#college basketball pi

[tonyspicks]

Purdue Boilermakers vs Wisconsin Badgers 3/2/2023 Picks Predictions Previews

Purdue Boilermakers vs Wisconsin Badgers 3/2/2023 Picks Predictions Previews by Tonys team of professional handicappers who research College Basketball. Visit Us for Free Football Sports Picks, NBA Free Picks, Free NCAAF Picks, Free NCAAB Picks, Free NFL Picks and Free College Basketball Picks

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[sungstars]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ pretty girls need love too

┊university au & enhypen hyung line

synopsis: college is quite an experience, you either love it or you hate it! when there’s a hot guy who holds your attention, it definitely adds bonus points. four different guys, four different experiences, some good and some bad. at the end of the day, pretty girls need love too.

warnings! content warning for every installment that there is smut, but explicit warnings varies from each one. some contain angst, some don’t! not every chapter has a happy ending, and that’s okay!

01. two boyfriends dress them up like twins ┊ psh ft. yjw

synopsis: youre the head basketball cheerleader at your university and just so happen to be hooking up with the captain of the basketball team, yang jungwon. you may also be hooking up with the co-captain and jungwon’s best friend, sunghoon. what’s the worst that could happen?

read here !

02. talking bodies ┊ pjs

synopsis: jay was a friend of a friend you saw mainly in passing but there was undeniable sexual tension between the two of you it was unfortunate that the opportunity never presented itself yet.

read here !

03. candy ┊ sjy

synopsis: you were the newest addition to the alpha pi sweethearts, and you reveled in the attention. however, the only one person you wanted, jake sim, didn’t pay you any mind, but you were determined to change that.

read here !

04. hours & hours ┊ lhs.

synopsis: you hated the fact that you needed to go to tutoring. it cut into your extra curricular activity, and not to mention, your tutor was a total dork. at least he would be fun to play with until you get your grades up.

read here !

BONUS CHAPTER: close as strangers ┊ psh.

synopsis: sunghoon hasn’t heard from you since that. . . thing with his teammate jungwon. he wondered if you were okay or if that was what sealed your fate? every time he tried to talk to you, you’d run off. how would he ever fix the broken bridge between the two of you?

read here!

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Warnings: oh boy okay so Angst! profanity! Violence! Mentions of blood! Injury! Abusive-ish behavior!!! MARTIN!!!!!! Ferran! Blackmail!! Just shitty behavior!!!! pls don't read if you're not comfortable!

Word Count: 14.1k (fun fact! If you've read all 7 parts, you've read 87 pages single space!)

A/N: Guys this is one of the chapters I had planned out from the beginning. I really have poured a lot of my own soul into this, so I hope y'all enjoy! I'm actually so ready to read the reactions to this one lol. GIF by @rubendiasatl

You thought you had met the love of your life in college. He appeared to be perfect. He was the captain of the swim team, rumored to get a national championship that year in the 100m freestyle. He was the secretary of Phi Pi Delta, the largest business fraternity in the region, set to work on Wall Street making $200k right after graduation. You two were the perfect couple: Ryan, with his perfect hair and perfect smile, the sexy, sporty Spanish girl on his arm. You were conquering medicine as he ruled the world of finance. Sometimes on your walk to class, you would daydream about what your wedding would look like.

You did everything that was required of you as "Ryan's girl". You were an academic badass, but in a completely different field, so he could have a smart girl that would never be his competition. You worked as a sports manager, showing that "Ryan's girl" was a powerhouse on her own that commanded respect, but turned into a shy little lamb around her man. You worked hard and played harder, going to every PPD event and mixer. You always drank to show people that you weren't a prude, but you were never the girl hunched over the toilet losing her innards. You were good at beer pong, but only when Ryan was your partner. You played 7 minutes in heaven, but were so cold and intimidating that everyone left with blue balls and a muttering of "what a bitch". For 8 months of your senior year, you were "Ryan's girl", and you were the absolute best at playing the part.

It was a tiring job, but one you balanced with all your other actions. You learned how to get him and his friends basketball tickets mere hours before tipoff. You were an expert at covering hickies, but also enhancing them when he wanted to prove to the guys at a rival frat that he wasn’t soft. You killed your complaints and your gag reflex, knees growing used to the rough carpet of the frat house. You never asked for his location, and never made a face when other girls talked about how much they wanted your man. You never bored him with talks of your futures after graduation. You were perfect.

You looked perfect the day you walked into the frat house, hair pulled back in a slick ponytail to show off the piercings in your ear and the tightness of your polo shirt. Your khakis hugged your thighs, Jordan’s pristine as you slipped them off before heading upstairs. The basketball team had offered you a full time position; you could stay for the next several years if you so chose. Everything was perfect. The sky was the perfect shade of blue. The air was the perfect temperature with a perfect breeze. And as you opened the door to your boyfriend’s room, you saw a bare figure on top of him, connected at their cores, with her mouth shaped in a perfect “O”. And one perfect tear ran down your cheek as you silently walked back down the stairs, ignoring the yells about it not being what it looked like, and left Ryan behind forever.

You hadn’t thought about Ryan in years. But his memory came back to you as you pulled up to Martin’s house and found his car parked out in front of his door instead of it’s usual place in the garage. The Benz stared back at you, looking so different from that first date. It had been bright and welcoming and joyous that very first time it rolled up in front of your building. Now it was different, the blue taking on a more hue, feeling ominous and serious. It was the color of midnight - the color of fear. Why was the precious Benz parked out front? Martin wouldn't even let some valets park his car for fear of it getting scratched. His tires were still turned. The Benz was crooked in the driveway.

You walked up to the door, and you thought about Ryan again. You thought about the countless texts he sent you afterwards, telling you how much he loved you and how he would never do it again. And you read every single one, waiting with baited breath for him to say what you needed to hear: that he regretted it. That he had made a terrible mistake when he was out of his mind and he hated every second. But it never came. He wanted you, but he never regretted that moment with her. He never felt remorse about the moment he decided she was more important than you were. It didn't make you sad or angry - just empty. It was like a hold had been carved out, and it was another reminder that it would never be filled. You would never be the first choice. You would never be that girl that was above it all. You would always be a pretty good girl that needed to be supplemented by someone else.

The hole within you had not been filled, but it started to be covered by some good people in your lives. Your friends at your physiology program made you always feel competent and capable in what you were doing in school. Angelika and your other university friends gave you comfort, covering the emptiness with warm feelings. And now, you had the boys at Barca had worked to cover that hole with positive affirmations, reminding you that you were just as much a part of the team and how much you were valued. And there was a bit of the hole that started to close, one centimeter at a time, every time you looked at your phone and saw that Gavi was checking up on you.

You felt that hole fill with butterflies as you wrote out your Christmas card to him. You hadn't wanted it to come across as cheesy or desperate, despite you reassuring yourself that you couldn't be desperate if you were in a relationship. You had begged the media team for any photo of you and Gavi, knowing how much the sentiment would mean to him. One thing you had noticed during your two brief appearances in Pablo's home was his appreciation for the few pictures he had. They were taped to the wall beside the door: photos from his youth at his La Masia matches, his family on vacation, and a polaroid with a few of the Barca boys. A part of you hoped you would make it onto the wall.

But with each knock on Martin's door that went unanswered, the butterflies disintegrated, filling you with smoke and ash and bile, the hole in your very soul aching. As you turned the doorknob, you felt it give way easily - the door was unlocked. He had come home, car parked haphazardly, with the door remaining unlocked. You braced yourself, not exactly sure for what, and entered the house.

You should have seen it coming. You should have known from his demeanor and the way he spoke to you when you were with him versus when you were away. You should have listened to the whispers on the internet and in the locker room. But you ignored it all, believing that people were inherently good and caring. And now your naivety had all culminated and led to this moment: you standing in Martin's entryway, staring at his hideous brown couch, a trail of clothes leading from your feet to the naked girl perched on the dark fabric. The two of you locked eyes, and her mouth dropped agape. She grabbed the closest piece of fabric to cover her bare form, her pale cheeks turning scarlet from embarrassment.

"Bonita, hurry up so I can call my girl-"

Martin's eyes locked with yours, stopping dead in his tracks and freezing as his girl on the couch did. You waited for either of them to speak. With baited breath you waited for the feminine screams of "you have a girlfriend?" and the begs to provide an explanation. But the air was heavy with nothing but guilt and the disappointment of being caught. As your breath grew heavier, the nausea settled into your stomach. You tried to muster a tear, deciding it would be less embarrassing to cry than to throw up on the tile.

"Bonita, it's not what it looks like. If we could just talk-"

"How are you going to use the same pet name for the both of us?" You asked, patience finally snapping. The emotions from the last four months came flooding through, boiling the blood in your veins. You had cut yourself up and torn your very being apart to please this man. The things you wore and said and did and ate and enjoyed were all altered to fit his impossible standard. You were playing a part again. You had sacrificed so much of yourself for one crumb of affection and security, and once again you weren't enough.

"Just calm down an let me explain."

You tried with every fiber of your being to keep the tears at bay - you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you.

"All I ever did was try and be a good girlfriend. Do you realize that? Through the stupid dinner dates and your rants about football, I tried to be patient and fun and understanding. I never complained, not once, about your lack of support or how everything you did made it clear you didn't like me. I dealt with all of your cold fronts, your unfounded jealous, your below mediocre sex - all of it, because that's what you do when you're in a fucking relationship until someone finally cuts the cord and frees you both. But you didn't have the decency to pretend." You spat the words out at him, no longer caring about if you cried.

"The least you could do was not fuck anyone else in the house that you asked me to move in to."

Everyone on the room had gone silent, from Martin to his mistress. How could he retaliate? Where could he start? The flood gates had been opened, and the realization of how much this man made you hate your life was flowing freely.

"Goodbye Martin." You turned and walked out the door, your keys in hand, ready to go home and lose consciousness. Tomorrow you would wake up and be as you were - single and free of the burden this relationship placed on you.

"Come back here." You heard Martin's voice shout behind you, before a hand reached out and grabbed you by the wrist, ripping your keys from your hands, cutting your palm in the process. As the red fluid pooled in your palm, you looked up at Martin in shock and fear. He looked back at you, then at your outstretched hand still pooling with blood.

"Shit, I'm- I didn't mean to do that. But you can't just drive away until you let me speak. I won't let you."

"As if you're allowed to decide what I can and can't do. Give me back my keys before I call the police."

"You're not calling anyone or doing anything until I speak to you." Martin said, lunging at you and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. You cried out and struggled against him as he tried to pull you towards the house, hoping to prevent a scene in front of the neighbors. Martin's side piece stood at the door, now fully clothed, watching silently as the two of you struggled by the entryway.

"Get off of me you cheating sack of shit! I don't want to hear anything you have to say, let me go!" His grip loosened as you pulled away, unable to restrain you with both hands for fear you would take your car keys back.

"Bonita, I'm not trying to hurt you, I love you and I-"

"Bullshit! And stop calling me fucking bonita." You tried to reach for your keys again, but Martin's hand came and wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt.

"No. You don't get to abandon me without hearing what I have to say. All I have ever done is try and look past how difficult you are to love and be around," his grip tightened on your collar, the fabric now bunching to restrict your airway slightly. "And now that I've made one mistake you think you get to just run? You're not going anywhere until I say you can. If you know what's good for you, you'll just listen."

The bile started to rise in your throat as your heart beat faster. For the first time in your life, you really felt like you were in danger. The sting of your palm was hard to ignore now, the blood nestling into the lines on your palm, dots littered across your pant leg. Once you felt Martin's grip loosen lightly, you put all your weight behind you and shoved him as hard as you could, causing him to fall backwards. You bolted for the door, keys forgotten as you ran at a speed you didn't know you were capable of.

The fall did not deter him for long, as you heard your name in Martin's deep, agitated voice carry to your ears on the night air, accompanied by heavy, fast footsteps. You were being chased. Heart racing, your feet slammed against the pavement, trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your throat started to tighten with anxiety, fight or flight now in full control. You didn't even know where you were going. You took whatever turn felt natural, willing yourself not to turn around.

Martin realized with every step he took that it was too late to turn back. There was now street camera of him chasing you shirtless through the streets of a Barcelona neighborhood. He wasn't even sure why he had done it. By it he meant the chasing - not the sleeping with other women. That part was quite simple. He was 24 now, and it was time he was photographed with the same girl more than once. His club going days had become the topic of every family dinner and every call with his mother.

"Martin, when are you going to stop going to the club every night and actually bring us a nice girl? You're ruining your reputation by taking all these different girls home."

He was nothing if not a boy that wanted to make his mother happy. When he say Angelika in the club that day, he sensed he had been getting close. She was funny and outgoing and actually had a job that didn't involve her sponsoring Bang energy on the internet. But she was still at the club on a Tuesday night, and had flirted her way into the VIP section. Too high maintenance. But then as he left the club, pretty young drunk thing slung over his arm, he got to see you.

Initially, you didn't make a huge impression. Boring looking and kind of loud - not the girl he would usually go for. He was still a little hazy from the club air, sweat and tequila still lingering in his lungs. He had just handed Angelika off to you, before he took a look at the back of your car. A few stickers were there, displaying the name of your universities, and a bright blue one that read 'ask me about ACL tears!'. It sparked his interest - not only that you could afford the car, but that you were obviously decently intelligent to be touting all these universities. It prompted Martin to ask for your number, just as a backup in case finding a "good girl" was harder than he thought.

It was, in fact, much harder than he thought to find a girl to bring home to his mother. All the smart girls tended not to give him the time of day, either taken or too busy. Pretty girl were too expensive and high strung - not what he needed. And those sweet girls that he found at the supermarket and the park? Most of them were ready to live the football WAG life, wanting to go public with him immediately. If there's one thing Martin was sure of, it was that he wasn't ready too commit to just one screw for any period of time. He had a rotation of girls in and out of his bed, shower, car - he couldn't just cut all of them off.

That's exactly what was on his mind when he saw Angelika in line for the club again. She was cute enough to take home that night, but girls usually didn't open up without some conversation. He can't remember how the topic turned to you, but Angelika gushed about how much she adored you.

"But she's just so busy. She's always so focused on work that she doesn't have much time to even process what's going on around her."

Getting you was quite easy after that. He had listened to girls long enough to understand how to keep them happy. It was the lack of instant sex that really hurt his pride. This was not the 1940s - he was not going to wait 3 months, taking a girl out and showering her with love, just to get some pussy. He would just supplement with other women. Ferran was often the person that would help him get girls, as they usually recognized the young Barca bench boy before they realized who Martin was. So they worked as a team: Martin supplying money and alcohol, and Ferran supplying girls.

It was when Gavi started to enter the picture that he, for the first time in his life, felt the angry weeds of jealousy take root in his throat. No matter what he did behind closed doors, you were his, not Gavi's, and it would be a cold day in hell before he let a love-sick teenager take his girl. Now he was chasing you down the street, 10 days before he planned to introduce you to his mother at Christmas, willing all the neighbors to stay away from the windows and ignore the eventual screams they heard from the street.

Your eyes focused, the adrenaline fog leaving your brain as you wildly scanned the street: this was Gavi's neighborhood. Identifying the houses, you made a sharp right turn and ran towards his house at end of the street. You prayed that he was still awake as you got to the door, banging as hard as you could, and yelling out his name.

"Pablo! Let me in! Get the fuck away from me!"

You watched as Martin slowed down, walking towards you cautiously with his hands in the air. He moved his lips to say something, but your heartbeat was in your ears, tears streaming down your face as you kept banging on the door. The slit across your palm seared with pain, and every pang circulated more fear through you. Martin was capable and willing to hurt you.

The door opened, and you caught a glimpse of Gavi's face. That was enough reassurance for your legs to give out from the effort, sobs still shaking your entire being as you fell into his chest. Your palms grabbed at his shirt, needing anything to ground you in reality. Gavi was not a large boy; Martin had 5 inches and 6 years on Gavi, which would make any betting man wary of the outcome if a fight were to break out. But none of that mattered to you. Gavi's arms were around you, holding you up and against him, and you felt safe.

