott starts believing that he's unlovable. that loving him— oh, that would be torture. pure masochism, that he wouldn't wish to anyone, not even the witch he dislikes or rolls his eyes at the most.

and that becomes a creeping fear of his. oh, theodore is terrified, when the thought of becoming like his father plagues his mind.

to think that he'd become such a disgusting man, the man who brought so much pain to his mother, that killed the only person who truly loved him.

what would his mother say, if she saw him like this?

would she be disappointed, would she be ashamed to even spare a look at him? would her beautiful porcelain face become a frown, would she walk away, disgusted?

theodore consumes three more cigarettes on that thought alone.

... or would she give him a sympathetic look, gazing at her dolce, bravo ragazzo with those tender eyes of hers? a shade of blue, that theodore was fortunate to inherit.

a sad smile makes its way to his lips. because now, even for a brief moment, theo is himself again. he's not a casanova slytherin, he's not the heir of the nott family. theodore nott is simply his mother's little boy, her teddy.

in honor of such bittersweet memories, theo drops his cigarette and doesn't smoke for at least 24 hours.

theo doesn't know how to deal with comfort. genuinely tender touches, fingertips grazing his skin so lightly—

of desperately needy, lustful touches, he knows. he knows them very well, from all those times he slept with a woman, ruined her for the next guy. from the times a slytherin girl gripped and pushed his hair, needing, begging more of his mouth on her; or when a gryffindor got so lost in pleasure that she left the mark of her nails on his back; when a hufflepuff senior clenched her fingers on his torso, hips and shoulders, screaming for more, deeper, faster; that time when he found a way to shut up a particularly insufferable ravenclaw know-it-all by fucking her mouth, and when he felt the back of her throat on him, the stubborn ravenclaw gripped, scratched, protested on his thighs.

of harsh, violent, cruel, merciless touches, everytime mr. nott decided that a disgusted, disappointed gaze wasn't enough to educate his son. when those knuckles adorned with rings curled into a fist, and theodore was beaten into discipline. all those times he started fights and consequently got hit by a punch or two, even though theodore is a good fighter, and makes sure that even if he does get hurt, the receiving end is in worse state, in need of more than one night in the infirmary wing.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

... but comforting, meant to soothe, gentle touches? oh, theo is terrified of them. rather than flinching away from a fist coming his way, theo looks like a scaredy cat when fingers come to brush his hair away from his face, with all the love and care of the world.

theo doesn't know those touches. to be fair, yes, he was acquainted with them once— but that was long, long ago, when his mother was still alive. a life ago, really, because sometimes theodore wonders if he's the same teddy he once was, under the protective but loving arms of his mother.

so at first, theo panics when you hug him, when you physically bring comfort to his broken, damaged heart.

but then?

then, after he gets a taste of how heavenly it feels to be held by someone he loves? then, theo embraces the fact that he is indeed a touch starved man. then, theo completely and shamelessly melts under your touch, relaxing in your embrace, wishing to never leave this safe haven.

( or maybe he does. a little voice on the back of his mind, menacingly suggesting that this safe haven, this loving harbor — you — might disappear into thin air by the cruel hands of his father, the same he did with his mother. )

but before his truly prodigious brain dares to overthink once again— your hands comb through his hair, brushing it back along with his worries, massaging the scalp and melting the troubled thoughts away. that's when theo closes his eyes. that's when he, finally, is in peace with himself.

and if you'd ask him; this is when and where theodore nott is the happiest. this is when theodore nott is teddy again.

౨ৎ these voices in my head screaming ♡ ͡

run now. i'm praying that they're human . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— my motivation? it's a silly little drabble, about my favorite slytherin. theodore nott deserves love, seriously.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[stuckinthesun]

How about Leon x reader one where Leon is a lot more experienced than reader and because of that and the whole Ada situation (with her just randomley appearing) she’s been putting off having sex with Leon.. Leon finally catches on and reassures her that she is all he wants and then they gave sex

the end ⭐️⭐️⭐️❤️

Yessss Ada angst is just *chefs kiss*

Ily ⭐️🫶

Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nsfw, slight angst, p in v, soft dom!Leon, oral sex (fem receiving), mention of aftercare

wc: 2.3k

Leon Masterlist

You and Leon have been dating for a little over a year now, you love this man so much and you know he feels the same about you.

Even so, the two of you still haven’t had sex.

Honestly the two of you have barely done anything other than make out. There were a handful of times where you jacked him off while he rubbed your clit, but other than that, the two of you have done nothing together sexually.

Leon has tried to take the next step before, pull you into his lap while kissing you, rubbing your thighs or slipping his hands under your shirt. You always stopped him though, saying you weren’t ready or that you weren’t in the mood.

He was always a gentleman, saying that it was perfectly fine and that you guys would go at your pace. You were thankful, of course, but it also made you feel guilty.

The truth was, it’s not that you weren’t ready. God did you want that man to fuck you senseless, but you were scared you wouldn’t be good enough. You weren’t very experienced sexually, and you don’t want to sound like one of those girlfriends, but he is.

Leon has been very honest with you about his lack of a stable relationship before you. How he spent years just bed hopping and never settling down, especially with a reoccurring morally grey, red wearing, freelance agent.

So you were scared you wouldn’t be able to live up to his expectations, even though you knew logically that he didn’t have any.

Tonight had been one of these moments, the two of you were making out and Leon pulled you into his lap. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you closer, letting you feel just how hard he was.

You moaned but instinctively pulled away, feeling that small bit of panic building. Leon’s face instantly softened, but he also looked confused and it made you feel even more guilty than usual.

“Baby,” He started, tone soft, “You know I’m more than willing to wait until you’re comfortable to have sex, and I don’t want you to feel pressured by any means, but is it something I’m doing?”

A different type of panic filled you, “No! Oh my god, Leon no absolutely not! You’re perfect and probably really good at it and just, you’ve probably had sex with women who know exactly how to make you feel good and I’ve barely done anything and-“

Your rambling was cut off by Leon putting his hand over your mouth. You looked at him, not having even realized you were looking at your lap in your panic, and saw his look of confusion had deepened.

“Wait, so the reason you haven’t wanted to have sex is because you don’t think… you’ll be good enough at it for me?” Leon asked, saying the last part like it was painful.

Suddenly embarrassed and with his hand still over your mouth, all you could do was sheepishly nod.

“Oh, honey.” He immediately melted, moving his hand to cup your face and pull you down into a kiss. It was gentle this time and you gripped his t-shirt to ground yourself, your head spinning from the emotional whiplash.

“I love you,” Leon said the moment he pulled away from the kiss, making you smile.

“I love you too.”

“And it doesn’t matter if you’re bad in bed, which I don’t think you will be by the way,” He whispered the last part teasingly, making you blush and giggle, “but even if you are, it’s not a big deal because I love you and I just want to be with you, okay?”

“Leon-“

“Besides,” He cut you off by wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up, causing you to yelp, “I don’t plan on making you do much of the work, anyway.”

You realized Leon was carrying you in the direction of your shared bedroom, making you squirm “Wait what? Leon-“

“Now that I know what the problem is, my love, I can fix it.” He said, walking into the room and gently setting you on the bed.

He knelt down in front of you and rubbed his hands along your thighs soothingly, “Can I show you how much I want you, and just you?”

You stared at him and he stared right back, his face telling you just how serious he was. In that moment for the first time you didn’t feel scared, you felt wanted.

“Yeah.” You nodded and Leon gave you the sweetest smile.

“Thank you baby,” He said, leaning up and kissing you again, just as sweetly as before.

This time when his hand’s started to slip under your shirt and push the fabric up, exposing your skin, you let him. You didn’t flinch or move away, instead you gasped a little into the kiss, causing him to smirk against you.

“So sensitive,” Leon teased, and you whined a little, pouting into the kiss, “It’s cute baby, don’t worry.”

Leon pulled away from you and slipped your shirt over your head, and both of you were glad you weren’t wearing a bra, having already changed into your pajamas.

Although the two of you haven’t had sex before, that doesn’t mean Leon hasn’t seen you naked. He has, multiple times actually, but this is the first time he’s seeing you naked in a sexual manner. Yes you guys have done touched each other in the past, but it was always with the lights off and clothes on. It was never like this, never something so intimate.

So when you brushed your hair out of your eyes and looked down to see Leon just staring at your chest, you immediately felt uncomfortable.

“Don’t stare,” You mumble, crossing your arms to cover yourself.

Leon blinks a few times and literally shakes his head a few times to snap himself out of whatever trance he was under, before looking at you face again with an embarrassed blush, “Sorry, you’re just really beautiful.”

Now you’re the one that’s blushing, you’re eyes widening. Flustered and embarrassed you huff and reach down, tugging at the collar of his shirt, “Your turn.”

“Okay okay, impatient much?” He teased before standing up and tugging his shirt off, tossing it across the room. You stare at his defined torso, sculpted from both the gym and hard work.

“You have no right to call me beautiful when you look like that.” You hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud, thinking you would be met with a teasing laugh. Instead you were flicked in the forehead.

“We really need to work on your confidence.” Leon huffed, looking at you with almost a sad look in his eyes.

You furrow your eyebrows and open your mouth to say something but he’s already gone back to playful, leaning down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and ask, “Now, do you think you can lay back on the bed for me pretty girl?”

You’re eyes widen at the pet name and you’re automatically nodding, making him smile, “Good, come on I’ll help you.”

He does, he gently lays your head against the pillows and presses kisses along your lips, cheeks, neck and collarbone as he does so. The further down his mouth travels the wetter the kisses become, making goosebumps appear on your skin and small moans escape your mouth.

“There you go princess, just relax.” Leon whispers against your stomach as his fingers slip into the waistband of your sleep shorts, slowly slipping them off.

“Fuck baby, already so wet for me.” He groaned and you couldn’t help but squirm a little as he practically peeled your panties away from your cunt.

You looked up when he leaned away from you, fully pulling your shorts and underwear off and tossing them without looking, fully focused on your dripping center. That alone had you rolling your hips against nothing, making Leon spread your legs and scoot further down the bed to settle between them, “I know baby, I know just keep your legs spread for me okay?”

His tongue licked a long wet stripe between your folds before you could even nod. You let out a loud moan, your hands instantly flying down to tangle in his hair. He groaned against you, the vibrations of his voice making you roll your hips against his face.

You’ve only ever had one guy go down on you and already Leon far surpassed him. You’re back arched as he circles your clit with his tongue before sucking on it, rolling it a little between his lips.

“F-fuck Leon.” You babble breathlessly, your head turning into the pillow.

He continues like that for a little longer until he moves lower, his tongue nudging your entrance until it’s inside of you. Almost immediately you feel that familiar coil in your abdomen, making you moan louder and pull at Leon’s hair, “I’m so close fuck please I’m gonna-“

With his tongue inside of you and his nose nudging your clit, while he moans likes he’s the one being pleasured, you cum hard. You’re back arches almost painfully and you pull him closer to you, riding out the best high of your life.

As you come down you have to pull Leon off of you, his tongue still thrusting inside of you, overstimulating you.

“Sorry baby,” He mumbled, and you get the feeling he isn’t actually sorry. You look down at him and his mouth and chin are completely covered in your slick, and it’s by far the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You feeling okay?”

“Please fuck me.” You beg, reaching down to grab his face and yank him up to you, kissing him despite the mess, “Right now,”

“I planned to.” Leon smirked and gave you another quick kiss before standing up and stepping out of his sweatpants. He was already hard and leaking, and your eyes widened at the sight.

“You had me humping the bed like a teenager there baby, you sounded so hot.” He said reaching into his nightstand drawer and pulling out a condom.

When you raised an eyebrow at the little foil packet he just shrugged, “I like to be prepared.”

You watched as he ripped open the little packet and pulled the condom out, rolling onto his cock after giving it a few strokes.

Leon held his length in his hand, slowly sliding the head through your folds, gathering your slick and working you back up. Soon you were rolling your hips with him, the head of his cock massaging your clit.

“Read baby?” He asked, leaning down so your foreheads were touching.

“Yes.” You moaned, nodding against him.

Leon nodded and leaned back again, watching as he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in.

“Fuuuuck,” Leon groaned as he watched the head pop inside. Your mouth opened on a silent scream, fists clutching the sheets tightly.

“Hold on to me baby, I’m right here.” Leon whispered, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him as he slid in more. “There you go princess, just stay with me.”

Once he was all the way inside he stopped moving, letting you adjust to the new feeling of him being inside of you. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had sex and the feeling was almost overwhelming.

You took some deep breath’s and tried to keep your body relaxed, trying to remember the pleasure from moments ago and not the pain of right now.

The pillow behind your head crinkles suddenly, and you crack an eye open to see Leon white knuckling it. All at once you’re aware of how much he’s twitching inside of you, how hard he’s breathing and his breathy little moans. He’s trying so hard not to move, and you can’t help but smile.

Maybe you really were worried for nothing.

You tilt your head to the side to whisper in his ear, “You can move.”

“Okay,” He says with a raspy voice and slowly starts to roll his hips, causing both of you to moan.

The rolls of his hips turn into thrusts and soon he has a rhythm, fucking into you with purpose. He almost immediately finds your sweet spot, hitting it every time, making you see stars and claw welts on his back.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good just like I imagined. So perfect, absolutely perfect like this on your back for me moaning my name.”

“L-Leon,” You moan exactly like he said, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer, deeper.

“S-shit baby I don’t think I’m gonna last long,” Leon groans into your neck, fucking into you erratically.

“Me too, fuck I’m gonna-“ You’re second orgasm is ripped from you without warning, making your eye’s roll and your legs shake.

“God!” The feeling of your walls tightening around him pulls Leon right along with you, his hips stuttering as he fills the condom.

He fucks both of you through your orgasms until it becomes too much, and he slowly pulls out of you before flopping down next to you on the bed.

The two of you lay there, panting and boneless, and you try not to think about the gross feeling of your slick drying between your legs.

“Wow.” You mumble, staring at the ceiling.

Leon chuckles, “Yeah, wow.”

You hear what sounds like him pulling off the condom but you’re too exhausted to actually sit up and look.

It’s okay though, because suddenly Leon is leaning next to you, head resting on his arm and and a smile on his face, “So, did that help your worries?”

You turn your head a little too face him and give him a small smile, “Yeah, thank you.”

“Of course, my love.” Leon beamed, leaning down to kiss you, “Now why don’t I run us a bath, hmm?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

This might be my best one yet🤔

[love-byers]

so as hard as it may be to believe, i was a mileven shipper right up until just before vol 2 of s4 came out. not hardcore twitter mileven, but a shipper nonetheless. i did love will and mike's relationship, maybe even more than mileven, but i never clocked it as romantic. i vividly remember thinking "aww, will and mike would be so cute together but they would never let that happen." and never thought about it again. even when i saw the rain fight and heard "it's not my fault you don't like girls" i was like "ohh wow so will is probably gay" and didn't even think he was in love with mike. i didn't believe that until the s4 trailer said "i think there is someone he likes" and of course, this was because of my own heteronormativity. i dismissed everything i saw and didn't even look for hints because the idea that the writers would allow a gay relationship between two main characters was not even a thought in my head. once i dropped that and started to trust that the writers actually cared and did want queer characters/storylines, everything made sense.

so i went into s4 thinking mileven were gonna be fine and that will was sad and hopelessly in love with mike. i mean fully believing it. so im mindlessly watching s4 e2 and thinking "aww poor will mike is so in love with el he can't pay attention to will" no questions asked.

then the fight happened. when mike blew up and said "you were! you were! you were rolling your eyes, you were moping, you were barely talking you basically sabotaged the whole day" i was like " how do you know that" but still, i dismissed it and barely thought about it.

then it happened. "we're friends! we're. friends." all the alarm bells went off. red flags flew up. my eyebrows furrowed. "ummm what mike? he didn't say you were more than friends. why is he viewing this romantically and why is he being so defensive???"

i was so deep into believing the writers would never let the gay romance happen, but that just couldn't get past me. there's no other way that line can be interpreted. that's a trope that means one thing and one thing only.

my next thought was "ok, this is gonna be like the rain fight. will is gonna be really hurt by this and go silent."

but nope, will claps back with "well we used to be best friends!" and i was stunned. utterly stunned. what is going on here? what is this dynamic? and why is mike more worried about this than finding el? why did he care enough to completely stop walking so he couple blow up at will for not talking?? but still, i was somehow able to let this go. because the writers just wouldn't do that. would they?

the mileven fight happens and i've never wanted to backhand a teenager more in my entire life. i'm reminded of stancy and their whole "i love you" thing

then THIS happened, and i was thinking more and more that mike doesn't love el romantically. look at his face when will says "whatever you didn't say you can say it to her then". will starts talking but the camera stays focused on mike and will remains blurred. we're supposed to be taking in mikes reaction. he says yes, but frowns and blinks rapidly. will was trying to reassure him, but mike has not been reassured. i don't know how to describe the emotion on his face. it's like you just had a chance to clear up your lie, but you still didn't, and now you're back to thinking about the moment your lie will blow up in your face. it's like his face is saying, "no, i can't just say it to her then because i don't want to."

the scene where they talk on top of the car is what started to make me think mike doesn't love el romantically. his reaction to will saying "it's scary, to say how you really feel. especially to people you care about the most. because..what if they don't like the truth?" he nodded. he felt seen. i remember thinking "ooooh. he doesn't love her and he knows she won't like that" everything made sense. if we apply mike's monologue logic to this, it makes no sense. whatever it is that mike is feeling, he thinks el won't like it. then he supposedly decides that the moment to tell her that is when she's dying?

mike is lying. he was holding back saying how he feels because he knows el won't like it. then when she's dying, he suddenly thinks his feelings are what she wants enough that it'll save her life? whatever he was feeling on top of the car and what he tells her in the monologue are not the same. you don't tell someone something they won't like when they're dying.

and 2 years ago i came to this conclusion without an ounce me believing byler could be canon.

[cepheustarot]

Who will be your love in 2024?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1. As I see it, next year you will have a choice between two people! The first man endowed with self-confidence, quite cheerful, sociable, leads an active lifestyle. At the same time, when you first meet him, you will think that he looks mysterious and in general for you he will be like a "mysterious person", because the person will not immediately talk about himself, will hide his personal information. I would also like to point out that he is more of an observer than an activist, he needs to assess the situation first, gather information and only then act, but he may delay the process.In that sense, he needs someone to push him into action. Also, this man has hard work, diligence, he tries to develop all areas of his life, to achieve balance in them, whatever he takes, he will always succeed. 

Speaking of the second person, he tends to behave closed and cold with people, but despite this external severity, he is quite sensitive inside and vulnerable. By itself, a person does not manifest or manifests rarely emotions in people, he tries to maintain calm and resistance. But he has a good reputation among people, he’s quite intelligent, erudite, spiritual, he respects tradition. Also people can often ask him for help, as he has a lot of experience, he is wise and can always say/do something that will help people. This person is also hard-working and diligent, he can have excellent grades in his studies or good stable salary at work, his activities can be related to people, for example, he can work as a teacher, lecturer, can work/study in law or in the medical field, he can also do podcasts.

