#Ella Miracle

[gospelhotspot]

Top 10 Nigerian Gospel Songs Of The Month | March 2024

Struggling to refresh your playlist? We’re back and better than ever! Allow us to reintroduce GospeHotspot’s monthly selection of the Top 10 Nigerian Gospel Songs. This compilation showcases exceptional Gospel music from a diverse range of artists, singers, vocalists, ministers, and songwriters. These songs not only represent various styles, genres, and compositions but also hold deep…

[filosofablogger]

♫ Ooh Baby Baby ♫

Some prodding from our special friend David to come up with some new material for my music posts, and preferably some Soul, or R&B or Motown, made me realize that I’ve rather fallen into a rut of reduxing lately.  So … I sent my grumpy self on a mission tonight … I told myself that the first song I found that brought a smile to my lips and that I hadn’t already played here would be today’s music…

[revelationmusic]

Mr M & Revelation - 'E No Dey' ft Ella Miracle Mp3 Download

Mr M & Revelation features daughter Ella Miracle in new song ‘E No Dey’ | @mystermiracle Marking their 11th wedding anniversary today, its a privilege to have our daughter Ella Miracle deliver a powerful worship ‘E No Dey’ conveying the incomparable nature of our God. Ella has previously featured with Mr M & Revelation in the songs like My Helper in 2023 and You Are Yahweh in 2021. Ella is a…

[procrastiel]

And to add a favourite song from the man Michael Sheen himself:

Hello! I brought leek and potato soup this time! Hope you like something hearty 😊

Not a question but an observation: in the pub in s2, when Aziraphale admits heaven is sending someone to check on the 25 Lazarii miracle, and that he told them he made Nina & Maggie fall in love because that’s the first thing he could think of, Crowley says: “Do a little miracle, wiggle your fingers about, Nina falls for Maggie, problem solved.” And Aziraphale replies: “Ah, miracles don’t work like that.”

So. I guess this means that he tried, and found out the hard way that it doesn’t work, because heaven clearly doesn’t seem to be aware that miracles don’t work like that 😬

Who do you think he tried to cupid into being together? And also, I don’t think Crowley has such a huge knowledge gap about miracles that he wouldn’t know this already, so do you think he’s saying something else in ineffable husband speak here, too?

Allo @procrastiel 💕 Thanks for the soup! It sounds amazing. Coffee? Banana bread? *shares* It's fantastic, if I do say so myself. 😊

I think the scene you're talking about is saying something a little different if you look at two words the show is messing around with in this and other scenes-- passion and miracles-- so, let's do that for a bit...

In the pub scene, Crowley and Aziraphale actually don't have a gap in their understanding of "how miracles work" when it comes to love. They're actually just, initially, speaking of two different types of emotions: a pash versus a passion.

Because of Aziraphale's use of the word pash to describe his impression of Maggie's feelings for Nina-- and his tone when he does so-- Crowley mistakenly believes at the start of the scene that Aziraphale isn't very invested in Maggie and Nina having an actual relationship. Because of this, Crowley correctly states that doing a miracle would solve their issue. Miracles, in this case, do actually work like this. They can influence-miracle someone to replicate infatuation if they wanted to, which is what Crowley is suggesting, only because his impression from how Aziraphale has phrased Maggie's feelings versus the direness of them keeping Gabriel hidden for everyone's sake has led Crowley to think that such a miracle, while not really advisable, would solve their problem.

Crowley was not present for the scenes Aziraphale had with Maggie prior to the pub scene so he doesn't know how Maggie and Nina came to be roped into this whole 'miracle to protect Gabriel' mess. Crowley, in that moment in the pub, doesn't yet understand that Aziraphale wants to do more about this than just solve the issue when the angels show up to verify the miracle.

He doesn't know that Aziraphale has this other problem happening where he unintentionally hurt Maggie and now he is trying to fix it so he really does ship the shop lesbians now and he wants them to get real deal love.

Aziraphale isn't eager to tell Crowley the details about this at this point because, in doing so, he would have to talk more about his own emotions that led him to say the wrong thing here and he's not ready for that. Instead, he clues Crowley into the fact that he wants to see if they can help the women to fall in actual love without telling Crowley at this point the whole saga of how he messed up with Maggie by rejecting the influence miracle idea with:

"Miracles don't work like that."

By this, Aziraphale means what they both know to be true-- that love doesn't work like that.

Love isn't something they can miracle into existence. They can make someone appear infatuated with someone-- that is within their powers-- but they cannot make anyone actually fall in love. They can miracle up something of a manufactured pash but they cannot miracle up a true passion.

Once Crowley understands that Aziraphale is more invested in this relationship and how it plays out, he is then immediately into playing Cupid-- and also into using coming up with ideas as a way to seduce Aziraphale, romantically suggesting that they try to create a scenario like their own first kiss for Maggie and Nina.

To which Aziraphale, who was just not long ago listening to Maggie-- who barely knows Nina-- sob about a failed attempt at giving Nina, who already has a partner, a record, replies: "Doesn't seem likely," which he means as if to say: there is no way these mortal young ladies who barely know each other and who don't have the slightest idea about romance could ever vavoom the way we did and do and which Crowley playfully takes as Aziraphale jokingly rejecting Crowley's narrative of their romance that has them both dead set, made-for-each-other gone on each other ever since that moment. He grumbles and insists that it's true that if you get humans (them lol) wet and staring into each other's eyes, that it's vavoom, sordid/sorted, and pretends he "saw it in a Richard Curtis film" when they both know exactly what he's talking about.

There is some wordplay in "doesn't seem likely" itself. Seem is homophonic for seam-- part of seamstressing as sexual euphemism-- and likely is of the word like, which can refer to the body (as in, someone's "likeness" and, uh, the like.) Both words are in other scenes as well--("O, Flour of Ssss' Cot Land/When will we see/sea your likes again" 😂)-- but the word choice is mainly just underscoring Aziraphale's whole tone of: um, I wouldn't get your hopes up, dear, I know you love your rainstorms but I'm not sure they are capable of vavooming like us-- it might actually kill them. Please don't break my shop lesbians.

Their initial confusion over this comes from Aziraphale using pash-- British English for an infatuation, or what we in the U.S. refer to as a crush. It's first blush of attraction and not really fully developed. It's puppy love or just thinking someone is attractive without a lot of substance or developed emotion or intimacy. The word comes from passion but, bizarrely, means kind of the opposite of it in many ways, which is part of the wordplay around the word in GO.

Passion was originally a word developed as a result of high up members of Christian theocracy specifically to describe one thing and one thing only: the crucification of Jesus Christ.

It comes from the Old Latin root pati and the Old Latin passio, which mean to suffer and to endure. This word that was originally quite literally created by humans specifically and intentionally to describe the martyrdom of the pivotal figure in Christianity? It is the Grand Dame of Crowley & Aziraphale words because, as we know, it has then been further evolved by humans to also become the foremost word to describe erotic love.

Passion in the erotic, sexual love sense is also in the scene with talk of pash and miracles-- just in synonym form:

Vavoom: Alternatively, va-va-voom: Voluptuously sexy; of, or pertaining to, sensual pleasure; passionate.

It is primarily these definitions-- the erotic and the religious-- that Good Omens is contrasting but the other meaning of passion is part of the wordplay as well. For instance, as we know, there is a non-religious, non-erotic definition of passion and it is just to have a strong emotion for-- or interest in-- something.

If you are reading this post, it could be said that you are a passionate fan of Good Omens. In S2, Mr. Arnold and Mutt are both convinced by Aziraphale to come to The Meeting Ball based on their passions in life-- Mr. Arnold's love of Doctor Who and Mutt's love of the history of magic. Passion, in this definition, can refer just to things about which we are wild but that are not necessarily an erotic pursuit or that have any religious connection.

It's the erotic love definition, though, that is being most directly contrasted on Good Omens with the religious definition. It began in S1 in the 1.03 Cold Open with the Golgotha scene. Here, we had Crowley and Aziraphale in discussion as they watched the beginning of what would become called The Passion-- the suffering and death of Jesus.

As Jesus is being nailed to the cross, Crowley and Aziraphale discuss him and, in the process, the subject of Crowley's name comes up. It remains the most significant thing in the scene and on where the scene ends because the reveal of it-- something we do not fully understand until S2-- is the other definition of passion in the scene.

What we can see in S1 is that Crowley has gone by many names and Aziraphale is well-aware of the reputations associated with those personas that Crowley has been adopting. He sounds a bit jealous over Asmodeus, in particular, whom he-- and we-- know to be the Demonic Prince of Lust. While further story indicates that this is largely something that Crowley is play-acting to make everyone think that he's something that he's really not, it is a thing and Aziraphale is pretending to sound like he's not envious of the idea of Crowley's attentions being elsewhere.

It's off of that pretty terribly disguised jealousy lol that Crowley tells Aziraphale what name he's chosen for himself and it's the one we recognize that he has still in the present. We see that the name seems significant to Aziraphale in some way but we don't yet understand why. As a result, we don't fully understand this S1 scene until after 2.02, because we hadn't yet seen the Job minisode that came chronologically before Golgotha:

As a result of the Job minisode, we now more fully understand that Crowley's confession of sorts was really here, back in 33 A.D.. He changed his name to something with meaning to only himself and Aziraphale and we know now the circumstances that led to why. In doing this and telling Aziraphale, Crowley is admitting to Aziraphale that he's mad about him. The scene is visual wordplay around passion-- The Passion of the Christ and the passion of the Crowley.

So, there's the religious Passion that might become ever more important in a potentially Jesus-oriented S3; there are the passions-- the interests and hobbies of all of the characters; and there's the new pash of Maggie and Nina and its contrasting parallel-- the very old, romantic passion of Crowley and Aziraphale.

So, if Crowley and Aziraphale's language around pash got them mixed about miracles at the start of the pub scene...

...what are miracles to them, exactly?

We've already seen evidence that Aziraphale used the word basically interchangeably with "love" in his "miracles don't work like that." The two of them can perform supernatural miracles so there's always that level of it and there's the human understanding of and definition of miracles in play as well.

To us humans, a miracle may or may not be a word with a religious connotation. Either way, it is an event that is seen as supernatural or divine in its lack of a concrete explanation and its likely inability to be achieved through understood human means. It is always a welcome, positive event. It inspires a sense of joy and wonder in people. It is something magical.