Gavi tore his eyes away from Martin, who was shirtless and frozen in his walkway, to look at you. As he pulled you away from his chest slowly, he felt a warm wet spot spread across his shirt. It was too large to be tears. He wished he hadn't looked down to see the red spot darkening his t-shirt. Grabbing your wrists, he looked at the jagged cut on the skin there, still bleeding freely. Gavi hugged you closer into his chest, one hand around your waist and one by your head, hiding you in his shoulder as you continued to cry.

"What did he do?" He asked, voice tight and strained. You shook your head, crying harder, trying to gulp down any air to stop the light-headedness. You could not see or think straight, the questions too overwhelming.

"Pablito, just let me talk to my girl, and go back inside." Martin instructed, walking towards the two of you slowly, as a hunter would approach a deer. You clung onto Gavi tighter, a shrill 'No!' yelped against his skin, sobs coming back in full force. Gavi couldn't stand it. The blood in his veins grew hotter the longer he held your fragile form. He was quick to anger, but this was different. You had run to his house crying and bleeding because of the vile man you had been dating. On an average day, he was ready to go to blows because of a stray leg in a football match. This was more serious - more sinister. He had hurt you in ways Gavi couldn't fathom a man hurting any woman, let alone you. He turned over the idea of manslaughter in his head as he tried again.

"Please, y/n. Please tell me what he did. Because at this rate, I'm going to kill him. Y/n, please."

Gulping down breath after desperate breath, you muttered out what had happened to Gavi in the best way you could. You knew there was nothing you could say to get Gavi to just walk away, but you couldn't stand the idea of Pablo doing irreparable damage to his future on your behalf.

"Found him... cheating... took my... k-keys.. that's why m-my hand. But I'm-"

"Don't you dare tell me you're okay." Gavi put you down on the ground, resting your back against the wall before he stood. The edges of his vision were dark and red, and in that moment he swore he could have killed Martin with his bare hands. When would this man have taken enough? Martin had snatched you off the market, keeping you hostage in a crumbling, decaying relationship while Gavi fawned over you. Martin chipped away at you soul, dimming the once radiant light that enamored those you encountered. Martin made you insecure and self-hating, all while keeping a line of girls wrapped around his bedroom to fool around with as you chased your dreams. Martin had taken everything Gavi had loved about you and poisoned it, leaving the ashes of a bright young woman in his path. Now he would pay for it.

"Martin, give me her keys and get the fuck away from my property before I make your mother regret the day she lost her virginity." Gavi was seething, You looked up at his squared shoulders and tight face, and couldn't tell if the wisps of smoke emanating from him were real or not. You wanted to stand, block the warpath Pablo was on, and prevent the violence you knew was about to ensue, but your head and eyes felt heavy, keeping you firmly planted to the ground.

"Ay, Pablito, no need to be vulgar. Don't you think it's silly for you to be involving yourself in a little lover's quarrel at this time? Go inside and let me take care of my girlfriend." Martin took a step with every word he said, now less than a meter from Gavi, whose fists were curled and strained.

"Lover's quarrel? She's bleeding and had to run from you screaming. You've stolen her keys and now you want me to let you harass her further? Give me her keys and fuck off, before my patience runs out. Because I've been eager to bash your skull for weeks now."

Martin took another step forward, now on the same plane as you and Gavi. He locked Pablo's vision as he pulled your keys from his pocket, tossing them at your feet. You flinched at the noise scared to look up at Martin. Just the sound of his voice sent ripples through you.

"There, bonita. You have your keys back. Now enough of this nonsense and come with me." A fist curled into your hair and pulled you upwards, causing a scream to release from your throat. Gavi watched all of this happen in slow motion. He took two steps towards Martin, vision now fully red, and connected his closed fist with Martin's lower jaw. The accompanying CRACK could probably have been heard all the way in Madrid. The grip had disappeared from your head, and you used your last bit of strength to push yourself from the floor and run into Gavi's house, keys firmly in your grasp for protection. You peered through the window, catching Martin spit out a large glob of blood, more crimson dripping from his mouth like a dog drooling.

Martin wasn't provided much more time to recover as Gavi grabbed his collar, pulling him in once again, and again cracking him hard right beneath his eye socket. The delicate skin there split, and more blood oozed from Martin. It didn't bring Gavi disgust or joy. There was no space in his entire being to feel anything other than the need to protect you. Moving his grasp from Martin's collar to his hair, he hit him one final time, a bone split and a scream polluting the otherwise silent air of the Barcelona night. You thought to yourself, rather ironically, if the naked girl in his living room knew how to set a broken nose. Pablo pushed Martin to the ground, the older landing on his face sprawled across the concrete of the pavement.

"If you get up and you're not running, I'll break another bone."

Martin struggled to breath, the blood running away from his body in rivers, dripping onto the street.

"You little piece of shit! Just wait till I call the police! You'll be in jail until you're 70. You little cunt." Martin wailed, on his knees gripping his throbbing fractured nose. Gavi approached Martin, picking him up by the collar once again. It was quite a sight to behold: the younger and smaller boy lifting Martin off the ground, blood dripping from a broken nose on to Gavi's tensed forearm, as his hazel eyes conveyed murderous intent.

"In case the blood has already left your brain, allow me to remind you: the cameras saw you chasing a woman through the street. There is a decent amount of her blood on you and at your house. Everything from that moment on is self defense. And I can absolutely afford a better lawyer than you can, little boy. So best run and put some ice on that nose before you become more permanently deformed than you were originally." Martin was thrown to the pavement once again, cries of pain bouncing between the stone of the buildings. He picked himself off the ground, not daring to glance over his shoulder, as he hobbled back home.

Gavi took a deep breath, looking down at his hands in the light of the street lamp. It had been a long time since his anger was allowed to run wild. Usually there was a player (or 6) holding him back from blows. But that was football. Nothing was ever that serious in football. This was different. It was you. And as he entered his home, locking eyes with your huddled form by his couch, the thought appeared in his mind clear as crystal: you were someone he would kill for, and someone he would die for.

But now wasn't the time for such a confession. It was the time for Gavi to step up as your friend and provide you with comfort and support. He walked into the house and started to head for the bathroom before you called out to him.

"Pablo? Where are you going?" Your voice was small and fragile, like that of a scared child when the thunder got too loud. Keys still gripped tightly in shaky hands, you pushed yourself off the floor, and Gavi rushed to meet your stride, helping stabilize you as you stood. You were not close to fainting anymore, but the fear still pumped through you, making it harder to walk at more than a snail's pace. Eyes locking with Gavi's, you brought a hand up to rest on his bicep, squeezing it lightly to provide him with some reassurance that you were okay. Hand trailing down, you wrapped your fingers gently around his wrists, turning his hands over to look at his knuckles. The skin had cracked and burst from the impact against Martin's skull. Bruises bloomed on the high points, droplets of blood - owner unknown - littered his fingers and hand, the scarlet a contrast against his warm tan. As you ran a thumb over one of the open cuts, Gavi hissed, trying to pull away from your touch. You looked back up at him with tears welling in your eyes anew.

"You're hurt." You croaked out, not wanting to continue crying in front of him. He grabbed your hand, holding it against his as he rubbed over the drying cut through your palm.

"So are you. But we'll be okay." He smiled at you, and you could have sworn that there was an actual fist squeezing your heart in your chest. He pulled you towards the staircase with him.

"Come on, we need to wash our hands. You've taught me enough about infections to know we shouldn't wait much longer."

"I obviously haven't taught you enough, because for open cuts like this we need rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, not water."

Gavi stopped on the stairs, still gripping your wrist as his smile broke out, returning warmth to his face. Even when he had hit Martin, you hadn't feared Pablo. You knew the anger was residual, and he would never turn this harbored rage your direction. It had brought a few baby butterflies to your stomach, knowing that Gavi had thrown his tranquility and caution to the wind just to defend you. But this was the Pablo you liked the most: the one that smiled for you in a way that seemed to appear only when you were around.

"There you go, doctora. Putting that degree to use. I think I have a first aid kit in my room. The medics gave me one to keep after I got my second black eye." The statement, not meant as a joke, allowed a laugh to run through you, cutting through some of the lingering heaviness. You wondered if this experience would forever trauma-bond you to Gavi forever. But you knew subconsciously that Pablo was already bonded to you. You would never be able to look at the Barca crest or the dew on the grass or the chocolate milk in the store without thinking of Pablo. You would never be able to choose anyone else's contact at 2am to send a random text to, because you need Pablo to be the one to send the response. You knew in that moment that Pablo was going to be in your life forever.

Walking into his bedroom, Pablo peeled his blood-stained shirt off, tossing it onto the bed.

"You should..." Your sentence trailed off as Pablo faced you, shirtless with sweats hanging low on his hips, waistband of his boxers tight against the V of his torso. You had seen attractive men shirtless before, but something about it being Pablo, and the two of you being alone in his bedroom, made everything seem more charged and, for lack of a better term, sinful. He tiled his head in questioning, prompting you to finish your sentence. Clearing your throat, you looked at the shirt instead of Pablo and continued.

"You should put peroxide on that shirt now to get the blood out so it doesn't stain."

"I think getting some peroxide on your open wound is more important right now." He said, returning to his dresses to rummage around for his first aid kit. You stood awkwardly against the wall, unsure how to proceed. You didn't feel comfortable enough to sit on his bed, and though it would be weird to seat yourself on Gavi's floor. He turned back around, watching you scan the room and calculate if you should sit or stand.

"You're covered in blood." He said. You looked down at your shirt. You definitely had some splotches, but you wouldn't use the word covered.

"It's fine, I'll change when i get home..." You trailed off again. Your car was outside Martin's house, and there was no way you could possibly bring yourself to go back there tonight. Maybe Gavi would be kind enough to walk over with you in the dark.

"You're spending the night here. There's no way I'm going to let you be by yourself tonight. Let me get you something to change into." He said, moving past you towards the closet.

"Oh no, Pablo, it's fine. I should really go back to my place-"

"Why?" He asked, abruptly turning to face you. He walked towards you, and your heart rate picked up as he stood within your air space.

"Why do you need to go home? We are on international break for the season. I don't start training until next week. You just finished your finals, so you don't need to do anything tomorrow. And, more importantly, the only way to get to your house is to either go get your car from your psycho abusive ex and drive home at this time of night, which is not happening. Or for you to take a taxi home, which is also not happening. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He turned back to the closet, rummaging through his clothes before pulling out a pair of sweat pants and a La Masia t-shirt. Placing them in your hands, he turned back to his mission to find the first aid kit.

"The bathroom is through there. You can go and get changed and wash up. What's mine is yours."

Nodding, you shuffled towards the bathroom. The door was quickly shut and locked behind you, and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You definitely looked worse for wear, mascara smudged under your eyes, which were red and puffy from sobbing. You washed your face with your non-injured hand, thanking Pablo silently for owning a decent face wash. As you stripped off your dirty clothes, you couldn't help the images that flashed in your mind, and the thoughts that seeped through your subconscious. You remembered the daydreams you had for several weeks, bursts of his eyes and lips and hands, and thoughts of all the ways they could touch you. Your cheeks burned as you grabbed a washcloth, running cool water onto your skin to remove the sweat and grime lingering. You thought of that day on the couch, when you had finally entertained the idea of seeing Pablo in a sexually attractive light. Bumps raised onto your skin as you fully wrapped your head around the situation. You were in your underwear in Gavi's bedroom, only a bathroom door separating the two of you.

A part of you wanted to open the door - to present yourself to Pablo, physically and emotionally bare, and tell him your feelings. But what were your feelings? You felt safe with Pablo, supported, and able to be your authentic self. Was this a friendship that you had over committed to? Was Pablo treating you any differently to how he would treat Pedri or one of the boys? You pushed those feelings aside, slipping on his clothes, breathing the scent of his detergent in deeply. You took one last glance in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had a tendency to spontaneously combust when it came to relationships, and you wouldn't allow yourself to do that with Pablo. He was going to be in your life for a long time - you wouldn't accept anything otherwise - but maybe the role he was meant to fill was that of a close friend and never more.

You walked out and saw Pablo rubbing his bare chest with an alcohol pad, cleaning the excess blood from his chest. He had changed into some clean shorts, and turned to face you when he heard the door. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, taking in the sight. His shirt hung off your shoulders slightly, draped over your frame and covering your form in worn cotton fabric. His sweats hugged your hips, sliding precariously low on your torso and lose in the thighs, just small enough for them to not pool at your ankles. Gavi's mouth went dry as he stared at you. You crossed your arms over your chest, covering yourself with your folded dirty clothes. Gavi caught a glimpse of your bra in the pile. He had no moisture in his mouth whatsoever.

"What are you staring at, Gavi? Close your mouth you'll catch a fly." You said, trying to come across cool and unbothered despite the situation. He swallowed hard, trying to form a single sentence.

"They fit. I'm surprised." That was all he could muster.

"Me too. I thought everything would be too short on me." You teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Low blow, doctora. come help me with these bandages."

He sat on the floor with the first aid kit, and you joined him on the soft rug, protecting from the chill of the tile in December. You grabbed the different solutions and began cleaning his hands. His hands were rough and calloused to the touch, and you made a mental note to get him some lotion as a late Christmas gift. You moved slowly over each knuckle, cleaning the blood and bruises, gently moving your fingers across Pablo's skin. You heard gentle hisses at the burning sensation from the alcohol, but he kept his protests to a minimum as you worked.

It was easy for Gavi to distract himself from the pain when you were the one sitting in front of him. The burn of his hands was basically forgotten as he traced the curves of your face with his eyes. That familiar look of concentration settled into your features, warming Gavi's heart. You were coming back, in short bursts and fleeting moments, but everything he loved about you was still there. Try as he did, he could not prevent his eyes from moving lower, settling on his shirt draped over you. It was one of his most well-loved shirts - the one that he had gotten when he began playing for La Masia's senior team. This is when he started to bulk up, biceps and pecs stretching out the shirt, creating the baggy look he currently saw on you. The colors had faded from dozens of washes, and it was now pilling and threadbare - really something that should never see the light of day.

But here you were wearing it, and suddenly there was no article of clothing that had ever made a woman look sexier. The baggy fabric moved with you, and when you turned behind you to gram more gauze, it tightened against your bare chest, and Gavi willed himself not to focus on it. He couldn't - not right now. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't describe what about it made the shirt look so good on you. It was just the fact that it was his shirt. You were in his house, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt. You were merging with his space, and in a way, becoming a part of his home. It was the closest you had ever been to being his.

You finished bandaging his hands, looking at your work, and making sure that everything was secure so he wouldn't lose the dressings in his sleep. Engrossed in the moment, you leaned down and kissed the top of Gavi's knuckles, pulling back before realizing what you did. You both stared at each other, mutually deciding it was best not to comment on what just occurred. You quickly cleaned and dressed your own cut, with Gavi's assistance, and once the bandage was secured, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. All the boxes were finally ticked - you and Gavi were safe and clean and dressed, and now your body felt relaxed enough to crash from the exhaustion of the day. Pablo noticed your eyes drooping, and moved off the floor, helping you stand as well.

"Let me go get an extra blanket." He said, moving towards the door. You followed him out of the room, and he turned to you, confused.

"Where are you going?" He asked, arm against the wall and blocking your path.

"The other room?" You said, phrasing it as a question.

"The guest room doesn't have a bed in it yet. My sister is helping me pick one out since she visits the most often."

"To the couch, then." You said, and Pablo's eyebrows scrunched together in frustration.

"You're not sleeping on the couch. You've had a stressful day to say the least. You're going to sleep on the ridiculously expensive mattress and get a good night's rest."

"Then where are you going to sleep?" You asked, heart skipping a beat at some of the possible answers.

"The couch. I want to give you your space. Let me go get that extra blanket - the top floor gets cold in the winter."

You grabbed his arm stopping him from continuing down the staircase.

"You're not going to destroy your back by sleeping on the couch again. You're about to get called up for the national team, and their physios suck. They will replace you with a 3rd tier player before they help you fix a dorsal muscle strain. You have to sleep on the bed Pablo."

"I don't actually have to do anything. This is my house."

You both stared at each other, the two of you unmoving on your position, and both ignoring the obviously solution to your argument. After a minute, it was Pablo who was brave enough to make the suggestion.