Pile 2. Here, your love will be a person from the past, with whom you once stopped communicating. However, you have had quite good and warm relations in the past! By the way, there is a high probability that this is your friend from childhood or from youth, from school days (but this is not necessary, again). It may happen that you will meet by chance somewhere, or this person decides to suddenly call you, write, you will start a dialogue and you will begin to communicate as closely as before. By himself, this person is authoritative, he can be too serious, looks at things rationally, relies more on logic and facts and evidence will be important to him in disputes, not the feelings of a person. He is a good leader, purposeful, and at the same time he is a reliable enough person to trust! He clearly understands what he wants from life and how to get what he wants. He is also honest, always tells the truth to his face, he can be called straightforward. By the way, outwardly he has a pretty toned body, he has an athletic build!

Pile 3. You will meet a person who inspires people, he is a good leader and speaker, he knows how to work in a team and how to achieve success.He is a good planner, and instead of improvising, he prefers planning, acting strictly according to plan, but even if something does not go according to plan, he can calmly adapt to the situation, in this regard he can be called flexibility to adapt. He is also financially literate, does not make mindless purchases, knows how to save money and generally monitors his spending money. He can devote a lot of time and effort to work, in this regard he is a workaholic who does not know what rest is. He is not one of those who likes to lose and admit defeat, so he will stand up to the end in an argument, proving his truth. At the same time, this person is prone to self-sacrifice, it is difficult for him to say "no", he is ready to help loved ones and people, is capable of full dedication. He may have many difficulties and problems in life, but nevertheless he tries to solve them all, and in general he prefers the approach of "it is better to do something that is in my power than to do nothing."

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: ANBU

AHHHH!!!! I love ANBU fics, especially when they involve Sakura. It was such a cool concept, which was unfortunately never fully expanded upon. However, our lack of knowledge regarding the shadow corps allows for some really cool fic ideas since authors can take creative liberty on the structure and workings of the division.

In my opinion, Sakura had the most potential out of team 7 to join ANBU (at least more than Naruto). It's all about being discreet and efficient and although she wasn't strong during og, she possessed abilities that would be valuable for this. Her clever mind, chakra control, and genjutsu potential would've made her a good fit. Naruto was too flamboyant and Sasuke was too reckless and cocky, but this is just my take. However, with her new skill set from her training with Tsunade, I don't think she would be able to go down that path anymore.

Started: 2024.08.06

Last Updated: 2024.08.29

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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Masks by mads999 || ao3 || kakasaku || E || canon divergent || complete

1. Sakura's Inner is far more diabolical than anyone ever expected 2. Crows prove to be cruel mentors 3. Sakura comes to learn exactly how much she hates Kakashi (as well as how alike they are, in the most terrible of ways)

Kakashi is a hateful turd and Sakura is spiteful! I hate this ship and I'm not a big fan of Kakashi here, but boy is this fic good. One of the best character developments I've read for Sakura and she certainly becomes of force to be reconned with. The ANBU lore in Masks is absolutely phenomenal and I love the whole system that is put into place as it adds for some drama (lol). Also, can we talk about how awesome crow summons are????

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Five Kingdoms for the Dead - Evil Is A Relative Term || ffn || M || canon divergence || complete

After the Forest of Death, Sakura comes to realize that being weak is no longer an option. However, she finds that change is sometimes painful and that truth doesn't always come easy. Luckily, she'll have some help along the way.

It's been a while since I've read Five Kingdoms for the Dead, but I just remember it being absolutely great! I'll be honest, I found a lot of the mind stuff pretty confusing at times, but it was still enjoyable. Also, some great characters are utilized in this fic such as Neji, Sai, and Itachi. Makes me really wish that we saw more of Sakura and Neji working together in Naruto since I think they compliment each other quite well.

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Trials of Change - Espoiretreves || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

Haruno Sakura made a promise. Looking in the eyes of her Shisou and the reanimated Hokage, she took on the most important mission of her life. Go back in time and try to prevent the 4th Shinobi War. Now, Sakura is back to her 5-year-old body, with all the knowledge and haunting memories of the future. She vows to keep her precious people safe and stop certain events from happening, without altering the timeline too much. The trials her emotions and logic put her through have her questioning her very existence, but for the sake of peace, she has to push forward. No matter what.

Trials of Change is actually apart of a time travel series and I have to say that it is probably one of the best of the genre! Now, Sakura is not in ANBU here, but she works very closely with team Ro (Kakashi's ANBU team) and it's a huge part of the story, so I'm choosing to count it anyway. I really adore all of the worldbuilding and backstories going on here in addition to the fact that there are breaks. Yes, the story keeps moving, but there are other things going on, like playdates, and not just Sakura trying to save the world. Also, if you love Shisui then definitely check this out since he has a huge role and his and Sakura's friendship is just so precious.

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bite me and see, said the fly to the spider - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || itasaku || T || non-massacre AU || ongoing

In which Sakura is not initially a part of Team 7. In which she wears her failures like armor and brandishes her fears like her most trusted weapons. In which I do what hundreds of other authors have done before me, and rewrite Sakura's story. Non-massacre AU. Canon Divergent. Slow-burn.

After Sakura's first team, consisting of the graduating class's "expendables," dies, she joins team 7 and faces backlash along her shinobi journey. Sakura doesn't join ANBU until the later chapters so fair warning that there isn't too much content in that regards (unless it updates). Nonetheless, Sakura views ANBU as vital to her career as it offers her the highest clearance she can get. Gaining her opportunities for information her civilian-born status didn't allow her privy to.

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The Sixth Shadow - thinknicht || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent - eventual time travel AU || ongoing

No one seemed to find it odd when little Haruno Sakura threw herself smack dab in front of a Chidori and Rasengan. Not even Kakashi stopped to wonder.(He really should have.)

The story of how Sakura came to be the sixth hogake despite all of the challenges thrown her way. I especially love Sakura's drive in addition to the political aspects. However, be warned that Kakashi is an absolute HATER (in the beginning), but he gets better! The Sixth Shadow is extremely long and I only just recently got to Sakura's introduction to ANBU, so I can't say too much in that regard.

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Daughter of Fire - justjstuff || ao3 || kakasaku || E || canon divergence || incomplete (maybe ongoing)

Sakura got up and didn’t bother brushing the dirt from her dress. She had a feeling she was about to get even dirtier.She looked at the memorial stone one last time, memorizing the characters without even realizing she was doing it. It would serve from that moment on as a reminder of her determination. She wouldn’t let Naruto and Sasuke join the names carved on that stone.That was her nindo.

Sakura's growth throughout Daughter of Fire is great and realistic all while pointing out aspects from the original series which were flawed and dare I say misogynistic. I struggled a bit in the beginning to justify her abilities, but overall the story is really well done and the ANBU aspects are quite intriguing.

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cut the head off the snake - itsthechocopuff || ao3 || T || time travel AU || complete

when eighteen-year-old, post-war Sakura is thrown back into her tiny, pre-Academy body, she makes a decision. she'd had a childhood once already, and this time, she's more interested in Not Dying when the inevitable shit hits the proverbial fan. so she will work harder, care less, kill more, and smile when she's done.and hey, if she ends up reviving an extinct nature transformation to attract the most corrupt, power-hungry man from her timeline, all the better for her, right?

Such a unique take on a time travel AU and Cut the Head Off the Snake executes it perfectly. Sakura decides that her first order of business is to infiltrate ROOT and that's exactly what she does. Sai, Shin, and Shisui are all great characters and team Ro is present as well. Very good!

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Flowers - Idunmy || ao3 || E || kakasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Flowers only bloom just before they wilt When Sakura loses her fight against Ino in her Chuunin exams, she questions her ability to ever become a kunoichi, too weak to protect herself, let alone her village One wrongful promotion later and Sakura gets a second chance in the shape of a mysterious new teacher who against all odds is willing to put her faith in a young girl with potential and a willingness to fight. Or- a fix-it inspired fic where Sakura grows to be the powerhouse she was destined to become.

Flowers is a newer series (which has recent updates) and I love it! Critiques are made towards the medical ninja training, which I believe needed to be discussed and it's refreshing to see. In most ANBU fics I've read, Sakura is immediately put onto the strongest team, but here it's a bit different. She begins on a demolition squad, which not only suits her skill set quite well, but is a realistic approach to how she would be introduced to the corps. Anyway, it's one of my favorite reads at the moment and I really like where the story is going.

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names. - waterpllar || ao3 || T || gen || canon divergence || complete

There are no names or faces in ANBU. Everything is designed to be strictly formal, efficient and professional. A recently orphaned Sakura, however, learns that some regulations aren't meant to be followed, and finds a place in Team Ro after being shunned from her former teammates. (fic prompt from anon on tumblr: orphaned sakura in anbu with yamato, genma, and team ro.)

AHHHH poor Sakura. After her parents' death Sakura seeks Tsunade's help out of desperation to become useful. Under recommendation, Sakura's new goal is to make it into ANBU.

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Equinox - FM_White || ao3 || itasaku || M || anbu AU || complete

ItaSaku (Post Uchiha Massacre) AU: Climbing through the ranks of Konoha, Sakura finds herself with the invitation to join ANBU and a chance to learn from one of the most renowned and legendary ninja in the world. Despite her efforts to grow stronger however, she finds the world isn't as black and white as it looks and that some truths are easier to hide than others.

I don't remember Equinox very well, but I love most works by this author sooo. Anyway, Itachi stays in Konoha and instead it's Sasuke that goes rougue. Sakura, Naruto, and Shikamaru are newly joined ANBU members and all placed on a team with Itachi and things go from there.

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stars in our eyes as we dream of the heavens (the gods walk among us, sweet child, do not forget) - snickiebear || ao3 || kakasaku || T || age-swap AU || oneshot complete

“Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto whispered, staring at his teacher, horror plain on his face. “You’re married?” Lazily, Kakashi looked down at his gloveless hand where his ring rested, “It would appear so.”

Sakura is born in the same generation as Kakashi and turns out as a badass ANBU married to him. This is super wholesome as it's a lot of the two of them bonding with Kakashi's genin team (Sai makes three) in an effort to help them out. It's a series so you can read more of the events taking place prior to the fic.

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Anachronistic Drift  - Elesrea  || ffn || gen || T || time travel AU || incomplete

Her plan was flawless. Save Shisui. Save the world. Time-travel, Sakura-centric AU

Sakura spends years training to be sent back in time and save the world from Sasuke. She isn't in ANBU, but rather poses as one in order to keep an anonymous status on her doings both in and out of the village.

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Sakura - lilac haze || ffn/ao3 || M || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

AU. Non-Canon. Time Travel. Please see inside for full warnings. Cross posted on Ao3. On his deathbed he was granted eternal peace and place to rest for all of time. Of course that was not appealing to him. Ever unpredictable to the end he had a counter offer. One that the Sage had to consider. In which Sakura's going to have a rough time. A really rough time.

Sakura is probably one of my all time favorite fics because the emotions are just spectacular. The story is pretty heavy on ANBU and ROOT aspects, which I always enjoy, but I wouldn't say it's a major focus. However, there is an emphasis on the unfair treatment towards kunoichi. Anyway, the characterizations and storytelling are beautifully done. Please share this author some love.

Check TWs before hand!!

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Hope y'all enjoy these recs, and please feel free to send me some if you have any!!!! I really appreciate when you do :)

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine’s Day grandma! There’re too many amazing options, so dealer’s choice?

Spock has an older brother.

He’s a teenager when Spock is born and by the time he’s taking his first cautious steps, he no longer lives at home. Sybok graduates the head of his class and flies through the Science Academy with similar ease and for almost as long as Spock has had memories, Sybok has been talking about his thesis.

It’s topic changes often enough that Spock’s stopped keeping track.

When he’s younger, it would be inaccurate to say that Sybok is around often, but he is around. His brother visits home to pilfer texts from the family library and to have short, tense conversations with their father but he will ask Spock about his studies and always inclines his head to Spock’s mother, something that many Vulcans will not do, so he thinks that means that Sybok loves them.

After he gets into a fight at school, Sybok doesn’t visit anymore.

Spock accepts it as something else that his emotional outburst has cost him and refuses to let the tears fall no matter the pressure building behind his eyes.

Books still disappear and reappear from the library, so he knows that Sybok is still coming over, it’s only when Spock isn’t home. Eventually he starts appearing again, and he still has those horrible tense conversations with their father and nods at his mother, but he no longer lingers to ask Spock about his studies.

The fact that it hurts so much is just a sign that he needs to focus on his control.

When Spock is fifteen, Sybok leaves Vulcan.

He tells himself he doesn’t see his brother often enough for it to matter. It s the truth and yet it feels like a lie.

Spock doesn’t mean to overhear a conversation that isn’t meant for him. But it his mother speaking, and Sybok, and he’s never observed them to exchange anything but greetings and farewells.

“-don’t have to do this. I know you want distance, but-”

“I’ve already tried the other side of the planet,” he says dryly, speaking with an oddly Terran cadence to his words. “The problem is he can still comm me and send his friends to look at me disapprovingly.”

“He’s concerned,” she says.

Sybok laughs. Spock startles, nearly giving himself away, but forces stillness and silence.

“I don’t want to overstep,” his mother says softly, “I know it’s not my place-”

“Amanda, please,” he scoffs. “This is your home, you’re my father’s wife, and you’re my brother’s mother. How can you overstep? You can’t speak freely anywhere else on this planet, of course you can speak freely with me.”

There’s a long silence. Spock wants so badly to peek around the corner, but if he does then they’ll know he’s there.

“He wants you to be happy,” his mother says. “I do too.”

Sybok sighs, but it sounds a lot nicer than his laugh had. “He wants me quiet. It’s bad enough that he’d decided I’m a bad influence on Spock, at this rate he’s doing to decided I’m a bad influence for all of Vulcan and kick me off the planet myself. I’m just speeding up the process.”

Father thinks that Sybok is a bad influence? Why would he –

“That incident was not your fault,” his mother says sharply.

Oh.

“Father was probably right, actually,” he admits. “If I’d been allowed to talk to Spock after, I would have told him it was a job well done. There’s fire in our blood, Amanda. Rage is the most Vulcan emotion there is.”

Spock blinks. That’s nothing he’s heard before.

“It’s things like this that make your father worried,” she sighs.

He laughs again, gentler this time. “It’s fine. I’m going to go to a nice remote planet with all my books and work on my thesis and this one is far enough that even Father won’t be able to bother me.”

“But Tarsus IV?” she asks. “It’s barely colonized, and it has terrible ion storms, and their agriculture is still developing! It’ll be difficult for you to keep to a Vulcan diet!”

There’s another silence, then Sybok says, “My mother never worried over me. She did not find it logical to waste the energy and mental capabilities on events she could not control.” Another pause. “It’s nice that you do, Amanda.”

“Oh, Sybok.” His mother sniffs. “You’re my husband’s son and my son’s brother. You’re my family too. Please be careful and let me know if you need anything at all. We’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

“I believe you will, at least,” he says, and then before his mother can respond, continues, “Live long and prosper, Amanda.”

She sighs again. “Live long and prosper, Sybok.”

Spock forces his racing heart calm. He hopes his brother returns home soon.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 8

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Warnings: ANGST! Idk if it's actually that angsty but I made myself sad. Very very brief mentions of kind of hurting yourself but not really? I actually can't remember what I wrote so if I miss something that needs a warning pls lmk

Word Count: 16.0k (fun fact: if you've read the whole series, you've read 105 pages single space)

A/N: y'all it's literally almost 1 am but I need to start this before I get crucified by the cult following I have created with this series. GIF credit @gavidaily

"You... are considering leaving Barca?"

Xavi looked at you with one brow raised. The same girl that had been fighting for her position at the club just 6 weeks prior was now thinking of quitting her job?

"You know Miss y/l/n, we are about to lose Antonio, and with how hard we push our players, we need to retain the largest amount of medical talent possible. You know that we think extremely highly of you and your ability, which is why you were selected specifically for this role. What can we do to make the job here at Barça more compelling than that of other clubs?”

You took a deep breath. You knew this question was coming. You had worked jobs and been in negotiations before. It would be a lot more expensive for them to hire someone new than to just give in to what they predicted would be a demanded increase in pay.

You looked at your lap, sighing with the weight of the feelings you had carried for God knows how long. It had sat on your subconscious, but was now bubbling to the surface, too powerful to be stopped. “Honestly, mister, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done.”

There’s a funny thing about women letting go. Some people call it the severance theory. Men are heavily guided by their emotions, contrary to popular belief. In a fit of rage they are capable of anything: screaming, blows - any number of crimes of passion. So when an extreme emotion overcomes them, be it sadness or anger or fear, they can end a relationship suddenly. Once they return to a base state of logic, that’s when the crawling back and groveling begins. Because they come to realize that her absence is a stronger pain than whatever drove him away. They exist in binary states: zeroes and ones. Either hatred or love. They don’t understand gradients or in-betweens. They don’t understand that there is another person who must also decide to return to the relationship.

Women on the other hand are much more resilient. It’s why we find the most gorgeous muses with the slimiest excuses for boyfriends. A woman will fall in love not with what she sees, but rather what she hears. What she is told. All the flowery, lovely promises about a glowning future, that’s what she clings to in the midst of a gray and bleak present. The soft whispers of “I love you” and “I don’t know how I would live without you” act as bandages, plugging the gaping wounds left by his actions. But her resolve slips the longer those promises go unfulfilled. The longer those holes go unfilled. She begins to see the truth of her situation, and realizes that the road she’s skipped down is a dead end. She imagines once again. She thinks of all the possible ways that he could change and be the man she wants. She searches for glimpses of it in his words, his movement, his aura. She does the silliest, most foolish thing a woman can do: she hopes. She holds on until not even her delusions can be a comfort. She realizes that there is no way for her to be happy with this man. That’s when she finally leaves. There’s no groveling, no tears, no remorse. It’s a clean severance of dead weight. She’s empty, and it lightens her being enough for her to walk away. There is no way to save it. The bridge has been burned and she was gone forever.

The funny part was, this didn’t just apply to men. That’s the thing about emptiness: it consumes everything. Loneliness is a black hole that swallows every ray of light that it encounters. That was your life recently. No light and no joy - not even sadness. You couldn’t feel anything strongly anymore. You picked up little habits to try and feel. You heated your food to scalding temperatures just to feel the heat on your lips. Your showers were icy, the pinpricks distracting you from the desire to cry. You no longer felt strong anger or desire or really anything. The color was slowly draining from your life, grays and sepias replacing the once vibrant existence around you. The beauty around you had mangled into gnarly trees and threatening uncertainty as you foolishly waited for the sun to peak through. But it had abandoned you. The sun had taken its rays and warmth elsewhere, almost mocking you as you shivered in the dirt. So maybe it was time to crate your own light: burn down the forest and start anew.

“Nothing? La, that can’t be true Doctora.”

Your eyes shot up at the title. There was, in fact, one feeling that you still sensed: pain. You could still feel physically pain, and inflicted it on yourself often just to experience an emotion. But nothing could compare to the sharp stabs and dull aches that lived in your heart. It was hard to look at Gavi without feeling like you wanted to fall on your knees. Realizing that you were in love was not beautiful or romantic. It was torturous, like snakes and thorns taking home in your throat. Reality was the salt in the wound; the knowledge that you two were destined to fail before you had began was a pill too big to swallow, suffocating you instead.

“If I can be honest, mister, I don’t feel like I belong here at Barça. I’ve been here for six months and I still don’t feel like part of the team. Maybe it’s just not a good environment or fit for me. That’s not something that can be fixed with just a salary increase. I just can’t tell if this is the place for me.”

