bunbrainrot

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need him

(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– jack abbot .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

pairing : jack abbot x afab!reader

18+ MDNI—warning : dominant!jack, slow burn, public sex (on-call room/supply closet), praise kink, overstimulation, restraint/control, emotional repression, soft but possessive aftercare, rough sex with emotional weight. It's all smut so read at your own risk!

a/n : I fear I went a little too feral with this because why is this like 3,500 words. Also all of these are just my opinion! Maybe I'll do one for Robby next idk. But if you enjoyed this perhaps consider giving me a follow so you can stay up to date on newer stuff!

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jack doesn’t say much after sex—he never has. But that doesn’t mean he leaves you hanging.

He moves like muscle memory: wipes you down with slow, practiced hands; helps you into his T-shirt without breaking eye contact; presses a kiss to your knee like it wasn’t just shaking against his shoulder minutes ago. His hands tremble a little, sometimes—not from the sex, but from the way you look at him after. Like you see through all of it.

And when you fall asleep against him, spine curved to fit his body, he doesn’t move. Not for hours. Not even when his arm goes numb. He just lies there, heartbeat still ragged, staring at the ceiling like he’s waiting for the world to end.

But when he does finally breathe—deep and full, like it hurts—he buries his face in your hair and says the one thing he never lets himself say out loud.

“Don’t go.”

You’re already asleep.

He’s glad.

Because if you heard him? He’d never be able to pretend it didn’t mean everything.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His : His arms. Thick-veined, corded with muscle, scarred from combat and trauma and living too many lives. When he wraps them around you, it feels like armor.

Yours : Your hips. He grips them when he’s losing it, when he’s fucking you deep and saying your name like a warning. He’d die with his mouth on that soft skin just above your hipbone.

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jack doesn’t just cum—he surrenders. He tries to hold back (he always does), but when it hits, it’s like a dam breaking. His whole body tenses. His voice breaks. He spills deep, possessive, groaning into your mouth or your cunt like he needs to be inside you to survive. There’s always a pause afterward—like he’s shocked by how much he needed it.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a photo of you—nothing explicit. Just you in his bed, back turned, bare shoulders peeking out from the sheets, sunlight catching the curve of your spine. You were still asleep when he took it.

He told himself it was just the light. Just the moment.

But that photo? He looks at it more than he should. Especially on the nights where he’s on call and his body aches . He opens it, zooms in—not even to jerk off. Just to breathe. To remind himself there’s softness waiting for him somewhere.

But sometimes, after a night that’s been too long and a shift that took too much, he’ll sit on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, the other wrapped tight around his cock. And he’ll stare at that photo, jaw clenched, thinking about how warm your body felt under his palms, how you sighed when he kissed the back of your neck.

You’ll never know about it. He’ll never show you. It’s not porn. It’s not even explicit.

But it’s the dirtiest thing he owns.

Because it’s real. And it’s you.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jack knows bodies. Intimately. Years of military life, adrenaline-fueled hookups, flings that burned fast and left no ashes. He knows how to make someone come hard, fast, and quiet. He knows pressure points, pace, rhythm. He knows what makes a body break—but not what makes one stay.

And then came you. And suddenly, none of that mattered. He learns you.

Because this isn’t just sex anymore—it’s a goddamn reckoning. Jack touches you like he’s afraid it might be the last time. Kisses you like he doesn’t know how to stop. Every time he fucks you, it’s a war between instinct and emotion. Between everything he knows and everything he’s terrified to feel. He’s experienced, yes. But with you? He’s learning all over again.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You, facedown, pinned under his weight, your legs spread, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Not choking—just anchoring. He likes knowing you’re there, fully his, every inch of him pressed to every inch of you. But he also loves when you ride him—loves watching your body take him, he is so greedy when it comes to you.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not in the moment. Jack is intense. Serious. But afterward, when your cheek is on his chest and your fingers are tracing the scar near his ribs? He softens. He smirks. Says things like “Didn’t know you could make that noise” just to watch your face burn.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jack keeps it neat. Always has. Military habit. Something about order, control—even in the most private parts of himself. It’s never been about looks; it’s about function. Clean. Trimmed. Routine. No fuss.

But it’s not bare. Never has been. That’s not him. And after you told him—quietly, shyly, your fingertips brushing his lower stomach—that you liked it, the way it felt against your thighs, the way it looked when you were on your knees? He started letting it grow just a little longer.

Not much. Just enough for you to feel it when you're grinding down on him, slick and panting, your body flush to his. Just enough that when you tug his pants down and your fingers slip into the waistband, they brush coarse hair and your breath catches.