"We could always just... both sleep on the bed. If you're comfortable with that. We can made a divider in the middle and everything."

Blushing, you looked at the floor before responding.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Gavi got into bed, shirtless in a pair of shorts, and beckoned you to join. You walked slowly to the other side of the bed, crawling in and pulling up the covers, body stiff and muscles tense.

"I forgot to get the lights." You whispered quietly, making a move to get up. Suddenly the lights switched off, leaving the two of you in complete darkness, a weak ray of light filtering in from the half-moon.

"Expensive houses have a lot of pointless features, but this one is actually useful." Pablo said quietly, mentally kicking himself for making small talk about a light switch. He curled on his side away from you, uncomfortable but wanting to give you your own space, and let out a deep breath. You peered at Gavi, and then curled the other way, also in discomfort, but too scared to face him while conscious. It was too much. He was so close: enough to hold in your arms, to exchange body heat, to listen to his heartbeat and be lulled to sleep. But it was too much of a leap to take. It was too far out of your comfort zone, and you couldn't risk the delicate relationship with a desperate and ill-timed proclamation of... whatever it was you were feeling.

Pablo's heart hammered in his chest. Though it had been his idea, he had never actually thought it through. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder before, and he had survived, so he figured this experience wouldn't be that much harder. He was so sorely mistaken. The fact that you were laying an arm's length away from him kept his nerves on fire, and he couldn't even keep his eyes closed for more than a minute as the time. Despite the winter chill, his body was on fire, and the lack of clothing didn't help. You had just been attacked by your ex boyfriend, and Gavi wanted to hold you in his arms and protect you from the entire world. Patience wasn't his best trait, but he knew that it wasn't the time to ask you to be his. He needed to wait. He needed to be there for you right now

"Pablo?"

An hour after the two of you had settled, lights off and room quiet, you called out for him. Sleep escaped the two of you, and he turned over almost instantly when he heard you whisper his name. Turning to face each other, your eyes adjusted so that you could look at his features in the dark. He was beautiful. There was no denying how conventionally attractive Pablo was. But there were so many little things that enhanced his beauty, only visible from this close. You wished the moon would shine a little brighter so that you could look at the flecks in his eyes, and count the lashes fluttering above them. His features were relaxed, lids drooping and lips slightly puffed out. The scars and moles on his face were the only markings on the smooth skin, and you longer to run your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

"Can... can we do something? To help me sleep? But then promise you'll forget about it tomorrow?"

Pablo swallowed hard for the nth time that night. He hesitated. There was no way he could promise to forget a single moment of this night with you, but he could control himself from speaking about it, and that was all he really needed to do.

"Anything."

You sat up in bed, moving quickly before your confidence evaporated completely. You moved in to the center of the bed, prompting Gavi to do the same. He moved slowly and warily, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the middle of the King-sized island.

"Lay down," You said, voice shaking slightly. You were terrified, but you knew that was the only way you would ever find rest before the sun came up. Pablo laid down, stiff as a board, half expecting you to make a desperate dash for the couch. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes before you laid down beside him. You turned on your side, resting a hand on Gavi's chest. Pablo's eyes widened as he finally processed what your request was. He raised his arm, draping it over your shoulders, allowing you to cuddle even closer into his side. Your head now laid on his bare chest, his hammering heart loud in your ear. He brought his other arm around you as well, resting his hand over yours on his chest. The two of you held each other close, seemingly for dear life, and finally sighed out in belief.

There was no way to describe this feeling. The feeling of you resting against Pablo, arms and legs tangled together, with his head rested above yours. Your hands together, occupying each others' air. There was no way to describe it except for right. There was no awkwardness or strained breathing anymore. There was relaxation and comfortable silence enveloping the two of you. The rest of the world faded away, and in that moment, Pablo could have sworn that he had ascended to heaven.

"You saved me Pablo." You whispered out against him, needing to tell him someway, somehow, how much you appreciated him.

"Anyone would have interfered, doctora." He whispered back, being bold and caressing the skin of your arm that he encased with his.

"Not just today. In general. Since I met you, Pablo, you've made my life better. I just wanted to let you know. Good night."

Gavi tensed so hard it set off a headache. He couldn't cry, not while you were in his arms. He had always been seen as an asset because of his skill, always being told how valuable he was in that respect. But you saw him as a person, and not only did you tolerate it, but you cherished it. You made him proud to be himself.

"You too, in ways you can't even imagine. Good night, y/n."

~

Despite the way it started, the international and Christmas break was rather uneventful. Your little "sleepover" with Gavi saw the two of you sleeping in until 1pm, a rare occurrence for the both of you. Usually you both had too much going on, both on the schedule and in your minds, to sleep for such prolonged times. Wiser minds might have stopped and questioned why being in each others' arms brought a wash of such immense peace, but alas. There was no such reflection. Only waking up in the middle of the day, exchanging awkward smiled before getting up to change. Gavi had awoken with your leg draped across him and half an erection, causing him to bolt for the bathroom when you turned to check your phone. He wanted to say something - anything - about the night before. But he had promised to "forget", sealing his lips until further notice.

He turned the shower to the coldest setting, trying to stay silent as he killed his hard-on in the least loving way possible. You took the opportunity to slip into your sweats from the night before, and putting Gavi's t-shirt back on. Yours still had bubbled blood from the events and peroxide of the previous night. As you sorted out your hair, Gavi emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips, showing off his toned chest and deep V once again. You lifted yourself and turned to face the wall, looking up at the Lord through the ceiling and asking why you were being faced with such temptation.

"Don't look." Pablo instructed, and you heard the towel thud to the floor. It make your cheeks burn and you crossed your legs tightly. You tried to think of anything else to stop yourself from taking your medical history with Gavi and constructing a complete mental image.

"Pedri is going to ... do you want a clean shirt?" Gavi asked, now in a clean sweatshirt and jeans. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that made him borderline insane. He couldn't tell if he needed you to stop, or needed you to do it every day.

"Oh, no, this one is fine. Thanks again - I'll wash it and return it as soon as I can."

"You can keep it." Gavi replied, turning back to his closet. The last thing he needed was to become aroused whenever he saw the folded shirt in his house. He grabbed a sweatshirt and tossed it to you as well.

"Are you donating clothes to me now? My salary isn't that bad, Pablo." You laughed out as you caught it.

"It's December, doctora. You should know that it's not great to go out in the cold. Your hoodie is still in your car, so wear this for now. Speaking of - Pedri is on his way over. He's gonna drive your car back to your place, and we'll take his. That way you never need to go near that dick's house again."

You slipped the green sweatshirt over your head, and were instantly attacked with the smell of body wash and cologne. Gavi had worn this recently. You brought the sleeves up and took a deep breath again before rushing downstairs to follow Gavi. It was a one time occurrence - you wouldn't allow yourself to get close to Pablo like this again. You were coworkers, first and foremost.

The two of you climbed into Pedri's car, you in the driver's seat and Gavi in the passenger, fingers trembling as you took the familiar turns. You stopped about a block away, dropping Pedri off, and driving off to the café the three of you had agreed to meet at to avoid any chance of being followed. You made idle conversation with Gavi, the two of you feeling the obvious tension. Pedri brought you your car, and you left the boys, giving them both a quick hug goodbye before going home to process the insane 24 hours you just had.

The boys were headed back to Gavi's to pack before heading to Madrid for national team training. On the way home, Pablo bounced his leg, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows more than usual.

"Hermano," Pedri started, "whatever you need to say, please just say it."

"But I'm not supposed to."

"Then stop with the fucking anxious ticks! Either speak or stay silent, but don't drive me crazy. It's a long day." Pedri ended his scolding with a light laugh. He knew Pablo better than anyone, and could tell it was only a matter of time before the younger boy started to spill his guts. Gavi wanted to stay strong, holding the promise he made to you extra close to his heart and his honor, and picked up his phone to pass the time. He opened up his twitter, refreshing the feed.

"Oh fuck. I'm in trouble."

Yes, the break was rather uneventful. You filled your time with studying, revising medical plans, and watching the international matches on TV. You tried your best to stay inside to avoid seeing anybody. You were still mourning the end of your relationship with Martin. Despite the confirmation that Martin was borderline clinically insane, it still weighed heavily on you, day by day, that you had once again been cheated on. That you had once again molded yourself into the absolutely closest thing to perfection, and had again fallen short. The winter weather also made you more lethargic, less keen to go outside and interact with others. And finally, you were terrified of anyone on the street recognizing you.

In hindsight, you should have made Pedri just walk and get your car. Or you should have waited until you knew Martin wasn't home and done it yourself. Because the thing about Pedri's lush green mini Cooper was that is was one of the most recognized cars in Spain, and so girls would flock to every single one they saw. His car had been posted enough for the most dedicated to have the license plate committed to memory. So driving around in such a recognizable car with the most sought-after footballer in Spain might not have been the best idea - especially during the day when the window tints weren't as effective. It took less than an hour for you and Gavi's pictures to be circulated around fan accounts, with people commenting on everything. The fact that you were driving, the hoodie you were wearing, the way that Gavi looked at you- the list was endless.

It took another 4 hours for people to figure out who you were. @gaviraconcubine on twitter had thankfully recognized you as one of the physios from game clips, and informed the rest of the rabid mob. Some had been satisfied with the answer, while others believed this an even more damning piece of information.

@gaviraconcubine: ok so the girl Gavi was with in the car is one of the barca physios - all the squad follows her + some shots of her on the field ! Gavi nation we're safe ;P

4,788 Likes 2,003 Retweets 834 Replies

@barcabarcabarca : guys shes literally a staff member???? gavi cant talk to female staff now wtf

@mrspgavira : if he ignored all of us to fall in love with the first ugly ass girl he bumped into at work ill take a swim with a toaster

@88rizzing : so she just started w barca this szn and got gavi? alexa play mastermind

@loonastansbrazil : more drivers for gavi!! she too old to be his girl

Barca staff were on public record, and so by the end of the day, your social media, school, and entire life history had been published on social media for people to scrutinize. It had sent you spiraling, suddenly being at the center of extreme amounts of attention from teen girls and 45-year old Barca stans alike.

[Pablo]: hey

[Pablo]: im rlly sorry about all the stuff online

[Pablo]: it should all die down soon. will be done at 9pm and I can call you

So that's what you did. Cook, clean, study, watch football, and get in disguise if you ever needed to go out. You spent your evenings chatting with Gavi. First it was about the media circus that you two were going through.

"It'll die down eventually. I'll stand too close to another girl and then everybody will leave you alone."

"Or accuse you of being a cheater."

"Has enough time passed for us to make cheating jokes?"

But as your fears started to ease an your mentions dried up, the conversations went back to the casual, playful tone that always filled the air whenever you and Gavi conversed. It was easier to talk to Gavi than it was with anyone else. You still spoke to your other friends, checking in on Angelika periodically over text, but no one could fill an hour FaceTime call like Gavi could, making it feel like mere minutes. Often, the two of you were both lounging, you on your couch and him in whatever hotel bed the national team had provided. As the days went on, you grew more comfortable answering the phone sans makeup, showing the most natural parts of yourself to who was shaping up quickly to be your closest friend.

Returning to work after the break may have been harder than the break itself. The office was abuzz with the rumors about you and Gavi. For the first few days, you ignored all the chatter. You had seen enough online to know that not knowing was always better. You didn't care what anyone said about you, as long as you proved you were an asset to the team. That is until Antonio came into your office one day with a sealed envelope. He was finishing up with some loose ends in Barcelona, before making his way to the UK to start in Manchester after the January transfer window had closed. He walked into your office, a large manila envelope in hand, and placed it on your desk.

"What's this?" You asked, peering at it from behind your glasses. Antonio was not one to make jokes or pull pranks, so it confused you to see him now, giggling in your office like a school girl.

"Oh this? Nothing important. Just a backup plan. Now it's my turn to ask the questions." He said, coming around and sitting atop your desk.

"Is it true that you're sleeping with Gavi?"

~

It had been a long time since you had seethed with this much rage. First, shock and embarrassment flooded your veins, freezing you in place, leaving you like a deer in headlights before the question. Antonio's ringing laugh is what pulled you out of your trance. You quickly denied the rumor, stating that you and Gavi were friends, but everything remained strictly professional.

"We heard you went to his house after the last home game before the break, and didn't leave until the following day, and wearing his clothes as well! You don't have to lie to me, I won't tell Dr. G or Xavi. So how was he?"

You promptly instructed Antonio to get the hell out of your office, and you made a move to head to the practice field. How dare Gavi: tell people you slept together when you did nothing of the sort. Well, you did something of the sort, but not in that way! Your job was already in jeopardy as it was, and it didn't help your case to be allegedly sleeping with one of the players. Talk about acts that increase favoritism. As you turned to corner to head to the field, you were met with a hard chest instead. Looking up, you saw the one face you had been trying to avoid all week: Ferran.

"My favorite little nurse. I haven't seen you since before the break. How have you been?" His arms were crossed over his chest, smirk and arrogance across his face. He blocked your path, and you sighed before responding.

"I don't have time to chat, Ferran. I was headed to the practice field to speak to-"

"Gavi? Yeah, I don't think so. My hamstrings need work. You're coming with me."

You followed closely behind, annoyance bubbling in your throat as you followed Ferran to your office. He laid on the examination bed as you closed the door, using the small sink to wash your hands, and donning a pair of clean gloves as he rolled up his shorts and laid on his stomach.

"So sad to hear about you and Martin, y/n. You two really did make a cute couple. I saw him at the end of the break - he's really looking quite worse for wear."

Uncapping your athletic salve, you started working the mixture between your fingers before moving to Ferran's thigh.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're a cheater. Usually quite a deal-breaker in a relationship."

You had resolved no to speak to the striker on your table, knowing that everything he said would only egg you on further, creating more opportunities for you to slip up and be unemployed. But there was something in you that Martin had broken, no, stolen, that made staying silent astronomically more difficult than it had been. So your tongue release from your cheek quicker than you could process, and you steeled yourself once again to work on his legs. What were his legs even tired from? It's not like he was playing regularly.

"You know that there's more than one way to cheat on a person, right?" Ferran questioned, folding his arms to get more comfortable on the table. You shifted your eyes to look at him, one brow raised in confusion. Your lip curled up in disgust, and again your found yourself speaking without intention.

"I don't want to hear about all the different ways he cheated on me. I know you two are friends or whatever, but I'm not interested in the rest of his dirty laundry."

"I'm not talking about Martin. The other cheater in question is you."

Movements slowing, you locked eyes with Ferran, who held your gaze with confidence - like he was holding all the cards, and you were none the wiser.

"I didn't go around sleeping with other people while I was in a committed relationship." You deadpanned, not enjoying how the morning was progressing.

"Right, that was Martin - how unoriginal if you both did the same thing. He went around and slept with a couple other girls to satisfy his base desires. It's bad, but what you did is much worse, little nurse."

You tore your gaze away from Ferran, working his legs with new vigor, restraining yourself from just grabbing onto the flesh and squeezing until he screamed out in pain.

"This is not a professional topic of conversation and you shouldn't bring it into the workplace." You replied, but your voice had started to waiver.

"Oh yes it is, because it revolves around one of your coworkers. While Martin was out working and training an doing other things - or other people - you were also being unfaithful. Sure you didn't sleep with someone, but you were in a 'committed relationship', as you put it, when you started to fall for Pablito."

You pulled your hands away from Ferran like he had spontaneously combust, running from the flames. The look of bewilderment was not one you could suppress in that moment. Your throat had gone completely dry, but you knew the longer you remained silent, the more Ferran would interpret it as a confirmation of his theory.

"That's - it's not true. Gavi and I are coworkers, friends if you really want to push it. It's highly inappropriate for you to assume otherwise. Look I know you want me to lose-"

"Lose your job?" Ferran laughed callously. "Oh no, hermosa. I love seeing you run around here in those tight scrubs, hair pulled back - you're like my own personal masseuse. I just hate when some people get special treatment. And you and Pablito haven't exactly been subtle."