Xavi looked at you, bringing his elbows to rest on the table and interlocking his fingers. He wanted to adamantly refuse, but there was truth to what you said. It was evident that there was a disconnect between you and the general environment of the team. You were close to some of the younger players, but had difficulty gaining the trust and respect of the older crowd and the medical staff. Your ideas for treatment were too modern - too far removed from what everyone else was used to. Hell, you were upsetting one of his players, and that was the opposite of your job as the support staff. But he would by lying if he said you weren't effective. The plan for Dembele that you had first presented got the striker back on the field weeks earlier than any other predictions. Your diligent maintenance had prevented players from getting injured as often, keeping the ones you were closest to on a strict exercise regimen, ensuring their continuous improvement. He cared for his players and his club. And if you were the miracle cure to keeping them healthy and playing, then he was going to keep you there, even if he had to tie you to the columns of Camp Nou.

"There must be something we can do to keep you. You're very familiar with the players and the equipment, as well as the workflow, and you're very good at your work. Hell, Gavi hasn't even had a cough since you started here, and he's quite accident-prone. Please let me know what I can possibly do to keep you with us."

"I really am not being shy or sneaky. I really have no demands. When then team heads to the UK for the game against Man U, I will visit the Chelsea facility and meet the staff. If I like what I see, I'll be moving there. I'm just... not happy here anymore."

There it was. The confession you had not even made to yourself. You were at the club of your dreams, living everything that your younger self had always wanted, and you just could not be happy. This was a disappointment that was hard to describe. Everyone always talks about shooting for the moon, but no one talks about what happens when you actually make it there. You work hard and your dreams become a reality: you're on the moon! But the moon is so, so far from Earth. And when you're cold and lonely and looking down on all of the people that could be loving you, then the moon doesn't seem so worth it anymore. When you realize the moon is just a rock, then what hope do you have left?

Thinking back, you recalled all the people that you pushed away to further your career goals. You think of the family gatherings and events that you missed to study and work. You think of all the friends you have lost touch with because they were never a priority. They were never smart or driven enough to keep up with you, and so they were left in the dust. You had a few, but none you could confidently say would pick up a call from you at 2am if you needed help. Boyfriends were even worse. Since your heartbreak in college, men had fallen to the wayside. You justified it to yourself, saying that you just needed to be successful, and you would attract someone at your level. Someone who wanted an equal. But here you were: alone, depressed, and thinking of running away from what you once thought was your life's purpose.

Before Xavi could respond, a loud thud from the hallway distracted the two of you, followed by shouts that chilled your blood.

"Gavi!"

You were out of your seat in seconds. There was no force that could stop you, feet and hands moving on their own accord as you entered the hall and laid eyes on the body on the floor. There was no air in your lungs or your larynx to make a sound, let alone scream.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your hearing was shot, like you were underwater. The faces of those surrounding were panicked, and all eyes were on you, shouts and points and calls for action flying straight over your head.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your stomach was twisting itself into elaborate knots, coiling tighter while pushing the bile further up your throat. Your eyes went in and out of focus, willing the scene in front of you to disappear. You blinked hard hoping for the image to change when your eyes opened again.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

"Doctora, please look at Pablo - he collapsed suddenly and we need to make sure he doesn't have a head injury. Move!" It was Antonio's hands on your shoulders and shouts that finally got you to move from your frozen position.

Kneeling over, Gavi looked even worse. His skin was pale, and he was crumpled like an aluminum can - limbs everywhere, like his life force had just abandoned him. You had to remove Gavi from the situation and pretend he was a practice dummy at school. You had to pretend he was plastic and rubber, because that's the only way you could go through head injury protocols with a calm mind. He couldn't be Pablo, because if he was, then the thought would have to fester in your head: Pablo was hurt when you had been distant. He was hurt because you had been distant. Worst case scenario, he could disappear from your life now, all because you hadn't been able to handle the proximity like a normal person. Your thoughts were spiraling now, painting scenarios of death and disease and making it even harder for you to stop the tremble in your hands.

But you had decided that his cold heap of flesh before you wasn't Gavi. It couldn't be. It wasn't even a person. You recited the head injury checklist under your breath: consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. Placing a hand on Gavi's neck, you felt a pulse, stopping you from performing CPR. The last thing you needed to do was unnecessarily crack a rib. You shook him several times, and received no response.

"Shine a light in his eyes!" "Shake him harder!" "Should we pour water on him? Get some water!" "You're not yelling his name loudly enough!"

You ignored the shouts of the peanut gallery, repeating the list like a mantra in your head. You would have time later to be angry at the staff for their utter uselessness in the situation, but right now, you just needed to keep going. Blood was pounding in your ears as you opened one of his eyelids. Consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. It snapped back into place, and Pablo's face was now in view. Other than his pale complexion, he looked perfectly at peace. His face was identical to the night you had spent sleeping next to him - sleeping atop him. His breathing was deep, as if he had spontaneously fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. He was beautiful. And for the first time in days, it had allowed you to be filled with a warmth somewhat foreign to you now. Pablo was in your arms and beautiful, and you could not imagine how you were meant to go on with life seeing him every day and being denied this privilege. You didn't allow yourself to dwell on the thought. Breathing? Yes. Consciousness? No. That needed to be remedied.

"Pablo, if you can wake up now, it would be really helpful. Otherwise I'm going to have to cause you a lot of pain."

You waited for a response, but none came. You sighed deeply, moving your hands from the supple skin of his cheeks downwards, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it upwards, exposing the expanse of his chest. You made out the sounds of taunting and whistles, but they were promptly silenced by staff who reminded the crowd that this was not an appropriate moment for jokes. Forming a fist, you placed your knuckles on the center of Pablo's chest, pushing down and rubbing. Hard. His eyes shot open within seconds, and he threw your hand off, howling in pain. His breathing was shallow and panicked, vision erratic as teammates, coaches, and other staff all yelled questions and instructions at him.

"Everybody shut up! Let me do my job."

That was the voice he needed to hear. As the yells settled to murmurs, his breathing slowed and he began to see more clearly. His eyes fully focused on you, and it soothed the ache in his chest. His heart was racing faster than he had ever felt, causing Pablo to grab onto your shoulders to ground himself.

"Pablo, can you hear me?"

You were here. You were real. He could still hold you and feel you. He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. The nausea that he had felt before he blacked out still lingered, and the last thing he wanted to do was projectile vomit on you. He flinched slightly at the feeling of your hand returning to his face, but settled quickly, listening hard to your instructions. There was nothing easier than focusing on the sound of your voice.

"Look at me." You said, shining a light in Gavi's eyes, checking for any hemorrhaging or internal bleeding. What a silly request, he thought to himself, squinting under the brightness. How could he look anywhere else when you were in the room? How could he ever tear his eyes from you? How could he waste a single second of you before him, especially with the prospect of you leaving at the end of the month looming?

"No bleeding. Are you experiencing any double vision?"

A headshake no. You instructed someone behind you to grab a bottle of water, and then turned back to Pablo.

"Good. What is your name?"

Gavi swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath before speaking. "My name is Pablo Gavi."

"Good. And who am I?"

"Ah don't worry, Doctora. Even with amnesia, I could never forget you." There was that stabbing feeling in your chest again. That feeling that accompanied Pablo's sweet words and kind eyes. The cold shard of reality that reminded you that he would fade away into an Instagram mutual in a matter of months.

"Alright, Gavi. No internal bleeding and no memory loss. We need to go through more of the concussion protocols and make sure you're okay, but we can do this in my office. Are you okay to stand?"

After a curt nod, you helped Pablo stand, and began walking with him towards your office. You informed Xavi of the next steps, and he told you to do whatever necessary to make sure his 'golden angry bird' was okay. But of course, you could never know a day of peace, as each one must be filled with the noise pollution that was Ferran's voice.

"If the door isn't open, just know that Pablito isn't moaning in pain." A round of snickers was heard from both players and staff. But before they had time to add on to the nasty comment, you swiveled around to face the group. You were seething with anger, and one very important realization came to the center of your mind.

You had nothing left to lose.

It was Pablo Torre who was closest to you, and he was the person that received the start of your wrath.

"What the hell are you laughing at? The fact that your teammate could have serious head trauma? Or at the fact that, with Gavi potentially out of commission, they might take you off the bench long enough for you to remember what grass feels like?"

He was silent instantly, eyes wide. He had never received words this harsh from anyone at the club. Or anyone not on Twitter. You turned to two more assistant physios, Luca and Gabriel, who stood next to him, still muttering to one another in hushed tones.

"And you two! Do you want to know why everyone has to rush and get me whenever someone hits their head? Because out of everyone here, I'm the only one that knows proper concussion protocols and how to identify trauma. I have more medical knowledge in my fingernail than in both of your heads combined. I have to take him to my office because you two are incompetent at your jobs! And instead of doing anything useful, this is how you occupy your time: slacking, cigarette breaks, speculating who I'm sleeping with, and doing absolutely jack shit when a player gets injured. So keep giggling like school girls. I can't wait to see you both giggling on the street corner while begging for spare change."

You held Gavi harshly, storming off to your office. Your speed and the bounce was making him nauseous, but he knew better than to speak in this moment. His chest had swelled with pride. He was patiently waiting for the day that you would put the guys in their place. None of them were bad people - it had just been a while since most of them interacted with a woman they didn't want to sleep with. Gavi loved that you were capable of defending yourself, but could not ignore the part of him that wanted to be the one to defend you.

Call it a toxic trait if you want, but Pablo had always taken pride in his ability to intimidate. He had eventually come to terms with the fact that he was done growing at a sweet 5'7, despite his desire to break at least 5'9 (because his friend Hanna at La Masia told him that was the shortest a girl would go for. Looking back, taking this information from a 5'10 female footballer was probably not the best idea he's ever had). It had taken a while, but after weeks of daily affirmations in the mirror about how short Messi was, he held his chin higher. Once he started receiving praise from fellow players, coaches, and media, Pablo gained more confidence in the fact that he could be part of the next generation of great Barcelona football. This allowed him to go up against any player with no worries or fear, winning headers against people with a foot of height on him. Pablo began building his upper body in the gym as well, compensating with strength. A broad and reckless teenager, there was almost no one he wasn't ready to take on.

He sensed that same quality in you as well: a desire to prove yourself, no matter the cost. But he didn't want you to. He never wanted to see you scowl or have to hear you yell (despite it being semi-hot). Pablo wanted to be your knight, whose sole purpose in life was making sure that you never experienced feelings but joy and pleasure. He wanted others to go through him before daring to speak to you. Because how could every person just have access to the beauty that is you? To the radiant soul and shimmering aura that fills the room? How could he be content with you shouldering the burdens of living in this world? Even if he never got to have you romantically, Pablo wanted to shield you from every harm in the world. And not a day went by when he didn't feel it.

This was one of those moments. He wished he was able to verbally berate Ferran for the garbage he spewed on a regular basis, but he could do nothing except let himself be dragged by you through the halls of the sports center until they reached your office, where he was promptly flung towards the exam table. He watched as you brought him your small office trash can, setting it beside the bed. He was brought back to your first month at Barca, when he had challenged you and been proven wrong. There was a confidence in yourself and your abilities that had dissipated from then to now. Pablo smiled stupidly as he remembered the excruciating pain and discomfort of trying not to throw up in front of the pretty physio. If only he had known then that it was nothing compared to the pain of holding back these feelings.

"Lay down on the bed. Look up at the ceiling. If you need to vomit, do it in there." You instructed curtly before moving to sit at your computer. Short nails clicked harshly against the raised keyboard, keys slamming down rapidly, sound reverberating around the room. Gavi wanted so desperately to flip over, lay on his stomach and stare at you. Just to see the curves of your face and the way your eyes reflected the light. But he looked up at the ceiling like you asked, more worried about pushing you further away than watching you type. He took several deep breaths. This didn’t feel like the last time he was concussed. Last time, he had felt his brain rattle against his skull, waves of nausea starting immediately. His head ad throbbed, spots forming on his vision. His jaw was clenched, and he could’ve sworn there was a crack down the center of his cranium, blood oozing out of it onto the practice pitch.

He remembered that day so vividly despite the head trauma. He had been livid, Ferran dragging him to a new and inexperienced physio. Gavi had interpreted it as sabotage to that Ferran could get the left wing back. And then he saw you. Angry that he was he wasn’t receiving treatment by the best, he couldn’t say he was upset to look at you. You were a stunning kind of beauty, young and lively and clad in cool gray scrubs. But you were three years older than him, wildly advanced and talented, and he couldn’t swallow his pride - especially not with this nausea. He could not swallow the fact that you looked so damn familiar. He had seen you somewhere before: those eyes had looked at him with that same distress and concern. But he could not place it for the life of him.

Pablo thought back to how sweet you had been to him that day. How you had encouraged him to take pride in himself and be confident in the fact that he deserved all the success he had seen. He was so overwhelmed that day. His brain was absolute porridge, and he was doing his best for it not to pour out of his ears, all while his cheeks burned under your gaze. He was too preoccupied by his desire to muster one ounce of hatred to replace the overwhelming admiration in his brain that he could not determine where the hell he had seen you before.

And now here he was, once again staring at the ceiling, head throbbing, and the thought came to him again: why did you look familiar? Despite having known you for half a year now, the feeling that there was history had not left him. It wasn't that you had a common face. There was something about the way you looked at him, with a knowing and sadness, that touched a part of his soul. Like you knew things he had never even admitted to himself. While he thought that was just your way of being, he was coming to realize that look was one reserved specifically for Pablo. Now he wasn't nauseous, and focused on the rhythmic sounds of keys being slammed. He poised himself to ask a question, but not the one gnawing at his brain.

"What're you typing so excitedly? Hopefully not your resignation."

You looked up in time to watch Pablo's chest heave with the breathy (and very fake) laugh that he forced out. Your fingers rested against the keyboard, pausing your aggressive typing. How did Gavi know about your plans to leave? Had he been listening at the door? How long had he been standing there before-

"Is that why you fainted in the hallway? Because I'm leaving the club?"

"So you've already decided that you're leaving? You aren't even going to wait until you see whatever shithole you've been offered a spot at?"

There was an emotion that made Gavi's voice wobble, and you couldn't pin it exactly, but it sounded akin to betrayal. You finished the last sentence of your email, the swooshing sound indicating the message had been sent. Pablo bit his lip and stared hard at the fluorescent light. He didn't want you to see the distress in his face, but he couldn't help it. He hated how the dynamic between the two of you had been so warm, so close to the spark he desperately sought, just to go back to how icy your interactions began.

You pulled up a stool to sit next to him, and grabbed a pair of gloves as you approached. You noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and turned away to put your gloves on. The deep sadness in his eyes, the way his body tensed, the voice like a hurt child - was this all because of you?

"I was doing what I should've done my first week working here: I sent an email to HR about Ferran's nasty comments. Barca can't have a sexual harassment scandal right about now, especially not during the transfer window. And if they fire me, then they..." Your voice trailed off, throat closing up. It was still hard for you to process the possibility.

"If they fire me, then that's one less decision that I have to make."

You ran a gloved hand across his crown, feeling for any bumps or lacerations because of his fall. You felt worse the longer you continued the exam, the feeling that this was your fault sinking in. You had pushed Pablo away wordlessly after brining him in so close. But the majority of your brain screamed back at you how selfish it would be to drag Pablo into your black hole, ruining his career so that he could run after a girl who didn't even feel. If the sun in its greatness could not warm you, then how could ask this of Pablo?

"Now we need to talk about your fall in the hallway. It's quite obvious that you fainted but-"

"Were ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to freeze me out until you left the country?"

Gavi propped himself up on his elbows, eyes meeting you directly. You didn't know what to say. You couldn't tell him how you felt, especially not now. Not right before you disappeared.

"Have you ever fainted like that before? What have you eaten to day?" You asked, moving to throw away your gloves. "If you're having frequent spells of losing consciousness, then we need to have your blood iron tes-"

"Are you being serious right now, y/n? You're on the verge of quitting your dream job, packing up and leaving the country, and isolating yourself from everyone who cares about you, and you're asking about my blood iron? No."

Pablo stood, getting off the table faster than someone with a head injury should. He walked towards you, anger evident.

"No. You don't get to change the subject and talk about my iron. Or sit and try and diagnose me with anything. You know that I'm perfectly healthy. Want to know why I fainted? I'll tell you, Doctora."

Gavi was right in front of your face now, heavy breath fanning against your skin. You swallowed thickly, breathing just as heavy as you met his blazing stare. For the first time in weeks, your eyes started to moisten. Why was this scolding from Pablo going to bring you to tears?

"Because from the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt like I knew you. I don't know if I saw you on the street or in a dream, but a part of my brain recognized you, and since then I've been in pain. Pain that you can't even help me with. Nobody can. It's so hard to watch everyone take advantage of you all the fucking time. It tears me apart constantly. But it let me get closer to you. You let me get closer. And I tried so hard to keep it at bay, to be the friend that you need."

Pablo was now cupping your face, holding it like it was the only thing that would tether him to the earth. He rested his head against yours, and suddenly it was too much. All the feelings that had escaped you for so long were coming back all at once, stacking on top of each other and smothering you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you wished the ground would swallow you whole to escape Gavi's piercing eyes looking straight through you.

"But you have to know that I don't just see you as a friend, Doctora. You have to know, even if you don't feel the same way, that I am -"

"We met before I got my job here. That's why you recognize me."

Gavi let go of your face, taking a step back. He looked at you with confusion and hurt. You both knew what he was about to say, and he couldn't understand why you wouldn't just let him get it off his chest. And as selfish as it was, you just couldn't take it. Pablo deserved better - someone that would lift him up, not hold him back. And if he said it, if it was out in the open, then you would never be able to put his needs first.

"The week of my interview, I went to pick up Angelika from the club. Angel went to get her from the VIP section and he left me in charge of keeping an eye on you."

"You... were watching me while I was drunk?" Pablo's brain was processing a thousand things at once. You had met him and remembered him? What had he said while drunk to make you hide that fact from him?

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

There were so many ways to answer this question that you didn't know where to begin. How could you explain to Gavi that you had been so captured by his beauty that night that it had thrown you off your axis, making you wonder if you had died and this was the angel sent to guide you to the pearly gates? How could you describe the intense pull Pablo had over you, tugging at your soul, urging you to stay with him? How were you to say the way your heart broke on his behalf, wanting to hold him in your arms and protect him from everything that made him feel less than the most special person alive? All you had wanted was to kiss him, to pull him in, to never let him go. But none of the words materialized. Because to you, the cruelest thing you could do to Pablo was keep pulling him into you. He was pure light, and you couldn't bear the burden of being the one to extinguish it.

"It was an insignificant moment in a club. Nothing worth mentioning. I didn't even remember until Pedri reminded me when I started."

There it was. The sentence that made Gavi crack. You watched the hurt seep into his features, and a heavy air filled the room. Brows coming together, he looked at you expectantly, waiting, praying, that you would take it back.

"Meeting me was ... insignificant?"

Eyes locked, there was nothing you could say that would erase this moment. You swallowed the lump in your throat, playing with your fingers. You spun the ring you wore around your finger, trying to occupy your mind with anything other than the thought that you were the human embodiment of garbage.