He noticed that sound.

Didn’t say anything. Just… didn’t trim as short next time.

It’s a quiet thing. A choice he makes without ever acknowledging it. Jack wouldn’t tell you that your preferences have changed his habits—but they have. And he likes the way your eyes drop when he undresses, the way your touch lingers there.

It’s one more thing that belongs to you. Even if you’ll never hear him say it.

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jack doesn’t do soft—at least, not like other men do. He doesn’t light candles or lay rose petals on the bed. But he holds your face in both hands after sex like he’s trying to memorize it. He strokes your lower back long after you’ve stopped trembling. And when he pushes into you slow, deep, deliberate, with his forehead pressed against yours, he says your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He kisses you. Slow. Starved. Like a man who knows exactly how far he's fallen but refuses to stop.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. Not when you’re not there. Not when all it does is remind him of what he’s missing.

But when he does? It’s always in the dark. After a shift. Alone. With your scent still lingering in his sheets and his body aching like hell. He pulls your shirt from under his pillow—the one you left after staying over, the one you said he could keep. He fumbles for it one-handed, already hard, already leaking. He buries his face in the cotton and groans against it like he’s ashamed of how much he needs you.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jack doesn’t talk about what he likes. He shows it. Quiet control. Firm hands. A mouth that worships. He loves being in charge—not because he wants to own you, but because he wants to take care of you.

His biggest kink? Obedience, but only when you choose it. When you’re writhing beneath him, wrists pinned, whispering “Please, Jack” like he’s the only one who can give you what you need.

Also? Praise. He doesn’t say it often, but when you clench around him and cry out and break, he grits his teeth and growls it into your neck :

“That’s it. You take me so fucking well.”

“Good girl. Just like that.”

You come harder when he says it. And he knows it.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jack wants you at his place. Always has.

His apartment isn’t flashy, but it’s his. Clean. Controlled. Quiet. And the bedroom? That’s where he lets go—not of control, but of everything else. That’s where he fucks you like it’s the only time he’ll ever get to. Where he strips you bare one piece at a time, lays you out on his dark sheets, and takes his time learning every inch of you all over again. Pressing you into the mattress with the kind of weight that makes you gasp, slides into you so deep and slow it feels like your spine lights up.

“My bed. My rules. My fuckin’ girl.”

And when he makes you come—back arched, his name bitten into your tongue—he kisses you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

That’s how he prefers it.

But sometimes? He can’t wait.

You know that look in his eye—the one that says I need you now. The one that burns across the ER. The one that makes you pause in the stairwell because he’s following too close, and you know what’s coming.

→ The on-call room

He locks the door behind you like he’s done it before. No words. Just hands. Rough. Skilled. Urgent. He lifts you onto the cot, pushes your scrub pants down, and slides his fingers between your thighs while your back hits the pillow.

“Already wet for me?” he whispers, voice dark and quiet, body crowding yours.

You nod, breathless. He kisses you like he’s starving and fucks you like he’s trying to keep you there forever. One hand over your mouth, the other gripping your thigh to keep you open, filled, silent.

But you’re not silent. Not when he whispers, “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Just like that?”

You always do.

→ The supply closet

It’s tighter. Dirtier. The fluorescent lights hum above your head as he shoves boxes aside, pulls you into the corner, and pushes you against the shelving. His knee presses between your thighs, spreading you open. His mouth crashes into yours like a mistake he’ll make a thousand times over.

He hikes your leg up and thrusts in without preamble. You both groan. You’re still in your coat. His ID badge brushes your chest every time he slams into you. It’s ridiculous. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

“Gotta be quick,” he pants, forehead to yours.

You claw at his back. You come with your eyes rolling and your voice cracking.

And when he pulls out, kisses you fast, and adjusts your scrubs for you? You swear he almost smiles.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Always you.

The way you say his name like it’s a dare. The little sigh you make when you stretch first thing in the morning. The curve of your waist when you’re standing in scrubs and not even trying. He notices everything, even if he pretends not to.

But what really undoes him? When you touch him without needing anything. Just… because you want to. Your fingers grazing his jaw. Your mouth on his shoulder. Your hand slipping into his lap during a silent moment.

“You want something?” he’ll ask, low.

You’ll just smile.

“Just you.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jack draws hard lines. Nothing humiliating. No hardcore degradation. No making you feel small—he’s seen enough of that in the world and he won’t recreate it in the one place that’s supposed to feel safe.