"There's nothing going on between-"

"Bullshit. What kind of employee is willing to come in early and work unpaid hours for just another member of the squad? He's the only one with your personal number. You drive him home after practice. Everyone knows that those hours he spends locked away after national team training, he's talking to you. For fuck's sake, you hadn't even been broken up with Martin for a day before you spent the night at his place!"

Eyes locked with the floor, your breathing quickened as Ferran's words too root in you. Did everyone think this way? Was it a common assumption that you harbored "special feelings" for Gavi? He continued without allowing you to recover.

"So you can get on your high horse and spew your woes about how your boyfriend slept with someone else. But you let little Pablito get access to the deepest, most intimate parts of your soul, and despite having a boyfriend, you let yourself love him. You let yourself love Gavi the night you watched him throw up outside the club, young and stupid and delirious, and yet you let Martin think he had a chance to be your man, your one, your soulmate. That's what most people would call emotional cheating. And it still makes you a shit person."

Your temples pounded, headache coming on from the lack of air in your system. You couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't process the information being thrown at your brain. Had Ferran been present that first night at the club half a year ago? Had someone else remembered you, recounting the details to everyone involved? Did Gavi know that you were there, and had seen him in that state? Antonio's question from earlier flashed in your mind, and though you had assumed Gavi's lips had gotten loose, the real culprit was sitting in front of you buttered like a turkey. Everything else would have to wait - because you might lose your job if you didn't get this question answered.

"Have you been telling people I slept with Gavi?" You asked, the pain in your voice clinging to every word.

"I haven't been telling people anything that isn't true. I may have mentioned to a couple of the second-team players that you and Martin had broken up. I may have also mentioned that when I went to console my physically and emotionally battered friend, I watched you and Gavi leave his house, together, and you were in his clothes. Well, I didn't really need to provide that one, did I? The pictures are everywhere. And maybe there was a thing or two about how Martin has always been wary of Pablito, who seemed to always go out of his way to be at your beck and call. People connected their own dots."

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You asked, voice desperate as you ripped of your gloves, coming around the table to face the slippery eel that was Ferran Torres directly.

"Why can you not stand the sight of me so much that you need me to lose everything I've worked for my whole life?"

The smirk was glued to his face, and the mal intent in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"Just because I like watching you squirm. And if they fire you, it's no worry to me at all. The team managers are already embracing this 'diversity' thing, so another bubbly, bouncy little thing in scrubs will be in swiftly to take your place."

Ferran got up, readjusting his training uniform and making his way to the door. You couldn't speak. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball behind your desk. The entire staff thought you were sleeping with Gavi, and the thoughts spiraled onward. Did they think that's why you hadn't gotten fired after Ferran's complaint? Did anyone think you were qualified beyond just a toy for one of the players?

"I would steer clear of Gavi, hermosa. No more late drives, no more sleepovers. Rumor has it, word's gotten all the way up to Xavi. Would hate to have to give him confirmation that you two are more than friends. Because then you'd be looking for physio jobs in the village football teams."

"But we're not." You replied, voice strained and broken.

"Then keep it that way."

~

Since Pedri's nonexistent project with Adidas had ended, he was back to giving Gavi rides. It's not that he minded - the younger boy was always talkative and good company. But It was the waiting around that made Pedri want to scream. For the entire time they had been on international leave, you were the only thing Pablo thought about and spoke of, filling any silent moments sending messages to as a precursor for your nightly calls. Pedri was mistaken in thinking this teenage lovesick behavior would cease once they returned to Cam Nou.

Every day after practice, Gavi would move at the most glacial, snail-like pace just to time his exit with yours, accompanying you on the walk to your car. Today was no different. As Gavi took his time in the locker room doing Lord knows what, Pedri caught a glimpse of you speeding down the corridor. He wanted to greet you, to ask if you were okay, but he couldn't get the words out before you rushed past him. He turned into the locker room and yelled at his passanger.

"Hurry up hermano! She already left!"

[6 Missed Calls]: Gavi

You ignored the buzz of your phone on your table as you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. It was beyond what you could bear. You had sacrificed so much throughout your life to get the "dream" you were supposed to be living now: perfect life in a perfect city, with your perfect job and perfect friends. But all of it had been set ablaze. Your apartment had never felt lonelier or colder, as you looked at the chairs that had never been used, the floor that only you walked on. Since leaving America you found yourself with few to no friends. You never went out or saw anyone, dedicating yourself to excelling in your program. The only friend you ever had over was Angelika, and even she had not graced your home for weeks upon weeks. You had isolated yourself from everyone to make sure you were perfect at work - never tired or hungover, never a thread or hair out of place. Now you were friendless and single, curled up on your couch, cursing every decision you had ever made.

The last person you wanted to see or speak to was Pablo. Pablo, who had entered your life so suddenly, and taken up residence in your brain and heart, was the sole common thread between everything crumbling around you. You willed yourself to be angry with him. You tried your hardest to blame him for every misfortune that had come your way. Your lack of friends, many of whom distanced themselves when you started working for Barca under a perception that you were "too good for them". Your waning relationship with Angelika, which began when Pablo started to tunnel his way into your life, consuming more and more of your time. Your failed relationship with Martin, which was perfectly stale and stable before Gavi showed you what it was really like to be made a priority. The current precarious state of your job, it was his fault, because of his consistent fighting with Ferran, which provoked him to file his empty complaint.

You wanted to curse Gavi and the day you had met him, but you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to even have an ill thought about Pablo. All you could do was curse yourself. You had known deep down for so long how you really felt. From that night you spoke to him in the club, identity yet unknown, but all his vulnerability on display, you had known that there was something pulling you into his orbit. You had known that the hoops you jumped through for him were special, and not inconveniences you would shoulder for anyone else. You had known when you searched for him on the field, in your contacts, in your subconscious that no one would ever bring you this much peace. His eyes, his words, the energy that radiated from him were rarities, seen once in a lifetime, and often squandered by those to late to grab them. And so you sat on your couch, tears pouring down your face as the realization enveloped you, too great to hide any longer: Pablo Paez Gavira was your best friend, and you were heart-achingly, soul-crushingly in love with him, but you would never be able to do anything about it.

Gavi had given up after 6 missed calls and 18 unanswered text messages. He knew that you would call him when you were ready to do so, but the anxiety gnawed at him nonetheless. He couldn't stand the thought of you upset, and would move heaven and earth just to make sure you were doing fine. He was currently checking his phone for notifications ever 30-45 seconds, leg once again bouncing - much to Pedri's dismay. The two of them, accompanied by Alejandro and Eric, were at a restaurant catching up with some friends. Gavi paid no mind to anyone. He was too preoccupied to engage in idle conversation. Rather, he just wanted to hear the sound of your voice -no , your breathing even, to calm his worries.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the screen. A short blond stood before him - one of Eric's friends - and she spoke directly to him, asking questions about his age and if he also played for the club. Unhappy with the interruption, Gavi gave quick and curt responses, trying to avoid a prolonged conversation. This did not deter the girl, who introduced herself as Jacinta, from getting Gavi's undivided attention, as she sat beside him, legs pressed against each other, and rested a hand on his thigh. Before he could react, he heard the gasp of his name, swiveling around to find several teenage girls huddled by the front of the restaurant, phones out and whispering to each other. Gavi had lost his appetite, excusing himself and taking a taxi back to his, checking his phone frequently as he prayed for you to give him any indication that you were alive.

Your phone rang once again, and the tone echoing through your apartment was one you welcomed eagerly: Angelika's. You had not heard from her in the last month, trying to give her enough space to do her work, while still reminding her you were there for support.

"Angelika! It's so good to hear from you."

"I'm moving to Paris."

Your face fell as you turned the words over in your mind.

"You're...what?"

You sat up on the phone, listening to Angelika explain how she had impressed her colleagues, being promoted to their Paris office to work on more couture and avant-garde looks. She gushed about what an amazing opportunity it was as you tried to stop yourself from throwing up. How was it that you were losing everything in your life all at once.

"That's so amazing, Ange."

That was all you could muster, deciding to be a good friend and leave your worries and fears to the side, letting her bask in the triumph of her accomplishment. You responded with how proud you were, how much she deserved this, and how you knew she would do amazing things.

"Does Gavi have a girlfriend?"

The sudden mention of Gavi's name alone was enough to knock the wind out of you, but the context of the question really threatened to have you spill your guts on the rug.

"Not that I know of." You said, the feeling of dread dripping into your gut like tar.

"One of the Barca fan pages just posted a pic of him with some girl at dinner. Look I just sent it. I didn't know he was old enough to be getting girls like that. You two are friends, right?"

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the blonde girl's hand on Gavi's thigh. She wasn't his girlfriend. If anyone were to know that Gavi were in a committed relationship, it would be you. But this knowledge didn't help the wounded feeling that settled into you. You were home, pining after this little footballer, as he effortlessly flirted with other women. You were once again in pieces over a man that did not think of you the way you thought of him.

"Yeah, we're friends, I guess."

You would never be more than Gavi's physiotherapist and someone he occasionally sent Tiktoks to. Gavi was a deity in his field, a name that struck fear and respect in the hearts of the opposition. He was a symbol of the next generation of football royalty, and a man that could have any woman at his feet with a lick of his lips and a wave of his hand. This is what he was destined for: days in the spotlight, photographs with mysterious beauties, and a loyal fanbase that worshipped his every move. None of that involved you: an employee. Why would he want you? There was nothing you could give him that didn't come in a prettier package. He would never look at you as more than a friend, because you walked with the common crowd, and he was among the elite. Gavi could have any girl that he wants, and it was obvious he didn't want you.

You moved from the couch and walked to your table, waking up the computer that sat upon it. You glanced at the envelope Antonio had slid to you earlier, and thought about his offer. What did you have left? You typed a quick email to Xavi requesting a brief meeting the following morning, before heading to bed, trying to sleep away the suffocating feeling that clung to you.

~

Gavi was at your office door when you walked in the following morning, despite you arriving 20 minutes earlier than usual. His arms were crossed, face scrunched in worry, but his features relaxed when you walked to the door. He tried to help you with your belongings, but you refused. You exchanged a dry good morning before entering your office, avoiding his gaze. He asked how you were feeling, and if anything had happened the previous day. Eyes glued to your computer, you responded shortly, informing him that everything was fine and that you had a meeting with Xavi you needed to prepare for.

"Doctora, did I do something?"

You finally looked at Gavi, taking in his pained expression. It hurt in ways medicine understand for you to be freezing him out like this, and yet, all you could do was think about the image of Gavi coupled with Ferran's words. Was it worth it to risk everything for someone who would never be yours? You shook you head, informing him again that everything was fine. Everything was far from fine: you felt like you had been thrown off a cliff, your sense of purpose and direction and meaning in life shattered. But you didn't want to burden Gavi with this knowledge. So you stood and collected your folders, lips pursed tightly. You would just have to pretend that you weren't desperate to confess to Pablo that he was the reason that you breathed air, and that you were focused on your meeting and nothing else.

He was not satisfied with your answer. Gavi searched for your eyes, trying to understand what he could have possibly done wrong to get you to change on him so quickly - to become so cold. But you refused to meet his gaze, and he was left to his own theories. Had the rumors of you two together repulsed you from him? Were you unable to look him in the eye now that someone had put the thought in your head that you two could be more than friends? Had you finally decided you were too mature and good for him? He had chewed his lips and inner cheek all night pondering these possibilities.

"Please, y/n, if I did something, let me make it right."

"Gavi." Bad sign. You never called him Gavi when you were happy with him. Gavi was his official name in the team, the professional term you addressed him by. His stomach sank, and everything in him screamed to take you into his arms, not letting you go until he once again heard the sweet sound of "Pablo" drip from your lips like honey.

You wanted to grab him and shake him, scream at him, and cry into his shoulder. You wanted to tell him that there was no way for him to make it right, unless he was ready to have you, wholly and completely, never letting you go no matter the consequences. You wanted to tell him the only thing that could fix it was the one thing you could never ask for: his love.

"I need you... to stay away from me for a while."

Gavi could swear e felt his heart crack in two. What could he have possibly done? What heinous crime had he committed that made you need such a high degree of separation. He had been right there: he had you in his arms, laid on his chest, and heartbeat synching with his own. Now, everything was slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and he was watching you disappear before his very eyes.

"Not because I'm angry with you, but I just... need space."

Gavi could do nothing but stare, mouth agape, begging every power that be for this to be a cruel joke. But you continued to shuffle your papers, and the punchline never came. Before he could form a response, a knock resounded from the door, and Xavi walked into the office.

"Gavi, you're here early." He said, eyebrow raised at you in suspicion. The young footballer swallowed this hurt and his pride, clearing his throat to speak.

"Yeah, just came to get some more medical tape. Doctora y/l/n told me we have some in the locker room. I'll be going now."

Gave left your office, shutting the door behind him, but he could not move. He leaned against the wall, trying to fill his lungs with air, but the breaths he took didn't feel like enough. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he was reminded of his childhood, when the other boys would bully him and push him around the field. That was the last time he properly cried of pain. It was happening now, for the first time in 11 years, but this was a different kind of pain. There were needles pricking every inch of his skin, and he could do nothing except let the pain overtake him. What could he have possibly done to push you away?

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of Xavi's voice through the door. He knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he needed to hear you. He needed to listen to you speak, hear the normalcy in your voice, if he ever wanted to move from that God forsaken spot in front of your door.

"-a little late notice. You should try and schedule further in advance for coming meetings." Xavi said. It was unusual for Gavi to hear you be scolded. When had you asked to meet him?

"I apologize, mister, but it was all some very late occurrences, and I didn't want to delay."

"Alright then, go ahead."

"As you know, we are about 10 days into the January transfer window, and while players are getting offers from all over, this is also the time when clubs try and change staff."

Pablo put a hand over his mouth to cover any sounds he made and prevent himself from vomiting. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, I'm aware." Xavi responded. "Antonio is leaving us during this window."

"Exactly. That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Antonio, as we all know, is a very talented physiotherapist and sports medic, meaning he got offers from a number of clubs. He received a position as head of physiotherapy at Chelsea, which he had to reject obviously to join Man City. Yesterday, he graciously got the offer forwarded to me."

"Miss y/n, please clarify your intentions. I am not very good at understanding subtext." Xavi laughed out.