The silence remained, growing thicker with each passing second. It enveloped the both of you, tendrils wrapping around and ripping the two of you apart, fraying whatever string of fate had brought you together.

"You think it was just a coincidence, meeting me in the club weeks before we become coworkers? Friends? Something... beyond that...and you think that coincidence was so forgettable that it wasn't even worth mentioning?"

There it was. The cold front that you put up, the one that pushed everyone away, no matter how hot their love for you burned. You were the ice princess, destined to go through life cold and untouchable and alone.

"Some people you just meet, Pablo. It doesn't mean they're meant to be together. I needed to get my friend out of the club and I just ran into Angel. He left me in charge of you so that you wouldn't do anything stupid or childish while drunk. I was in a club babysitting an 18 year old kid who was pouring his heart out to me while wasted. I didn't say anything to save you from the embarrassment."

That was the straw that broke Gavi's heart. He stormed towards the door, unable to look at you any longer. Had he really been lead on; allowed to believe that you were his friend, or at the least respected him, when this entire time you just saw him as a little kid. His last line to you was spoken so softly you almost didn't hear it over the deafening slam of the door.

"They're going to love you in England."

~

"Your English is very good for someone educated in Spain."

You looked up at Steve, flashing a practiced professional smile that showed no indication of offense at the objectively offensive statement.

"Thank you, Dr. Hughes. I did complete my baccalaureate degree in the United States, but I'm glad the last two years in Barcelona have not damaged my language."

Now it was his turn to laugh uncomfortably as he lead you through the garish blue halls of Stamford bridge. The entire plane ride you had told yourself that this could be the fresh start you needed. This could be the opportunity to turn your life around, and so you should approach it with fresh eyes and an open mind. But the walls were hurting your eyes, the blue and white making you think of Martin in his kit. You were lead into the trophy room, which was a lot smaller than you were used to.

"Here you can see some of the club's shining moments. We have had an... interesting season this year, but you know that performance fluctuates between seasons. We hope to be back on top again very soon, especially with an entirely new medical team coming on board."

You scanned the shelves and glass cases, admiring the look of trophies you were familiar with, and ones you had never seen before.

"An entire new medical staff? No one is staying on?" You asked, confused. What kind of club replaced everyone all at the same time? Usually at least one person remained to pass the torch, to maintain familiarity. It set warning bells off in your head.

“Ah, well, many of our staff members were quite loyal to Dr. Henry, you know he was here for 17 years after all. So they all followed him out. But we are excited to usher in a new wave of sparkling young medical talent!”

You swallowed hard, still feeling from the information. You still hadn’t finished your degree, and yet you were being offered a head position at what was supposed to be a huge and well-respected club. You couldn’t help but think of the blaugrana.

Something flitted in your chest, a feeling that surrounded you whenever you walked into the camp. The feeling of family, like you were home. The coldness of Steve’s answer didn’t spark anything close to that feeling. Not every workplace needed to be a part of your heart, a new family. These days. You had no idea what your family was supposed to be, or if you had one at all. Your brain begged you to ask what the environment was like, how close the staff was, what created such a high level of loyalty that they would all follow this man wherever he went, abandoning club and home. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, asking instead,

“Do you only display the most recent. Champions League trophy?”

More laughter from Steve, but of the fakest nature. “Yes we have one on this side, one on the other. They’re … ehem, all of our UCL trophies are displayed here.” Your cheeks warmed with subtle embarrassment. You knew nothing about this room or this club, and if you were honest with yourself, you had no desire to. You missed Barca. But you had to give this club its chance – an honest shot to be your new home.

The two of you continued through the halls as Steve showed you all the medical equipment and facilities that would be at your disposal should you accept. At the end, he led you to the players’ lounge, offering you a seat. The blue had given you a baby migraine, and you were incredibly grateful for the ability to sit and rest. You refused the gracious offers for food, sipping on a bottle of water to dull the throbbing against your skull. You searched the room for something, something familiar – a face, a number, to make you feel like everything was going to work out in the end. But it never appeared, the bright colors and foreign faces more of a discomfort than anything else.

"Make yourself comfortable, Doctor. Let me get some of the players that you'll be working with, and you can hear from them what the environment is like."

You nodded sweetly, sitting up straight with ankles crossed in the way Princess Diaries taught you to. As the footsteps faded slowly into the distance, a sigh passed between your lips. What were you doing? Despite the lecture given to yourself on the uncomfortable plane ride over (Chelsea would only pay for economy), it had all gone out the window. Your gut was in knots, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and the screen lit up in your hand to read "One Football: FC Barcelona vs Manchester United - Starting lineup now available." The notification had been pressed before you registered what was going on. Your eyes scanned the list just to land on one name. Your mind went back to the last conversation the two of you shared. The most venomous words had slipped past your lips, and you had finally done it: you pushed the last person who cared for you away. The sentiment was harsh. How could anyone ever recover a relationship after shattering it so completely? Despite how much much it hurt to grip the broken shards so tightly, you held on nonetheless, packing Gavi's hoodie in your bag, the '6' embroidered into the pocket cutting open a gaping wound in your heart, and yet you enjoyed its presence there.

"Doctora, I'm pleased to introduce Kepa and Christian. They have been with the club for a while, and they would be happy to answer all your questions."

~

"A scoreless first half here at Old Trafford as both Barcelona and Man U return to the locker rooms for half time. As we saw Pedri went down in those final minutes of the half, and we've received a report that he is out for the rest of the match. His injury status is unknown, but if the magician is out of commission, this could be a very easy steal for United."

The sounds of fists slamming against lockers was loud enough to be heard all the way home in Spain. Pedri Potter, the star, the leader of Barca's new era, was now in icing his right hamstring in some medical examination room, while the rest of the team scrambled to figure out a scenario in which they would win without him in a mere 15 minutes. Gavi bounced his leg anxiously, eager to see his friend and make sure he was okay.

"Listen up boys. We can win this game without Pedri. The score is now 1-0 to Man U, and all we need to do it score once to tie. Then we are back home, our turf and our fans. Robert, Rapha, your goal is to put the ball in the net. I don't care what you have to do. The middle, you need to get the ball in a good position for these two. That means Gavi, you'll be- Gavi pay attention!"

Head snapping up, Pablo's eyes met Xavi's directly. He knew he should be paying attention - this was the first of several games that needed to be won until they reached a trophy. He needed to be on his A-game, and yet, his mind was drifting. He wished it was just concern over Pedri capturing his attention. But in the corners of his mind, your voice lingered. "Babysitting... insignificant... embarrassment." All words you had used when talking about him as he was on the verge of pouring his entire soul out onto the linoleum for you. He didn't understand the anger that flowed through him. It was a sense of ... incompleteness. If you had let him finish, let him say the words that he didn't fully understand, then he would have been okay. He would have watched as you kicked his beating heart against the wall, telling him that you could never feel that way towards him. He would have been okay: relieved. But you had left him dangling off the edge of a cliff, with no relief in being pulled to safety nor mercy in being allowed to fall.

Xavi gave his instructions to the midfield and the defensive line, going over the weak points that needed to be addressed.

"Pedri is most likely out for the next eight weeks, missing both the next match and the SuperCopa, so this is your opportunity to adjust to playing in high-stress situations without him."

Gavi's head raised fully at this. Eight weeks? It has been forever since someone was out for that long. Since the beginning of the season... since you had joined the team. A pinch in Pablo's chest. His brain repeated over and over that the best thing to do was let you go. To let you be your own person, grow and be independent, saving himself the heartache because the one girl he wanted was the one he couldn't have. Yet his heart held on with an iron grip. It refused to release you, reminding him of every sweet moment shared in cars and offices and bedrooms. It was quick to forget the pain of being perceived as a child. Pablo's heart begged him to wait for you, because it was incapable of letting go of a devotion so intense. His heart ached for you, longing for the day he be deemed worthy enough to love you wholly and completely.

"Eight weeks is insane - we have never gone that long with our midfield handicapped. Is there no way to speed up recovery? Who gave the estimate?" Robert asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Luca is the only one from the medical staff who is here right now. He is the one who made the determination. Of course, the rest of the staff will be free to reevaluate when we return home. But Luca will be the one continuing with the course of treatment, and so we will go with his estimate."

"What? Where is y/n?" The question came from Alejandro, followed by hushed agreement. Even if you were not the first point of contact for all the players, you were a team staple, becoming as familiar to them as the crest embroidered on their uniforms. The older players had watched as you performed medical miracles on their teammates that rivaled what Jesus did for the blind, allowing the team to prosper all season. 15 points at the top of the table, and at least half had your name on them. The youngers had felt your impact directly, following your instructions like gospel. They knew how much care you showed to every single one of them, from the starters to the bench warmers. Your hands had put them back together. A touch of you lingered in all the success achieved, and your absence felt closer to abandonment than anything else.

"You should ask Pablito - he would be the first one to notice that his girlfriend wasn't on the flight." Ferran's voice: the closest human equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. After everything that had taken place, it was a wonder he still had the energy to be an ass.

"Maybe you should ask Ferran about his HR investigation, which is a main reason that she's touring the Chelsea facility fight now. Hey, maybe you'll see her this summer when you get sold there. They're always looking for people to keep the bench warm while the important players are on the field." Gavi spoke calmly and evenly, like he was stating pure fact. He stood, leaving the room to avoid the round of questioning that was about to occur regarding HR and the doctora's new home.

The click of Pablo's cleats echoed loudly in the hallway a she approached the medical room, where Luca was fumbling with bandage and his laptop, while Pedri waited on the exam table like a fish at the market. His head turned at the sound of Gavi's approach, and he gave a weak smile to the younger player.

"I finally pushed it too far. Great timing, eh Hermano? It's only a Champion's League, a SuperCopa, and a potential classico that I'll miss. Nothing significant."

Gavi could do nothing but let out a slight laugh, cupping Pedri on the back of the neck. His heart hurt for his friend. This is what every player dreamed of: playing for cups, winning with the team of their dreams. And Pedri was going to miss all of it because they had relied on him to heavily, asked him to bridge too many gaps.

"Please don't say that word to me ever again. Luca, how's it looking? Eight weeks seems a little excessive for a sprain." Gavi knew that Luca was doing something wrong. Or stupid. Or, the most likely option, both. When Ansu had sprained his hamstring, he was back on the field in 28 days under your care. Alejandro had a minor tear in his meniscus, and yet still he was faster than the speed of sound 6 weeks later. Now there was no you. No melodic voice explaining muscle strain and stride length and tissue recovery. Just a stupid, lanky Spaniard in free Barca merch putting "leg hurts" into Web MD and seeing what he can diagnose with this time.

"Why don't you let the medical professionals do their job, Gavi, and you go back to putting your head in front of peoples' feet."

Looking to quickly diffuse the situation, Pedri turned to his friend, wanting to stop looking at the man who might end his football career with a wrong move and an 'oops'.

"I'll just let y/n look at it when I get back home. She'll fix me up in no time. That is, if you give me one of your spots on her schedule."

"Yeah, that's if she even comes back to work."

Pedri looked at the younger boy with confusion. It had been several weeks since he had seen Gavi with his favorite physio. Initially, he thought the crush had faded - that Pablo had found another pretty thing to maintain his interest, and you had fallen to the wayside with the other failed football loves. But Pablo was so clearly unhappy. He was more irritable, spending more and more time on his phone while avoiding the group all together. He sat silently in Pedri's passenger seat, screen illuminating his face but remaining silent.

[Doctora]: Good morning Pablo - running late. Will bring you an apology smoothie

[Doctora]: im going to need you to send me a video of you tying your shoes as proof

[Doctora]: i'll tell you when i see u tomorrow

Gavi had spent two weeks going back over every message you had ever sent him. He watched the way your tone changed from proper and professional to something lighter, more friendly and familiar. Over and over your voice played in his head.

"Pablo."

Pride be damned. He missed you. As he stood behind his teammates, whispers about the staff still whirling around the tunnel, it dawned on him. Barca, the club of his dreams, the fantasy of his childhood, would never - could never - be complete again if you left.

"And we're back in Old Trafford for the second half of this UCL match between the Historic FC Barcelona, and the red devils of Manchester United."

~

"That's incredible that you went to school there! I'm a ride or die for their basketball team, so you already have my respect."

You flashed Christian a smile - a real one, the first genuine display of joy you've been able to muster in a while. Both of the players had shown a genuine interest in getting to know you, trying to sell you on the idea of joining the club. Kepa had gushed over how much he loved living in London, citing his experiences as a fellow Spaniard.

"You're around so many Spanish speakers at the club, you hardly miss home."

Christian, the more injury-prone of the two, talked about his experiences with the medical team, and the close relationships he had built there. All of the medical team had become family to him in some way or the other. It calmed your previous anxieties. Maybe it was just a fear of change keeping you tethered to Barca, and all you needed was time to adjust.

"I think you'd get along really well with the other players, of course, the ones that opt-in to working with you."

This statement from Christian caught the attention of both you and Steve, who rushed over before you could ask for clarification. Opt-in? How could you opt-in to medical treatment?

"Miss, I think that Kepa and Christian have both done a wonderful job of providing just a small taste of what it means to be part of the Chelsea family. We don't want to keep them from afternoon training."

You said your thanks and goodbyes, but before they left Kepa turned to you, as if suddenly struck with a lightening bolt of realization.

"You're the Barca physio that works with Gavi, right?" He asked in Spanish. "He mentioned a girl physio during international training."

Another knot in your stomach at the mere mention of his name. "Yeah that would be me."

Kepa's face shifted, brows downturned and lips pursed. "Let me give you my contact information, in case you have any more questions." This line was in English, spoken more in Steve's direction than in yours. He approached, taking the phone from your hands and switching back to Spanish.

"Don't leave Barca. Gavi talked about you a lot during the break. They respect and value you a lot there - don't throw that away." He handed the phone back to you as you tried to contain your expression, suppressing the shock you felt from displaying itself on your features. What could Pablo have said that would make this man go out of his way to prevent you from joining this club? What had been so compelling that Kepa worked against his own best interest?

It was now just you and Steve in the room, and you turned to him, his skin flushed, to ask about Christian's little slip.

"There was something mentioned about players opting out of treatment?"

"Ah, just a small clause in your contract. Just says that players can choose not to be treated by club medical staff and find their own if they feel uncomfortable. It's all there in the paperwork somewhere. You can call my assistant if you read over it again and have more questions. Now, I know that you need to go soon, but I wouldn't be able to let you go without meeting one of our new signings. Someone else who knows what it's like to decide to make the shift from La Liga here to the old PL. Come with me."

You rose from your seat, migraine returning from the stress onset. What was being kept from you? Obviously you hadn't read your employment offer close enough. You walked through the passages somewhat mindlessly, following Steve with your body as your mind drifted elsewhere. What was being hidden from you?

"Joao, nice to see you again! This is Doctor y/l/n, and we're trying to convince her to make the same switch from Spain to London."

All of your medical education had told you that the masticator and other jaw muscles were voluntary; that they could be controlled and moved when you wanted. Not today. Your jaw went slack, and it refused to shut as you stared at the Portuguese beauty before you. There was no way. How had you missed the news of his move. How unprofessional was it to say 'pinch me' during what was essentially an interview.

"Nice to meet you, Doctora. I'm quite relieved that I don't have to speak in English - apparently my accent is not as good as I thought."

Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You had yet to say anything or even shut your mouth. Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You laughed lightly at his statement, muscles moving independently of the pudding that was your brain currently. Joao Felix was shaking your hand.

"I'm sorry, it's so nice to meet you, I'm just a little overwhelmed. You're one of my favorite players in football right now. I've been following you since your debut. Oh my God."

It was Joao's turn to laugh, a light and glorious sound. You had made him laugh. You wished someone was recording so you could send the video to Angeliika. And your mom. They would both go into cardiac arrest. His skin turned slightly pink as he scratched the back of his head, flattered by the admiration of someone so accomplished (and, as he would later reflect, gorgeous). Despite not understanding a lick of Spanish, Steve knew he had made a winning move by introducing you to Joao. The two of you leaned into each other as you spoke, and he motioned towards the field, inviting you to a stroll around the turf to chat.

All of your pride and prejudice fantasies were being realized in this moment. You were taking a polite stroll around the grounds with a man that you had salivated over while watching football on TV. A golden boy and future champion. He was something incredible. Witty and charismatic and easy to talk to. Everyone says not to meet your heroes, and yet here you were, floating several inches above the ground beside Joao.

"So, what club are you moving from? Can't be something in Madrid - I would remember you."

Lord, this was too much. You gave a silent thanks to the heavens, all the good karma you had accumulated throughout your life manifesting on this day.

"Oh no, not a Madrid club. Just a small Catalan club called Barca. Heard of it?" You teased as Joao stopped in his tracks. It was his turn to go wide-eyed and slack jawed.

"You're the Barca girl physio? I have heard of you! One of the physios at Atleti is your classmate. He said you're crazy smart."

How were you staying alive when all the blood in your body was in your face? How had so many people in the football space heard your name with you blissfully unaware. The smile on your face was not just due to the compliment. Maybe there were people ready to be there for you, and you just needed to reach arm out to them.

The conversation came to a close as you watched other groups come onto the field, preparations being made for upcoming matches. You thanked Joao for his time, once again involuntarily gushing about how surreal this experience was.

"Ah, there's really no need. The pleasure was all mine. I hope that I'll get to see more of you, Doctora, no matter what decision you end up making." Stretching his arm out, pulling you in for a hug. He enveloped you, arms wrapped tightly around your frame in a way that was borderline inappropriate for a goodbye. He smelled heavenly, the warmth radiating from his body akin to a fireplace. This was the stuff of dreams and imagination.

And yet, Joao was not the name on your mind. He way he smelled was beautiful and yet unfamiliar. Your thoughts traveled back to the last hug like this you had shared with someone. To the scent of One Million and powdery deodorant, mixed with something that couldn't be bottled. To the feeling of strong arms sitting lower on your waist. To brown hair and brown eyes and a brown leather couch. To white shirts and white bedsheets. To the soft voice and smooth voice that called for you.

"Doctora."

Logic be damned. You missed Pablo. And then the empty expanse of your soul filled with a feeling of dread. You had made a mistake. So many mistakes. Pushing away Pablo, lying to your friends about how much you needed them. Considering another job. Nothing in the the blue and white had given you even 1% of the feelings you experienced walking into Camp Nou every day. But you would never be able to go back if Gavi was angry with you. Ferran was cattle waiting to be sold. Gavi was a contender this year's golden boy, a powerhouse on the field, a bright star for both club and country. You reached into your bag, staring at his name in your phone. But your fingers shook too violently to press the call button. You remembered the hurt on his features, the way he couldn't even look at you as he passed in the halls. You weren't ready to see [Call Declined] appear on your screen. Instead you rested your phone on your lap, reaching in to retrieve your Chelsea contract.

Obviously, your eagerness to run away from your current life had blurred your vision. On page 22 of 31, there is was in what appeared to be a smaller font than the rest of the agreement.

"Under FIFA and British Football regulation, players may refuse treatment from club-appointed medical staff for any reason, including but not limited to feelings of fear, discomfort, lack of safety, and lack of confidence. Providers will be compensated on a fee-for-service basis, where compensation is scaled based on the number of players consistently treated. Should more than 40% of players request alternative treatment, the club may terminate the contract with the provider before the term of the contract has elapsed."