Another limit? Emotionless sex. He’s done it before. He’s lived in it. He won’t go back.

With you, it has to mean something. Every time.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He eats pussy like it’s the first thing he’s tasted in days. Slow at first—just his tongue flicking softly against your clit, building you up. He likes to tease, to wait for your thighs to shake and your hips to roll up into his mouth before he gives in.

But once you’re begging? He gets filthy. Hands pinning your thighs wide, tongue fucking you until you scream his name. And when you come? He groans like it’s his orgasm too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”

He loves how wrecked you get. How sensitive. How breathless.

And he doesn’t stop after one.

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jack doesn’t fuck like a man in a hurry.

He takes his time—too much time sometimes. Because when you spread your thighs for him, when your hands reach for his body like you need it to live? He doesn’t rush. He watches. Studies. Breathes through it like he's grounding himself in the moment.

That first thrust is slow. Deep. Intentional. His forehead touches yours as he pushes all the way in, until your breath hitches and your fingers curl against his back.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

“Nice and full, huh? I’ve got you.”

He pulls out just as slow. Watches your face. Feels your cunt clench around nothing.

Then he does it again. And again.

And again.

He keeps that pace—not teasing, not soft. Just controlled, the kind of fucking that makes your thighs shake long before you come. He’s punishing in how patient he can be. Like he knows exactly how close you are, and chooses to keep you right there—hovering on the edge, dizzy, begging.

“You want it faster?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Then say it. Say you need me.”

And when you do—when the words finally break out of your throat—his hands grip your hips harder. He pulls out halfway and slams back in so fast and deep your back arches off the bed.

That’s when you see it. The crack in him.

Because when Jack loses control, he loses it all the way. His rhythm turns punishing. Relentless. That perfect control unravels in a blur of heat and friction and need. He presses you down into the mattress, fucking you with his whole body, like he’s trying to anchor himself inside you.

You moan. Sob. Shake.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until your voice is raw and your body is wrecked and he’s buried deep, groaning into your neck.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jack doesn’t chase quickies—but he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t think about them either. Not when you look at him like that.

Not when your palm rests on his chest for a second too long while passing in the hall. Not when you whisper something filthy against his neck just before rounds, smile innocent, and walk away.

He holds it together better than most—years of training, war, ER chaos. But you? You’re the thing he can’t regulate. And every so often, when the tension coils too tight and the shift won’t give him space to breathe, he takes what he needs.

He’s careful about it. Deliberate. And it’s fast—but not careless.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jack calculates risk like breathing—it’s instinct, wired into him from years of surviving things most people can’t imagine. He doesn’t leap into anything he can’t control.

But you? You make him want to.

He won’t take dumb risks—but if the room’s empty, the door locks, and your body’s on his mind all shift long? He’ll fuck you up against that wall with one hand over your mouth and the other gripping your thigh like he’s daring you to say stop.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Jack lasts long. He wants to feel everything. Wants to see how many times he can make you come before he even thinks about finishing.

He can edge himself for what feels like forever, holding back even as his arms tremble from restraint. If you beg? If you plead? He’ll give in—but it’s never just once. He’ll take you again, slower. Or rougher. Or with your legs trembling and your voice breaking as you say his name like it’s the only one you know.

“You done?” he’ll ask, lips brushing your jaw,

“Or do you want one more?”

Spoiler : it’s always one more.

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jack never went in for toys. Not because he’s opposed—but because he never needed them. He knows your body. He knows what works. His fingers. His mouth. His cock? That’s always been enough.

But when you brought a small vibrator into bed one night—nothing dramatic, just something quiet and simple—he didn’t blink. Just watched you lay back, already flushed, already wet, the toy pressed between your thighs while you looked up at him.

He didn’t say anything.

Just took it from your hand. Gently. Calmly. Pressed it back to your clit while he slid his fingers inside you and watched. Watched your body respond. Watched your eyes flutter. Watched you break apart.

“That’s it.”

His voice low, steady.

“Stay right there.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t narrate. Just kept his eyes on you and held the toy in place while you came, legs shaking, breath stuttering.

Now? It lives in his nightstand. Just one. That’s all he needs.

He only pulls it out when he wants to take his time. When he wants to hold you down, watch you tremble, keep you on edge for so long that by the time he finally fucks you, you’re already half undone.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jack is brutal.

Not with his words—but with his restraint. With how long he can edge you. How calmly he can keep his voice as your hips grind against him, slick and desperate, and he still doesn’t give you what you want.

“Not yet.”