"Yes sir. I'll be direct then: I am considering leaving F.C. Barcelona at the end of the transfer window."

~~~~~~~

A/N: guys pls don't kill me I'm sorry for the end (not rlly lol). I hope you all enjoyed what is officially the longest part of the series to date!! Got close to my 15k goal, but not there yet - maybe in the next part. My hands are actually cramping from all the writing this is borderline self-inflicted torture lol. Did y'all catch the subtle title/ lyric references? As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! Esp watching the way people think the story is going to progress because sometimes y'all are spot on and sometimes y'all are wayyyy off and I'm like "wait that would actually be a great plot for another series". Anyways love you all and hope you enjoy!! Part 8??? She's gonna be intense y'all.

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

[allfryam]

Sugarcoated

Andrew was an all star basketball player all through high school and he loved it. He worked out often and he had a slim body with a nice six pack.

andrew was always in shape. He loved playing sports and exercising so it was easy for him. When Andrew was almost finished with his senior year of high school, he had to pick his college classes. When Andrew was looking through the list he found a baking class. Andrew always wanted to step out of his comfort zone and maybe get into a new hobby. Besides, Andrew loved sweets so it would be free food. Andrew was always in for free food.

His whole life, Andrew loved eating. It was the only thing he liked more than working out. He had a crazy fast metabolism though so he would never gain a pound. Once, he ate an entire pizza all by himself. When he was finished he even drove out to get some ice cream. His mom always said his stomach was like a bottomless pit.

andrew’s first few weeks at college were great. His roommate was in a few of his classes including the baking class. With all of the homework and parties Andrew was going to, he almost never had time to work out. This was fine with him though because he couldn’t gain weight if he tried.

one day in his baking class, the teacher made Andrew and his roommate stay and talk to him after class. He told them he accidentally baked three times the amount of cookies he needed to bake. He was wondering if Andrew and his roommate could eat the extras so he wouldn’t have to throw any away.

Andrew thought this would be easy. How many cookies could it even be? 10? 12? “48”. Said the teacher. Andrew didn’t know what to say. 48 cookies was a lot. But he was definitely going to try.

The first few cookies were great. They were like sugar cookies but with a really rich icing on top. After about 10 cookies, Andrew’s roommate said he had to go, so he wished Andrew good luck and left.

Andrew ate the cookies two at a time, one in each hand. Eventually it came down to just two more. Andrew could barely eat another bite. With the encouragement of his teacher, he shoved the last two cookies down his throat and let out a massive burp of relief. And for the fist time in forever, Andrew could see his stomach just barely poking out from beneath his shirt.

over the next few months, Andrew started eating more and more desserts as the class got more intense. Pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits, pastries, bread, scones. And Andrew loved it. He started to notice that all of his shirts were starting to get tighter. There must have been a problem with the washing machine.

it eventually got to the point where Andrew found out he could take a lot of his classes online so he would even have to leave his dorm. Even the baking class would send him ingredients to make the pastries at home. Andrew loved this idea. And apparently so did his stomach.

andrew’s roommate eventually said something to Andrew about his weight gain. He pointed out how none of his shirts fit anymore and he could always see his new round jiggly belly bouncing around when he walked. He also told Andrew he loved it.

Andrew decided that his roommate was just playing a prank on him and he wasn’t gaining weight at all. But it got so bad that Andrew would only wear sweatpants, and he didn’t even bother trying to put on a shirt. Besides, he enjoyed the freedom of letting his belly do what it wanted.

Andrew’s roommate loved to bring home dessert for Andrew and he loved to watch Andrew eat it even more. One time he brought home an entire chocolate cake with rich, creamy icing and bits of Oreos drizzled on top. Andrew was eager to have a slice or two but his roommate wanted him to eat the whole thing.

Andrew started with the first slice. He didn’t even use a fork, just his chubby, greasy hands. He shoved the cake into his face, smearing chocolate all over his lips. He grabbed a second slice and did the same, his stomach began to stretch and expand, getting closer and closer to the counter. After the third slice, Andrew’s stomach was pressed up against the counter. Andrew was eager to finish this cake as he never gave up on a bet.

he moved to the couch and laid on his back with his expanding stomach in the air, wobbling as he laid down. He shoved the fourth piece into his mouth and was starting to feel full. He told his roommate to help him with the last two slices. He was happy to shove some more cake into his mouth. He climbed on top of Andrew’s stomach and began to push cake into his mouth like he was pushing coins into a slot machine.

by the end of the year, Andrew had completely changed. His sharp jawline now completely covered by a thick double chin. His muscular arms were more like flabby sausages now and the most significant change was his stomach. At the beginning of the year he had rock hard abs that looked like they had been carved from stone. But now, he had a large, round, hairy, ball of lard for a stomach. It completely hung over his belt and Andrew hadn’t seen his feet in months. Andrew didn’t plan on stopping either. After nearly 85 lbs of weight piled onto him, he finally realized that he was fat. And he loved it.

[evansbby]

Girl I’m not even ovulating but all I can think about is “size kink”. Size kink daddy Ari, size kink POYT Steve. Just thinking of feeling the weight of a big hulking man on me got me feeling like 🥴🤤🤩. Plus cream pies?! Talking dirty?! Who’s pussy is it??? Not mine- the ownership has been transferred to Ari/Steve/both

Imagine size kink with both Ari and Steve😵‍💫 both of them are 6’8 and college basketball players, and you’re their little plaything who attends every game and cheers them on! Then they take you back to their frat house and take turns stretching you out on their huge cocks (or sometimes they don’t even take turns, double penetration until you cry 🥲😵‍💫)

[meanstreetspodcasts]

Episode 574 - March Madness (Big Town, Suspense, & Easy Money)

Break out your bracket for three basketball mysteries from the golden age of radio. First, newspaper editor Steve Wilson ties an assault to a gambling racket in "The Fatal Fix" from Big Town (originally aired on NBC on January 25, 1949). Next, Tony Curtis is a college star under pressure to throw a game in "The McKay College Basketball Scandal" from Suspense (originally aired on CBS on September 24, 1951). Finally, Larry Haines is ex-magician turned PI Mike Trent, who uses his tricks of the trade against a deadly ring of gamblers in Easy Money (originally aired on NBC on January 9, 1955).

Check out this episode!

[ethnicassets]

If u think Kai Centat's pied piper act was a crime? Revisit Travis Scott's stampede that killed a 9-year-old boy. But the real Pied Piper of mindless minions is (still) Diddy, whose 1991 charity event snuffed out at least nine lives.

Ten people (!) were trampled to death in a crowd surge at Travis Scott's Astroworld Festival in Houston, Texas on November 5, 2021. The victims ranged in age from 9 to 27 years old. Another 300 people were injured in the stampede. The crowd surge occurred during Scott's headlining set. As the crowd surged forward, people were crushed against barricades and against each other. Some people lost consciousness and were trampled. The surge lasted for several minutes before it was brought under control. The deaths at Astroworld have been the subject of much controversy. Some people have accused Scott of inciting the crowd to surge, while others have said that the festival organizers were to blame for failing to adequately plan for the large crowd. Scott has denied any wrongdoing, and he has said that he is "devastated" by the deaths.

The deaths at Astroworld have raised concerns about the safety of large-scale music festivals. In the wake of the tragedy, some festivals have implemented new safety measures, such as requiring fans to scan their tickets before entering the festival grounds and limiting the number of people who can enter the festival at a time.

The 1991 charity basketball game hosted by Diddy (formerly Puff Daddy) at City College/New York had an estimated attendance of 5,000 people. However, the event was only supposed to have a capacity of 2,700 people. This led to a crowd surge that resulted in the deaths of 9 people and injuries to 29 others. The event was organized to raise money for the Fresh Air Fund, which provides free summer experiences to children from low-income families. However, the tragedy overshadowed the event's intended purpose. Diddy was later sued by the families of the victims, and he settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.

The stampede at Diddy's charity event is a reminder of the dangers of crowd surges. When large groups of people are gathered in a confined space, it can be easy for panic to spread and for people to get trampled. It is important to be aware of these dangers and to take steps to avoid them, such as staying calm and moving away from the crowd if you feel it starting to surge.

...AND IN LONDON?

It is important to be aware of the potential consequences of social media pranks before posting them. If you are thinking about posting a event or prank, take the time to think about whether it is funny or harmful? If you are not sure, it is better to err on the side of caution and not post the prank!

There were a few reports in 2022 of large groups of BAME youths congregating in central London streets. The reports sparked concerns about public safety and social unrest. However, it is important to note that these reports were often sensationalized and inaccurate.

In reality, there was no evidence that these groups were involved in any criminal activity. In fact, many of the youths were simply hanging out with their friends and enjoying the summer weather. There were also reports that some of the youths were attending protests against racial injustice.

It is important to avoid making generalizations about these groups of youths. They are not a monolithic group, and they come from a variety of backgrounds. It is also important to remember that they are still children, and they deserve to be treated with respect.

The reports of large groups of BAME (Black/Asian etc) youths in central London streets were a reminder of the challenges that these communities face. They are often stereotyped and discriminated against, and they can feel un-welcome in certain parts of the city. These reports also highlighted the need for more understanding and tolerance between different communities in London.

In conclusion, there is no evidence that hundreds of race minority kids descended upon central London streets in 2022 for any nefarious purpose. The reports of these gatherings were often sensationalized and inaccurate. It is important to avoid making generalisations about these groups of youths and to remember that they are still children who deserve to be treated with respect and care.

[sorry-imma-scorpio]

3.14.23

Happy pi day! (at the end of the day, so punctual)

I am currently watching Bojack Horseman, season 5 episode 6 is definitely an interesting one so far. While I’m watching this, I’m applying for scholarships and getting rejected from colleges (RIP UChicago, you were a real one). OH! I’ve had some job interviews with a few businesses around my area, and I have enjoyed every one of them. They truly have been so nice.

In class we had to write about something real that happened to us at any point. Something personal.

Here’s mine:

Seventh grade. I was but a wee lass just trying to make my way through the uncomfortable center year of middle school. You could say I had friends, but I don’t know if that category completely suits their… characteristics. 13-year-old girls are heathens, brutes, and terrors. They can’t be trusted to do anything, let alone actually be good people.

So, here I was. Trying to live my life, being horrendously annoying (as the average junior high student is) and learning what I was passionate about—and at the time, it was punk rock, “emo” things. Picture this, little chunk of a middle schooler in Old Navy jeans, a Hot Topic My Chemical Romance shirt, and black Converse. A classic “emo” kid. However, all but one friend was not in this genre of these interests. The rest were all cheerleaders, theater kids, and our main connector was choir… and two of them were in band. 

School choir was interesting, to say the least. You either did elective courses with all the teachers in your “team”, and move around throughout the quarters, or be a performing arts kid—band, choir, orchestra. I joined choir to get out of being with the rest of my class for an hour a day and I enjoyed it. My first choir teacher in middle school, I adored this woman, she worked with us on being better singers and better people.

 It wasn’t until she left, and we had a new choir teacher for the next two years, that shit hit the fan. She outright performed favoritism with a small section of the sopranos, and the boys in the class (weird, I know). I was not in this group, but I was their friend, so while I didn’t get special treatment, my first year with this new teacher wasn’t total hell. That lasted for a short period of time.

 The favorites of the class soon became an even tighter friend group than ours was initially, and like a fool, I thought I could be involved. Turns out, they all did theater together as well. So while I was trying out for basketball, facing a lot of personal issues, they were bonding closer than ever...

That’s what I have for it so far. It’s due on the 17th which is when I get another college decision coming out. 

I’m feeling excited for life. Kind of. Nervous? Very much.

Have a blessed day!

You are loved,

Scorpio

[wutbju]

Joy Risser Leber, 94, journeyed home to meet her Lord face to face on Thursday, January 4, 2024, at Evergreen in Masonic Village, Elizabethtown. Born May 20, 1929, to Samuel B. and Mary E. Risser of Elizabethtown, she was married for 73 years to James E. Leber.

A 1947 graduate of Elizabethtown High School, Joy took classes at Penn State University and earned a B.S. in Home Economics and Nutrition from Bob Jones University and Elizabethtown College in 1951 where she met James Leber. They married at St. Paul's EUB Church, Elizabethtown, on August 20,1950 and lived together in York and Zion's View, and in Pottsville, but spent most of their lives in Elizabethtown. Joy and Jim built their home on Groff Avenue where they raised nine of their ten children.

At the time of her death, Joy was the longest and oldest living member of St. Paul's United Methodist Church in Elizabethtown. While raising her children, Joy volunteered and served on the Board of Directors of a local day care center and tutored elementary school children.

Beyond her all-consuming task of caring for her family, her work history included serving as a coin counter for York Bus Company, a telephone operator, a schoolteacher at Risser's one-room schoolhouse on Hershey Road, a receptionist in a doctor's office, and later, as the manager of the LGH Gift Shop at Women & Babies Hospital, Lancaster, for ten years.

In her youth, Joy studied tap dancing, played field hockey and basketball, and could be found climbing trees and roller skating down the street with her friend. Her gifts revolved around her intellect, faith, and love of art and music; she played the piano and violin and sang beautifully. Joy created detailed clothing, knitted sweaters for her family, and was an excellent cook, known for her apple and lemon sponge pies. Momma Joy instilled a love of the outdoors in her children, whether growing flowers, hiking through the woods at Governor Dick, or walking along the beach. Joy was a giver: she brought smiles to so many by giving the gift of hospitality and care to all she met, somehow finding time to write cards and letters to penpals around the world.

In addition to her husband Jim, Joy is survived by children Holly, wife of Henry Miller, Strasburg; Merry, wife of Al Muzychka, Philadelphia; Jennifer, wife of Keith Kreiser, Columbia; Valerie Shreiner, Ephrata; Jerry Leber, Elizabethtown, Patrick Leber (wife Jennifer), Elizabethtown; Michael Leber (wife Lisa), Enola; Matthew Leber (wife Deniece), Manheim; Clifford Leber, Elizabethtown. Joy is survived by nine grandchildren: Nate Leber, Luke Miller, Amanda Macasevich, Amelia Miller, Andrew Leber, Laken Leber, Karlie Leber, Molly Leber, Grace Leber; and six great-grandchildren: Gabby, Airiona, Aleaha and Rinzler Leber, Mattaya and Mason Compton. Joy joins her son, Mark Alan Leber, in eternal life.

A celebration of Joy's life and resurrection will be held at St. Paul's United Methodist Church, 398 N. Locust Street, Elizabethtown, PA 17022 on Wednesday, January 10, at 11 a.m. Visitation of family and friends will be held from 10 to 11 a.m. The Rev. Dr. David Woolverton will officiate. The family wishes to thank the staff of Evergreen at Masonic Village for their special care. Interment will take place at Mount Tunnel Cemetery. To send an online condolence, please visit www.sheetzfuneralhome.com

[lboogie1906]

Clarence Edward Gaines (May 21, 1923 - April 18, 2005) known as “Big House” for his large frame, winning was a habit that led him to the Naismith Memorial Hall of Fame. His name would become well known in the community in which he coached for almost fifty years.

He was born in Paducah, Kentucky to Olivia and Lester Gaines. He was the salutatorian at Lincoln High School in Paducah and matriculated at Morgan State University. It was there he earned the nickname “Big House.” The legend goes that he was told by a business manager at the school, “I never seen anything bigger than you but a house.” The name would stick.

He was a three-sport athlete in football, basketball, and track. His best sport was football, where he received All-American honors. He graduated from Morgan State with a BS in Chemistry. He had plans to attend dental school but was convinced to put those plans aside temporarily by Eddie Hurt, one of his college coaches. Hurt connected him with Brutus Wilson, an alumnus of Morgan State, who was a coach at Winston-Salem Teacher’s College. He could coach both football and basketball.

Winston-Salem State University served as a football and basketball coach, athletic director, ticket manager, and trainer. He was recognized for his success when the Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association named him football coach of the year.

Over a coaching career that spanned five decades, he won a Division II National Championship in 1967 and was named CIAA coach of the year in basketball five times. His record stood at 828-447. Only four men’s basketball coaches had won more games.

His teams won 20 or more games in 18 different seasons. He admitted that the reverse of Jim Crow laws had hindered his team. He believed that he was able to recruit talented Black players in the Jim Crow era more easily because he coached at an HBCU. He was notable for coaching some well-known individuals including future NBA star Earl Monroe and current ESPN commentator Stephen A. Smith.

He was a member of Sigma Pi Phi Fraternity. He was survived by his wife, Clara. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #sigmapiphi #omegapsiphi

[laresearchette]