Your eyes widened, brows knitted together in confusion and borderline disgust. Women in medicine were already at a disadvantage, and that increased tenfold for women in sports medicine. Should the players feel uncomfortable with you because of your sex or age, you could spontaneously be out of a job after picking up and moving your whole life?!

Before you could pick up the phone and tell Steve that he would need to find someone else to fill this cursed position, a buzzing came from your bag. Who was calling your work phone?

"Hello?"

"Good evening Doctora y/l/n, hope that your visit at Chelsea went well." Andreas was Xavi's secretary, and he was the closest thing you would ever get to the cast of The Devil Wears Prada. He was rather cold in the way that he spoke, but never rude. Well dressed and straight to the point - commanding of respect.

"Went very well, Andreas. I got to meet-"

"Mister Xavi has asked for your presence on the flight back to Barcelona to discuss your future with the club. It is of the utmost importance that this meeting occur as soon as possible. So you need to be in Heathrow by tonight at 11pm for check in with the rest of the team."

"But my flight back to Barcelona is tomorrow and I-"

"You'll be fully reimbursed for the cost of changing your travel. We are leaving from Terminal 2. Have a wonderful evening."

Just like that, you were wondering how fast you could pack everything and leave in the next 6 hours when your personal phone buzzed in your lap.

[Pablo]: I know u said u need space but

[Pablo]: i rlly need to talk to u

[Pablo]: can i meet you somewhere?

Heart racing, you typed back as fast as you could with trembling fingers, telling him that you would be so happy to meet him, giving him the address of a café near your hotel. You didn't want him to see what your salary could actually afford (since Chelsea didn't cover your travel accommodations). You let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to see you. He wanted to speak with you. He wasn't completely lost.

~

Packing had been fast - you had only brought the essentials to London to avoid paying a bag fee on the budget airline you had traveled. Fixing yourself in the mirror, you let out a deep sigh. What were you even going to say to Pablo? Begging for forgiveness seemed the most logical choice. You practiced your apology in the mirror, and yet froze every time. How would you respond when he asked you why? Why it had been so easy for you to push him away, to strike him down, to make him feel so utterly unimportant to you and your life? You didn't know how you would respond.

Feelings of the heart are often the easiest to articulate. They're not like emotions. Emotions are straight forward: happiness, anger, sadness, jealousy. Things that were caused by one identifiable source, and could be expressed easily with words and actions. But the matters that went beyond feeling, those were the most difficult to understand, let alone communicate. Despite his form, it wasn't lust that drew you into Pablo. Those thoughts had made you breathe heavy and push your thighs together. The glimpses of Pablo's bare form were painted on the edge of your mind, soft skin and hard muscle, inviting you in for a touch, a taste. It was an exciting idea, but not the one that riled you up the most.

No, it was something different. It was a scene that had plagued your mind for weeks upon end, always causing you to wake in a cold sweat with a tightness in your chest, breaths labored. You pictured yourself laying on Pablo's bare chest, drawing circles on his skin as his heart beat rhythmically for you to listen to. As you drifted off, he would place a kiss on the top of your head, running a soothing hand down your spine. It wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him, as he whispered softly.

"Mine."

It was a magnetic pull that Pablo had, a force of nature that you were unable to escape. It could be described as nothing other than desire, like you would make the world stop spinning until the two of you were united. There was a higher force tying you to Pablo, and etched in your bones was a knowledge that you would never be able to leave him. But the sentiments died on your tongue before they could ever take to the air, never to fall on the ears of a certain Spaniard.

As your heels clicked against the city pavement, a sense of calm washed over you. He had reached out to you. There was an olive branch being extended. He was ready to hear what you had to say. Yet upon entering the small space, a different voice called out your name.

"Pedri?"

It was impossible to hide the disappointment in your voice. You had built up the confidence to come here solely based on the premise that Gavi wanted to see you. Your ego had deflated, back to feeling like utter garbage for the way you had treated the person who, in reality, was your closest friend. Before the self pity could fully sink its claws in, you noticed the full-leg brace that Pedri was sporting.

"I'm sorry that I used Pablo's phone to text you - didn't have your personal number, and it would be a little... salt-in-the-wound-ish to ask him for it right now. Especially since you asked him not to speak to you."

"I never said that!" You exclaimed a little more enthusiastically than intended, causing a couple people to glance in your direction. Pedri escorted you to a table in the corner, offering to go and get you a coffee to fight the chill of a London January.

"No please. It's completely fine. You shouldn't be standing with a torn muscle anyways."

Pedri looked at you inquisitively. He had not seen you in a while, especially with you and Gavi not on speaking terms. He had missed the quips and sarcastic comments he was able to catch during training. He missed the feeling of safety whenever you cared for himself or others on the field, as he knew that you were to be trusted with their bodies. He missed the fire you sparked in Pablo, leading to unparalleled passion and unprecedented performances. The air of natural confidence that you spoke with is what brought the smile to his face. Not hesitation or wobble in your voice. No need to consult a dozen others. Medically, you knew your shit.

"A tear? Luca told me it was only excessive strain on my hamstrings."

A scoff and an eye roll that widened Pedri's smile. "I wouldn't let Luca perform medicine on a Barbie. That's the wrong kind of brace if it's a sprain. It's immobilizing. You need something with compression - a thigh sleeve most likely. Have you been icing it?"

"How could you leave Barca when your successors are idiots like Luca?" His arms folded across the table in front of him as the realization spread across your features. You were acting like his physio on impulse.

"How did you know I was thinking about leaving?"

"Everybody knows. No one could focus on today's second half because of it. When I went down everyone was scrambling to find you and call you. Everyone, myself included, was waiting for you to run across the field, bag in those magic hands ready to come and give me a new leg. But then you weren't there. And I was just praying that Luca didn't schedule me for an amputation."

A shy smile and a breathy laugh. You met his kind eyes, piercing though you. It was surprising when you felt the wetness on your cheeks, registering you were crying only after the tears had rolled down to your chin. He brought his chair in closer, holding your hand, and you held on for dear life. Your tears were falling in earnest now, fat and fast enough to hit the table as you used Pedri as a lifeline.

"Come back to Barca."

"I can't Pedri. I've... I've just made such a mess of everything."

"You're talking about Pablo."

"I'm talking about everything. I have a player that actively hates me and is looking for every opportunity to get me fired. Everyone on the team thinks that I'm sleeping with Pablo. And Pablo - I can't even explain how much I messed up. I told him to stay away from me. To give me space. I don't want space." You rested your forehead against the cool wood of the table. "I just want him to talk to me. When you sent me that message I was so excited. I thought he was ready to forgive me."

"Don't worry for a second about Ferran. We heard about the complaint to HR and I'd be happy to speak on your behalf about the dogshit he says to you. Everyone with a brain knows you're not sleeping with Pablo - they all have so much respect for the work that you do. Dembele came to me after the match and told me to contact you. He said your first assignment for Barca was to work on his leg recovery, and it was the best treatment he's ever had." You raised your head, tears turning your eyes red and puffy as they stained your cheeks.

"This may be selfish of me to say, but I would do anything to have you stay at the club and work with me. I can't miss all of these cup games because the physios don't know what's going on. This is everything I have ever wanted in my life. And if you're the person that can help me get there, then nothing, especially not Ferran and the other airheads at the club, are going to hold me back."

He moved to grab your other hand as well, looking you straight in the eyes. There was not one indication that he was exaggerating his sentiments. He wanted to win more than he wanted to breathe.

"And Pablo? Don't worry about him."

"How can I not worry, Pedri. I was so cruel to him. He'll never speak to me again."

"Doctora, don't you know that there's no one on this earth he holds in higher regard?"

~

The terminal was surprisingly quite busy upon your arrival. It seemed that everyone was catching an international red-eye, causing you to stumble through crowds with your small bag and exhausted demeanor. You approached the airport staff, utterly lost in trying to find the meeting place. It was 10:56pm, and you didn't have the money to be missing the company-sponsored return flight.

"Excuse me, I'm with the F.C Barcelona team. Where can I check in for my flight?"

"I don't remember them becoming a unisex team.'' Your expression remained neutral as the staff member chuckled at his own joke. You didn't have time to give a lecture on the dangers of misogyny. "I need to see your Barca ID."

"I don't have my team ID badge, but if you let me speak to-"

"Don't you women have something better to do than try and fuck a footballer? Lord, you even have a suitcase and everything. I suggest that you go home and stop with these little charades - it's embarrassing."

You stood speechless as the man walked away, stationing himself in a different area of the terminal. Behind you, screams were heard coming from the door, followed by flashes of light in rapid succession.

"Gavi I love you!"

"Pedri Pedri! You're my idol!"

"Xavi have my babies!"

Your attention shifted to the security guarding the entrance as the Barca squad filtered through the doors, all dressed in coordinated pale yellow. You speed walked towards them, pace catching the attention of one of the guards.

"Miss, you need to maintain space."

Gavi turned to look at the person that was causing a disturbance. Usually it was a child who had gotten a little too excited to see their favorite players, and often the soft spot in his heart compelled him to give them a picture or signature. It was hard to have your dreams crushed as a child by a celebrity that didn't care, and he was determined not to be that type of person. That's when his eyes locked with a pair oh so familiar to him. He stood in place, frozen as his teammates narrowly avoided bumping into him and causing an awful domino effect. It felt like forever since he last looked at you this way: like you were the only person in the room.

"Ah, Doctora y/n, glad Andreas was able to coordinate with you. Sir, she's with us." Xavi's word was law, as usual, and you were allowed to pass through with the rest of the group, ushered to a more private area of the terminal, the screams of fans echoing behind you.

Pablo watched as you stood alongside the coach, chattering away about God knows what. Eric and Pedri were beside him, making conversation about the new additions introduced in the FIFA update.

"Did you know she was going to be here?" Gavi asked, interrupting Pedri's rant about how expensive different skins and expansions were. He had been desperate to see you, thinking of all the ways he might reconcile once he saw you again. But not now. He wasn't ready to face you - not ready to be told 'no' again. For the first time in years, a cold vein of fear ran through him. Was this it? Were you handing in your resignation, coming to Spain only to collect your things before moving to the gray fogginess of the Premier League?

"Yeah. We had a little chat earlier." Say what you want about the IQ of footballers, but Pedri was incredibly intelligent. He himself had given up a career in medicine to explore football greatness. This meant he was smart enough to have deleted the messages that he sent from Pablo's phone before he did his 78th re-read of all your text messages. He was also smart enough to figure out that Gavi had wanted you practically since he laid eyes on you. Contrary to what many may think, Gavi didn't really look at girls. He was usually absorbed in conversation with a friend, whether in person or virtually, and was not prone to looking at every pretty girl that crossed his path. He was hard to please and even harder to impress. So when he started seeking you out more often, mentioning you during random drives, he knew that Pablito was infatuated.

It was several months, however, before Pedri realized the extent of Pablo's affection towards you. It had been during the international break, when Pedri sat and played FIFA with Nico, the only worthy opponent among La Roja. Pablo was half watching the game, half staring at the illuminated screen when he stood suddenly. Pedri watched from the corner of his eye as Gavi stepped out onto the balcony in shorts and his training shirt in the bitter chill of December. When the match had ended (3-1 to him of course), he followed the younger outside, and found him with his phone pointed towards the horizon. The sun in its retirement had painted the sky the most vibrant shades of oranges and pinks, bleeding into a royal purple. The hazy, circular glow kept the sky warm, and the colors stretched out over the wide expanse of the city, painting everything in the golden light of dusk. That's when Pedri heard the shutter click.

"Since when do you take pictures of the sunset?" He was teasing again. It was always fun to rile up his fiery teammate.

"I'm sending them to the doctora. It's so pretty, I want her to see it."

"Isn't she in Barcelona right now? She's probably looking at the same sunset."

"But it's just so beautiful from this high up." Gavi said, eyes still transfixed on his phone as he searched for the most worthy flick to send you. "I just want to send her something beautiful. I want to send her every beautiful thing in the world."

Yes, Pedri was a smart man. Smart enough to see that Pablo's feelings to you were stronger than he had ever experienced for another. Probably the strongest he had ever experienced at all. He was smart enough to approach Alejandro and Ansu, while Gavi chewed on his lip at the prospect of speaking to you, to organize the seating during the flight home.

~

"Don't get too comfortable, Doctora. You'll be joining me upfront for a chat after takeoff." You laughed politely at Xavi as he boarded the plane. You gathered your things, acutely aware of Ferran's gaze on you while you bent over.

"Have a good time at Chelsea? Try and ruin any lives while there?" He asked, voice laced with annoyance. HR had approached him about your complaint, informing him that they would be asking other players and staff about comments made at your expense. While he could keep his friends quiet, he had done too much to piss off Gavi, leaving him vulnerable to everyone in his camp. His only hope was to get you to leave before the investigation had concluded.

"I would prefer we didn't speak about non-professional matters. Thank you, Ferran." You said, smiling so sweetly he felt his teeth throb. You boarded the plane last with the rest of the staff, Luca rushing past you like he would be left behind if he wasn't seated soon. Glancing down at your ticket, you read out your seat number. Row 6, seat G. Walking onto the aircraft, you were stunned by the beauty of the first class cabin. It was furnished completely with plush leather, with every two or three seats getting their own dividers from the rest of the passengers. You walked to row 6, and made your way across the aisle to the right side of the plane where your seat was meant to be. In row 6, seat F, sat Pablo. He looked up at the aisle at the sound of shuffling, and the two of you just stared at one another, wordlessly communicating a shared hurt. All you wanted was to pull him in and say how sorry you were. You just didn't know if he'd be ready to accept.

"Um, I think I'm in the seat next to you." You told him sheepishly. He moved from his place, allowing you to sit next to him by the window.

"I thought the staff usually sits together." He said, trying to prevent it from sounding like a complaint, because it truly wasn't. He wondered what force of fate had allowed your seat to be placed next to his. Little did he know that fate was from the Canary Islands. You sat next to him, adjusting your seat and the belt, before bouncing your leg nervously. The speed increased when you felt the vibration of the engine, watching the plane move from its parked space onto the runway. You wanted to say something - anything - but your throat was dry and the words failed you. You didn't know what to say to ensure that you would be forgiven. That was probably the scariest part: knowing that the forgiveness may never come.

"Are you afraid of flying?"

You turned your head at the question. Gavi's eyes were fixated on your sweatpants-clad thigh as it bounced at incredible speeds. There were many things you were scared of in that moment, but the plane didn't help quell any of them. You were going to be stuck next to Pablo for the next two hours at the least. The anxiety of not knowing how he felt towards you gnawed at your skin, eating you alive. You nodded your head, because in all honesty, it was the same fear, wasn't it? Flying, falling - all terrifying prospects.

Gavi put one airpod in, extending the other to you. It was a peace offering, the olive branch you had waited for. You accepted it graciously, muttering a quiet thank you as you slotted it into place. Your body turned back towards the window, 'Sky full of stars' playing softly in the right half of your brain. As the plane continued to move slowly down the runway, you felt a hand rest atop yours, bringing your bouncing leg to a halt. The skin on skin sent shockwaves through you, electricity running up and down your arm. His hand moved sideways, sliding under yours to lift, and then proceeding to interlock your fingers. The warmth of Pablo's hand, the strength of his grip. The slight squeeze as the plane began picking up speed. Despite lacking the confidence to look at him directly, you peaked at your joined hands. Pablo was here. And through the presses of his fingers and the soothing motion of his thumb, he reminded you that Pablo would always be here, so long as you would have him.

"y/n, Mister Xavi would like to see you now."

You hadn't even realized your hand was still laced with Pablo's until one of the assistant coaches came to collect you. Gavi had drifted off into a light sleep, waking as he felt the cold hit his once warm palm. He grabbed your wrist as you tried to follow the assistant coach.

"Don't leave." He said, voice dry and raspy. You weren't sure if he meant now or the club. You moved your hand to join it with the one on your wrist, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance, as he had done for you.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back."

This was your first time on a plane that had a lounge. The coaching staff was spread across all four sofas, drinking champagne and discussing the efforts from this trip. Xavi sat at a table, an empty seat across from him.

"Doctora, welcome back from Chelsea. Did you enjoy your visit?" He asked, offering your a flute that you politely declined.

"It was wonderful. The staffand players were all great. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Xavi raised an eyebrow at the diplomatic answer. You were not giving him much of an indication as to your decision. He reached into his bag and extracted a medical file, sliding it over to you.

"As I'm sure you saw on TV and online, Pedri suffered quite a severe injury during the Man U match. Pedri is a key component of our midfield, and Luca has estimated eight to ten weeks for his recovery. I'd like you to take a look at his medical examination report and recommend a course of treatment."

You took the papers in your hand, looking at Xavi cautiously. What was the purpose of this exercise?

"Well, I've already told Pedri that his brace was incorrect, and gave him the specifications for a sleeve to buy once we return home. The eight to ten weeks metric is based on the healing with this immobilization boot. Using the correct compression sleeves and ice, as well as rest, Pedri should be back on in 4 weeks. Five if you want to be safe. That would mean his first appearance back would be the SuperCopa semifinals."

Xavi laughed to himself, collecting the files and returning them to their place. He pulled out another sheet of documents, the words "Adjusted Contract" in bold at the top.

"Doctora y/l/n, it has become increasingly evident as I watch you practice and treat our players that you are a generational talent in sports medicine. You have a deep understanding of the body that few others, both in the club and outside, can fully grasp. At Barca, we strive to do everything in our power to keep generational talents in Camp Nou. I would like you to consider remaining at the club until the summer, when contract renegotiations occur. This would allow you to see out a season that you have contributed so greatly to."

"Why the new contract now then?"

"Just a few clause adjustments. Firstly, we have increased your compensation to absorb your living costs. Those will now be covered by the club. The other change is on this page here. It states that your main focus must be on starters, injured prioritized before healthy. So, if you choose to accept, Pedri would be the top priority as an injured starter. You would dedicate all the necessary time to his treatment."

You scanned the document, and it was just as he said. No other nonsense, just the clauses on compensation and prioritization.

"This is all so flattering sir, but..." Your voice trailed off, shy to speak in front of a legend and the man holding your future in his hands.

"What can we do to make this deal irrefutable?"

"The contract is perfect sir. What I would need is a promise from you. Chelsea's base compensation was higher, but the compensation was based on the number of services the medical staff provides. I could be fired at any moment if not enough players were comfortable being treated by me. I felt, or well rather I didn't feel the sense of loyalty, of family, that I get as Barca. And so I would need a promise from you."

"Name your demand."

"When the summer comes and my contract needs to be renegotiated, keep me on the team. Don't try and pawn me off to someone else. This is my team, my club, my family. So you have to promise me that I have a future here, or else I'll save the heartbreak and leave now."

Xavi placed a pen on the table, bringing his chair forward to be as close as possible to you. "Doctora, you are an incredible and frankly priceless asset to us. We were able to hand select you from the best of the best new physios in Spain. Our successes, any trophies and titles, we owe them in part to you. Help me finish the season with a strong and healthy squad, and I swear to you on my life that you will have a place at Barca until the day you die." He stretched out his hand, and you took a deep breath, meeting the shake midway. It felt weird, signing your contract again, but for more money. You definitely didn't expect to be in this position before you've even graduated, but it brought a pride to your soul. Xavi saw something in you. A generational talent. Somebody believed in what you could do.