Additionally, if you take apart the word a bit, as remains our strongest wordplay suggestion in the series from its opening war-in-warning shot, you have two other words of note: mir and acle.

Mir is a Russian word meaning peace and also a commune. In the West, it is most familiar to people as the name of the Russian space station in the 1980s and 1990s, which Crowley and Aziraphale probably liked. An acle is a kind of tree... which we could then add to the 'words related to the vavoomy canopy' list.

In true Good Omens form, it's actually the scene after the one in the pub that underlines the fact that the word miracle is part of their vocabulary-- and it makes not only the pub scene make more sense retrospectively but also some moments in S1 (the "real miracle" bit in 1941, Part 1, in particular.) The scene that shows them being a bit arch about the fact that they mess around with the word miracle is The Clue:

As Aziraphale explains the whole "Everyday" record thing happening with the jukebox at the pub in Edinburgh, he says to Crowley with dramatic flourish that is intentionally over-the-top-- even by Aziraphale standards-- that the mystery: "...is, as you might say, 'a miracle'" to which Crowley replies a dry: "Ooh."

Part of the wordplay is that the more usual way to say what Aziraphale says to Crowley here-- even if flirting with someone-- would be to say that the record mystery "is, as one might say, 'a miracle'". Aziraphale said "as you might say...," a joke on Crowley himself and both of them using miracle to mean more than the supernatural actions they were once assigned to perform.

The amusing thing is that we will learn that The Resurrectionist jukebox mystery actually really is a miracle, in all of Crowley and Aziraphale definitions of the word. It's a romantic action-- Gabriel's miracle for Beez-- that parallels the miracles Crowley and Aziraphale do to romance one another.

So, what's magical to the magical Crowley and Aziraphale? What's miraculous to these two who can perform literal, supernatural miracles?

Love.

Miracles are a kind of magic that inspires wonder and brings about feelings of communion, joy and peace. That definition is, arguably, what a lot of people would call the positive emotions associated with being in love.

To Crowley and Aziraphale then, miracles and the miraculous do not just refer to the supernatural but to the romantic.

If love is miraculous, then talk of miracles can also be talk of love.

If love is miraculous, then talk of performing miracles can also be talk, on one level, of making love.

You know what was a 25 Lazarii miracle? You and I the other night. We raised the damn dead, old serpent...

If love is miraculous-- and if talk of performing miracles can be talk of making love-- then performing supernatural miracles can be a form of flirtation and romance.

If love is miraculous, then expressing how precious the peace you find with your partner is to you is reiterating how much you love them-- especially poignant when spoken in the middle of a disagreement.

If love is miraculous, then to use supernatural miracles to alter your partner's space-- really: your shared space-- can be a way to tease or a way to comfort.

If love is miraculous, then performing a joint supernatural miracle together to protect each other and the contentious family that is currently staying in the guest room is basically getting engaged.

If love is miraculous, then all phrases people have that are related to miracles of any kind can also be phrases related to love.

For instance: Real miracle.

A "real miracle" in the human world is a subjective thing, based upon an individual's level of belief in magical thinking but, to humans open to it, something considered a "real miracle" is something both wondrous and true and, if love is miraculous in Ineffable Husbands Speak, a real miracle would be a way to describe true love.

Since Crowley and Aziraphale can perform literal miracles, though, and since they have a wordplay thing... there's also that real is homophonic for reel.

A reel, in this case, being the part of the fishing rod used to reel in caught fish.

A real/reel miracle (in Ineffable Husbands Speak): A supernatural miracle performed by one of them only for the purpose of romancing the other; an action the equivalent of expressing love for each other.

If love is miraculous, though? A miracle does not have to be a supernatural one. Aziraphale, in particular, is especially good at miracles-- acts of love-- performed only with human magic.

Finally, if love is miraculous, then:

"How about The Ritz? I believe a table for two has just *miraculously* come free."

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

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[ghostfacd]

SHE WAS LIKE A SHOT OF EPRESSO

pairing. tom blyth x actress!fem!reader (mentions of other actors x fem!reader platonically)

summary. in which you are the epitome of sunshine and radiance within your co stars OR all the times your co stars have talked interviewers’ ears off about you

installment of this au | read for context!

Time 1: Tom Blyth

“How’s Y/N as a cast mate?”

That question shouldn’t make Tom Blyth smile that wide — but he does — because he’s so utterly and unconditionally inlove with you.

“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Tom begins. “As her boyfriend, I think I’m being pretty biased when I say this, but Y/N Avocot as a cast mate has honestly been the best experience of my life. There has not been a day where she doesn’t make me laugh so hard that my ribs start hurting, and there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t made me smile.” He pauses for a moment, pondering the next words to say.

“Y/N’s just that type of person, you know? She’s like the warm sunlight that engulfs you every morning you open your curtains, she’s like that newly brewed coffee that helps hydrate and bring you back to life. She’s everything.” And he says this in such a loving manner that the interviewer practically awes, the cameraman zooming the camera to show Tom’s dilated pupil.

“Your pupils are dilated!” The interviewer mentions, laughing as she points towards his eyes.

“Oxytocin is a warm hormone that’s released when you talk about someone you love,” Tom shrugs. “All my friends say my pupils dilate when I’m near Y/N, that’s just the effect she has on people.”

“Well there it is folks! Tom Blyth is truly inlove with Y/N Avocot!”

Time 2: Sean Kaufman and Lola Tung

It was an interview discussing the new season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and it consisted of Sean and Lola who’s schedules were the only ones that were open that day.

“Guys! We’re so happy to have you today,” the interviewer starts.

“Why thank you,” Lola smiles brightly into the camera, smoothing out her dress.

“So obviously, this season is very important to the plot, it contains so much new exciting storylines including Sean’s character, Steven Conklin, and Y/N’s character, Ella!”

“Yes,” Sean laughs, his eyes crinkling. “It was very fun filming the scenes with Y/N, she’s like that little rush of happiness that you just wanna keep inside a jar.”

“Actually!” Lola speaks up, crossing one leg over the other as she leans forward to the interviewer. “Now that Sean’s mentioning it, Y/N really is a rush of happiness. God, everyday on set, I always think ‘I’m gonna probably have to say my lines over a thousand times and be tired by the time I’m done’ but Y/N comes right in, and she’s always making funny faces behind the director which just fills my heart with joy and it’s those little moments that make acting really worth it you know? Like even though I’m dying re filming the same scene over and over again — I know that Y/N’s always going to cheer me up by the end of it.”

“Wow,” the interviewer laughs. “I haven’t even asked you guys about Y/N yet but she seems to be very loved by the crew.”

“Oh yeah,” Sean nods. “Everyone filming loves her. I mean, how could you not?”

And the interviewer thinks the same question, because after interviewing Tom Blyth, she really believes that you really cannot not love Y/N Avocot.

Time 3: Timothee Chalamet

“Timo!” The interviewer greets Timothee excitedly, moving the chair so he could sit.

“Jacob! My favorite interviewer,” and maybe Timothee’s lying, because he’s seen about a million interviewers by now, but it makes Jacob smile, not so much hating his job anymore.

“Your new movie, Miracles in Love, can you tell me more about that?”

“Yes,” Timothee takes a deep breath. “It’s about a boy and girl in their early twenties figuring out what they wanna be in life. My character, Louie Marcel, falls inlove with my co star — Y/N’s character — Maeve Jones after they bump into each other at the bar and talk about how depressing their lives are. It’s pretty funny, y’know. How easy it was to film with Y/N, in fact, it came all naturally.” Timothee pauses, a small smile playing on his lips.

“When you say naturally, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh you know Jacob,” Timothee grins. “It’s easy to fall inlove with Y/N Avocot. She’s a remarkable actress, and everything that I filmed with her feels so real that it feels like I’m really Louie and I’m really falling inlove with a girl named Maeve at the local bar near my university.”

“Oh wow,” Jacob, the interviewer, can’t help but gush at Timothee’s endearing statement. “You must be very good friends.”

“Us? Of course!” He laughs as if it was one of the funniest statements on earth. “I’m really good friends with her boyfriend too, Tom. They’re honestly the sweetest couple, don’t know if I’m inlove with him or her. Maybe both,” he jokes.

bellyapologist oh to be yn avocot and be so loved by her cast mates that they’re smiling each time they talk about her

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user1 literally like how do you not cry when you’re being called a literal rush of happiness

user2 lola and sean being so excited to talk about her even though the interviewer didn’t start the interview yet 😭

user3 shows that yn is rly a good person

timotheesgf YN AVOCOT LET ME BE YOU PLEASEEEE LOOK AT HOW TIMOTHEE TALKS ABT HER GOD LIFE IS NOT FAIR

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user4 “it’s easy to fall inlove with yn avocot” FUCKKKKK

user5 “everything I filmed with her feels so real” oh tom and kylie are punching the air rn

user9 she must’ve saved a planet in her past life cause..

user10 same energy as “she was like a shot of espresso” 😭😭😭😔😔😔

[shierajones]

Rise of Red

So I’m watching this movie and doing Simone Biles levels of mental gymnastics to make this all connect to the original story and have the plot holes fill in. Here are my attempts at cohension from the beginning:

SPOILERS!!!!

It’s been 30 years since Auradon was founded.

The math isn’t mathing but sure, let’s say after D3, everyone went on adventures, Ben and Mal got married and they all took time to mature and grow in their roles. As the years have passed, they recognize what a terrible job Beast did as a leader and they want to increase trade and foreign relations with other countries.

Uma says that Ben and Mal put her in charge of everything while they (along with Evie and Jay) are making alliances with other countries.

Of course! Because Beast sucks as a leader so they don’t trust him to take back over even if only temporarily. Gil and Harry (and most of the pirates we’ve seen) are missing from Uma’s crew, because she asked them to help Ben and Mal on their journey. Hook is serving as Captain in Uma’s absence and Jay and Gil have grown very close since traveling Auradon together through the years so it makes sense.

Chad is Cinderella and Charming’s son, but Chloe will one day be queen of Cinderellasburg.