Friday, December 15, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: THE FAMILY PLAN (Apple TV +) FINESTKIND (Paramount +) JOE BOB'S CREEPY CHRISTMAS (Shudder) THE SECRET GIFT OF CHRISTMAS (W Network) 8:00pm 50TH ANNUAL DAYTIME EMMY AWARDS (Global) 9:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? NATIONAL CHRISTMAS TREE LIGHTING (CBS Feed) 91ST ANNUAL HOLLYWOOD CHRISTMAS PARADE (CW Feed)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA REACHER (Season 2)

CBC GEM BARDOT

CRAVE TV CHRISTMAS IS YOU CHRISTMAS ON WINDMILL WAY EDWARD SCISSORHANDS GOOSE GREEN LANTERN GROUNDHOG DAY THE IMAGINARIUM OF DOCTOR PARNASSUS JINGLE BELL PRINCESS LES AFFAMÉS LIFE OF PI PARANORMAL REVENGE (Season 1) RACETIME REGINALD THE VAMPIRE (Season 1) TOM AT THE FARM WILDHOOD

NETFLIX CANADA ARCHER (Season 14 - finale season) CAROL & THE END OF THE WORLD CHICKEN RUN: DAWN OF THE NUGGET (GB) FACE TO FACE WITH ETA: CONVERSATIONS WITH A TERRORIST (ES) FAMILIA (MX) GET SANTA PAW PATROL (Season 10) YOH’ CHRISTMAS (ZA)

GRAND SLAM OF CURLING (SN) 12:30pm: Masters - Draw 14 (SN) 4:30pm: Masters - Draw 15 (SN1) 8:30pm: Masters - Draw 16

THE JINGLE BELL JUBILEE (CTV Life) 6:00pm: A city manager recruits the help of a childhood friend to save his town's Christmas charity event, while she attempts to set him up with her close friend.

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 7:30pm: Bruins vs. Islanders (TSN5) 8:00pm: Sens vs. Stars

NBA BASKETBALL (SN Now) 7:30pm: Lakers vs. Spurs (TSN/TSN3/TSN4) 7:30pm: Hawks vs. Raptors (TSN3) 10:00pm: Knicks vs. Suns

OPEN SEASON: CALL OF NATURE (Family Channel Canada) 7:30pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Boog and Elliot open up a hair salon, and soon find that their new enterprise has attracted the attentions of the local gangster Woolly the Bully; Karla is forced to reveal her greatest talent and greatest shame to everyone.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1999) (CBC) 8:00pm: Dickens' Ebenezer Scrooge (Patrick Stewart) receives visits from three Christmas spirits who show him his past, present and future.

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (CTV2) 8:00pm: A former actress takes charge of a town's annual Christmas Eve courtroom production, in which the true authorship of the famous poem "A Visit From St. Nick" is debated.

A CHRISTMAS FOR THE AGES (CTV Life) 8:00pm: Prompted by their youngest granddaughter, four generations of women celebrate Christmas and family in the style of the 40s, 60s, 90s, and today.

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF JERSEY (Slice) 8:00pm: Bite Me, I'll Bite Back

THE SEARCH FOR SECRET SANTA (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: Cub reporter Sofia thinks she's found a Christmas story that will save her career when she discovers a long-lost, undelivered Secret Santa gift addressed from B. to Claire.

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES: ULTIMATE GIRLS TRIP (Slice) 9:00pm/10:15pm (SEASON PREMIERE): Former New York City Housewives Dorinda, Kelly, Kristen, Luann, Ramona and Sonja reunite for a week in St. Barts; Kristen and Dorinda get off on the wrong foot; Kelly is concerned that Kristen seems more like a fan than a Housewife. In Episode Two, at the beach, the ladies discuss Sonja's communication skills and revisit the infamous Scary Island; Luann hosts a seafood dinner where Sonja questions Kristen's marriage; some handsome young men join the ladies for a house party.

MATRIARCH OF MURDER? (Investigation Discovery) 9:00pm: When an innocent young mother turns up dead on the tracks, the small town of Findlay, Ohio, must figure out who would take the life of such a kind soul.

BABYLON 5: THE ROAD HOME (adult swim) 9:00pm: John Sheridan unexpectedly finds himself transported through multiple timelines and alternate realities. Along the way, he reunites with some familiar faces and discovers cosmic new revelations about the history, purpose and meaning of the universe.

THE BLACKENING (Crave) 9:00pm: A group of old college friends reunite for a Juneteenth weekend getaway, only to find themselves trapped in a remote cabin with a twisted killer. Forced to play by his rules, they soon realize this isn't a game.

[avictimofthejazz]

🌟 For Murph

1) Murph has a well-hidden UK accent, a by-product of his mother being from Co. Connemara, and his father hailing from Manchester. Being the third of four kids, Murph’s big brothers taught him an American accent before he started school so he would not get harassed by the other kids. He mainly uses his American accent, but when he is really annoyed or surprised, his natural accent slips out. It also happens when he is visiting his parents, or when he is dealing with someone from the UK. It does not slip out around Steele, however, because he dislikes the man enough that he never relaxes enough to lose his American accent.

2) Murph went to college on a basketball scholarship as that was the main sport he played in high school. However, he was also a very good boxer and even won a few local competitions when he was a teenager… but boxing scholarships are a lot harder to come by then basketball ones.

3) Murph has a lousy taste in women as a general rule. He likes strong women, and has zero qualms taking orders from them or working for one. Unfortunately, all too often ‘strong women’ and ‘b!tchy women’ get mixed together, and he ends up getting the wrong side of the coin.

4) Murphy is highly athletic. He still plays basketball, and he like to go golfing. He also likes to go skiing when he can actually get to the mountains, and going to the beach. He is good with runs, and he still boxes at the gym. He does not like track and field as a whole though, he just likes to go running.

5) When he was still on the LAPD, part of Murph’s regular beat ran through several of the culturally Asian neighborhoods. Since many of the streets were crowded, he did a lot of his rounds on foot, so he got to know a lot of people. He still has quite a few friends in those areas who are willing to answer questions, and help him find people as he needs.

6) Murph speaks English as his primary language, but he took French in school. He understands a little bit of Spanish and Mandarin, but not enough to call himself proficient. He also started learning Vietnamese while he was in the ROTC, in preparation of going into military intelligence. His intention at the time was to go to Vietnam to find Conall, but ultimately that plan did not work out and he stayed in the US.

7) When Murph left the Remington Steele agency, he did not have a plan. He just got in his car and started driving. He finally stopped in Denver because he had a feeling that city was a good one to start over in. He got a Colorado PI license, and opened up an office in that city to keep his career going again.

8) Murph is normally a decently honest person, but his affection for Laura blinded him so he willingly went along with her Remington Steele scheme. He was the one who put the ground rules in place though, to try and keep the con from going off the rails. However, Laura’s need for fame and attention is what ultimately prompts her to overlook those rules, and Remington Steele abruptly gains a body.

9) Murph’s little sister Ciara is a pastry chef in San Diego. About once a month she either travels up to LA or he travels down to San Diego so they can visit each other. If his sister ever needs him, he is willing to drop what he is doing and head to San Diego to help her.

10) Murph is unusually strong, though he often does not realize it. This is partially due to his athletic nature, and is also just a genetic fluke from his mother’s side of the family. It is at the point that his old college buddies will not arm wrestle with him any longer, for fear of being injured and having to explain everything to their wives.

[holidays-events]

The GIF Calendar: March 2023

3.3: Music fans, get ready! After a six-year hiatus, Grammy-winning artist Macklemore debuts his third solo album, Ben. Also, don’t forget to hit the theaters to check out Michael B. Jordan in his directorial debut of the next film in the Rocky series: Creed III (also, step into the ring…er…our official page for the film).

3.6: We’re celebrating the start of Purim, a two-day holiday celebrating the survival and strength of the Jewish people. Join in the celebration with festive meals, carnivals, and gifts!

3.8: We never need an excuse to celebrate women worldwide, but we can do *even more* celebrating this International Women’s Day. Started by the Socialist Party of America over a hundred years ago, this global holiday is an excellent way to celebrate the great women of the past, like trans rights activist Sylvia Rivera and feminist activist Gloria Steinem. To quote Beyoncé’s line in the chorus of her 2011 hit song: “Who run the world? Girls!”

Also happening on this date is the Festival of Love, the Festival of Colors, the Festival of Spring: It’s the Hindu holiday of Holi! Honor the eternal and divine love of the God Radha Krishna with community and colors!

3.10: Horror fans rejoice: the next installment in the popular Scream series, Scream VI is here! This time, our heroes face off against Ghostface in the Big Apple (and, yes, we have an official page for this movie too).

Also, don’t forget to listen to pop star Lana Del Rey’s new album Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd because it’s out today!

3.12: Cinephiles, it’s the most important day of the year: it’s the Academy Awards, also known as the Oscars! First presented in 1929, this ceremony celebrates the best of filmmaking — and we’re all excited to see who wins this year.

But before the show, don’t forget to fix your clocks because Daylight Savings begins!

3.14: It’s the best time of the year for college basketball, March Madness! The 2022–2023 NCAA Division I men’s basketball tournament begins today and concludes on April 3. Who do you have your money on?

While you pick your favorite team, why not enjoy a slice of pie to celebrate the mathematical holiday, Pi Day!

3.17: St. Patrick’s Day, the world’s favorite Irish holiday, falls today and honors the Patron Saint of Ireland. Enjoy the day with some four-leaf clovers or with a corned beef sandwich — and remember to wear green or you will get pinched! After you celebrate the holiday, check out the new DC Extended Universe film Shazam! Fury of the Gods, where the original cast is joined by Lucy Liu and Helen Mirren (who you can get a glimpse of on the official page for the action flick).

3.20: C’mon get happy! This International Day of Happiness, don’t forget to acknowledge the things that make you happy and how important it is in your life. Better yet: Celebrate this holiday every day!

3.21: Happy Nowruz! Also known as the Persian New Year, this festival celebrates the beginning of a new year on the Iranian Solar Hijri calendar. World Poetry Day also happens today, so celebrate by reciting a limerick or coming up with a haiku.

3.23: Prepare yourself for a cuteness overload as National Puppy Day arrives today. Celebrate pups by adopting a new dog, treating the one you already have, or maybe just petting a new friend while you’re out and about!

3.24: After four years, Japanese kawaii metal band BABYMETAL returns with their fourth studio album, The Other One. Also returning is our favorite assassin, played by Keanu Reeves, in the long-awaited John Wick: Chapter 4 and, yes, there is an official page full of GIFs from the entire franchise.

3.25: Today the world gathers together for Earth Hour, a day to honor the globe by turning off non-essential electric lights for one hour, from 8:30 PM to 9:30 PM. Join in this last Sunday of the month as a symbol of commitment to the planet!

3.31: This Transgender Day of Visibility, make sure you are uplifting and highlighting trans people and their stories. Then, fly to theaters to check out the new movie Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves based on the popular roleplaying game. Follow a group of thieves as they stop a great evil from taking over their fantasy world!

Happy March from Tenor! What are you most looking forward to?

[treadmilltreats]

Will men ever mature?

Being single these last few years has shown me that men, even men my own age have not grown up. I have realized that it's so many men on dating sites, of all different ages, races, and all religions. It especially rings true after a text from a man yesterday who first asked if I would do a threesome, then when I said no he asked what about just with him, and when I said I wasn't looking for a hookup he asked if I would like to see if first before I made my decision. Yugghh! Definitely not!

Come at me if you want about this, but the truth will always be the truth, and trust me I can't make this shit up, even I'm not that good of a writer.

Now, because of all the haters that will say what about women? I don't know about women, I've never dated one…yet.

And no, I am not man-bashing as I know some amazing men. Men who step up, who would never think of sending a dick pic. Good, honest men are out there and I know that. Hell, I was raised by good men, my dad, my step-dad dad and Godfatherther, so I know this to be a fact.

So just to let you know I am not dogging all men but….

if the shoe fits, lace that bitch up and wear it.

Just saying….

I write about these things to let women know that they are not alone out here and secondly so I may try to get some insight on why they do what they do. I know I have many wonderful male readers and so I am trying to figure this out, and hoping for your help.

So here is a list of questions that me and my female friends keep asking each other.

Why say you want a relationship when you clearly don't?

Why pursue a woman and then get her and stop?

Why especially at this age, wine and dine a woman, pretend to be something that you're not until you get the "Cookie" and then you become distant and start ghosting her?

Why send her a dick pic? Why? Why??

Why play games? Just say I'm only looking for a hookup. Be honest, we would respect you more for that.

Why on a dating site approach a woman and when she answers, poof you're gone?

Why keep texting her and never ask her out? You know my stance on this, if I wanted a pen pal I'd write to someone in prison.

Why catfish someone? Seriously?? Get a life!

You would think that men would at some point grow up, that would want to settle down like they "say" they do. Why play games, especially at this age? Who has time for that shit? I played games in high school or college hello! I am a grown-ass woman with a life, I don't have time for games. This is why so many women are done with dating and done with men. They are tired of the games.

So today my friends, especially my male friends, help a sister out here. Let us know why your friends, your cousins, you're basketball buddies do this kind of crap.

We are looking to get some clarity of why men don't seem to wanna grow up.

And for you good ones out there, talk to your boys, explain to them how to treat a woman. Teach the next generation to do better.

Like I say at the end of every blog "Be the change you want to see"

@TreadmillTreats

"Be the change you want to see"

@Treadmilltreats

"And just when the caterpillar thought his life over...he turned into a beautiful butterfly"

**Now released my latest book**

The Blessing in Disguise.... revealed

https://www.amazon.com/Blessing-Disguise-Revealed-story-faith/dp/1074340493/ref=sr_1_19?keywords=the+blessing+in+disguise&qid=1561392004&s=books&sr=1-19

***Now available***

My 1st book The blessing in Disguise

Selling on my website:

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And on Amazon.com

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[jaceeverett]

"Camping and the whole thing where we used to run around in the woods making mud pies and tracking each other by footprints," he laughed, shaking his head at the memory. In Merrock, there hadn't always been the most to do growing up, so kids made their own fun. Soemtimes that meant being wild men out in the forest on the trails behind their house, because why not? It had been a good time. "I couldn't help it," he lifted his hand up towards his head, as though measuring his height, "then they started trying to get me to play basketball. That went about as well as every other sport I tried," which was to say… not very well. But he had given it the ole college try, if nothing else. "That could be," he turned to Theo's wife with a warm smile, nodding his head. The kids could end up taking after either parent, after all. Or be a perfect combination of both. "I'd really like that," he tried with a smile, a little teasing slipping into his tone as he continued, "I'll have to get to know them before Christmas, figure out what toys or fun things as presents will cement my status as cool uncle."

"Oh I bet. All that camping as a kid probably helped a bit?" Theo asked, knowing it probably didn't hurt that they had gone camping as kids. But that knowledge was nothing compared to what one would learn in the army. "Even in our old age, we still learn something new everyday so it's gotta be true." He grinned, popping a potato chip into his mouth. "Yeah you did, I remember when you caught up to me and passed me in height," Theo shook his head, fully remembering when his younger brother became taller than him, even if it was by a couple of inches. "Yeah or she'll stay petite like her mom," he replied as he turned to his wife and gave her a wink and a smile. "But either way, I'm sure she'll be fine. She's a firecracker." His wife nodded, knowing they had their hands full with their daughter. Sensing the shift, Theo squeezed his wife's hand, letting her know things were going well. "Hopefully they can meet you sooner rather than later."

[loeyparker]

right where you left me - p.p. 5/?

summary: with the help of an old friend, Peter tries to get back to you. and with the help of a certain PI, you try to figure out what you lost. but what happens when the person you're unknowingly missing shows up at your door?

pairing: andrew!peter parker x f!reader

word count: 7k

tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, angst, memory loss trope, set after nwh, good ol’ mutual pining, mentions of violence, nwh spoilers

a/n: the way this ended up being kinda filler-ish. but are we ready for old faces to return? also who can guess what taylor swift song snuck in at the end lmaoo. i really hope you guys enjoy this, the part was needed to set up the next chapters so i hope it's not boring

(     PREVIOUS     |     MASTERLIST     |     NEXT      )

Flash Thompson was getting married.

Peter had gotten the wedding invitation in the mail and left it opened and untouched on the kitchen counter for the past week.

It wasn’t the first wedding invitation he’d received from people he had been friends with, either in high school or college. But it was the first invitation that stung a little, because that was Flash fuckin’ Thompson getting married – high school bully, college redeemed-yet-still-kinda-mean Flash Thompson. In high school, Peter had always dreamed of a life where he was more successful than Flash, dream which made the bullying easier and at times, even comical.

Because Peter knew in ten years their paths would cross and he would hold his head a bit higher, knowing he was leading a better life. Yeah, Peter might have had a small God complex when he was a freshman.

But, ten years came and went and Peter was, in fact, not living the dream he thought he would be. So when Flash’s wedding invitation reached his fingers, Peter was suddenly taken back to high school and to every P.E. class in which Flash managed to hit him in the head with a basketball, resulting in Peter hearing colors for the rest of the day.

Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter Parker was pining after a girl from another Universe.

“Are you going out on Spider-Man business or just to act depressed on the ferry as yourself?” Peter threw a quick glare towards the couch as he bent down to tie his converse by the door. A ripped backpack was loosely strapped to his back and it slightly tipped forward as Peter moved. The person sat no more than two feet away from him let out a deep laugh, head falling back to briefly rest against the plush backrest.