You returned to your seat and found that it was Gavi's turn to bounce his leg. You sat down, and he followed you with his eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Did you enjoy your trip?"

"Very much so. I got to meet Joao Felix."

Gavi's face turned to you, catching the beaming smile that broke out across your face.

"Yeah? You like him in person, or was he a disappointment?"

"He was less... dreamy than I had anticipated. But still sweet nonetheless. It was a cool experience."

Gavi responded with a hum, turning his music back on and looking away from you. His other airpod sat on the tray table, right where you left it.

"Pablo," it was your turn to rest a hand on his bouncing leg, "we have to talk."

Pablo turned to you, eyes sad and lip between his teeth. "Do we? I feel like you've said everything there is to say." He knew he was being difficult. He knew he was being petty. But Pablo could not let himself get hurt again, especially not in front of the entire team. If he was going to mourn your departure, it was going to be in the comfort of his own guest bed, the one piece of furniture he could sleep on for 7 continuous hours because it held no memories of you. It was your turn to find his fingers and slot them between your own.

"I didn't mean it. Any of it. I have so many reasons why I didn't mention meeting you, Pablo, but I'm just not brave enough to tell you yet. It wasn't because it wasn't important. It could never be. You are one of the most important people in my life. You're one of the only people I have left. Please don't push me away."

His eyes met yours, and he knew there was no way he could remain angry. It was you, after all. The person that made Pablo believe in the possibility of a soulmate. The one that Gavi thought of whenever songs about incredible love came up on his playlist. You were it. He gripped your hand tighter.

"Going to be hard to support you from several countries away, but I will try my best."

"You don't have to. I'm staying."

Gavi's eyes widened, face lighting up like a kid who had just been gifted an entire candy store. "You're staying?"

"Mhm. Barca is my home. My family. No matter how bad it gets, I could never leave this place behind." It felt as though you spoke those words right into his soul, breathing life back into his very being. You were staying. Your voice, your laugh, your energy - all of it would be at Camp Nou, waiting on the sidelines as he fought tooth and nail to capture your attention. "And plus, Pedri and Xavi basically begged me to come back so Luca doesn't have to treat him."

Gavi let a laugh fill his lungs and spill from his throat, maybe a little louder than necessary on a midnight flight. But he was feeling genuine joy course through his veins. He was a man on death row with a second chance at life. He removed his hand from your grip, bringing to above you and resting it across your shoulders. Professionalism be damned. He just wanted to be close to you right now.

"Xavi was more convincing than Joao? I bet that would be a blow to his ego if he found out." It was comfortable, sitting with Pablo in this way. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. You pushed up the hand rest so that the two of you could get even closer. Professionalism be damned. They wouldn't fire you while Pedri was still limping.

"Oh yeah. Portugal boy is cute, but Xavi in 2010? That was my first love. I could never refuse a request from him." More giggles from Gavi. You wished you would bottle this moment, eager to make his happiness perpetual. He was human sunshine, and he deserved every light and happy and beautiful moment life could offer.

"The spiky hair? Really?"

"Shut up!" Coupled with a smack to the chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, exhaustion of the day and its stressors finally catching up to you. "Every man looks hotter when carrying a trophy."

Gavi let out a light laugh, turning to hide his blush. Yet another motivation to lift as many cups as possible this season. He offered you his other airpod again, which you accepted, inserting it as a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyelids were heavy, and you were drifting in and out of consciousness.

"One day, we'll need to talk about it properly, you know." Pablo said from above you, voice soft and serious.

You nodded your head, letting out a quiet "Mhm" in a agreement. You knew it was an inevitable conversation. You would have to eventually face the music, let Gavi free himself from whatever feelings were sitting on his chest. But you couldn't do it now. Not with your future up in the air. Not with your feelings for Gavi still a massive tangle of emotions.

"Not tonight." You said to him softly, as he turned his head to meet your eyes.

"No, not tonight."

Your eyes finally closed and you began drifting off. Pablo's arm remained wrapped around you as he leaned in closer, basically cuddling you on this plane. Thank the lord for blessing the engineers with enough foresight to install dividers. As you breathed rhythmically against his chest, he pressed his nose into your hair, breathing deeply. Why was everything about you so intoxicating?

In the haze of your sleep, you heard Pablo speaking to you. You listened intently, hoping to catch these special words that he only released to your sleeping form.