Cinderella and Charming had fertility issues at first and Chad is adopted. Chloe is their miracle baby and, though younger, is the true-born heir to the throne. They love and support Chad in all things and have pampered him his whole life. Given the struggles they had to conceive, they don’t regret showering Chad with love but they recognize he’s a bit spoiled and not fit to be king one day.

The future shows Red and the Queen of Hearts ruling on the throne together. I guess we’re assuming since she’s black and red it means she’s evil.

We never actually see that this future is prevented. The ultimate endgame may still be the same, that Red rules with her mother. I’m going to say, this future was not prevented, just that the Queen of Hearts turn to evil was delayed.

In the past, many of the heroes and villains that we know are in high school together.

Many but not all. This is just a blip in their histories and the stories to come in the future are still canon. We don’t actually see any of the villain/hero pairs (Maleficent & Aurora) (Hook & Peter Pan) (Hades & Hercules) so outside of two couples being established (Jasmine and Aladdin in love and Ella and Charming flirtation/mutual pining) there’s nothing that makes some of the stories automatically false. I’d say some of the events in high school just blacken their hearts more and turn them into real villains.

Bridget and Ella’s personalities seem to be switched (with a more evil skew on Bridget’s end as an adult). This one is long.

Ella was Bridget’s only friend and because she was grounded, she wasn’t supposed to be able to make it to the Castlecoming. She cancels on Bridget and leaves her alone. However, Fairy Godmother is also friends with Ella and has been practicing her magic more and is now in possession of a powerful spellbook (more on that later). She wants a way to help her and is finally successful casting an enchantment that gets Cinderella to the dance for a short time. When her curfew hits, the spell will be reversed and send her home. When she gets to the dance, instead of finding Bridget, she gets caught up in Charming and after the song playing changes to So This is Love, they share their first dance. The two are so engrossed in each other and discovering their feelings are mutual that she doesn’t notice anyone or anything else. However, Bridget sees her and is excited at first until she realizes Ella isn’t seeking her out. She’s stuck on Charming. The song playing when Ella walked in is Shuffle of Love and Bridget is trying to focus but makes a mistake. She turns again to Ella to see if she’ll jump in and help but she’s still too distracted by Charming. Left heartbroken she moves and just watches them on the dance floor while staying isolated on the sidelines. She tries to ignore her feelings because she should be happy for Ella but she can’t stop crying a little. She should’ve been there for her. Isn’t that what friends are for? Then, Uliana comes to talk to her and seemingly comfort her. For a second, she thinks she’s coming around to be her friend. She doesn’t think twice when she offers her a cupcake. Suddenly she’s transformed to a monster and everyone around her starts laughing. Ella and Charming’s attention is finally broken from each other and they turn to see what’s going on. Upon seeing this monster, they laugh too thinking it’s just a prank—with no idea who the monster is. But Bridget’s last shred of hope is broken seeing her only friend laugh at her pain after ignoring her the whole night. When Ella finally realizes who it is, she tries to run after her and loses her shoe. She almost catches her to comfort her but then is whisked away by Fay’s spell and finds herself back at, sitting in the barn. Ella, still grounded is left feeling a mixture of joy, love, pain and regret from the events of the night. She can’t contact Bridget or see her until school starts again on Monday. By Monday it’s too late. Bridget, having spent the weekend with no one to talk to or comfort her decides Love Ain’t It and takes on a new mantra for her life. She looks into the Looking Glass and sees her evil future with her daughter. Fine, if that’s what she becomes, why try? At school, Ella tries to apologize and beg for forgiveness but it’s too late. She tries to tell her how her kindness made her strong, how she’s always respected that about her and loves her like a sister but it’s not enough. She tries to show her with her actions. She takes on the persona Bridget always had because it was good, it was kind, it was true strength. She doesn’t want to suffer for one mistake and doesn’t want Bridget to allow that night to define her, but again, it’s too late. Bridget already knows how this story ends and it’s not with love and friendship. She decides to let the fear and power be her friend and becomes the worst bully they’ve ever seen.

Uliana and her crew were troublemakers so would never have been able to open the spellbook and prank Bridget.

Before Red and Chloe showed up, Uliana and her crew were going to lure someone else in to get the book. Fay! They manipulated her with fear and hope—the promise that she could use the Sorcerer’s book when they were done to perfect her magic. So she did it, just like her daughter tried to take the wand in D1.

Merlin just lets Red and Chloe into school, partners them with their mothers “coincidentally” and sees the open window after the break in but doesn’t try to find out who else was able to escape.

He’s aware that Red and Chloe are time travelers and knows there’s a reason to change the timeline as they have. He knows what’s to come with Beast banning magic and shipping off the villains. He wants to change that story too and these girls are the catalysts. This change in history is going to open the doors for magic to be welcomed back to Auradon in the future as they return and have to fix what they’ve changed.

[leahsgf]

MAMMY'S GIRL - mcfoord

mcfoord x child!reader | a snippet of a chaotic travel day

“don’t run too fast now kid, stay with me.” your auntie teyah huffed, gripping onto the reins attached to your beloved ‘special’ backpack for dear life as you charged your way through the airport, with an alarming amount of strength for a just turned three year old - giggling as she visibly struggled to keep up with you.

bringing their toddler on an over twenty hour flight to the other side of the world for one football game was potentially the last thing on earth that your mothers had wanted to do.

however, with both of them being named in the squad for the friendly in australia, and your auntie ella barely being trusted to look after coopurr on her own - here they were.

katie cackled as teyah accepted defeat against you after tripping over her feet one too many times, shaking her head and letting you be scooped up by no other than kyra, who repeatedly threw you in the air and proceeded to chase poor steph most of the way to the gate with you in tow, making you squeal with laughter, and caitlin wince ever so slightly - knowing that after katie flew back to ireland for international break she’d be stuck with this alone.

getting to the plane with everyone in one piece alone felt like a win in their eyes, even as you clambered all over vic and pulled at teyah’s compression leggings (copying exactly what kyra had told you to do) and then dropped alessia’s phone down the side of her seat beyond reach within the first five minutes.

steph had pretty much been following your every move for her little vlog that she was doing, knowing that the fans always loved seeing bits of you and the chaos that ensured, and also - that nobody not present would believe the stories of everything you got up to without video proof.

you toddled behind her as she made her way down the aisle, stopping as you reached your parents.

“c’mere then, my little monster. it’s sleep time for you”

you allowed katie to scoop you up into her arms with no fuss whatsoever, instantly being calmed as she held you to her chest.

and with your dummy being passed over by caitlin, and a featherlight stroke of your cheek - you were out like a light in seconds, bundled in your mother’s arms, and looking so peaceful that it was almost hard to believe how much carnage you'd been causing for the last few hours.

“how do you do it? she was just charging around like she’d never settle - you’re a miracle worker!” steph exclaimed, looking into the camera in complete disbelief at what she’d just witnessed.

“nah, she’s just a mammy’s girl through and through!” katie chuckled, smoothing the back of your mini arsenal jersey as you sprawled out on top of her, praying that the rest of the flight goes this smoothly.

-

this is what i like to call a random little blurb because i had no inspiration to finish it

in the process of setting up a masterlist finally

[moonlight-prose]

hi! just watched someone like you last night & i saw your requests were open for eddie 😫

either:

1. "did you just wash these sheets?" "i did." "they smell nice. and they're still warm."

or

2. "we should really get up." "we should....but we won't."

whichever you like better!! they both screammm eddie to me

love is here to stay

a/n: what i wouldn't give to cuddle with this man in the mornings. possibly making him late for work as other things ensue. and i've always tied jazz songs to movies from the early 2000s and 90s. so this is based off the ella fitzgerald & louis armstrong song. i fear i'm down bad for this man and would love to have him be my boyfriend.

summary: mornings where the summer heat was unbearable and energy was nowhere to be founr, made getting up a difficult task. add a sleepy eddie and a multitude of kisses and suddenly it became near impossible.

word count: 1k

pairing: eddie alden x reader

warnings: semi-explicit so 18+ ONLY!!, summer heat eviserating anything fun, banter, eddie being a fucking tease, sweat, he calls the pussy her, comfy loving scenario.

New York City roared to life on the other side of your apartment wall. Chatter of people shouting, horns of taxis already stuck in morning traffic. Not even your shut and locked window could block each noise that came through. It was a place that demanded to be heard the second the sun rose up in the dark blue sky.

You mumbled something unintelligible, hand reaching for the covers that were no doubt kicked to the bottom of the bed. Halfway through the night the air shut off—effectively making your place a hellscape with no chance of avoidance.

What began as a night filled with naked skin and fast bitten thrusts, turned to the both of you sleeping as far away as humanly possible. You were almost certain if you opened your eyes you'd find Eddie at the edge of the mattress—his body covered in a sheen of sweat. Matching you completely.

"Mm," he groaned into his pillow, flipping over to his side, an arm flinging around your bare waist. "You move too much."

"Shut up," you muttered.

You could feel the tendrils of a somewhat breeze filter in through the living room where you'd left the fire escape window open. Neither of you bothered to shut it after the glass of wine and shared cigarette turned to stripping him of his shirt and you of your pants. It felt like a miracle you made it to the bedroom at all—his body collapsing atop yours with a pained groan; hands grasping for any piece of plushness he could find.

"Make me." Even in sleep he managed to grin like a tease. His eyes shut and hand shifting to cup your bare ass. "Feels like you want to," he sighed around a half yawn.

You shuffled closer, cheek pressed to his chest. "Feels like the fuckin' world is on fire."

He tapped your ass. "That it is baby."

What little energy you could gather was bled from your body the longer you lay there. Summer eviscerated any means of joy in your life. What could you do? Hiding inside was all you had left in order to escape the heat. Now even that left you withering against his torso—body slick with sweat that would only return moments after you washed it off.

"Eddie," you yawned, throwing your arm over his stomach. He offered a grunt; the heat now muddling his brain and cutting off his ability to form words. "You work today?"

His arm raised above his head, onto the pillows beneath him. (Pillows he stole in the middle of the night.)

"I could," he sighed. "Got lots to do at work."

"Ah. I forgot. Big time hot shot."

The audible smack of his hand landing harder on your ass made you laugh; your leg kicking out to deter his attacks. He couldn't help it. Toying with your flesh was the highlight of his mornings. His eyes creeped open, lips tugging into a lazy grin that screamed drowsiness. Only to watch as he jiggled your flesh—fingers kneading at you like a fucking cat who just found the softest pillow in the world.