“Hold still.”

“You wanted this—now take it.”

He doesn’t tease to humiliate—he teases because he loves watching you need him. Watching you squirm. Watching you crack.

And when you finally come?

He leans in, mouth at your ear, and whispers :

“Told you I’d get you there.”

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jack’s not loud—but he’s not silent either.

He breathes heavy through his nose. Grits his teeth when you moan his name. Curses under his breath when you tighten around him and drag your nails down his back. “Fuck. Just like that.”

He groans—low, deep, like it’s being pulled out of his chest. Sometimes? He growls your name into your neck right as he comes, rough and almost pained.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jack keeps a spare toothbrush for you at his place. He pretends it’s not a big deal.

He also bought new sheets after the first night you stayed over, because he remembered you said his were stiff and too clinical. The new ones? Dark. Soft. Worn-in. The first time you curled up in them, naked and flushed from three rounds, he just watched you for a second and quietly said :

“These work better, huh?”

You never asked him to change a thing.

He just does. Quietly.

Because you’re not a fling. You’re home.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick. Heavy. Cut. Not absurdly big, but enough to stretch you open and make you feel it for hours.

Veiny. Warm. You can see it pressed against his thigh when he’s rock hard and pacing across the bedroom trying to hold it together. You’ve touched it over his jeans before, and he hissed through his teeth and growled, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

The first time you saw it? You went quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, cocky but concerned.

You just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. I just... need a minute.”

He smirked.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jack has a high sex drive—but he’s disciplined. He won’t beg. He won’t whine. He’ll just sit there, quiet and still, his cock hard in his jeans, watching you stretch in a way that drives him insane.

But when you give him the slightest sign?

When you reach for him first, or whisper that you need him, or crawl into his lap? He’s on you in seconds.

And when he’s had you once? It’s never enough. He’ll take you again. Slower. Rougher. Messier.

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack doesn’t fall asleep after sex. Not right away. Maybe not for a while.

His body stays there—solid, warm, wrapped around yours like armor—but his mind? Still on. Still pacing. Still waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

He’s not used to staying. Not used to being held. Not used to feeling safe enough to let his eyes fall shut.

So he watches you instead. Lets his fingers trace the length of your spine, barely there. Memorizes the shape of your body where it melts into his. Listens to your breathing like it’s his new heart rate.

And when you shift against him, soft and sleepy, murmuring something only half-formed?

He exhales, slow. Anchors you closer. Not possessive—protective.

“I’ve got you,” he says. Quiet. Almost to himself.

Eventually—if your weight stays against his chest, and the room stays dark and still—he’ll fall asleep.

But not because he’s tired. Because you are.

And because you let him stay.

Your Charles in Max's lap is so cuteeeeee! 🥹 sometimes I can't help thinking that Jimmy and Sassy might think Charles is their fellow feline because all of them have brown fluffy hair/fur and green eyes but idk whether Jimmy and Sassy will love or hate Charles. Love him because he's our fellows! Or hate him because why daddy let that big kitty sleeps on his bed and eats human food! Or even pity him because why daddy makes Charlie whine and scream so much ;(

Since Charles just wanna be in Max's lap as much as his cats, I'd love to read Charles with cat ear headband that makes Max thinks that, for the first time in his life, he wanna fuck a kitty. His kitty. If you're okay with that ofc 🥹

Ahhh anon I am so sorry for the delay in responding but I hope you see this because this made me laugh and smile like crazy - I think I read the line ‘why daddy makes Charlie whine and scream so much’ like a million times!!’ honestly it was the highlight of my whole week!

To be honest I wasn’t sure how to write this one at all but I have given it a go because your message made me smile so much. It's only short but drabble below

“What are you wearing?” Max studies Charles curiously. 

“You don’t like them?” Charles grins and re-adjusts the little kitten ear headband he picked up at the store. It really was too cute to leave behind especially because Max is always calling him his third kitty. Charles didn’t understand the comparison at first but the more time he spends in Max’s apartment the more he realises that there are some striking similarities between himself and the home’s other resident felines. Charles sometimes makes a soft little happy rumbling sound similar to a purr and he is  constantly clambering on top of his boyfriend desperate for attention. Plus as much as Charles would like to deny it he does get awfully whiny when he is hungry. He’s come to accept that he is rather cat like, in fact it’s probably the reason Max loves him so much. 

“They’re cute” Max laughs, Charles actually looks rather adorable with the tiny little ears perched on top of his fluffy hair and his big beautiful eyes staring excitedly.