"Doctora, I would wait for you forever. Even when you hit rock bottom, I'll be there, waiting for you with a ladder. You will always have me, no matter what."

~~~~~~~

A/N: Guys I did it!!! My longest part to date! I am so flipping tired. It's 4am. I don't remember a time before I started writing this part. Anyways, we are chugging along y'all! Only two parts left in the main story!! I surpassed my 15k word goal. Maybe next part is 18k? I think the next part is going to be my favorite. I haven't decided if I want the big boom pow event to be in part 9 or 10. We will see. Again, apologies for the long time between updates, but semi-decent writing takes time. As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! If you notice any easter eggs/ small details, feel free to point them out!!! There are so many and I love when y'all get them. IDK when part 9 is coming out but when it's done y'all will be the first to know. Ok love y'all byeeeee.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms @dessxoxsworld @user6373738

[familyagrestefanblog]

There is this ongoing thing with Adrien drawing back from kissing Marinette all the time, which at this point in "Collution" doesnt make sense anymore as him just 'backing out'. "Emotion" too brought this up already as legitimate issue Adrinette is going through that after the ending of "Adoration" every single time Adrinette tried to kiss, Adrien stopped it and even ran away.

This is a great opportunity for me to FINALLY talk about this massive subtext plot that started for real with the end of "Adoration" but up til now I didn't know from which angle I should approach an analysis post about it. This kissing detail being back and visually more elaborated on is EXACTLY what I needed!

In "Collusion" we see that Adrien's facial expression looks like as if an older order put in him is lighting up for a second preventing him from kissing her:

I mean, the shot composition is even purposfully leading your eyes towards Adrien's head with the background wall for example. It's clear who you're supposed to focus on the most.

"Emotion" already implied it through dialog but "Collusion" now pretty much proves that the one time on-screen we saw Adrien draw back from Marinette in "Emotion" wasn't merely caused by the damn phone (although this isnt the first time something weird happens with Adrien's phone this season) or an order somehow given in real time as one would assume, every single time after "Adoration" where Adrinette tried to kiss, Adrien seems to be stopped by an order Gabriel gave him after Gabriel turned Adrien into a puppet in the end scene and Marinette was so worried about if Adrien might be in danger in his home, but tried to remain hopeful:

This is something I figured for a while now. That we were supposed to feel exactly what Marinette is feeling here. She has no idea if Gabriel is doing something to Adrien and if its bad. She is the the outside person, she doesnt know whats happening in that house and she can't help Adrien once he's in it alone with his father. All she can do is hoping that there is another explaination.

Though that turns out to be wishful-thinking, because "Emotion" in fact has already told us that Gabriel did something to Adrien on this evening in "Adoration" after Adrien was forced back inside and Gabriel kept on and on twisting and using the ring while creeping backwards where WE know exactly that Adrien has just returned inside. They would have met in the foyer.

There is nothing far-fetched about a conversation having taken place once Marinette was gone and in my opinion it feels more like wishful denial to say that Gabriel 100% totally did not go to talk to his son. I mean, Adrinette was straight up about to have their first kiss right in Gabriel's view and that right after the events of "Protection", the episode right before "Adoration":

Re-enforcing to Adrien through harsher means to not be in a relationship with Marinette seems like a fitting punishment order Gabriel would pull after "Adoration's" horror show ending.

Give me a logical reason for why that wouldnt have been a realistic thing to happen? A reason that please isnt rooted in the logic of "we didnt see it when we followed Marinette's pov and therefore nothing happened". Cause I sure followed Marinette's pov and she ended this episode very alarmed and concerned.

Alarmed and concerned for a very good reason. The entirety of "Emotion" then goes on and on and ON about asking WHY Adrien is acting so weird and WHY he hasn't told Marinette about the Diamond Ball:

This question is a central theme all through the entire episode, and in the end the truth about Adrien's silence gets revealed.

Marinette herself has no idea and everyone else in this episode is also just giving their best guess of what makes the most sense for them. But that doesn't mean anybody actually got this right. And we know that because in the end Adrien outright SAYS that he didnt mention it because his father ORDERED him not to:

And then Adrien's and Gabriel's father son talk elaborates on that further from Gabriel's perspective:

I don't know what to tell you, it's right THERE. Adrien did not tell Marinette because Gabriel forbit it. It was an order Adrien couldnt go up against because it explicitly stated that Adrien is not allowed to tell Marinette specifically about the Diamond Ball. And as we saw in "Emotion" this order manifested in Adrien panicking around Marinette and lying in a way that at least somewhat still contained the truth:

I really find it upsetting when people victim-blame Adrien for not rebelling and "being brave" the way Félix and Kagami do (or even worse, compare him to Marinette who isnt a Sentihuman at all) because unlike them Adrien is not wearing his own amok AND is unfortunate enough to have both his parental figures wear them, so of course there are alot of direct interactions.

But if that one moment in "Collusin", where Adrien talks back at his father, indeed showcased Nathalie giving Adrien the means to really fight back for a moment by having laid her ring hand on Adrien's so one of his amoks would for the first time touch his skin and making it possible to nullify Gabriel's order depending on how passionately Adrien is against it, then this was a first taste of what Adrien would be like if he were given full control over himself:

Nathalie did that on purpose to protect Adrien from Gabriel and enable him to choose his own happiness as Emilie wished, which is what we saw moments before:

Adrien in "Emotion" and "Pretention" was not a 'coward', that is such disgusting victim-blaming against a person who is literally mind-controlled by their parent without even knowing it for their entire life. It's like giving Kagami shit for giving her amok back to her mother when Tomoe demands it, as if Kagami KNOWS that her ring holds her entire mental and physical autonomy. These poor children have it horrible enough being literally almost enslaved to their parents demands from the day they were born for some sort of sick purpose. Cool that Marinette doesn't have that problem at all and Félix doesn't have it anymore so THEY are able to do whatever they want, but they have no business being held as the golden standard.

This is about Kagami and Adrien who are still being taken advantage of and lied to ever since birth from the people who are supposed to love and protect them. Yes, they act weird and nerve-wreckingly sometimes and in ways that apparently dissappoints you because - of course - if you were a Sentihuman half enslaved and kept in the dark by your parent you would just choose to not have those problems, no biggie, but unfortunately Adrien and Kagami arent you.

They're weird and frustrated. Weird, frustrated, exhausted and abused little half-slaves, left in the dark and still minors so they cant escape anyway.

These things matter.

DETAILS matter.

Details like between the ending of "Adoration" and "Emotion" the episode has Marinette tell us that there was a time skip we didnt see in which Adrien has been acting very weird:

New and suspicious extremes MATTER.

Gabriel crossed a massive line by turning Adrien into a literal puppet at the end of "Adoration" seemingly for the first time from a further distance, since this seems to be the first time THIS happened in Adrien's head:

The fact alone that this was the instance where Gabriel crossed such a fundamental line is already a give-away that whatever is about to follow from Gabriel as Adrien's father from this moment onwards will be on an even more extreme layer of abusive. Which we know to be true from all the episodes afterwards.

But even if you wanna ignore all that, Marinette is then increasingly more worried about Adrien's safety in his home and everything regarding his father and has to truly face for the first time her underlying fear of "what if Gabriel isnt just a bad father?" and "What if Adrien is even being hurt in some way?" although she tried to approach it from deflecting angles until Gabriel talked to her in "Pretention".

But more and more Marinette is learning in what hellhole Adrien has been living in for all his life.

Because, you know, that is the case with highly abusive parents and its something one very likely has to face when one enteres a relationship. This is perfectly realistic, just the abuse method is fantasy. Something the show is not yet letting any of the children besides Félix know yet.

But we KNOW that Adrien is a Sentihuman at his abusive father's mercy and "Emotion" tells us that Marinette's concern at the end of "Adoration" was correct. Gabriel DID do something to Adrien but we, just like Marinette, couldnt fully see it because the biggest portion of the abuse happened behind closed doors as most abuse does. And Marinette, just like us, was left wondering what just happened to Adrien when she saw something disturbing happen to him which may stand in connection to his father.

And she, just like us, asks herself if he's even safe living with this man (no he isnt) when THIS is what happend to Adrien just being near his home and father:

And just like Marinette WE were supposed to find Adrien's silence after this concerning. Marinette read this correctly but she doesnt know yet how to properly interpret all of Adrien's types of silence and the family contexts surrounding it.

Adrien didnt tell Marinette about the Diamond Ball because Gabriel silenced his son, something that Adrien himself wouldnt properly recognize as such and only blames himself for as a failure on his part.

Who cares what the other characters' guesses are for why he didnt say anything? The only two people who truly know why Adrien didnt tell her are Adrien and Gabriel themselves because that's the abusive parent and his abused child. And that's the truth Marinette should be after. Not the one she prefers to be true and she is finally making good progress on that front.

And we can take the silencing in "Emotion" even further, because that wasn't the only time skip + silencing situation we had.

Just like in between "Adoration" and "Emotion", there is yet another significant time skip very cleverly handled - and almost hidden - between "Emotion" and "Pretention". We know that there is a time skip because once again Adrinette tells us:

Honestly, no doubt they will go back to these important time skips in season 6 or 7, there is so much important Marinette development for her love-related anxiety alone deliberately skipped before and after "Emotion" because of what it was entangled with. Not to mention everything else!

Optional rant ahead, I need to get this out of my system for a second: "Emotion" still barely makes sense and dont get me started on Félix! When do you think he fell in love with and stalked Kagami besides in the time skip? He wasnt in love with her before he found out at the diamond ball that she's like him, he probably barely made anything of her when he thought her to be a "normal human". Kagami and Marinette were not part of Felix' plan, Kagami he only just found out is a sentihuman too and therefore deserving of concideration for him, and Marinette wasnt even supposed to be there!

I swear, "Emotion" and the time skips before and afterwards are driving me crazy. I have to make a seperate post for the Felix and Amilie stuff alone and Adrien too was just plain weird in that episode with no proper explaination besides for the little amout that was required to make this work for Marinette's outsider perspective who doesnt know what's going on inside those families anyway. Félix apparently was gone for WEEKS and apparently both Adrien and Kagami knew that because they werent surprised hearing that and neither Gabriel nor Tomoe seemed to care that Amilie went off on Gabriel about it in infront of their children.

Félix was gone for weeks. Adrien knew it. And then we see Adrien immediately recognizing Félix as peacock miraculous holder even despite the magic; not being too surprised seeing Felix there transformed and AT ALL when he should be missing and is willing to go to him in a friendly enough and trusting manner despite that being weird too with no context! Félix is a completely new person who suddenly is aware that Adrien has always been a victim caught in a hellhole with Gabriel and what the fuck was that fake miraculous ring from Adrien Felix had?

Screw you, something happened there in this time skip before "Emotion" and we only got to see the tip of the ice berg! And screw this show for barely giving context for anything in "Emotion" yet because we are stuck with Marinette as main character and Adrien didnt wanted to involve her in his family shit because why would he?

*GROAN* I'm turning grey because of this damn show...

ANYWAY

What "Pretention" does very cleverly is picking up the same character goals established at the end of "Emotion" prior and starting this episode with it. But that doesnt mean at all that this is the next day. NOTHING about what Adrinette tells us about how Gabriel now breathes down their necks makes sense if this is merely the next day:

It's at the very least a couple of days and that's being VERY generous. I'm personally putting it at one week. That would mean Gabriel is being increasingly more of an ass for one school week where Adrinette has to get more and more creative (and Adrien ending up knowing when his father is busy) and at the beginning of the second Marinette has had it. One week is also a perfectly reasonable timeframe for the kids to put off talking to Gabriel and Tomoe while its also a realistic point in time where you would draw the line and motivate yourself again to finally do it.

Kagami's dialogue is the factor that very cleverly tricks the audience into thinking it can just be the next day since Kagami is "oh so much braver than Adrien who doesnt dare to talk to his father", which the episode then subverts by showing that Kagami rightfully fears her mother too and shouldnt be concidered less for it because Tomoe is an abusive hardass too who Kagami needs to be protected from as (her) child and Sentihuman who doesnt know she is one & the end of "Emotion" literally showed us Adrien talking to his father right after he told Marinette that he would try to convince him to have a heart-to-heart with her to clear up whatever he has against her:

Adrien did NOT fail to talk to his father after he said he would because we saw him do it right away. What he did "fail" to do though was mentioning towards the girls that he already talked with his father and tell them what Gabriel said - though that's understandable, Gabriel is being an irrational fuck; blaming the fiasco on Marinette when it's realistically on Félix - and to convince his father to talk to Marinette. But even for this Adrien's on-screen talk with Gabriel has the explaination for:

Did you pick up on the pattern too? That as well was an explicit order from Gabriel with the ring.

Adrien in "Pretention" didnt 'manage' to talk to his father again about him and Marinette so they can have a heart-to-heart because prior to that Gabriel forbit Adrien through an order to ever mention Marinette towards him again (and that means, since Adrinette didnt talk to Gabriel yet, Kagami in turn put off talking to her mother too)

So of course Adrien couldnt do it, which is why he went along with the only option he subconciously felt like he had left. Bringing Marinette to his father so SHE can talk to him by his side, forcing his father into a corner. Adrien unknowingly loopholed himself and out of Gabriel's order that's literally silencing him.

Details, time skips and circumstances matter.

So to bring this back to the failed Adrinette kissing in "Collution":

I'm pretty sure that from the ending of "Adoration" onwards we are now going to see a further and further escalation of ways for Gabriel to enforce his power over Adrien. Regularly just as his father (which is already bad enough) and also the ways in which Gabriel can hurt Adrien through the amok ring

- but in ways he can for now at least somewhat still hide from Nathalie, though no doubt this is going to end BADLY where even Nathalie cant help Adrien anymore as it was already established that Gabriel can absolutely do that and still cross so many more lines-

and in "Emotion" that already included silencing Adrien from letting Marinette know about the Diamond Ball and then not letting him talk about Marinette to him at all (for which I'm quite sure Nathalie touching Adrien with the amok ring in "Collution" helped Adrien break through that barrier because that WAS the first time he really talked ABOUT Marinette towards Gabriel since "Emotion" that isnt just him mentioning her name in logical situations or vaguely talking around the relationship topic like in "Pretention").

But I'm also betting that Gabriel odered Adrien to not kiss Marinette after he puppeteered Adrien back into the mansion in "Adoration" or some other variation of an official grand gesture that Adrien is in a relationship with her. Something that... yeah, DID indeed stop after "Protection", didn't it? (Ooh. That explains why the date was made such a big deal for Adrien's story through the parallels to Gabriel's and Emilie's date in the past in "Evolution"; that was the last time Adrien was able to do something like that...)

But poor Adrien of course does not know the true reason for why he's still hesitating to kiss Marinette even now in "Collusion". He must be so relieved that Marinette is reading it as him needing more time with her too to get comfortable enough to kiss. It's so rough watching all these episodes and seeing Adrien beat himself up and think so low of himself when he's literally being abused through mind-control. All I want is for Adrien to finally have his rings on his hand like Félix and Kagami get to. I just want my boy to be free :'(

[thriftedtchotchkes]

piece of me

pairing: younger!mike schmidt & baby!abby schmidt

summary: at 22 years old, mike is given custody of his infant sister after the loss of their parents. though he might not ever truly feel worthy of her, there's one thing he'll always be certain of—they belong together.

warnings: pre-fnaf movie au, inspired by the official movie novel, loss of parents, mentions of depression and anxiety, childhood trauma

word count: <1k

Mike never asked for this.

As his tiny sister reaches for him from her playpen, his first instinct is to wait for their mom to pick her up and give her the attention she needs. But their mom isn't here anymore. Neither is their dad.

It's just Mike and Abby now, and he has no idea what to do in a situation like this. The longer she makes grabby hands in his direction, the more upset she gets, but he feels like he can't move. He's frozen, riddled with guilt because he already knows he can't help her.

Mike isn't equipped for this. He's not ready for this.

Kids were never on the agenda, if there was ever an agenda to begin with. The horrible truth is that he can't be trusted with that kind of responsibility. He already proved that a long time ago. With Garret.

The thought alone is so painful, he pushes it to the back of his mind to preserve his own sanity. Right now, it's just another reminder of how much of a fuck-up he is. A failure of a big brother, destined to destroy yet another little life. And this time has the potential to be so much worse.

Abby's barely 11 months old, which means he actually has to raise her. Between long shifts at a dead-end job, he'll have to teach her how to walk and talk and read. Buy her diapers, her toys and clothes, her formula. She's not even old enough for solid food, for fuck's sake.

She needs her mom. Instead, she's stuck with him—her shitty older brother who's still glued to the couch, incompetent as ever. She's not crying at least, so it's not an emergency—yet. But her little button nose is starting to scrunch up, and that's never a good sign.

Another moment passes as they continue to watch each other, stuck at an impasse only Mike has the power to end, if only he could just fucking move. But before he can convince his limbs to cooperate, Abby's hands drop to the wooden slats of her pen like she's finally given up. Her bottom lip wobbles dangerously, and his chest seizes in panic.

Okay, now it's an emergency. Now, he has to do something. Tears well up in her eyes, and she hiccups around what he assumes is the first of many sobs to come. What is he supposed to do? How does he stop this? When no solution comes, he feels his palpitating heart break—for both of them.

Because Mike is lying to himself.

Deep down, he knows what she wants, but he's too scared of the consequences of giving in. Just pick her up. Just hold her. But he can't. He doesn't want her to get attached. It'll only make it that much harder when he inevitably lets her down and they take her away from him. Maybe they should. What kind of monster refuses to comfort a crying child?

From the outside looking in, he's sure his actions—or lack thereof—seem cruel. They'd never know his throat is starting to constrict or that his head is filled with so much white noise, it's impeding his capacity for logical thought, or any thought at all. He wishes he was a more capable man. A better man. But he's broken. From the outside or not, anyone can see that.

Except for Abby. What must she see when she looks at him? Babies, especially ones as perceptive as her, are supposed to be able to sense tumultuous emotions, so why doesn't that explain the way she's looking at him right now? Like he's familiar, like she knows he's family. Like he's her world.

Their eyes lock, and suddenly it's like he's looking in a mirror. The same brown irises and dark, curly hair. Their father's nose and their mother's smile. If he wanted to, he could see that smile again. It's been a long time since it graced his own face, but if he just picked her up. If he just held her.

An unexpected wave of clarity washes over him. This responsibility wasn't forced on him. He chose this, to care for her and provide her with a happier life than she would've had with their cold, money-hungry aunt.

He chose to raise her because regardless of how ill-equipped he is to be a parent, she deserves to be loved, and he will always be able to give her that. And when she reaches out her tiny hand again with hope in her tear-filled, brown eyes, he realizes she's choosing him, too.

Mike never asked for this. But as he lifts Abby into his arms and cradles her against his chest, he knows in his heart that this is where she's meant to be.

thanks for reading!

divider by @saradika-graphics

[pigeonp0st]

Wow, I just finished reading your most recent piece with Kara and it was really well done. You mentioned the idea of immortality in that and wondered how that could be used in a different piece perhaps. Kara (Plus Alex and the others) possibly finding out that reader is immortal and has been for a long time. (As a sort of headconnon or what not. I’d presume reader would be running a personally owned company, as big if not bigger than L-Corp. What with having a long time to amass wealth)

Kara Danvers X Reader

Summary:

Reader reveals she’s immortal to the super friends. Kara comforts her.

warnings:

Angst

Notes:

Thanks for the request! Sorry for taking so long. It being shorter is the sacrifice I’ve made to return to writing, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

——

It’s game night that the super friends find out about my immortality.

It comes out when Lena says she’s been looking into my company, wanting to buy it. She mentions curiously that it says I’m the founder, when it’s well known my company has been around for nearly a hundred years.

And, well…It comes out then, because you’ve stopped being secretive about it when it stopped being something you had to be secretive about…

They know now— of my immortality, and though I should feel relief at the being known, of the truth I’ve not done much to hide revealing itself, all I feel is discontent. Discontent and unsatisfied, unsatisfied because the agony and empathy in their eyes is lackluster. They know now, and even as they try to understand they’re incapable of it.

I am immortal, and yet I have lived a thousand lives in my one everlasting one. There’s so much devastation in every end when you’ve had countless of new beginnings. I do best in the in between where l don’t have to face either beginning or end. It’s in the start of something new that every fiber of my being screams for stop.

Getting used to something doesn’t mean it gets easier, in the same way grief often works. I am constantly grieving my lives, and it’s become a heavy burden they could never understand.

It hurts in a way I hadn’t accounted for. With the coming of Superman, the rise of aliens, the new acceptance of them—there’s a rise of difference, and in that alternative community. It makes you feel better, this new life. It’s given you more hope of being understood than ever before, but to be faced with your friend’s sympathetic eyes, it all feels lackluster.

Even more so when Winn makes a nerdy comment about wanting to know the truth about history. Everyone laughs, laughs and leaves me alone in the same instant.

I laugh along, searching for connection and finding none. Disappointment was the backside of the renewed hope this life has given me. I felt intensely that there was no point in explaining any of anything that had ever happened for me. To reject them that would allow me the dignity of being not understood on my own terms.

It is better to be alone by yourself, than to be alone surrounded by people after all.

Karas eyes meet mine. She’s sitting by Alex and Lena’s feet. Her and Lena the only ones not laughing, trying to lighten the mood. Lena gives me an apologetic smile, on behalf of the others. There’s connection there.

Kara…Kara just goes distant. Goes distant then, and then goes distant the rest of the game night. It’s when everyones leaving and she stops me, I understand, or accept really; it was because of me. What I said.

I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to speak on it ever again, regret like acid still in my stomach.

“You…” Kara pauses, searches my eyes—for what, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She must sense the way this kills me from the way I wince, because she pulls me into a hug. A hug full of emotion. It shatters me in a way, because it feels like permission. Permission to fall apart.

I can’t, I’ve learned. Know now that if I start, I’ll never stop. All I can do is use logic as avoidance from my heart, and move forward with something resembling acceptance.

I pull away.

“Superman, you, all the aliens, the Meta-Humans, all of you have stretched the definition of what we call ‘humanity’, what we call ‘heart’, and yet still I feel like it escapes me.” It aches as I admit it—feels like a terrible, stupid thing.

Stupid because I have lived so long and yet still, here I am, so agonizingly affected. There are things I know, things I’ve learned, and they all mean nothing.

Kara shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed. She rejects it all. “That very thing inside of that feels different, alone in your experience, that is the very thing that actually connects you to humanity,” Kara says, her eyes soft and understanding.

Understanding in this, in this that she can understand. My heart quickens, I watch Kara, think of hope. Think of her.

Kara who has lost her whole world, her whole culture, who has taken her past and her aloneness and had become a hero, instead of something much darker. “Is there anyone like you, Kara?” I ask. It’s perhaps the question that has tormented her, the way it torments me— “is there anyone like me?”— but I say it like a gift. With reverence.

She is different, inexplicably so. It’s the best thing about her. Kara smiles shyly, looks down, fixes her glasses. “There’s you,” she whispers, “with an aloneness not anyone in this world could understand.”

There’s something about her saying it as it is that settles something inside of you.

“To feel so alone, and have it be the very thing that connects me, and in actuality makes me not alone,” l muse, somehow impressed. There’s not a life that has taught me more than the one with Kara.

There’s a gratitude inside me larger than all the life I’ve lived.

Kara grins, she pulls me in again. Hugs me tight. “I’m sorry about Alex asking to recruit you,” she whispers after a while. I let her words be the thing that has me pulling away, despite Kara’s pout at it.

I smile hesitantly, waving away Kara’s apology. “When Superman showed up it had me thinking about it, but my immortality has been taken advantage of before, and not being able to die isn’t as strong of a power as you might think,” I admit, “I’m not as strong as you’d think.”

Kara gives me a disbelieving look. My defensiveness looks like guilt to her, I know. It is. It’s guilt and fear. I’d want nothing more than to make this forever mean something, but I’m plagued by all of its consequences.

She lets me get away with the things left unsaid, thankfully. In my gratefulness I decide not to ask about her own prolonged life, despite my ongoing curiosity.

I know it’s a sensitive topic. There’s almost all of me that hurts for her, and then there’s a small part of me that thinks; I can live with her longer.

Supergirl, Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-el; my love.

I cough, adjust my bag over my shoulder, and step away. I know I have to before I kiss her in the dim lighting of her apartment, in the body that gets the honor to live alongside her. “See you tomorrow, Supergirl?”

Kara nods, eyes dark. She bites her lip, looks away with a flush. “Yep. One hundred percent. Lunch, right? Right. Yeah. I’ll be there,” Kara confirms, turning an even darker red at my responding eyebrow raise.

“Yeah,” I say, amused. “I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it for my life.”

Kara laughs. Fills your heart for lifetimes with it. You leave with the hope of tomorrow, and the sound of her laugh.

[peachesofteal]

hi Peach IM BACK and i CANNOT get the cramps fic from dead disco au out of my head. like i need to know what happens after she slammed the door? like did they continue knocking? were they able to persuadr her to open the door and go to the hospital? did she let them back in? did she let them be at the birth? was she gonna keep bee or give it to simon and johnny? DEAD DISCO BRAINROT

🖤🖤 Takes place after this.

18+ mdni / baby trap au / twisty themes, angst, reader is pregnant, in labor.

"Darling, open the door." Simon calls, trying not to yell but still be loud enough to hear, no idea if you're even listening, or if you could hear him. He can't stop thinking about the look on your face, twisted in pain, panicked.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong, or you're in labor. And that has to be wrong, because if you're in labor, then you need to be in hospital.

"Darling, please. We want to help ye." Johnny tries. His voice breaks, and Simon closes his eyes, steeling himself against the pain there, the pain that he's inflicted on all of you, the misery and agony that has been their lives for the past six months. "We're not leavin!" He insists. Simon casually looks up and down the hallway, looking to see if anyone is around. He could, in theory, break the door down. He could force entry, even if he doesn't want to, if it's for your own good, he-

The lock clicks. Johnny darts for the handle, pushing the door open just enough to see that you're standing on the other side, a bag in one hand, the other laying flat against your belly. Your eyes are red, clearly distressed, and you look exhausted, and in pain, and all he wants to do is pull you into him and never let you go.

"Oh, darling." It's soft, and you shake your head.

"I only opened up because I knew you'd try to get in anyway." you hiss, stepping through the doorframe. He can't fault your logic there.

"What's goin' on?" Johnny tries, watching your hand shake as you put the key into the lock. "Talk to us."

"I think-" Your words grind to a stop, and you swallow like you might vomit before continuing. "My water broke. I'm in labor."