"Unless you intend to fuck me stupid Alden. I'd stop that."

His head fell back with a raspy groan. "Got no energy to fuck you stupid baby." You glanced at him, chin resting on his chest. "How about I just fuck ya? Huh?"

"Stupid or no deal," you mumbled.

"My cock is gonna be begging for you all day."

"Too bad." You smiled, pressing a kiss to the hair that nestled in between his pecs. "Shoulda thought of that before you didn't call the super to fix the fuckin' air."

His sigh was wistful—-relenting. "Yeah I know. I'll call 'em today."

The city took over your conversation when silence began to filter in between the cracks of your haven. In this small bedroom, you were safe. Content even as the warmth of your lover began to stick to your skin and cause discomfort. Moving wasn't an option. Nor was taking a cold shower.

So you remained there, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.

"We should really get up," he muttered, head turning to face the window.

The sun came through your sheer curtains, casting a shadow along the hardwood floor. You marveled at how picturesque it was—how heavenly.

"We should..." You placed another kiss against his skin, tasting the salt of his sweat along your tongue. He groaned, his eyes meeting yours. "But we won't."

"Baby," he breathed.

Your eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it Eddie."

"C'mon!" he laughed. "Lemme eat your pussy. I'll be really nice to her."

"Fuck off. 'S too hot." You buried your face into his skin, biting back the peal of laughter he could tell lay on the tip of your tongue.

"All I'm saying is she's never not liked my tongue down there."

The loud smack you land to his stomach causes a howl of laughter to erupt from his chest. His body rolling over to trap you beneath him—pressing you down into the mattress as he bit at your neck. Another echo of the city poured in through the open door, cracking through the bubble you both resided in. But the feel of Eddie trailing kisses down your stomach killed every sound that didn't belong to him.

"Too hot my ass," he mumbled along your hip bone, teeth scraping the skin hard enough to draw a moan from your lips. "It's never too hot to have something sweet, baby."

You smiled, curling your fingers into his hair. "I hate you."

"You love me," he retorted, drawing your thighs up and over his shoulders. "Admit it."

When he looked at you like this: eyes bright enough to put even the sun to shame. How could you say anything but yes?

[sportswriters]

christmas surprise - p. gavi

pairing: pablo gavi x female!reader | fluff | established relationship | wc: 1.3k | warnings: none | a/n: hey, merry belated christmas! this scenario wasn't planned, but gavi did the miracle of posting a story and i got triggered to write it. hope you like it! - ella

you told gavi that you wouldn't be able to spend christmas with him or his family. things were tight at work and you hadn't been able to get a last-minute flight — that's all you told him, who believed you, letting his withered expression show on the video call, but he understood your reasons.

he promised you that he would call you on christmas night, because you would be alone in your cold apartment, even if he wanted to take the first flight from spain to germany, but you wouldn't let him. you liked the connection he had with his family and preferred him to spend the holiday with them.

however, you secretly planned a surprise.

you managed to get a last-minute flight and despite the rush to make it on time, everything worked out. he still didn't know that you were about to knock on his door, distracting him with replies to his texts, as if you were still in your cold apartment in germany— but you were standing in front of his house.

nervous, you pay the taxi driver and look at yourself, checking your simple, pretty dress, all red, thin straps. your makeup was simple and you were holding a wheelie suitcase, ready to spend the rest of the year there too, since you've managed to plan properly for it.

you check the clock on your phone screen, noting that it's a few hours before christmas. but they're already all gathered inside, like the family they were, and you take a deep breath and start walking, dragging your suitcase along. you hadn't seen him for almost five months, always exchanging messages or making video calls, because you needed to stay in germany for another year to finish your master's degree in psychology.

even though it was difficult, you managed to make the relationship work. every now and then, gavi also managed to get over to germany to see you and spend a quality weekend, but those five months were the longest without seeing each other. you weren’t even able to go watch him play the match in which he made a comeback from his injury.

but you watched it all on tv. then you called him and spent hours together on the phone, despite the time zone, until you went to sleep. you thought you wouldn't be able to keep it up for that long, but you liked the way things were working out, both of you working equally hard to make it happen. you just had to wait another year. another year and you'd be back in spain, putting an end to all the distance.

you raise your hand and finally knock on the door. it doesn't take long for them to answer and the person who opens the door is aurora, your dear sister-in-law, gavi's sister, who gives you a huge, instant smile when she sees you standing outside. surprise shows on her face, but it soon gives way to genuine happiness, because aurora has always shown how much she loves you.

“oh my god, but i thought...?” she tries to say, hugging you.

you laugh softly and ask her to keep it down.

“i know, i know,” you say quickly, trying to explain yourself. “but i wanted to surprise him, okay?”

aurora crushes you in her embrace, but releases you soon after, agreeing with a silent nod. she makes room and points with her head in the direction gavi is, so that you can go and make your surprise without anyone ruining it.

you leave your suitcase by the door and walk silently to the other side of the room. from the side, you can see him sitting in a cozy armchair, with mateo, his younger cousin, sitting on his lap. gavi is looking at the boy, while another cousin of his snaps a picture and you ask him not to say anything.

you walk silently closer, slowly, not wanting to give away your presence too quickly and when you get close enough, you sit on the arm of the armchair as soon as he moves his hand away and smiles quickly for the camera, but he notices the sudden movement and raises his eyes towards you.

at first, his expression is closed, but when he sees that it's you standing next to him, his expression softens, there's surprise in his eyes and his lips lift in an instant smile, just like aurora's.

“y/n?” he calls out, confused, as if he's afraid he's hallucinating your presence.

you smile. he slides mateo slowly out of his lap and stands up, not caring about anything else except pressing his lips to yours in a kiss you haven't experienced for five months. and five months is considered a long time.

you pull away, only to hold his face, your fingers touching the smooth skin. the smile he gives you is so bright that you can almost feel your heart bursting with love. he touches your cheek and kisses the corner of your mouth, hugging you properly. the people around just let you have this moment.

“i've missed you so much,” you whisper just for him to hear and feel him squeeze you around the waist. your eyes tear up with emotion.

“no more than me,” he says.

as he steps back, he smiles even more at you, that sparkle in his irises outshining any glittering christmas decorations around you. the atmosphere is pleasant, cozy and you notice how he's dressed, so casual, so beautiful.

“i should have worn that horrible christmas sweater of yours,” you say, jokingly, making him laugh.

he stares you down.

“i like this dress better,” he says. “i  think it'll make my job easier later…”

“gavi!”

you understand the implicit suggestion and laugh, shaking your head, while he shows the innocent expression of someone who hasn't said anything too much. his hand finds yours, entwining your fingers as if he never wants to let go.

“you really came...” he murmurs, still trying to process your presence.

you nod, a smile playing on your lips.

“of course i came. couldn't let you spend christmas without me, could i?”

before you can say anything else, you're pulled out of the reunion bubble when aurora lets out an excited exclamation, attracting your attention. all the rest of the family were gathered around, waiting for their turn to hug you.

“a better surprise than this, impossible!” someone says in the middle of the small crowd, and you smile, feeling the warmth of the welcoming.

aurora approaches you again, hugging you. his mother is right behind, with a huge smile on her face.

“darling, i'm so glad you could make it!” mrs. gavira says, warmly.

you return her hug, but gavi doesn't let go of you for an instant. he remains by your side the whole time, observing your interaction with the rest of his family in silence, but with an expression of radiant happiness.

when everyone has finished talking to you, gavi finally takes you by the waist, leaving everyone alone again before christmas dinner is served.

“come here,” he calls, pulling you to sit on his lap, as soon as he sits back in the armchair. with his other free hand, he gently strokes your exposed thigh. “how long can you stay?”

you rest your hand on the back of his neck, brushing the skin with your thumb.

“until the first week of january,” you reply. “i thought we could make up for five months away from each other.”

his expression becomes radiant again.

“i'm having so many ideas…”

you start to laugh and hide your face in his neck, placing a tender kiss there. it still seems unbelievable that you actually managed to get there and that you were finally together, the longing crushing your chest like never before. you want to stay there forever.

“merry christmas, gavi.”

you realize that being there, surrounded by him and his family, is exactly where you always wanted to be.

[gospelhotspot]

[Music + Video] E No Dey - Mr. M & Revelation Ft. Ella Miracle

Marking our 11th wedding anniversary today, it’s a privilege to have our daughter Ella Miracle deliver a powerful worship ‘E No Dey’. – Mr. M & Revelation In the past, Ella has collaborated with Mr. M & Revelation on tracks such as ‘My Helper‘ in 2023 and ‘You Are Yahweh’ in 2021. Ella is truly a talent to keep an eye on. She possesses exceptional vocal abilities and carries a powerful…

[writinground2]

Reconnected - Alessia Russo

Alessia reconnects with an old friend after a long time falling out.

Alessia groaned when she heard she would be rooming with Y/N for the next three weeks at camp. 

Alessia and Y/N had grown up together, playing on all the same teams until Alessia decided to go to America for University and Y/N had decided she was going to attempt to go professional. 

They each respected the others decision and made promises to call all the time, text every day, and facetime at least once a week. 

They parted with a very emotional goodbye and reminder to call when Alessia landed. 

But, as it always does, life got in the way. Busy schedules and time zones took its toll. Weekly calls tuned to monthly, texts would go days without a response. By the end of the first season, they hadn’t spoken in months. Months turned to years, and they ended up not speaking again until Alessia received her first senior call up. 

Alessia had been frozen in place that first time seeing Y/N in years. Ella and Georgia let her pass it off as just anxiety. Y/N smiled and said how good it was to see Alessia again before settling in for the meeting to start camp off. 

Neither spoke about the past, both remained cordial, awkwardness seeping from every interaction the two had. Now, she was going to have to share a room with the girl for three weeks. 

“Ouch, don’t sound so excited,” Y/N mumbled walking by to grab a room key. 

The striker winced, knowing Y/N heard her groan of disappointment. She trudged behind the other player, hoping for some miracle that someone would call out it was a mistake, and they weren’t roommates. Ella gave her a sympathetic smile as she slowly passed. 

Y/N stood outside the room with it propped open, waiting for the blonde catch up. Once she did, she pushed in first, dumping her bags at the bed closest to the door. 