Harry Osborn was sat on Peter’s couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.

The apartment was gently lit up by some string lights and a few lamps placed chaotically around the room. The rock beats of (Don’t Fear) the Reaper by the Blue Öyster Cult played smoothly in the background, coming from Harry’s phone.

A stack of papers was neatly placed by Harry’s feet and a laptop sat on his lap. The grey, woolen North Face jacket Harry had on blended into the couch, both bearing the same color. It was cold in the apartment since a certain hero had forgotten to close a window that morning – Harry had to shut it himself, late in the afternoon when the place had already frozen to bits. A white (thrifted) polo hid under the jacket – Harry had been weirdly into polos since being released from the Ravencroft Institute. And whether that was because he couldn’t really afford the expensive shirts he’d always worn, or because he wanted to separate himself from the old posh version of him, Harry didn’t know.

“I don’t act depressed on the ferry.” Peter retorted.

“That’s right, you also cry on Lady Liberty’s shoulder.” Harry shot back, a teasing smirk on his lips. His eyes watched Peter dully, no spark having reached them in ages. Dirty blond locks brushed the outer corner of his eyes as his hair had gotten slightly longer and Harry didn’t feel like slicking it down with gel anymore. A middle part replaced his previous look, making the man seem more approachable – friendlier even.

“I should’ve left your ass in Ravencroft.” Peter joked, making Harry’s grin spread wider.

“Who would’ve made fun of you, then?” Harry raised his hands to his sides, emphasizing his question. There was no trace of resentment in his voice, only amusement. And it was as if Harry had never turned on Peter ten years prior.

“Nobody.” Peter grabbed his skateboard and unlocked the front door. “That’s the point, I would’ve lived in peace.” And Peter was on the hallway outside about to close the door behind him when Harry shouted after him.

“Thank you though, Peter.” He said before pointing a finger at his best friend. “You know you saved my life. You’re a hero.”

Peter just snickered, shaking his head.

“Get a pizza when you swing back!” Harry’s muffled voice still reached Peter’s ears as he closed the door. And the song playing in the apartment followed Peter as he skated to the ferry dock in Astoria, through the bustling streets of Queens.

Harry Osborn had been living with Peter for about four months now, ever since the hero decided to work through his trauma by taking a page out of his counterparts’ books and curing his worst enemy. If his younger brother could sort-of forgive the Goblin for killing May, maybe Peter (who was old – nearing his 30s type of old) could work through his anger and extend an olive branch to his own Goblin.

And Peter hated to admit it, but acceptance and (semi) forgiveness worked.

Realizing that Harry Osborn fell victim to a horrible fate, to loss and pain and mental illness, and that the Green Goblin was a manifestation of Harry’s worst parts, all led Peter to believe that it was unfair to harbor hate for his lost best friend and to blame him for everything wrong in his life.

Part of him believed that by curing Harry of the Goblin, his bad parts would be eradicated and maybe, just maybe, he’d have his best friend back.

Thus, Peter recreated his older brother’s Goblin cure during a slow work day, when his thoughts were ridden by ghosts from another, inaccessible Universe. On days such as that one, Peter couldn’t help but think he had imagined all the events from last November – because how was it possible for him to have brothers? To find a person who reignited the flames of hope and affection within him, after they’d been dormant for so long? Peter had forgotten what being understood and listened to and cared for felt like until he met you and his counterparts and it all felt too good to be true.

He needed proof that it was all real. And the Goblin cure was all the proof he needed. Because had it all been a figment of his imagination, the serum wouldn’t have brought his Harry back. And Peter wouldn’t have seen consciousness and regret and sorrow all drown Harry’s once foggy eyes.

He also wouldn’t have had Harry dropping at Peter’s feet as he sobbed, more apologizes flying out of his mouth within the span of a minute than during his entire rich, entitled past life.

My Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance, kid Peter’s voice rang through Peter’s mind a lot after he had been sent home. And he knew his own aunt May held the same belief on second chances – and honestly, that belief was the reason why Peter offered his couch to Harry upon his release form the Ravencroft Institute. Why he decided to give Harry Osborn a second chance.

And he also offered because he desperately wanted to watch the ex-rich kid struggling to do normal people things – like cooking his own omelette in the morning or carrying his dirty laundry in a bag to the laundromat three blocks away or finding out why you should never get on an empty subway car.

The horrified look seen on Harry’s face through the subway windows when the doors closed and rich boy got hit in the face by nothing but pure lower-class experience will never cease to get a snicker out of Peter.

A Wallows song blasted through the hero’s earphones as he stepped off the ferry on Liberty Island. The wheels of his skateboard rolled over pavement bumps with ease and wind blew strands of his hair back. He had stopped by a fast-food place before getting on the ferry, so a packaged burger sat in his half-open backpack and a large Coke-filled paper cup with a straw poking out of it rested in his left hand, his fingers sticking to it for security.

Peter had a clear destination in mind and he couldn’t wait to get there and eat his food, absorbed by the bustling sound of thoughts rushing through his mind. Because there was a certain place on Liberty Island that quickly turned into his favorite spot ever since he returned home, eleven months prior.

A place that brought him closer to you, despite being worlds apart.

Below the Statue of Liberty, Peter found a wooden bench standing over the everlasting patches of fresh grass. It had stood there for decades before Peter unofficially claimed it, and might stand for decades to come. It was riddled by time, its firm wooden slats chipped, its iron casting stained by droplets of rust. The initials of strangers scarred the dusted wood and Peter knew them all by heart, as if they had belonged to old friends.

The bench stood on the very spot where you and Peter said goodbye in a different reality.

And at the beginning, Peter would sit on that bench for hours, gazing into the distance at the Hudson River gently swaying in the wind, waiting for something to happen.

For you, or wizard Ned or his younger brother to show up – to come for him.

But nobody ever did.

And Peter found himself, yet again, alone. He still had aunt May, yes – and he was incredibly grateful for that. Because his brothers had lost their aunts and the mere thought of losing his May managed to redden Peter’s eyes, to soak his cheeks in salty tears each time. He had her, but he still felt lonely. Because it wasn’t as if he could share telltales from his heroic activities (even though part of him believed she already knew his secret) and put her at risk. He couldn’t tell her he traveled worlds and found out he had brothers – whom he lost immediately after meeting.

But he did tell her about you.

To aunt May, you were a girl from outside New York who couldn’t make it to Christmas dinner due to flight issues. And you were also the girl who brought back the glimmer in her nephew’s eyes, glimmer she hadn’t seen in years.

“If you’re so in love, why don’t you go visit her?” Aunt May spoke as she cut into a fleshly cooked meatloaf on Christmas. “Grand gestures go a long way, don’t mope waiting for her to do all the work.”

Peter scrunched his nose, focusing on mashing the potatoes on his plate with the fork in his hand. Even now, almost a year later, he could still remember the way his head spun upon hearing May’s words. “I’m not in love, aunt May.” He mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward.

But he knew the woman was right, and that waiting around for you to solve multiverse travel was selfish.

So, due to a sudden impulse of hope and determination after weeks without you, Peter decided he was going to, quite figuratively, move mountains for a reunion. And Peter Parker quit his job as a freelance photographer and took the position of Research Scientist at Horizon Labs. He buried himself in physics within the walls of his new workplace, swimming through theories and formulas and crumbled papers thrown in frustration at the nearest glass wall.

And whenever his theories failed, when things got hopeless, he took the ferry to his bench on Liberty Island.

And on the days when his theories did pan out, when he seemed to be getting just slightly closer to figuring out the multiverse, he swung to the nearest port, junk food in hand, just to sit in your spot.

No matter what, Peter Parker could be found haunting the very spot where he left you, sitting on top of the backrest, feet collecting dust on the actual seat of the bench. And he imagined one day you’d be sitting next to him and all his efforts would be worth it. And he’d carve your initials into the wooden backrest as if you were infatuated teenagers, and you’d laugh because it was childish but you’d still take a picture of the carving before walking home together, hand in hand.

A pillow hit Peter’s face with brute force, stirring him awake. His room was still dark due to the curtains being drawn shut, but slithers of light still peaked through the fabric. Peter was quick to grab the pillow out of Harry’s hands before he could hit again.

“You didn’t get pizza last night, prick.” Harry retrieved his pillow from Peter and placed it under his arm.

Peter groaned, falling back into his bed. “I came back late.” His voice was hoarse, still riddled with sleep. He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The sheets were pulled off him and Peter felt transported back to his high school days, all of a sudden. “What are you, my aunt?” Peter mumbled, one hand reaching for his duvet.

“At this point, probably.” Harry sketched a smile. He was already dressed for the day in a black, loose shirt and grey pants. His hair was damp, as he had taken a shower after going on a run that morning.

“You can’t cook.” Peter mumbled.

“And that’s why I asked for pizza last night.” At Harry’s words, Peter groaned and rolled over, back facing his friend. “Lucky for you, I’m a forgiving person.” Harry had almost completely lost his accent by then, but the traces of being raised in upscale New York could still be seen through the way he enunciated certain words.

Peter puffed.

Harry found his eyes traveling to the polaroids stuck to the wall above Peter’s bed. They were all of the same girl and goddamn was she beautiful. He didn’t know much about her, though. All Peter had told him was her name and that she was from another place, a world he desperately wanted to reach.

And Harry understood why Peter felt so drawn to you; he understood his best friend’s motivation to singlehandedly prove the existence of the multiverse.

“Come on, man.” Harry shoved Peter’s foot. “You have a job to get to.”

“I’m taking a day off.” Truthfully, Peter wanted to mope that day. Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter was burning himself out over a girl from another world and he felt frozen in time while everyone he knew moved on with their lives.

“Okay, should I go to your lab to test out this blueprint for the multiverse portal, or?”

Peter opened his eyes. “What blueprint?”

Harry leaned against the doorframe. “While you were Spider-Manning last night, I studied your work and came up with something that could hold and transform the energy necessary for this to work.”

Peter shot up in a sitting position. “You came up with a portal.” He reiterated. His heart sped up.

“Well, I came up with the skeleton of a portal. You came up with the actual … thing.”

Harry offered to help Peter with the multidimensional portal a few months ago, after Peter was feeling particularly bummed out, causing the hero to rant to his old best friend until the early hours of the morning. And even though Harry had a world-ending headache, he listened.

At first, it all sounded like a fever-dream.

But then, Peter talked about Norman Osborn and how his Green Goblin murdered aunt May, about a young Peter Parker wanted to get revenge but ended up curing Norman instead. And Peter confessed that act was the reason why he felt the need to help Harry once he returned home.

Harry found himself eating up Peter’s words and believing him wholeheartedly by the end of the night. And the ex-villain felt that by offering to help Peter in his mission to get back to you, he would be redeemed. He wanted to prove to Peter that he was cured, that he was trustworthy – so he neglected his goals of taking back Oscorp and used his engineering knowledge to help his best friend instead.

But Peter’s story didn’t just open a path for Harry to find redemption.

It also gave Harry nightmares, all of them of his late father being the Green Goblin. And Harry found himself ditching sleep on the nights where his father’s face haunted him, choosing to go for long runs instead.

“Do you think it could work?” Peter asked as he struggled to put on a pair of slightly baggy pants, stumbling and jumping across his room. Over the I <3 NY t-shirt he wore to bed, Peter threw a black hoodie.

“Honestly … yeah.” Harry nodded, bringing his awareness back to the present moment.

Peter dashed into the living room to pick up his disheveled notebook. His hands were shaking.

Harry laughed as he followed Peter. A stack of books fell as the man rushed around the room, grabbing everything from his laptop bag to physics books to shoes. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna say to Y/N when you see her?”

That sentence alone acted like a shot of hope for Peter, sending electrical vibrations through his body. He paused by the door, before putting on his used-up converse. And then he shrugged, eyes on a smiling Harry. “I don’t know, man. I just want to see her.”

And as he sat next to Harry on the subway on their way to Horizon Labs, Peter, perhaps high on extreme inclines of hope, decided to send a text to the soon-to-be groom, Flash Thompson.

Congrats on the wedding, man! i’ll attend too, with a plus one

– peter parker

                                                   *

You could barely see the people around you, as the entire place was drowning in hues of deep blue and purple. Your ears rang the more you advanced into the underground club and you could feel the piercing bass of electronic music inside your throat. All you could smell was alcohol, sweat and cigarette smoke residue which had sewed itself into people’s clothes.

Hands brushed over the exposed skin on your back as you walked through the crowd. Feathers tickled the skin on your arms as you pushed past girls in angel costumes.

Some guy wearing a Ghostface mask tried to get you into a dance, but you dodged him with ease. Red laser lights hit your body as you stepped closer to the ring and your costume sparkled.

“Okay, targets are in the far-right booth close to the bar.” DODC’s Agent Cleary’s voice came through the communication device in your ear. “All you have to do is distract them until my guys get the weapons from the back. Shouldn’t be hard since you’re dressed for the occasion.”

You frowned even though Cleary couldn’t see you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know…” he trailed off awkwardly. “You’re dressed for attention.”

“Are you slut-shaming me, Cleary?”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Why do you make everything I say into some social justice shit?”

“Because I hate you.” You replied with nonchalance as your gaze found the targeted booth of men.

“Whatever, just do your thing until I tell you we’re clear.”

Working with the DODC had been a nightmare for you – only because you hated the man you got partnered up with. But word on the street was that Fisk had gotten his hands on Skrull technology and was making and selling weapons on the black market. The place you were currently at was just one of many under Fisk’s quickly rising empire, and weeks of scouting had showed that the weapons hub was located in the back of the club.

And you walked into that grand rave in a Halloween costume you had put together last minute, ready to never work with the DODC again and to get home early.

You approached the booth with a slight stumble in your steps and half-closed eyes. All the men there gave you a look-over and a shiver ran down your spine, but you ignored it.

Red leather boots reached the skin underneath your knees, making your legs look longer. A dark blue, high waisted bikini stood underneath a blue sheer sequin skirt. A red buckle top made out of the same material as the skirt covered the necessary parts of your chest, its straps meeting behind your neck. Black pasties in the shape of spiders laid underneath your top, providing coverage.

You had extensions which fell over your shoulders. Your bangs were held back by a comb headband. Rhinestones drew the shape of a spider-web by your eyes, tying together the red eyeshadow and the sultry eyeliner.

“Do you guys know Bad Bunny?” Your voice was at a slightly higher pitch as you placed your hands on a guy’s knees, leaning closer. He was the man in charge of Fisk’s operation – and your main target. “I wanna dance to Bad Bunny but the DJ won’t play him.” You whined.

And the man shared a look with one of his guys who immediately got up to solve it. And then he pulled you into his lap and pushed the hair behind your ear. You giggled, wanting to vomit.

And when a Bad Bunny song took over the entire club, you got up to your feet, hands pulling the crime-lord along. Cleary told you his team had entered the building, and you danced in front of all the criminals inside that booth. Your costume shone in the dim lights of the club, you leaned your head back on the man behind you and you felt a pit of guilt forming in your stomach.

You didn’t understand why, though.

It wasn’t as if you had anyone in your life, nobody else you’d rather be grinding on, nobody you had feelings for. So why did you feel nauseous?

And when the man’s breath fanned your neck and his hands reached past your waist, gunshots erupted from the back – and you breathed out in relief. Some men got up, the guy whose arms had been on you stepped back.

You bent towards their table to grab a glass of … something. Purposely, you stretched one leg back as you leaned forward and one of the guys tripped, falling over another man who had been ready to dash towards the gunshots. And you turned around quickly to apologize but crashed into their leader and spilled the drink on his shirt. Quickly as you rushed out apologizes, you drew your hand back, breaking the glass against another man’s forehead. The leader turned to you with annoyance on his features and his hand going for the gun on his belt. You grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s off the table and broke it on his head before kicking him in the chest with the heavy heel of your boot.

Another gun was pointed at you and you pushed the hand holding it up, bullet shooting into the disco lights on the ceiling and you got the strangest feeling of deja-vu.

People started running out of the club immediately, but the music still played.

A man flew through the back door and landed at your feet, unconscious and on his back.

And you felt someone behind you but you turned too late and his fist collided with your jaw so hard that it sent you tumbling over the table, landing on the other side on all fours. Your knees scrapped against broken glass and they stung when you jumped up to your feet, but you were angry. You blocked the arm of a man who was charging at you with a punch, and hit him instead. Your hand swung to the right and collided with another man’s jaw, knocking him down. You then grabbed his gun off the floor and shot the next man who charged at you in the shoulder.