The Dutchman watches in fascination as his boyfriend sets the shopping bags down and then gets on to his hands and knees. 

“What are you…? “ Max’s words trail off and his brain short circuits momentarily as Charles starts slowly crawling towards him seductively, his movements almost cat-like in their elegance. 

“Don’t you want to pet me?” Charles teases as he climbs up on to his boyfriend’s lap and starts head butting and nuzzling against his neck. It’s meant to be a joke except Charles feels Max shift beneath him and realises his boyfriend is getting turned on. The Monegasque flicks out his tongue and laps up Max’s neck before going in with some smaller kitten licks.

“Charles” Max’s breath shudders out of him as he feels a warm tongue behind his ear, “I …” 

“You going to make me purr?” Charles coos. For a joke purchase the little headband is working wonders on Max, Charles is half inclined to go back and get the tail to match.

“Baby I …” Max groans as Charles grinds down against him, “You look good”

“You want to play with your kitty?” Charles’ heart pounds against his ribcage as he feels Max getting harder beneath him. The Dutchman is also breathing much heavier now, his ragged inhales and exhales making his chest swell over and over. 

“Yes” Max admits as he grips his hands into Charles’ waist. He’s got no idea why it’s turning him on so much but he’s chasing out Charles’ lips and kissing him desperately. 

Charles gives him what he wants at first. Kisses him back with just as much enthusiasm but as the Monegasque  pulls away and starts to tease Max gets to his feet and hauls Charles up in his arms - it's pretty much what he would do with any misbehaving cat, except he has rather different intentions towards this particularly kitty. 

Charles squeals as Max carries him through to the bedroom and places him down on the bed. The Monegasque lifts his hips and lets his boyfriend rip him out of his clothes, everything except for the headband of course. 

“You’re so pretty” Max hums as he strokes his hands over Charles’ body and smiles at how cute his boyfriend looks all rosy faced and with two little pointy cat ears. Charles mewls at the touch and pulls Max back down over him, this time nipping and nosing up his boyfriend’s neck as he gets impatient for more. 

Max laughs against him but gives up control almost instantly and starts to open Charles up, pressing his fingers into his boyfriend until he is stretched out nicely. It doesn’t really take too long, it’s offseason so they’ve been pretty much at it all hours of they day. Charles finds it a lot more fun to bottom when he knows he hasn’t got to jump straight in an F1 car afterwards. 

“Please - “ the Monegasque keens and starts pawing at his boyfriend once he’s ready, his little grabby hands reaching out over and over and trying to divert attention to where he wants it next. 

“My pretty little kitty” Max hums as he leans in and peppers Charles’ jaw with kisses. The Monegasque spreads his legs wide so Max can line up easily but as Max pushes in Charles hisses loudly. 

The initial stretch is worth it though and Charles’ hissing soon melts into happy little whimpers and whines as Max starts fucking him. It’s slow at first, gentle, almost reverent. Max’s hands skate over Charles’ body and stroke through his hair. 

As Charles gets more desperate he starts arching his back and scratching down his boyfriend’s body, his nails leaving red marks against the skin. Max seems to get the hint though, the Dutchman doing exactly as told and picking up the pace until they are both moaning against each other. 

Max mouths at Charles’ neck and thrusts deep inside him as he comes, the Dutchman groaning loudly and desperately reaching out to stroke Charles to orgasm second later. 

“Fuck, that was…” Max eases himself of out Charles and drops down on to the bed next to him, “Different. That was different” 

Charles can’t help but giggle, he thought his latest purchase would get him a round of laughter not Max heatedly ripping his clothes off of him. The Monegasque keeps his little ears on as he does the other very cat like thing he likes to do and curls his body around his boyfriend so they can take a little cat nap together. 

december 22, 2023

you are the grief i remember you as

fortesa latifi // fleabag // j. estanislao lopez // @promqueendyke // okechukwu nzelu // glennon doyle melton.

reblog and say which footballer is YOURS and no one else’s

Just want to offer a little perspective against all the people fear-mongering about Gavi’s injury being “career ending”.

Florian Wirtz is the most obvious example of a recovery from a full ACL tear at a young age. He was 18 when it happened about a year ago and has come back without missing a beat. If people haven’t watched him they should, he’s really fantastic.

Within Barcelona both Xavi and Gundogan had ACL tears and have come back just as good if not better. Gundogan said himself that he may not be the same player after, but it doesn’t mean he’s worse, just different.