“You still like the bed further from the door?” 

Alessia fumbled for a response, simply nodding, and walking to the other bed. Both started to unpack. Alessia kept glancing over, trying to see if Y/N was as uncomfortable as she was with the situation. Sighing, she continued to shift her clothes around to look busy. 

“Hey, uh, I know,” Y/N started softly, fidgeting with one of the room keys, having moved to stand by the door, “uh, I know this isn’t what you want, and you don’t want anything to do with me. So, I’ll stay out of the room as much as I can and give you your space.”

She walked out of the room before Alessia could even process what was said to her. It had been obvious she was awkward with her former friend, but she didn’t want to make it seem like Y/N was being forced from her room. 

Y/N was true to her word though. For the first week of camp, Y/N would only be in the room to shower or sleep, always slipping in just before curfew and gone before Alessia woke up. Alessia didn’t know where she was going, none of the players did. Y/N wasn’t hanging out in any of the common areas or other players rooms. Anytime not scheduled for team time, Y/N just vanished.

The start of the second week, Y/N came into the room just before curfew, slamming the door behind her. She aggressively grabbed her pajamas from her bag before going into the bathroom, slamming that door shut as well. 

Alessia sat shocked in her bed, dropping her phone to rest on her chest, waiting for Y/N to come out to check on her. 

“Everything ok?”

“Just fucking fine,” she threw her clothes on top of her suitcase, she forcefully flopped into her bed before rolling away to face away from the blonde. 

“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?” 

Alessia didn’t know if this was the right move or not. They hadn’t any kind of conversation with meaning to it in years, this might not be the best time to start. 

Y/N didn’t respond, focusing on the wall in front of her. Alessia couldn’t see her face but could hear the faint sniffles and shuffling of the sheets. She knew the other girl was doing her best to mask her crying. 

“You’re obviously upset Y/N, we can chat about it if you want.”

“Just fucking drop it!”

Y/N whipped her body over to glare at the blonde. In the low light left from the bedside lamp between the beds, Alessia could see her bloodshot eyes. But it was also clear that while she was being snapped at, Y/N wasn’t angry, she looked sad and disappointed. Y/N continued to stare Alessia down before moving back to facing away. 

“I’m sorry, if you change your mind, I’m here.”

Alessia clicked the light off before settling in her bed. She tried to sleep, but all she could think about was how upset her roommate was. 

She had been her best friend. They may have drifted apart, but she still cared very deeply for her. She could easily say she loved her when she was younger. Not knowing what the feeling meant at the time, she hadn’t done anything with them, thinking it was normal feel that way about best friends. 

In university, she realized that it wasn’t. That what she felt towards Y/N was so much more and went so much deeper. It had only taken one experience with one of the players from the men’s team to realize that she would never feel the attraction toward men like it seemed she was supposed to, leaving her confused. It also only took one experience with one of the older players on her team to realize that was what she felt. 

Several heartfelt conversations later, Alessia realized what she felt was normal, but by then it seemed too late for her and Y/N and she didn’t understand what had happened. She made a few attempts to maintain the friendship, but things seemed strained and never were what they had been. 

Y/N was gone by the time Alessia woke in the morning. No one saw her until they loaded the bus to head to the field. 

They played the next day and would just being having a light practice that day, with the afternoon off. 

Alessia understood what Y/N was upset the night before. She was handed a different colour pinny than she normal received, seeming to indicate not only would she not be starting but most likely not playing at all. The coaching staff must have told her the night before. 

Several veteran players seemed shocked she wouldn’t be getting the minutes, but most understood. Y/N had been playing terrible the entire camp, it only made sense she wouldn’t be playing. 

England easily pulled out the win the next day. Alessia coming on as a sub, scoring two goals withing five minutes of being on the field.

With the team playing again in only a couple days, the celebration was kept to minimum. Movie night in a conference room of the hotel. Staff brought in brought in popcorn and snacks. Players brought down pillows and blankets, spreading themselves all around the room. Y/N didn’t bring anything down, having again avoided going to the room. She sat stiffly at the back of the room, darting out abruptly once the movie ended, not giving anyone a chance to talk to her. 

“Good! you’re here!” Alessia was excited walking in the room as Y/N stepped out of the bathroom. 

Riding high on confidence of her game earlier, she felt ready to find out why her and Y/N stopped being friends. 

“I’m not in the mood to be mocked,” Y/N mumbled while she put her dirty laundry in her bag. 

“I’m not mocking you, I wanted to talk to you.” 

Y/N stopped her movements and looked over to see if the blonde was serious or not. 

When Y/N didn’t say anything for a minute or make a move to leave, she continued. 

“I wanted to talk to you about us.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. 

“Yes, there is. I want to know why I don’t have a best friend anymore.”

She was speaking much more confidently felt now. 

Y/N let out a humourless laugh, “Ella is your best friend.” 

“You were my best friend and now you’re not, I want to know why.” 

The blonde could tell Y/N was becoming frustrated with the conversation, but she didn’t know when she would have the confidence to bring this up again, so she kept pushing. 

“We promised to talk all the time, no matter what, you stopped replying, you stopped calling.”

“Don’t blame me for this,” Y/N grunted out, doing her best to keep herself from getting angry and raising her voice. 

“I’m not blaming you; I’m just saying, we could have made more of an effort.”

“You don’t remember, do you?” Y/N sneered. 

Alessia was taken back by the sudden venom in the stare Y/N hit her with. She had gone through all their interactions time and time again to try and determine what happened between them, she quickly thought about it again, coming up with nothing. 

“Just drop it Alessia, it’s not worth it rehashing the past.”

Y/N seemed defeated, shaking her head, she made her way into her bed. 

“It is worth it; I want my best friend back.” 

“You didn’t remember then; you won’t remember now. I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

Alessia took a good look at Y/N now, she looked beaten from their conversation. She had tucked herself into a ball, facing away from the blonde. 

Feeling guilty for upsetting Y/N, Alessia softly agreed before getting ready for bed herself. 

Y/N was gone again when Alessia woke up. 

Alessia entered the banquet room for breakfast, just in time to catch Ella yelling at Y/N as she walked away. 

“I don’t know what you did, but you’re hurting my best friend, so figure it out or leaver her the hell alone.” 

Ella had badgered it out of Alessia their first camp as to why the pair were so awkward with each other. Alessia had confided in Ella long ago about her previous friendship with Y/N and how abruptly it seemed to end. 

Ella was protective of her best friend. Knowing Y/N was doing something to upset her, didn’t sit well with her. She set out that morning to confront Y/N, causing a small scene. 

Leah calmly stepped in front of the midfielder when it looked like she was going to follow Y/N leaving the room, “leave it between them Ella.”

Ella continued to glare the way Y/N left before walking to sit back down. 

“And you,” the captained turned to Alessia, “are going to go work whatever out with Y/N before it wrecks her.”

“She’s avoiding me and our room. Besides, I tried last night, and she shut me down.” 

“I’ll get her to your room so you guys can talk, just go wait there for her.” 

Leah turned the striker back to her room before calling Y/N to find where she had been hiding the last week. 

Y/N hadn’t told anyone on the team of her fallout with Alessia. It had been easy enough to figure out there was history between the two players. Both admitted they had a friendship, but Y/N only ever stated they had drifted apart due to distance, leaving it at that. There has never been any issue between the two until this week.

“You and Alessia are going to settle whatever feud you have going on now,” Leah spoke firmly while she all but dragged Y/N back to her room, grip not loosening on her bicep as they walked the distance of the hallway. 

“We aren’t children, you can’t just put us in time out!” 

Leah glared her down, causing Y/N to shrink under the look. She banged on the door for Alessia to open it, shoving Y/N through it once it opened. 

“Figure it out!” she tugged the door shut. 

Y/N sighed and leaned heavily against the door before sliding all the way down to sit on the floor, dropping her head between her knees. 

“I’m sorry Ella yelled at you, she can be a little protective sometimes,” Alessia gave an awkward laugh. 

Y/N didn’t react. 

Alessia fidgeted on the spot while the tension grew in the room. 

“Umm, I guess we do need to talk about it.” 

Y/N tipped her head back with a thud to the door, “guess so. Who doesn’t love ripping open old wounds?” 

“I really don’t know what it is you think I’m supposed to remember.”

“Of course you don’t,” Y/N shook her head with a sad laugh, “since you don’t remember, I obviously just need to get over it. So, I’ll tell Leah it’s all good, you can call your attack dog off, and we can go back to avoiding each other.” 

“That’s not,” Alessia started before Y/N cut her off. 

“Leah!” Y/N called through the door, knowing she would be waiting to make sure the pair did what they were supposed to do, “we worked it out, can we come out of time out now?” 

“No you didn’t!” she called back, “quit behaving like children and work it out!” 

“Damnit,” Y/N muttered.

“Maybe you should just tell me what I did and then we can really work it out instead of having to pretend the rest of our careers?”

Y/N watched Alessia for a minute to determine if she was being sincere or not, “you called me.” 

She shrugged like it was nothing. 

Alessia waited, confused how a phone call that she can’t remember could cause so much trouble. 

“It was the night after you won the ACC your first season. You called me from the hotel, in a hallway or something.” 

She remembered that night. She remembered the seniors brought in a bunch of alcohol to the hotel, the staff ignoring to celebrate the win themselves, and all the players being very drunk. She didn’t remember calling Y/N at all though. 

“You started telling me all about the win and how you got the start and played well. And I was so happy for you. I remember saying how proud I was of you. Then,” 

Y/N paused, opening, and closing her mouth a few times, seeming to work up the courage to tell the blonde what happened. Alessia still working to remember what happened, all she remembered was being really drunk and happy, then hungover the next day. 

“Then you said you loved me,” Y/N finally made eye contact. 

“And before I could say anything you told me you had loved me for a long time, and you described what you loved about me and said some of the sweetest things I had ever heard. You told me you couldn’t wait to see me in person again because all you could think about was kissing me and holding me.”

Alessia inhaled sharply. How could she not remember any of this?

“I told you I would say it back, but not until you were sober enough to enjoy it like I was.” 

Y/N seemed to smile despite herself. 

“You demanded I say it back to you, so I did. But I made you promise me that you would call me the next day sober, and tell me all of that again, so I could say it back to you properly.” 