Many things happen at once. Johnny starts asking too many questions- when is your due date, how are you feeling, where is your doctor, did you call a cab, do you have a birthplan- as you stare at him, gobsmacked, and clearly stressed. Simon's heart free falls through his body, a million emotions ransacking his brain. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. Anxiety. Anger, at himself. But one thing, one sentiment rings out over everything, it's truth written as plain as day across your face, panic sinking into your features as you try to process Johnny's questions. You need them. You need help.

"Johnny." Simon cuts him off, and and grinds to a halt, nodding in self awareness. You take a deep breath.

"I need to get to the hospital." You grit out. "But I don't want to call 999 because I don't need an ambulance. My contractions are still far enough apart." you insist, leveling them both with a hard stare.

"Would you like us to help you?" Simon asks gently, not trying to push. He knows, you'll come on your own. You would not have opened the door otherwise.

"I don't forgive you." You tell them both, looking them in the eyes. "But I- I don't think I can do this on my own. I- Ahh!" You yell this time, dropping your bag and almost kneeling until Johnny gets an arm around you, supporting your weight with his own.

"Okay, alright. We've got ye." Simon punches in the hospital address for the car as they both lead you down the stairs. Your building doesn't even have a working elevator, and he tries not to feel sick when he thinks about you walking up and down these flights every day with your belly and worse, with the baby in the future.

When they get you out the front door and into the car, Simon dials your doctor, who assures him you've already called. She asks him to time your contractions, and when he says they're about fifteen minutes apart, she gives him instruction before chastising him for not calling 999.

"Your doctor is there, and they'll be waiting to get you all checked in." He tries to reassure you, but you're so tense, locked up tight, he grimaces. "Darling?"

"What?" you grunt, closing your eyes.

"Are you breathing?" You're not. And when you realize, you let out a huge gulp of air, and slump in the seat.

You burst into tears a second later. Johnny is stricken.

"Hey, hey." He tries. "It's alright. We're on our way, everything is going to be okay."

"I'm ss-scared." you sob, and he nods sympathetically.

"I know darling, I know. But yer strong, ye can do this."

"I can't." you cry louder, and the driver looks at you in the mirror with concern before Simon glares at him and he jumps his eyes back to the road. "And it fuckin' hurts. What if it's too late to get the drugs? What if something goes wrong? I don't know how to be a mum, I don't even know how-"

"Darling." He can't do this. He can't watch you fall apart like this, in this mess that he created. He has to take control of this situation. "Look at me." You blink up at him with wet lashes, so sweet and sad, and he wants to kiss each tear from your face. "You can do this. No matter what happens, you are strong, you're a fighter, and you're going to be okay, alright?" Your lips part, and he can see your brain turning, mind working you into something a little more malleable.

"Okay." you sniffle, and then lean a little to the side. Your head tips back against his shoulder, and at the same time, you reach for Johnny's hand, squeezing it tight and tugging him closer, like you're trying to hold onto his entire arm. "Oh fuck." You groan.

"Contraction?" Johnny asks and you nod miserably.

"Deep breaths." Simon murmurs into your scalp. "In through your nose, just like that, good girl."

[jfleamont]

Hey for your jily muse, out of order <3

Okay this is unforgivable, I know. You sent this prompt over two months ago. TWO. This ask has been sitting in my inbox since the 18th of January, so you probably won't even remember sending this but I promise you I've been thinking about it constantly and waiting to have free time to work on it and I have this tendency to leave things unfinished so this is me working through that as well lol

Without further ado, here it is ❤️

Out of Order - 744 words

Evans is in the boys' bathroom. She's in the boys' bathroom and she's crying.

One of her hands is gripping the sink, while the other fruitlessly wipes the tears that keep escaping.

She hasn't noticed his arrival, and Sirius doesn't bother clearing his throat. “I'm sure there's a perfectly logical reason for this.”

She makes a startled noise and turns to face him, her expression a mixture of anger and sadness. It's comical, really, so Sirius laughs.

“There is,” she mutters as she wipes her nose with the sleeve of her jumper. Her voice lacks the edge she usually aims at him— and at James, too, though Sirius can't help but notice a slight difference there.

He walks towards her and hands her his monogrammed tissue - he's never used it for this purpose specifically, but it has proved to be useful during the occasional prank or after a rough full moon - which she grabs immediately. She doesn't thank him, but he doesn't expect her to.

“Ah well, that's all I needed to know. It's not like you're invading my personal space or something.”

She lifts an eyebrow and eyes him curiously, looking more like her usual self. “I'm sorry, is there a plaque or an inscription that I haven't noticed? Does House Black monogram bathrooms as well as tissues?”

“Not that I'm aware of, no. Don't give my mother ideas, though, she might actually try to do that.”

She makes an attempt at a smile, but it quickly turns into a quiet sob.

“Apparently there can only be one crying girl per bathroom, and Myrtle has claimed the one across the corridor as hers so it's out of order,” she explains as she tries to regain control of her emotions, “and I thought this one was empty since everyone is heading down to watch the match.”

“You were right... for the most part. Why aren't you going then?”

“No reason,” she replies, her voice even, but she's not looking at him.

Sirius thinks he knows why. He suspects it has to do with the good luck kiss that Cornelia Kettleburn gave James at breakfast and how quickly Lily disappeared after that.

“Cool. I'm not going either. Fancy going to the Astronomy tower for a smoke?”

She looks taken aback. “I— wait, why aren't you going?”

In truth Sirius wants to go, and James is going to kill him for this, but lately he's been claiming that he no longer has feelings for Lily, and Sirius hates being lied to, so technically this is just payback.

“James got on my nerves so I'm skipping the match in protest,” he adds with a shrug and it's the truth, because it wouldn't be fair to lie. “So, are we smoking or not? Got a fag I can borrow?”

She's not an idiot: she knows this is an olive branch of sorts. Sirius can tell she's deciding whether to believe him or not; after a moment she sighs, and Sirius knows he's won.

“Haven't you got your own? Merlin, you're cheap,” she says while producing a pack of cigarettes from her satchel and handing it to him, a smirk on her face. He's glad to see that she seems to have calmed down significantly.

“I'm trying to quit so I stopped carrying them around,” he replies and grabs one, putting it in the breast pocket of his vest.

“Looks like it's working,” she notes as she fixes her appearance in front of the mirror and readies herself to leave the room.

“Absolutely.”

“Why are you mad at Potter anyway? Thought you two were inseparable,” she asks as she walks towards the door, a step ahead of him so that he can't see her face.

“Can't tell you, it's a secret.”

She huffs. “You lot are starting to sound ridiculous with all these secrets,” she whips her head towards him, her disapproval clear on her face, though he's almost certain this is just another way of disguising her curiosity. “Is this little group of yours a cult or something?”

“It's a counterculture,” he explains as he exits the bathroom, “how else are we going to beat those bigoted dickheads? The only way to fight a cult is with another cult.”

He's just joking, but the idea doesn't sound half bad to his ears.

Apparently Lily disagrees, because she snorts. Loudly. “Not sure about that logic but you do you, I guess.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Anytime, Black.”

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man: chapter Twelve - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

I'd say that this took wayyy longer than it should, but I hope it tides you over before the plot continues a little more!

Words: 2,353

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and will be AFAB in later chapters

Katsuki isn't a crier. He cried a lot as a kid, but that was because his feelings were too big for his body. Now, He's all grown up, and he doesn't cry anymore...that's what he told himself. He told himself that every day after you left, he tried his best not to, and yet his tears managed to spill by droplet out of his eyes every night, until he gave up and let them come as they are. To be fair, he never had a lot of tears in terms of quantity, but to him even one tear was too many.

This night, the night you collapsed into his arms just as he was devising a plan to go after you, he let himself cry with no inhibitions. As said previously, he didn't have many tears, but each one was so packed with emotion just as he was, that they were worth ten thousand tears. He just gently pulled you down to the ground with him, sitting on the floor as you both cried. Your side was pressed to his torso as you curled into his lap, head on his chest, his arms holding you as if you might leave him forever again.

To him, you left because he wasn't good enough. Ergo, from now on he'll do better. He saw this as a "three strikes your out" sort of situation. Was it right? no. Healthy? Hell no. That said, In a society like his where you had to earn your status through hard work, it was the only logical explanation.

"Katsuki...?"

Your crying had ended, as his did, but now he was just staring at the floor, lost in thought. As soon as you spoke, he perked up, his brows furrowing in something that can only be described as determination.

"Yeah," he asked gruffly, his tired tone not matching his apparent energy.

"I...I'm sorry," you whispered sheepishly, like a child apologizing after being yelled at.

He blinked a couple times, stunned. "For what...?"

he was so wrapped up in what he could have done that he didn't even think about how wrong you were. He did at the beginning, but then when there was nothing left to nitpick there, he began to pick himself apart, and he hasn't quite stopped yet.

You blinked up at him, cocking your head to the side a little. "Uh, well," you started, tittering a little at how absurd this felt. what did he mean, for what? What you did was all you could think about.

"I didn't tell you soon enough, because I was being selfish...I didn't fight against my mother, because I was being cowardly...in fact, I barely fought against her this time..."

Katsuki looked down at you, his hand on your cheek as he mindlessly wiped away your tears. Truth be told, he was hardly listening, you did almost nothing wrong in his mind anyways, all he could think about what how even with puffy red eyes and a snotty nose, you still looked so gorgeous. So beautifully his.

"Well...how'd you get out, anyway," he mumbled softly, all the while memorizing the way those little flecks in your irises danced when the light hit it just right. He got too close to forgetting some of your features last time, and while he'd rather not be in a situation where he'd go without seeing you for a week, he'd also rather not forget a damn thing if the situation arose again.

You laughed dryly, sighing. "That's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

"How much time?"

"...Enough." For you? All the time. He'd go and steal time itself just to bathe you in it, if you so desired. He'd light time ablaze and watch as it burn if you so much as mentioned disliking it in passing.

You smiled at him, pulling off of his lap so you could sit up in front of him. He kept his hand resting idly on your wrist, his usual vaguely annoyed expression stagnant on his face. You've learned it's just his resting face, the neutral state of his sharp yet somewhat boyish features.

"Mm...I'll start with the night we, uh..."

"Broke up?"

"...yeah."

You told him everything, every detail. He deserved to know after what you put him through. as you did so, you switched positions several times, eventually ending on him laying down as you laid atop him, your head on the left side of his chest, your right hand playing with his hair as your left hand was concealed in his strong, calloused grasp. Meanwhile, his other hand was holding you by your right arm, his own arm bracing your back. Why you were laying on the floor was unclear, perhaps because neither of you had the energy to stand just yet.

As you talked in soft whispers, you allowed your mouth to move on its own, focusing instead on simply sensing Katsuki.

His breathing, slow and heavy, rustling your hair in an almost imperceptible way. His muscled body hardly moving, only slightly shifting to squeeze you every once in while. His scent, permeating through the entire room, of musk and spices and leather. His heartbeat, pounding just slightly harder as your finger gently grazed the extremely light stubble that trailed his jaw.

His face. Oh, that face.

The way his nose gently sloped upward to form a point, not a single interruption in it's shape, or how his brows arched in a way that gave him a peeved expression constantly...and his eyes, how could you forget his eyes?

Long, straight lashes that fluttered every time you said something stupid, with those vermillion irises that only became more and more intricate the closer you looked. Sparks of tiger orange and gold were interlaced in the red base, blooming out of the center like a flower with infinite petals. There were even dark shades of greenish brown near the rim, albeit extremely sparse.

Then, there's his lips, so perfectly plump and slightly chapped, a little pink near the center, giving them that rough sensation that pleased you so much the few times you've kissed him...you should do that more...

"Hey," Katsuki said suddenly, grabbing your attention.

"huh," you said, snapping out of your trance. "Did I finish...?"

Katsuki let out a snort, sitting up and pushing you with him. You could hear his bones creak, you must've been laying like that for a while. "You're tired. It's late," he sighed, the tiniest smile of amusement on his face, in his eyes.

You remove yourself from him, although you're still close enough to touch him with your legs, and you both stretch. "I suppose you're right...where will I sleep?" You knew it'd be far fetched to sleep in his room, you were a lady after all.

Ladies, at least in your country, were expected to go no where with a man unless chaperoned. That's part of what made your time with Katsuki so exciting, you had no one to chaperone the two of you. Surely the cultures weren't that drastically different, after all the royal structures seemed somewhat similar...

"Oh, Uh..." Katsuki turned red, something that confused you.

"What is it," you asked, hoping you didn't somehow hit a nerve.

"Nothin'...I'll have someone get a guest room ready," he said, stiffening a little. "C'mon, might as well tell mom while we're up," he sighed, standing and putting his hand out for you. You gladly took the help, getting to your feet...you hadn't realized how achy your legs were, all that running took a toll.

"Won't she be asleep? I don't want to bother her," you said softly, following him out of his bedroom and through the vestibule. You never really noticed before, too nervous, but he truly had lovely chambers. It had a reoccurring theme of deep red, gold, and dark oak, creating a warm and rich feeling to the area, just like him.

"Nah, it's not that late," he shrugs, leading you along by your hand, as he always does. To think you almost gave this up.

Naturally, you felt completely lost as the two of you walked, it felt as if he was guiding you through a maze made of volcanic rock, the apparent material of the castle walls. You both stopped as a servant came your way, and Katsuki asked him to get his mother to go to the drawing room. They nodded, and the two of you turned down a different hall.

"This place is big," you mused, holding onto his arm as you glanced around, the only light being the ever glowing torches.

"It's a castle, no shit," he scoffed, smiling wryly.

"Yeah yeah," you sighed, tittering. You missed his teasing while you were gone.

Eventually, you reached what was assumed to be the study, Mitsuki already there. She immediately rushed to the two of you, bringing you both into a hug despite Katsuki's squirming. "Oh, I'm so happy to see you're back together," she sighed, pulling away. "Y'know Katsuki was such an asshole while you were gone, in such a bad mood-"

"Shut up!" Katsuki scowled, trying to be domineering despite his hand sweetly in yours. "She needs a place to stay," he continued, grumbling his words out of some form of embarrassment.

"What are you talking about," Mitsuki asks confusedly, cocking her head as she looks between you and Katsuki.

"W-well, maybe I could stay in a guest room, if it isn't too much trouble..." you say reassuringly. You hoped she didn't think the two of you would be up to anything unsavory, and really you'd like to stay in the castle.

"A guest room?" Mitsuki gave Katsuki an angry glare, her tail pulling a little closer to her body. "You were gonna let her stay in a guest room? How do you expect to see if you're compatible without sleeping together?"

"She wansta!"

What was happening? You wanted some sort of explanation.

"Do you?" Mitsuki's tone softened, not yelling at you like how she tended to with Katsuki.

"Uh..." Did you? It's what you expected, so much so you never considered what it'd be like sleeping next to him. It was so intimate, so comfortable sounding. you blushed, smiling sheepishly, how were you supposed to answer?

"I take that as a no, it's settled, the two of you will sleep together," Mitsuki announced, watching as you let out a breath of relief.

Despite losing the argument, Katsuki let out a passive "Fine" as he pulled you away again. "Sleep well," Mistuki called out, laughing a little.

"So...she said something about compatibility," you ask curiously, watching Katsuki's face for expression. He glanced to you, slightly confused about your interest. "Ah, 's just a dragon thing," he says, brushing it off.

"I still wanna know," you press, eyes never leaving him.

"Well...they say that since part of bein' mates is sharing a space, you gotta sleep together before you mate so that you know it'll work."

"Hm...cool," you say softly, smiling as you look down again. Why wasn't that how it is in your homeland? That made a lot more sense.

"So, what exactly is mating again?" You know the definition of the verb in a clinical, animalistic sense, but surely that wasn't it.

"I already told you, it's like marriage," he said firmly, annoyed.

"Yeah, but that isn't all it is," you said, encouraging him to explain.

He huffed, rolling his eyes at you before continuing. "Basically, you and your partner go through some big celebration, like a wedding, and then you go and screw," he said halfheartedly, watching your face for a reaction.

"Oh," you say softly, a little embarrassed now. "Well, It sounds fun," you giggle, quickly recovering.

By now, the two of you made it back to his chambers, your feet feeling practically unusable after all the moving. Even with this, you stood nervously in the middle of his bedroom.

"What," Katsuki asks tiredly, sitting down on his bed.

"Well, first of all, I need to change..." you gestured down to yourself, your red dress rather dirty. "Second of all...Isn't it a little awkward? Just...sleeping next to each other?"

Katsuki sighs, laying back in bed and putting his hands behind his head. "First of all, you can just wear somethin' from my dresser, and second of all, it's not awkward unless you make it."

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile at Katsuki's current blasé attitude. You walked over to his dresser, nervously sifting through clothing before pulling out a long nightshirt and pants. "Where do I change?"

Katsuki sat up, his lips pressing together for a moment. He was so enticed to say right here, but he knew that wasn't something you or even he would be comfortable with. "There's a bathroom, first door to the right," he said, pointing to the bedroom door. You nod, walking out and taking his directions. The bathroom was really no different from your own, although it did have that signature dark, red and gold color scheme.

By the time you walked back into Katsuki's room, he was already settled down, although he gets out of bed when he hears the door, like he was waiting for you.

"So...how do we go about this," you ask, looking down at the bed like it held some sort of ominous power.

"What do you mean? It's a bed, you sleep in it," he scoffs, crossing his arms.

"I know, but like, how do we lay?"

He sighs, rubbing his face. "Just...you lay down first..." he orders, looking over at you.

Stiffly, you get into the bed, laying on the side that Katsuki wasn't just on and facing the edge. While you get in, he goes around and blows out the candles. Then, he gets in next to you, his back to yours. This way, you could lay together without getting too close just yet.

Yes, you've cuddled before, but that was in a moment of emotional release, and on the floor. This felt more...domestic. More serious.

As of now, this worked for you two.

"Goodnight, Katsuki," you say softly.

"...Goodnight. Idiot."

Let me know your thoughts, good or bad as long as it's constructive!

Taglist: @sky-angel101@the-galaxy-fiend@chixkadee@ssplague@sappho-the-kitten-tamer@andysdrafts@daria-rona @tanjirofan63@aizawaslut09@tsukiiomii@me1297

[taeloke]

Overanalyzing 4KOTA Chapter 142 instead of just waiting for more info (2/2)

Part 1

This is the part where I talk about King and no one else. Also, this is more ramble than analysis by the end, and I'm making myself not worry about length this time, so...you have been warned :) As for Mertyl, I'll definitely talk about him again over the next chapter, though I might not say as much as I did the first time.

Firstly, look at this face. Remember all those seasons ago, when everything was peaceful for like a single week? How sweet and thoughtful this little guy was, especially against his own personal wishes?

This is King--regardless of how he's like on the outside.

Elaine herself described him as someone who tries to act tough but is really a crybaby. He's someone who can't seem to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. He always tries to hide his feelings to keep everyone else from worrying, but try as he might, anyone will see through his "tough act" if they're around him for long enough. Awakened or not, he's not King if he's not a highly emotional character like that. He's just a lot better at putting a cover over those feelings now. He's grown up for real.

If you read these last few 4KOTA chapters without remembering the original Seven Deadly Sins story, it only makes sense to look at him more like an ass of a father right now. There's a lot to his perspective that we just haven't gotten to witness yet, and one of the easiest conclusions to make from all of that unknown space is "King loves Nasiens more than the adopted son he raised." For crying out loud, he's giving an immensely scarce cure-all to a young man who introduced himself as a human without an explanation for why Myrtel hasn't received it yet. We don't even know for sure if he's tried using the Drug of Yore to treat Myrtel's condition in the past right now.

There's just one problem about that conclusion: King isn't like that at all. It only looks like he is because this family drama is fatally poisoned with tension and misunderstandings at this point. It's starting to explode.

Remember how way back in the series, King first thought Diane without her memories of him would be better off without him at all?

I think that's a lot similar to what he's thinking with Nasiens right now. If King didn't play a part in their present happiness, then what right does he have to want their love? He'd label that as too greedy or selfish in a way that he can't allow himself to be. He thinks he knows his place, and that place is somewhere forever distanced from his first-born kid.

But he can't just do nothing for Nasiens. Maybe just one totally subtle yet significant expression of love can slide, right? What could he, seemingly as nothing more than a ruler, possibly give to Nasiens to make him happy? Maybe if he gives Nasiens just one perfect gift, Harlequin will feel like he was good for his son at least once. He'll feel like he's finally atoned for losing Nasiens for too long and failing him as a father, and then he can let that "sin" go. Surely, Nasiens wouldn't be happy knowing the truth anyway. He'll be better off never learning about his true relations, since he's built his life without it already. Assuming that "logic" is what King's going through, a lot of his actions make sense to me.

And yet he still almost slipped up and spilled the beans.

Nice save, King, but if you gave Nasiens more time to think he would have realized what you really meant. Tioreh gave him time to realize she believed he's a fairy and his initial freeze then was the exact same.

None of this is easy for King. It isn't easy for any of them. In some ways, those past 2 years must have felt like forever to him. Precious time to have his first-born kid around that he'll never get back. And after 2 years of keeping distance...

"Sorry, I couldn't help but follow you."

"I just wanted to help you out, in any way I could."

King can't keep his distance anymore. His true feelings are starting to break free.

"Hee hee... Don't be shy, now. I just want to be of assistance."

Sure, King. Saying it like that totally doesn't make it sound like there's more to this, even with your confident/amused chuckle.

Of all the gifts he could give Nasiens, I'm sure King believed this was the one thing Nasiens couldn't refuse to accept from him. A powerful healing drug that he advertised as one-of-a-kind and a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. With it presented not only as that, but also as something that might bring Percival back, how could Nasiens reject such a gift? Right?

...And then Nasiens rejects the gift. Immediately, King gets so nervous that he breaks character.

He immediately started sweating too. King prepared everything up to this moment, and he has no excuse as Nasiens questions him and calls him out.

And Nasiens is right to call him out because of how this looks.

Nasiens, just like us, doesn't yet know what the truth here is. He's right to be suspicious and King needs to realize that plans in how the changeling duo is handled need to change right now. Ready or not--telling the truth is the only way to save what's actively starting to cave in.

But the sad thing is...I have a feeling that it's too late already.

Things are only going to get worse from here... I don't know how, and in a way that makes this feel more awful.

Sixtus should tell King that Mertyl saw him offer the Drug of Yore to Nasiens. There's no doubt in my mind that King will realize the problem once he has that information and try to do whatever he can to make things right. PLEASE don't make him too late again. At least give him a chance to talk to Mertyl before things fall apart if that's where all of this is headed.

[secretlilsis]

Big brother just functioned differently from her. She had often cut herself on that, emotionally, of course. But it was also what in her eyes, often made him years ahead of her - but what also endearingly made him completely blind on other areas, like he was fumbling in the dark.

No matter how often they talked, she felt there was a lot she didnt understand and possibly never would.

So when big brother told her that the obsession he felt to her, wasnt good for either of them, she played along - she played the role she was sure he wanted to see, she feigned a emotional maturity and logical understanding she did not posess. She agreed that it wasnt good, and admitted that maybe she was even a little bit uncomfortable with it.

But on the inside she felt confusion, why did he see it as something unhealthy for them? Why did he want to change how things were? When she thought about it, each time it had come up remotely, he had always been so apologetic about it, and that in spite of not truly being capable to feel any semblance of guilt

Sometimes she wondered whether that only was cause he assumed there was no way she could enjoy this or like it whatsoever, or whether like she knew - he had always shielded her of the darker aspects of this obsession, that she herself only enjoyed the throughly filtered, and consume-ready presented aspects of it he himself allowed her to see and experience.

She wondered if it was that she maybe really wouldnt enjoy it if his obsession became more overt, rather than the nicely, comfortingly filtered tailor-fitted version of it she knew, or whether maybe he was simply under the impression she could never like any aspect of it to start with and considered all of it a discomfort.

She bit down on her tongue, almost as an act of self-aggression. She didnt like the idea, that maybe - just maybe, if she told him the truth of how she felt - that she enjoyed it, that she loved how he looked at her - as if he wanted to own all of her, consume her entirely.. that she enjoyed it so much.. that maybe hed stop trying as hard?

She hated thinking and feeling it, because she felt maybe there was a great illoyality towards him within that, but she felt it anyways. If he stops thinking this is something to apologize for and understands how I truly feel, our dynamic will change once more, in a direction she could not control or foresee. She didnt like it.

She burried herself in his chest, his eyes mustering her steadily - then suddenly softening "What? Do you want something?" He teased. "You know what I want.." She whispered, their skin sticking to one another because of the heat around them. It was a hot summer day. She didnt want to think, she didnt want to feel confused, naive or guilty she mit feel - she wanted him all over her instead. "Of course I do, but it doesnt hurt to hear you say it, does it?" He grinned into her. He always looked so happy to know she wanted him back in that way. "I want you.. inside of me.. big brother.." She mumbled into his shoulder, half hiding her face from him. "Alright, ill give you what you want..." He started to play with her breasts, teasing her nipples and shed slowly let go of any doubt or unpleasant feeling she had - only feeling him, like he was the entire anchor point of the world, like without him shed simply slide off the world like gravity did not exist. His touch felt warm, known yet exciting. He always looked at her with that intensity when touching her, there was something so posessive about even the most gentle of sexual acts, as long as he was the one doing it. By the time his hands reached inside her panties she was already beyond wet, she could feel his grin widen. He loved knowing how much she enjoyed him. "Youre so good at this big brother.. It feels.. so.. so good." She whispered. "I love it so much.." her voice sounded mellow, lost in the heat of the moment. She felt that feeling all over her body, yet somehow still coming from that sunken place deep within her - this was good, this was what she needed, and yet it wasnt enough. She needed to feel him more. She wanted to make this moment last forever. Her voice echoing through the room, one moan after another. Until he finally put his member inside her, and she felt herself reaching even higher heights. She wondered what that was called, when you have everything you want right there, but you want it so badly, that you want it more than is possible. You feel so fullfilled, so good, so sexed out, so high on it - and yet its not enough. Never enough.

She wanted him like this more than anything, and she fully knew that whilst he could see the pleasure in her face, and he felt he was owning her in his own words - he didnt know, not even a tiny little bit how intense she herself felt. And she didnt understand why she couldnt tell him.

She loved him, she loved most of him in silence, most of it was never said out loud, even though they already were so close and shared so many secrets. "Fuck im close to cumming.." He whispered into her ear, her body tensed up in sheer arousal and anticipation.. "Me too.." She responded. He looked at her, all over her body - taking her in, and kissed her right then and there, "Of course you are, my perfect girl." They both climaxed, and their heavy, tired bodies hit the bed and seperated again after coming together so closely. He looked at her with vibrant and awake eyes, she looked at him too and wondered, why it was so much easier to do this over and over again, instead of expressing half of what she thought and felt.

His eyes were so full of affection in that moment, laced with a generous amount of posessiveness. She knew though that no matter how hard he looked at her, hed never be able to look into her just in that same way. Maybe it was better that way?