Your skirt ripped as you round kicked someone. They then threw a punch which you dodged by bending down and when you got back up to swing, they were being yanked back. And from the right another large man was about to reach you, when part of a billy club knocked him over with ease.

“Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but smile when a certain red horned individual reached you. There was blood trickling over your boots and your jaw ached, but you smiled.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You responded, pulling down your top as its lower band rose during the fight.

Daredevil sketched a smile as he readjusted his billy club. There was a brief moment of pause in the fight, when all enemies were groaning on the floor, in pain. You found it funny how music still continued as if shit hadn’t just gone down, as if the club wasn’t empty.

“Did you get them?” You asked Daredevil as you took out the comms in your ear and continued to fix your costume. You knew you should have picket something more practical for a fight – but you also wanted to look hot at a rave and you couldn’t fight that simplistic urge.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks for the tip. The weapons are all in the back.”

“Of course.” You shrugged. “Nobody wants to see Fisk go down more than you.”

And Matt didn’t have the chance to reply because within seconds, you were joined by another deeply concerned friendly hero.

“Are you okay?!” Spider-Man dropped by Daredevil’s side rushing to you, eyes wide. Your jumped slightly at his sight, not expecting his presence there at all. And you suddenly felt very uncomfortable as the hero stood in front of you – because you were basically dressed as sexy Spider-Man in front of Spider-Man. Matt fought back a chuckle upon hearing your heartbeat quicken in pure embarrassment.

“I’m,” you choked out, absentmindedly pulling down the sheer skirt. “I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about, Spider … Man.” You wanted to Blip out, all of a sudden.

Spider-Man cleared his throat. Then nodded sharply and stepped back. “Good to hear, um, Miss.” He looked around before throwing his web in the distance. In the blink of an eye, he snatched a black coat that had been forgotten in a booth and handed it to you.

A breath of relief left your lips as you put it on. “Since when are you two” your finger pointed back and forth between the two heroes, “working together?”

Spider-Man scratched his neck. Matt smiled. “Everyone needs a little help from time to time.” His hand patted Spider-Man on the back. “Plus, it’s funny to work with someone whose voice still cracks.”

“Oh, come on.” Spider-Man whined as you snickered.

And then the front doors busted open and in walked dozens of men in tactical gear and guns drawn – and you immediately recognized them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You ordered the two heroes to run before it was too late, then sat at a booth as your coworkers swept the entire building. And as a medic cleaned your wounds as you were getting interviewed, you could see Spider-Man watching through the windows in the ceiling.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted.

But it was fine, because your apartment was quiet and warm and it smelled of tea tree and eucalyptus. You had also already told your supervisor you’d be getting into work late the next morning, so you were excited to take a shower and sleep for a while.

You took a moment to relax on your couch, taking in deep breaths to calm your mind after the events of the night. Your eyes rested on the broken picture frame sitting on your windowsill. Its state was something that baffled you each day – because almost a year prior, you had found it covered in sticky spider-web, its glass in the trash. The next morning, after the web dissolved, the pieces of wood laid on your living room. And it was crazy, because you couldn’t remember breaking it, nor fixing it.

Which reminded you –

Hey.

Found anything?

You sent two consecutive texts to the same person, not really expecting a reply on the same night. But before you could lock the phone and put it down, two texts came through:

No.

I’m not a wizard.

Jessica Jones replied, making you shake your head. You typed out a quick response.

No, you’re just the best PI in the city <3

And a moment later, she texted back.

Flattery won’t make me find Peter P faster.

Go to bed.

It’s 3 am.

You had gone to Jessica for help after being referred to her by Matt Murdock, some months prior. The cryptic note on your phone was driving you insane and you had initially asked Matt for help. However, he said all he could do was listen to your rants – he had no power to solve mysteries.

But Jessica Jones could help you, he said.

He was wrong. Jessica was completely not interested in your case – not at first. Because it was weird and it seemed easy to solve and you were a goddamn secret agent and she didn’t want to help government officials.

But she still followed you for a few days, just to get a feel of who you were. You had a routine that bored her and she decided that yeah, you were just a typical government employee. But then she found you sitting cross-legged on a bench on Liberty Island, moping on a random Friday.

“Since when are there benches here?” Was the first thing Jessica said to you that night.

You bit your lower lip. “This one was placed here after they rebuilt this portion of the island – you know, after the shield fell and all.”

There was a silver plaque on the backrest of the bench, inscribed with –

All we can do is our best.

And sometimes, the best we can do is start over. –

Steve Rogers, Captain America

“That’s so corny.” Jessica remarked upon reading the inscription. Her hands dug deeper into the pockets of her jacket.

You just snickered. “New Yorkers love their benches. And their Avengers.”

There was a brief pause. Jessica sat next to you. Your eyes were on the horizon, beyond the Hudson and over the floating boats. “So what’s this notes app thing you got?” Jessica eventually broke the silence.

“Now you wanna help me?”

“I didn’t say I wanna help you, I’m just curious.”

You leaned back into the bench, hands folded to your chest. Gentle waves crashed into the shore. “You know that moment when you’re about to leave the house and you just have this feeling that you’re forgetting something? But you don’t know what it is, so you get into your car and drive away.” You began. “And then it hits you. You forgot your wallet, or your airpods or whatever else. Ever felt that?”

Jessica just nodded sharply.

“Well, I have that. Except the moment when I realize exactly what I’ve forgotten never comes.” Your shoulders were slumped. “I just feel like there’s something missing, and it’s driving me insane.”

“When did you start feeling like this?” Jessica asked.

“On the day the shield fell. I genuinely … it was like I just woke up right here, in the middle of chaos and destruction and I was standing on the shield and I felt it slip towards the river, and I had my phone and there was a new note on the screen and it just said three words. And even though I had this … waking up moment I still feel like … like I’m dreaming.” Your fingers fiddled. “Everything seems normal but I feel off and somehow, I know something’s wrong.”

“And you think figuring out what the note means could …” Jessica frowned in confusion. “Wake you up?”

“I think it holds meaning.” You shrugged, finally turning to look at her. “I think it’s important.”

“And why do you need my help?” Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, don’t you have some crazy-ass resources?”

“You don’t think I tried that?” You shot back. “There’s hundreds of Peter P’s out there and I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Frustration seethed through your words like venom, poisoning your thoughts with annoyance. “I just thought a more trained, outsider perspective could help.”

Jessica let out a loud sigh. Then she clicked her tongue. “Fine.”

You turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“Come by my office tomorrow, we’ll talk more.” She continued before getting up.

“Wait, you’re gonna help me?”

“Finding exes for blipped people is getting boring. I need a challenge.” She didn’t want to admit how badly she related to you in that moment. She’d had her own encounter with losing time and feeling like she was in a constant state of dreaming, had her own issues with memory loss. But her experience stemmed from being mind controlled – she could only hope that wasn’t the case with you.

And all you could do was smile and promise you’d see her the next day.

“And stop moping on this bench, it’s weird.” Jessica shouted as she walked away. “And sad.”

That encounter happened months prior, and she’d been helping you ever since. She even managed to compile a list of suspect Peter P’s who were worth looking into, and she’d been investigating them over the past weeks.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard on your phone as you were about to type out a reply to Jessica, when there was a knock on your door.

It was loud and persistent and it made you flinch.

The heels of your boots clanked against the wooden floors, as you didn’t have the energy to take them off yet. And you let out a frustrated sigh as you placed a gun in the waistband of your skirt, behind your back – because it was early in the morning and you had just fought Fisk’s men and what if more were coming after you?

They wouldn’t be knocking though, would they?

You opened your door wide, in a heartbeat, ready to face whoever was on the other side. To get it over with and go to bed.

A tall, lanky man stood about a foot away from you. His left arm was raised in a lean against the doorframe. His brunette hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it excessively. Slight scruff covered his otherwise strong jaw. His lips were parted, his honey eyes wide. His chest rose up and down quickly as his eyes slowly inched up your body.

Peter Parker never expected this when he reached your world for a second time. He prepared himself for the sight of a barely-awake you, with sleep riddled features, body covered by baggy pajamas, hair up.

Never, in a million years, could Peter expect you to open the door for him as sexy Spider-Woman.

There were so many things Peter wanted to say – and do, but he found his eyes lingering on your exposed legs, on the slit in your skirt, up the waistband of your bikini and on the spiders on your chest for a second too long.

And all the words he had in mind got caught up in a web of incoherent thoughts.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage and he was sure your neighbors could hear the thumps. He felt heat quickly creeping up his ears and he kept swallowing the lump in his throat.

There was glitter on your lips and he wondered if it was transferable.

And then his eyes landed on the forming bruise on your jaw, purple vines of broken blood veins reaching up your cheek. He knew those wounds too well and his jaw clenched subconsciously as he realized you had been punched.

Peter found himself reaching out to you, wanting to cup your face and run his fingers over your bruise in comfort.

But you stepped back.

And your hands rose to your chest, fists clenched – ready to hit.

At first, Peter thought you were joking – so, he laughed. But the glare in your eyes and the stoic look on your face made him freeze.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You threatened. You had had enough of men touching you for one night. Another stranger having his hands on you would’ve quite possibly sent you overboard.

Peter raised his hands in surrender, palms on shoulder level. “Is this a bit?” He asked. This was not the reaction he expected.

You frowned. “What?”

“I’m confused.” Peter said, eyes scanning the apartment behind you, looking for a sign that maybe he didn’t reach the right universe. Because last time he saw you, no part of you seemed eager to let him go. And now, no part of you seemed to welcome him back. “What world am I in?” His eyes shifted back to you.

“Dude, what?” Your shoulders pushed back. “Are you on something? I think you got the wrong apartment.”

“Come on, Y/N. This isn’t funny.” Peter could feel the color draining out of him. He could feel dread creeping up his spine, delicate as a spider. Something within warned him that something was very off.

Your frown hardened. “How do you know my name?” You demanded.

Peter licked his lips. His hands went behind his head, fingers connecting at the nape of his neck. He feared that his hands might reach out for you otherwise. “You can’t do this to me.” He pleaded. “I told you there would be a way – and I found it.”

You looked up at him in nothing but confusion. You searched his eyes to see if they were bloodshot, his nose to see if it was irritated or stuffy.

But he looked normal – sober.

“Listen, I have no idea what you’re on about, I think you have me confused for someone else.” Your arms lowered and a palm rested on the door, ready to close it. “My advice to you … go home, sleep the confusion off.”

Peter’s hand flew to your door, holding it open. He took a step inside your apartment and your hand reached for your gun. “Bug, please.” He pleaded. His eyes glistened and his lower lip trembled before he pursed his lips. The tip of his nose reddened and your face softened.

If this was a joke on him, it was cruel.

Peter was yanked back before you could do anything, and you watched as a younger man stepped into your line of vision from behind the tall stranger. The boy had a strained smile and an arm around Peter’s slumped shoulders. And the otherworldly visitor inhaled a shaky breath upon seeing his younger brother by his side.

Peter waited for his brother to remind you that, hey, this tall, handsome guy is my older brother from another reality – remember him? You guys almost kissed twice?

But instead, Peter-One made the situation worse. “Miss, I’m so sorry for my brother here.” The boy patted Peter on the back with a chuckle. “He’s had too much to drink, he – he goes crazy on Halloween.” The boy’s voice trembled.

You eased up. Your gun remained in the waistband of your skirt. Your eyes remained on the tallest of the two, both your glances meeting. Peter kept waiting for you to burst out laughing and to run into his arms. But the moment never came. Instead, the detached look in your eyes and the distance between you made Peter feel like he was attending his own funeral. The scene felt ghostly – cold and void of color. Because you eyed the two men like strangers and he could tell his younger brother was struggling with it as well.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance. We’re – we’re leaving now.”

“But – “ Peter-Three began but was quickly cut off by his brother.

“We’re going.” He spoke with sternness in his voice and a smile still on his face as his eyes never left your face. “Have a good night. And sorry.”

And they were off. Peter-One pushed and dragged his brother away, lacking any trace of grace.

And as you locked the door behind them, you couldn’t shake the uneasiness out of your system. A frown permanently resided on your face as you took off your boots, slowly.

The older stranger seemed eerily familiar.

And the whole situation felt off – how did he know your name? And why did goosebumps erupt over your skin when he called you Bug?

The realization hit like a bucket of cold water dropping over you. The phone in your hands almost slipped as you frantically grabbed and unlocked it, fingers scrolling through your camera roll.

And then you found them.

Three consecutive pictures – selfies of the stranger who had just been at your door. Selfies you had looked at for hours on end, trying to figure out how they ended up on your phone. They were all taken in your kitchen on the day you couldn’t remember. And you had run his face through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s face recognition software multiple times, but got no hits.

And now he showed up at your door.

You put a random pair of shoes back on and dashed out of the apartment, door slamming forcefully behind you.

By the entrance to the building, Peter-Three shoved his brother away. He was confused and annoyed and hurt. Because he spent a year – a whole fuckin’ year trying to come up with multiverse travel just to see you. He worked so hard, on himself, on the portal – and he did it knowing you’d be at the end of the tunnel. You’d be there and the look on your face when he showed up would all be worth it. And he’d hold you and finally kiss you and he’d be happy for once in his goddamn life.

He swung through New York grinning after he jumped through the portal. His heart thumped and his palms sweat with each web grab that propelled him closer to your apartment. Peter felt invincible because he had just travelled dimensions and there was nothing stopping him and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.

“What the hell, man?!” Peter’s voice rang through the empty lobby.

Peter-One cringed and looked back at the elevator. “I swear I can explain, but we have to go.”

A mix of overflowing excitement flooded the young boy’s chest, mixing with immobilizing dread and anxiety. He wanted to hug his brother so bad – he never thought he’d see Peter-Three again and the sight of him truly minimized the loneliness he’d been feeling over the past year. Because he was finally face-to-face with someone who knew him. But Peter also felt absolute dread since his decisions, all of a sudden, had real consequences and his brother’s heart was about to break upon hearing what Peter had done.

“No!” Peter-Three’s ears rung. “Is this a bit? Am I being pranked?” His voice got louder and louder, simultaneously dropping in gravity. His fingers hit his own chest as he pointed at himself vigorously.

Peter-One stuttered. “I – it’s – it’s my,” he kept glancing back at the elevator whose doors stayed closed as the lit-up arrow above pointed up. “I’m gonna tell you everything but right now we have to go because Y/N is for sure coming after us and I can’t face her right now.”

“Why not?! Just tell me what’s going on!”

“How are you here?”

“Peter!” The older man shouted, completely frustrated.

The elevator’s arrow changed, now pointing downwards.

Peter-One pushed the front door open and urged his brother to follow him. “Please, you have to come with me.”

“Am I dead to Y/N?” Peter deadpanned. He just had to know. “And why did you act so weird with – why did you call her miss? Don’t you know her since you were in, like, diapers?”

Peter-One groaned “I didn’t have diapers in primary school.”

The other Peter clenched his fists and in an exaggerated, annoyed and overly-dramatic sing-song voice, retorted. “Not my point!”

Peter-One stomped his foot. “Okay! She doesn’t remember us! Let’s go!”

Peter sensed time stopping in place. Sounds all around faded and he felt the entire weight of his body pressing into the sole of his feet. “What?” He only managed to choke out a single question. Annoyance and confusion all washed off his body, like a wave.

The younger hero looked down, pressing his lips. He felt nauseous. “It was the only way.” The boy mumbled.

And chills went down Peter’s body when he remembered the look on your face before he left. The broken, hopeless eyes scanning his features and the salty dark tears streaming down your pale cheeks. You knew – and you wanted to warn him but he didn’t listen.

And he waited for you to open a portal, he lived his life for a year thinking you were working to see him just as hard as he was. In reality, though, you weren’t thinking of him at all.

He stayed collecting dust on Liberty Island while you moved on.

The elevator dinged and its doors slid open. You dashed out armed only with a thumping heart, feet carrying you into an empty lobby and a front door slowly shutting closed by itself, no sign of the two Peters left behind.

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