Alessia felt like she was watching a train crash. She knew how the story was going to end, but she needed to hear the words come from Y/N.

Y/N looked away now, head back between her knees, “you didn’t call back.” 

“I didn’t call back,” Alessia repeated them to herself. 

How could she say all the things she had always wanted to say to Y/N, and never call her back? 

Alessia felt the air leave her chest, her knees buckled, and she collapsed on to the bed next to her. 

“I tried to bring it up once,” Y/N continued, unaware of the turmoil the blonde was going through in front of her. 

“I waited a couple days, thought maybe you needed to get some courage back or something. You called me and I thought you were going to talk about it again, but do you remember what you talked about instead?” 

Y/N had yet to look back up. Alessia nodded to herself, this she all remembered. 

“I asked what I should wear for my date that night.”

“Exactly. And for weeks, you told me all about this girl that you thought you loved.” 

She never loved that girl. 

“But, I, but,” she stumbled to come up with some kind of response, “I’m so sorry Y/N.” 

“It’s alright, past is in the past. It was just a drunken confession fueled by an exciting win. I shouldn’t still be so affected by it. I knew I never should have let myself get my hopes up, so really, it’s my fault.”

Y/N finally pushed herself up and opened the door looking at the blonde sitting on the floor across from them. 

“We worked it out, can I please leave now?”

Leah opened her mouth to argue there was no way they were done but stopped herself when she saw the broken look on Y/N’s face. Immediately she stood up and pulled Y/N into her arms, agreeing they could be done. 

Ella went to push herself in to check on Alessia only to pushed back out by a hand on the chest from the blonde. She gripped Y/N’s bicep when she went to walk away, tugging her back into the room. 

“We aren’t done.” 

“Please Alessia, please can we be done? I promise I’ll leave you alone and just stay out of your way,” she looked to Leah, “I promise to play better, can we please just drop it?” 

“I meant what I said.”

“You don’t even remember what you said,” Y/N leaned her weight into Leah, taking as much comfort as she could, “I felt like a fool for believing them, I still feel like a fool.” 

Leah remained silent, offering her support to Y/N. Ella made her way to Alessia when she saw the tears in her best friends eyes, she wanted to demand Y/N fix whatever she started. 

Alessia shook her head, keeping her friend back. She deserved to suffer alone right now. Y/N had been feeling this pain for years alone. 

“I don’t remember the phone call or what I said, but I remember what I felt. I remember that I never wanted to let you go in the airport before I left. I remember that when anything happened you were the first person I ever wanted to tell. I remember that I broke up with that girl because she, well because she wasn’t you. Everything she did I compared to you. And everyone after that wasn’t you.”

Alessia hated that they needed to have this conversation in the hallway right now, but she would tell Y/N anything she needed to hear. 

“I remember freezing my first time seeing you at camp because you were just as gorgeous as I remembered. I remember the medical staff almost failing me because my heart rate was too high while you ran next to me.” 

Y/N pulled away from Leah and was watching the blonde intently. 

“Fuck, I hate that I can’t remember that phone call. And I hate that I can’t remember you saying it back to me, because that was all I could dream of while I was there. I have loved you since I knew what love was, Y/N.” 

Ella and Leah both slowly made their exit and let the pair continue talking, Leah gently nudging Y/N back towards the room. Alessia immediately stepped back, hoping that Y/N would follow her back, not taking her eyes off her. 

Y/N tentatively followed her in, gently closing the door behind her. 

The room was silent while both worked out where to go from there. All their feeling were out in the open to see.

Alessia realized she was still going to need to be the one to take the lead and steer the conversation. 

“I cannot say sorry enough for the pain that I put you through Y/N, but I really want us to try and be friends again.” 

Y/N nodded along. 

“I think I need some time Al.”

Alessia melted at the nickname only Y/N used. 

“That’s fair Y/N. Can we start as roommates?” 

“We can start as roommates,” she confirmed. 

The striker slowly stepped closer to Y/N, stiffly opening her arms for a hug. She only needed to wait a moment before Y/N stepped in. 

Both women were ridged to begin with, gradually melting into the long-lost touch. 

Alessia woke the next morning to Y/N still in her bed. The pair even made their way to breakfast together, sitting at the same table. Ella continuously flicked her eyes between the two, seemingly waiting for something to blow up again. 

No one else said anything, allowing the friendship to repair itself. 

That night, Alessia laid wide awake staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t get her thoughts to stop whirring. She hadn’t been able to get them to stop since they spoke the day before. 

“Why did you let me talk about those girls all the time if you were waiting for me to call back?” 

Y/N let out a sigh and rolled on to her back. 

“I only ever wanted you to be happy Al. And if that meant you being with someone else, then I was going to just accept that.”

“But you ran away.” 

It was blunt, but not confrontational. 

“Uhh yea I did. Eventually I just couldn’t hear about them anymore. I did my best to, I really did. But talking to you was, it was, god, it was the best part of my day,” Y/N smiled, tilting her head to see Alessia already looking at her, “then when we would start talking about your girl, I just couldn’t handle hearing it anymore.” 

The smile dropped on Y/N’s face, but the pair continued to stare at each other. 

“I still love you, you know, I never stopped,” Alessia whispered. 

Y/N nodded. 

The rest of camp Alessia and Y/N the awkwardness slowly between slowly dissipated.

By the next camp, it was as if the last few years had never happened. After the last camp ended, they texted every day, calling almost weekly, they had even managed a few dinners. 

The pair were attached at the hip for the entirety of the camp. 

Alessia could hardly contain herself now that Y/N was back in her life. She constantly sought Y/N out, her eyes seeking out the girl at any chance she could. Her body always seemed to drift closer than it should. 

“You’re going to be dehydrated if you keep drooling over Y/N,” Ella rolled her eyes as she flicked a dirty sock at her friend.

The blonde scowled at her friend, gently kicking her in the shin, she took her eyes off Y/N and continued getting dressed. 

“I’m trying. We just became friends again, I can’t push her for more already, I won’t ruin our friendship again.”

“You know she’s waiting for you this time,” Leah nudged Y/N on the other side of the change room. The defender seeing the way Alessia had been watching Y/N all camp. 

“I’m not getting hurt like that again Leah,” Y/N spoke firmly, shoving her stuff in bag before storming out of the change room. 

Alessia watched the interaction. Leah gave her a sad look. It was obvious the striker was doing her best to hold back her feelings. 

It felt like a delicate balance. Push enough that Y/N knew she still loved her, hold back enough to not spook her away. 

By the end of camp, the pair had danced around all each other. Alessia would push a little, Y/N would retreat, so Alessia would pull back. Alessia remained steady though, she knew what she did hurt Y/N deeply, she would be patient until Y/N was ready for more. 

The last night, the team went out after their game made things difficult for Alessia. She was sat at a table with Y/N pressed tight against her. Feeling the slight buzz from the win and the liquor Alessia leaned into her in return. 

Y/N’s hand kept drifting to Alessia’s thigh under the table unconsciously, before taking it away, mumbling an apology. After the third time it happened, Alessia grabbed her wrist before she could pull it away. Alessia watched for a reaction, Y/N bit her lip, giving her thigh a brief squeeze and left her hand there. 

Several shots later, they all moved to the dance floor. Alessia pulled herself away from Y/N, knowing she would not be able to keep herself from pushing their invisible boundary formed.   

Ella rolled her eyes when she saw what Alessia was doing. She grabbed Alessia by the shoulders and forced her to turn around so her chest would be flush against Y/N’s back. Alessia tried to pull away, shooting a look at Ella over her shoulder. Ella just shook her head and guided Alessia’s arms around Y/N before walking away to leave the pair alone. 

Y/N leaned into the touch, then turned into the blonde so their chests were tight together. The motion causing her hands to drop to low on Y/N’s hips. 

Alessia gripped her hips, pulling her in even closer. Y/N draped her arms over Alessia’s shoulder. They moved in time to the music together, the outside world tuned out. 

Alessia dipped her chin, brushing her nose alone Y/N’s jaw, her lips just brushing the delicate skin of her neck. She gripped Y/N’s hip tighter at the sigh Y/N let out, her control slowly slipping away.

“I love you,” Alessia rasped out, kissing just below Y/N’s ears. 

Their bubble immediately popped. 

Everything sounded loud and overwhelming to Y/N. Her whole body went rigid, and she started to pull away. 

Alessia immediately knew she pushed too much too soon. She tried to tighten her grip to keep Y/N close to her, but it was too late, the girl was already pushing her way out of the crowded of the dance floor. 

She wasted no time rushing after her. 

She skidded around the corner to see Y/N leaned against the wall, head in her hands, trying to catch her breath. 

Alessia slowly approached her, “Y/N, I am so sorry.” 

“I just need a second Al,” Y/N shook her head, waving a hand to keep the blonde away. 

Alessia stopped moving, giving Y/N the space she asked for. 

“I have wanted this for so long Al.” 

Y/N anxiously paced in a circle. She wanted so bad to rush over and kiss the blonde or go back into the bar and be back in her arms. But she was so scared to get hurt by the woman again. 

“I can’t be hurt again,” Y/N finally stopped moving and looked towards the blonde. 

Alessia wanted to the cry when she saw the unshed tears in Y/N’s eyes, she looked devastated. 

Taking a breath, Alessia gathered her thoughts before continuing.

“I wish I could promise I would never hurt you again, but I can’t. I can promise I will do anything I can to never hurt you again. I meant what I said in the club, I meant it when I said it months ago, and I will mean it every day for the rest of my life.” 

She had slowly closed the distance between herself and Y/N. Slowly she gently curled both hands to hold Y/N’s face, thumb soothing across her cheeks. 

Y/N leaned into the touch. Letting a slow breath out, she slowly closed the distance, letting their lips brush. The touch so gentle it was almost like it didn’t happen. 

They rested their foreheads together. 

Alessia clenched her jaw, she wanted to lean in again and kiss Y/N again. Y/N’s hands came up to rest on Alessia’s chest. 

“I mean it Y/N, I will love you forever and I will spend every day showing you.” 

Y/N curled her hands into the fabric of Alessia’s shirt and pulled her in. They slammed their lips together at the same time. This kiss more of everything. It let out all the feelings each had been holding back since they were teens. 