Two more players who suffered ACL tears very young are Darwin Nuñez (17) and Moises Caicedo (16) who have now gone on to play professionally in the Premier League and are doing very well currently. (Darwin’s habit of missing sitters has nothing to do with it).

Other examples of players include Leroy Sané and Virgil van Dijk who while taking a bit of time to come back to form are now doing very well again. Medical experts have claimed that it can take up to 2 years to get back to your level after an ACL injury due to mental blocks, so immediate form should not be seen as “the best you can be”. While of course we all want Gavi to come back better than ever straight away we must be patient and realise that he has an incredibly long career ahead of him and may not hit his prime till the later years regardless of the injury.

Players in the past who have gone on to have incredible careers following ACL tears include Alan Shearer (became the premier league top scorer) and Roberto Baggio. Baggio not only ruptured his ACL but also tore his meniscus yet went on to win a Ballon D’or. While Gavi has also got an “associated injury” with his lateral meniscus, that’s actually fairly routine with an ACL and nowhere did Barcelona say he had actually torn it.

There are many more examples both older e.g. Francesco Totti and more recent e.g. Federico Chiesa who have returned to form following their ACL injury.

Beyond the world of football many other athletes have also made a complete recovery and gone on to have incredible careers e.g. in the NBA.

While it’s completely valid to be very upset over the injury because the recovery is very painful, he’s so young, and he may return a different player, there is no need to despair. He will have top medical professionals at his side, be surrounded by others who know how to recover from injury, and the treatments and recovery chances have come on leaps and bounds since the likes of Shearer and even Xavi.

While there is a higher risk of re-injuring the ACL or having compensatory injuries, if the recovery is not rushed there is every chance he will be physically the same in most if not all departments. The areas most likely to be affected are explosiveness, speed and quick turns, but the first two Gavi has never particularly relied on and he can always adapt to the third. But in the cases of Wirtz and Sane they are still very agile, nimble players, while Xavi adapted to rely more on his tactical prowess, but either way have been successful.

The other aspect is mental such as a fear of re-injury. While we cannot say for sure that Gavi will not have this problem as he has never experienced an injury of the likes of this before, we have every reason to assume not. His teammates and coaches both in Barcelona and on the national team have always spoken of his mentality and fight, and that will prove particularly important now. Also, we are talking about the same kid who was sidelined age 11 because of a broken nose and immediately after his return threw himself into headers again. He has always shown he is not scared of pain and won’t let it hold him back, so he will hopefully apply this same mentality to what will surely be a difficult recovery.

Ultimately we will not know until after the surgery and even until he’s back or several years later how the injury will affect him. But he will be back and there’s every reason to believe he will make a full recovery or become a different but just as good player. We may even get to see more of the impeccable technique that he showcased in La Masia rather than being used partly as a workhorse as he has previously.

While the number of ACL injuries this season is completely horrible, it means Gavi is not the only one going through this journey. And to those on twitter and elsewhere trying to convince you that he won’t have a career after this, I doubt they think the same of Militao, Courtois, Mings, Pino and etc.

Sorry for the essay but we must not give up on Gavi and instead must support him and the team through this surely horrible time. This too shall pass and while we will miss him the time will pass by quicker than you expect.

First of all, thank you so much for this ❤️ reading it this morning genuinely made me feel so much better and I hope everyone here takes the time to read it, I promise it'll help you guys worry less.

Reading this and finding out about all these success stories after ACL injuries gave me much more hope. If so many others were able to overcome it then best believe our little warrior is very likely to do the same I have no doubt about it. Also, it's a relief to know that it mainly affects speed and explosiveness because Gavi has other strengths. And maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing for him to focus on technical abilities that we all know he excels at but the way coaches utilised him up until this point hindered their development. The thing about Gavi is that he excels at so many things so even if his injury affects one two or two aspects of his game he'd still have so many other qualities he's just that good. The main obstacle of this injury is the mental toll it could have on him but I have faith in his own strength and the incredible amount of love he's surrounded by to get him through it. Obviously he'll feel down for a while and is probably still in shock (hell even I still can't believe it I literally expect him to show up in barças training stories and then it hits me again) it's not easy but time heals everything and knowing him he'd do anything to get back to what he loves as soon as possible. He's a fighter, he's always been that way an injury no matter how serious wouldn't take that away from him. He'll be back. It might take a while for him to get back to his absolute best but he'll be back. He has all the time in the world, he's only 19. Now we just need him to take all the time he needs to recover completely and not rush anything.

on a lookout for all and any meows morales merch *ahhhhhh*

(my bank account is weeping in the corner)