“I love you too,” Y/N whispered out when they pulled away. 

[medievalandfantasymelee]

Our 296 Noble and Worthy Contenders

Adhemar, Count of Anjou [Rufus Sewell], A Knight's Tale (2001)

Prince Aemond Targaryen [Ewan Mitchell], House of the Dragon (2022-)

Aguilar de Nerha [Michael Fassbender], Assassin's Creed (2016)

Ahchoo [Dave Chapelle], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Ahmad [Mahesh Jadu], Marco Polo (2014)

Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan [Antonio Banderas], The 13th Warrior (1999)

Alessandro Farnese [Diarmuid Noyes], Borgia (2011-2014)

King Alfred the Great [David Dawson], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Shah Ala ad Daula [Olivier Martinez], The Physician (2013)

Allan-A-Dale [Joe Armstrong], BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Sultan Alauddin [Ranver Singh], Padmavaat (2018)

Amarendra Baahubali [Prabhas], Baahubali Series (2015-2017)

Amleth [Alexander Skarsgård], The Northman (2022)

Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai [Marcus Gilbert], Doctor Who: “Battlefield” (1989)

Antonius Block [Max von Sydow], The Seventh Seal (1957)

Aragorn, Son of Arathorn [Viggo Mortensen], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Arman [Matevy Lykov], I Am Dragon (2015)

Arn Magnusson [Joakim Nätterqvist], Arn: The Knight Templar (2007)

Arondir [Ismael Cruz Córdova], The Rings of Power (2022-)

Arthur Pendragon [Oliver Tobias], Arthur of the Britons (1972, 1973)

King Arthur [Richard Harris], Camelot (1967)

King Arthur [Graham Chapman], Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

King Arthur [Nigel Terry], Excalibur (1981)

King Arthur [Sean Connery], First Knight (1995)

King Arthur [Alexandre Astier], Kaamelott (2004-2009)

King Arthur [Bradley James], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

King Arthur [Charlie Hunnam], King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

Asbjörn [Tom Hopper], Northmen: A Viking Saga (2014)

Ash Williams [Bruce Campbell], Army of Darkness (1992)

Asneez [Isaac Hayes], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Athelstan [George Blagden], Vikings (2013-2020)

Azeem [Morgan Freeman], Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

Azog the Defiler [Manu Bennett], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Balian de Ibelin [Orlando Bloom], Kingdom of Heaven (2005)

Bard the Bowman [Luke Evans], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Ser Barristan Selmy [Ian McIlhinney], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Father Beocca [Ian Hart], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Beowulf [Gerard Butler], Beowulf & Grendel (2005)

Bilbo Baggins [Martin Freeman], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Bjørn Ironside [Alexander Ludwig], Vikings (2013-2020)

Bofur [James Nesbitt],The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Boromir, Son of Denethor [Sean Bean], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Sir Bowen [Dennis Quaid], Dragonheart (1996)

Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert [Sam Neill], Ivanhoe (1982)

Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert [Ciaran Hinds], Ivanhoe (1997)

Bronn [Jerome Flynn], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Brother Cadfael [Derek Jacobi], Cadfael (1994-1998)

Carlos I [Álvaro Cervantes], Carlos Rey Emperador (2015-2016)

Caspian X [Ben Barnes], The Chronicles of Narnia (2010)

King Caspian X [Samuel West], Prince Caspian and the Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1989)

Cesare Borgia [Mark Ryder], Borgia (2011-2014)

Cesare Borgia [Francois Arnaud], The Borgias (2011-2013)

Charles Brandon [Henry Cavill], The Tudors (2007-2010)

Prince Charmont [Hugh Dancy], Ella Enchanted (2004)

Prince Chauncley [Daniel Radcliffe], Miracle Workers: The Dark Ages (2020)

Chris Vexler [Karan Soni], Miracle Workers: The Dark Ages (2020)

Chu Hun [Peter Ho], Double World (2020)

“Cinderella’s Prince” [Chris Pine], Into the Woods (2014)

Connor MacLeod [Christopher Lambert], Highlander (1986)

Corlys Velaryon [Steve Toussaint], House of the Dragon (2022-)

Ser Criston Cole [Fabien Frankel], House of the Dragon (2022-)

Daario Naharis [Michiel Huisman], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Prince Daemon Targaryen [Matt Smith], House of the Dragon (2022)

Darkness [Tim Curry], Legend (1985)

Ser Davos Seaworth [Liam Cunningham], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Prince Dastan [Jake Gyllenhaal], Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)

Dong Yilong [Henry Lau], Double World (2020)

Khal Drogo [Jason Momoa], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Durotan [Toby Kebbell], Warcraft (2016)

Eamon Valda [Abdul Salis], The Wheel of Time (2022-)

King Ecbert Ealhmunding [Linus Roache], Vikings (2013-2020)

Lord Eddard Stark [Sean Bean], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Edgin Darvis [Chris Pine], Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves (2023)

King Edmund the Just [Skandar Keynes, Mark Wells], The Chronicles of Narnia (2005-2010)

King Edward I Plantagenet [Stephen Dillane], Outlaw King (2018)

King Edward III Plantagenet [Blake Ritson], A World Without End (2012)

King Edward IV Platagenet [Max Irons], The White Queen (2013)

Edward, the Black Prince [James Purefoy], A Knight’s Tale (2001) 

Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford [Claude Rains], The Prince and the Pauper (1937)

Elendil [Lloyd Owen], The Rings of Power (2022-)

Elrond Half-elven [Hugo Weaving], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Elrond Half-elven [Robert Aramayo], The Rings of Power (2022-)

Sir Elyan [Adetomiwa Edun], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Éomer, Son of Éomund [Karl Urban], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Erik Thurgilson [Christian Hillborg], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Étienne de Navarre [Rutger Hauer], Ladyhawke (1985)

Faramir, Son of Denethor [David Wenham], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Fezzik [André the Giant], The Princess Bride (1987)

Fili [Dean O’Gorman], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Finan [Mark Rowley], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Fjölnir [Claes Bang], The Northman (2022)

Forge Fitzwilliam [Hugh Grant], Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023)

Francesco de Pazzi [Matteo Martari], Medici (2016-2019)

Francois Villon [Ronald Colman], If I Were King (1938)

Frodo Baggins [Elijah Wood], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Sir Galahad [Michael Palin], Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

Galavant [Joshua Sasse], Galavant (2015-2016)

Galessin, Duke of Orkney [Alexis Hénon], Kaamelott (2004-2009)

Gandalf [Ian McKellan], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Gawain [Dev Patel], The Green Knight (2021)

Gendry Waters [Joe Dempsie], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Geoffrey Chaucer [Pier Paolo Pasolini], The Canterbury Tales (1972)

Geoffrey Chaucer [Paul Bettany], A Knight’s Tale (2001)

George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence [David Oakes], The White Queen (2013)

Geralt z Rivii [Michał Żebrowski], Wiedźmin {The Witcher} (2002)

Geralt of Rivia [Henry Cavill], The Witcher (2019-)

Gest [Jakob Þór Einarsson], Hrafninn flýgur {When the Raven Flies}(1984)

Gimli, Son of Gloin [John Rhys-Davies], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Giuliano de Medici [Bradley James], Medici (2016-2019)

Glenstorm [Cornell John], The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian (2008)

Prince Graydon Hastur [Tony Revolori], Willow (2022)

Gríma Wormtongue [Brad Dourif], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Gu Tingye [Feng Shaofeng], The Story of Minglan (2018)

Guildenstern [Tim Roth], Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1990)

Gündoğdu Bey [Kaan Taşaner], Diriliş: Ertuğrul {Resurrection: Ertuğrul} (2014-2019)

Sir Guy of Gisbourne [Basil Rathbone], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Sir Guy of Gisburne [Robert Addie], Robin of Sherwood (1984-1986)

Sir Guy of Gisborne [Michael Wincott], Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

Sir Guy of Gisborne [Richard Armitage], BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Sir Gwaine [Eoin Macken], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Haldir of Lothόrien [Craig Parker], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Prince Hamlet [Laurence Olivier], Hamlet (1948)

Prince Hamlet [Christopher Plummer], Hamlet at Elsinore (1964)

Hamlet [Iain Glen], Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1990)

Lord Harekr [Bradley James], Vikings: Valhalla (2022-)

King Henry II Plantagenet [Peter O’Toole], Becket (1964)

King Henry II Plantagenet [Peter O’Toole], The Lion in Winter (1968)

King Henry V Plantagenet [Laurence Olivier], Henry V (1944)

King Henry V Plantagenet [Kenneth Branagh], Henry V (1989)

King Henry V Plantagenet [Tom Hiddleston], The Hollow Crown (2012-2016)

Henry VII Tudor [Luke Treadaway], The Hollow Crown (2012-2016)

King Henry VIII [Ray Winstone], Henry VIII (2003)

Prince Henry [Dougray Scott], Ever After (1998)

Hubert Hawkins [Danny Kaye], The Court Jester (1955)

Hugh Beringar [Sean Pertwee], Cadfael (1994-1998)

Prince Humperdink [Chris Sarandon], The Princess Bride (1987)

Inigo Montoya [Mandy Patinkin], The Princess Bride (1987)

Isildur, Son of Elendil [Maxim Baldry], The Rings of Power (2022-)

Ivanhoe [Anthony Andrews], Ivanhoe (1982)

Ivar the Boneless [Alex Høgh Andersen], Vikings (2013-2020)

Jacques le Gris [Adam Driver], The Last Duel (2021)

Jack [Tom Cruise], Legend (1985)

Jafar [Marwan Kenzari], Aladdin (2019)

Ser Jaime Lannister [Nikolaj Coster-Waldau], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

James Douglas [Aaron Taylor Johnson], Outlaw King (2018)

Jareth, the Goblin King [David Bowie], Labyrinth (1986)

Jaskier [Joey Batey], The Witcher (2019-)

Prince Jingim [Remy Hii], Marco Polo (2014)

Little John [Nicol Williamson], Robin and Marian (1976)

Little John [Eric Allan Kramer], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Prince John [Claude Rains], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Prince John [Richard Lewis], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Prince John [Oscar Isaac], Robin Hood (2010)

Jon Snow [Kit Harrington], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Ser Jorah Mormont [Iain Glen], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Kai [Michael Gothard], Arthur of the Britons (1972, 1973)

Kili [Aiden Turner], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

The Kurgan [Clancy Brown], Highlander (1986)

al’Lan Mandragoran [Daniel Henney], The Wheel of Time (2022)

Sir Lancelot [Luc Simon], Lancelot du Lac (1974)

Sir Lancelot [Nicholas Clay], Excalibur (1981)

Sir Lancelot [Richard Gere], First Knight (1995)

Sir Lancelot [Santiago Cabrera], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Legolas Greenleaf [Orlando Bloom], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Leofric [Adrian Bower], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Sir Leon [Rupert Young], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Lin Shu [Hu Ge], Nirvana in Fire {Lángyá Bǎng} (2015)

Loial [Hammed Animashaun], The Wheel of Time (2022-)

Lurtz [Lawrence Makoare], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Madmartigan [Val Kilmer], Willow (1988)

Le Maître d'Armes (the fencing master) [Christian Bujeau], Kaamelott (2005-2009)

“Man With Snake” [Barry John Clarke], Edward II (1991)

King Mark of Cornwall [Rufus Sewell], Tristan & Isolde (2006)

Martin [Rutger Hauer], Flesh + Blood (1985)

Massetto [Dave Franco], The Little Hours (2017)

Matrim “Mat” Cauthon [Donal Finn], The Wheel of Time (2022)

“The Mayor of Hamelin” [Claude Rains], The Pied Piper of Hamelin (1957)

Mehmed II [Cem Yiğit Üzümoğlu], Rise of Empires: Ottoman (2020-2022)

Meriadoc “Merry” Brandybuck [Dominic Monaghan], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Merlin [Nicol Williamson], Excalibur (1981)

Merlin [Sam Niell], Merlin (1998)

Merlin [Colin Morgan], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Mikoláš Kozlík [František Velecký], Marketa Lazarová (1967)

Miles Hendon [Errol Flynn], The Prince and the Pauper (1937)

Mordred [Jason Done], Merlin (1998)

Much [Sam Troughton], BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Murtagh Morzansson [Garrett Hedlund], Eragon (2002)

The Mute [Jon Bernthal], Pilgrimage (2017)

Nasir [Mark Ryan], Robin of Sherwood (1984-1986)

Niankoro [Issiaka Kane], Yeelen (1987)

Niccoló Machiavelli [Julian Bleach], The Borgias (2011-2013)

Niccoló Machiavelli [Thibaut Evrard], Borgia (2011-2014)

Nicodemus Ravens [Jakob Oftebro], Skammerens Datter {The Shamer's Daughter} (2015)

Prince Oberyn Martell [Pedro Pascal], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Odda the Elder [Simon Kunz], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

“One-Eye” [Mads Mikkelsen], Valhalla Rising (2009)

Osferth [Ewan Mitchell], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Sir Percival [Tom Hopper], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Peregrin “Pippin” Took [Billy Boyd], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Pero Tovar [Pedro Pascal], The Great Wall (2016)

Perrin Aybara [Marcus Rutherford], The Wheel of Time (2022-)

Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish [Aiden Gillen], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

High King Peter the Magnificent [William Moseley, Noah Huntley], The Chronicles of Narnia (2005-2010)

Philip II [Timothy Dalton], The Lion in Winter (1968)

Phillippe Gaston [Matthew Broderick], Ladyhawke (1985)

“The Player” [Richard Dreyfuss], Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (1990)

Podrick Payne [Daniel Portman], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Prince Prospero [Vincent Price], The Masque of the Red Death (1964)

Ragnar Lothbrok [Travis Fimmel], Vikings (2013-2020)

Ramsay Bolton [Iwan Rheon], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Rand al’Thor [Josha Stradowski], The Wheel of Time (2022-)

Ravenhurst [Basil Rathbone], The Court Jester (1955)

“The Red Death” [John Westbrook], The Masque of the Red Death (1964)

Renly Baratheon [Gethin Anthony], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Richard Cypher [Craig Horner], Legend of the Seeker (2008-2010)

King Richard [Timothy Omundson], Galavant (2015-2016)

Richard II Plantagenet [Ben Whishaw], The Hollow Crown (2012-2016)

Richard III Plantagenet [Aneurin Barnard], The White Queen (2013)

King Richard III Plantagenet [Benedict Cumberbatch], The Hollow Crown (2012-2016)

King Richard IV [Brian Blessed], The Black Adder (1982)

Rilk [Jesse Lee Keeter] JourneyQuest (2010)

Robert of Artois [Jean Piat], The Accursed Kings (1972)

Robert of Huntingdon [Jason Connery], Robin of Sherwood (1984)

Robert the Bruce [Chris Pine], Outlaw King (2018)

Robin Hood [Errol Flynn], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Robin Hood [Richard Todd], The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (1952)

Robin Hood [Sean Connery], Robin and Marian (1976)

Robin Hood [Michael Praed], Robin of Sherwood (1984)

Robin Hood [Kevin Costner], Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

Robin Hood [Cary Elwes], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Robin Hood [Jonas Armstrong], BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Robin Hood [Tom Riley], Doctor Who: “The Robot of Sherwood��� (2014)

Robin Longstride [Russell Crowe], Robin Hood (2010)

Rodrigo Borgia [Jeremy Irons], The Borgias (2011-2013)

Rollo [Clive Standen], Vikings (2013-2020)

Roose Bolton [Michael McElhatton], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Rosencrantz [Gary Oldman], Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1990)

Count Rugen [Christopher Guest], The Princess Bride (1987)

Saburo Naotora Ichimonji [Ryu Daisuke], Ran (1985)

Saladin [Milind Soman], Arn: The Knight Templar (2007), Arn: The Kingdom at Road’s End (2008)

Samwise Gamgee [Sean Astin], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Sandor Clegane [Rory McCann], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Saruman [Christopher Lee], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Stannis Baratheon [Stephen Dillane], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Tajomaru [Toshiro Mifune], Rashomon (1950)

“The Sherriff of Nottingham” [Alan Wheatley], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1955-1959)

“The Sherriff of Nottingham” [Peter Cushing], The Sword of Sherwood Forest (1960)

“The Sherriff of Nottingham” [Alan Rickman], Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

“The Sherriff of Rottingham” [Roger Rees], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Sid [Luke Youngblood], Galavant (2015-2016)

Sihtric Kjartansson [Arnas Fedaravicius], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Simon Aumar [Justice Smith], Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023)

Steapa [Adrian Bouchet], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Syrio Forel [Miltos Yerolemou], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

“Taunting French Guard” [John Cleese], Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

Theoden, Son of Thengel [Bernard Hill], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Thierry de Janville [Jean-Claude Drouot], Thierry la Fronde (1963-1966)

Thomas Becket [Richard Burton], Becket (1964)

Thomas Cromwell [Mark Rylance], Wolf Hall (2015-2024)

Sir Thomas Gray [Nigel Terry], Covington Cross (1992)

Thorin Oakenshield [Richard Armitage], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Thranduil, The Elvenking [Lee Pace], The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Thraxus Boorman [Amar Chadha-Patel], Willow (2022)

Tom Builder [Rufus Sewell], The Pillars of the Earth (2010)

Tormund Giantsbane [Kristofer Hivju], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Sir Tristan [Kingsley Ben-Adir], King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

Trumpkin [Peter Dinklage], The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian (2008)

Mr. Tumnus [James McAvoy], The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)

Turgut Alp [Cengiz Coşkun], Diriliş: Ertuğrul (2014-2019)

Tyrion Lannister [Peter Dinklage], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Lord Tywin Lannister [Charles Dance], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Ubbe [Jordan Patrick Smith], Vikings (2013-2020)

Uglúk [Nathaniel Lees], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Uhtred of Bebbanburgh [Alexander Dreymon], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

Ulrich von Jungingen [Stanislaw Jasiukiewicz], Knights of the Teutonic Order (1960)

“Unnamed Elf Escort” [Bret McKenzie], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Uther Pendragon [Gabriel Byrne], Excalibur (1981)

Uther Pendragon [Anthony Stewart Head], BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham [Keith Allen], BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Vlad III Dracula [Luke Evans], Dracula Untold (2014)

King Vortigen [Jude Law], King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

Wat [Alan Tudyk], A Knight’s Tale (2001)

Wen Kexing [Gong Jun], Word of Honor (2021)

Westley [Cary Elwes], The Princess Bride (1987)

Wil Ohmsford [Austin Butler], The Shannara Chronicles (2016)

William Wallace [Mel Gibson], Braveheart (1995)

Will Scarlet O’Hara [Matthew Porretta], Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Will Scarlett [Patrick Knowles], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Will Scarlett [Christian Slater], Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

Will Scarlett [Harry Lloyd], BBC’s Robin Hood, (2006-2009)

William Thatcher [Heath Ledger], A Knight’s Tale (2001)

Willow Ufgood [Warwick Davis], Willow (2022)

Xenk Yendar [Regé-Jean Page], Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023)

Zbyszko z Bogdanca [Mieczyslaw Kalenik], Knights of the Teutonic Order (1960)

[the-daydreaming-show]

(1.) Threads of Time.

SUMMARY: Ever since you arrived in the Night Court, you've avoided awkward confrontation and the thought of going out of your way to talk to Feyre. You've barely looked at her in an attempt to avoid facing the very thing you came here for. But finally, one evening, after a flight over the mountains with Balerion, you come face to face with the past and present you've been avoiding.

Or

After not seeing each other for over a decade, you and Feyre finally meet in the woods again, but nothing is the same, not even the two of you. You make an agreement to try to find a balance, and you fail miserably.

NOTE: (All together, we are going to ignore that this should have been published yesterday.) The plan is for there to be an episode every Thursday, until it is finished. So stay tuned for that.

We are skipping many dinners and political discussion meetings because I did not like them and in the end what you need to know about them is explained by the reader in her monologue.

As always, English is not my first language so sorry for spelling mistakes and mistakes of the type, any comment on it is welcome if it is respectful. I am always trying to get comfortable and improve my writing in this language.

I hope you like it, let me know in the comments your opinions. XOXO Ella

“The past is never dead. It's not even past.” — William Faulkner.

The night in Velaris was as beautiful as it had been said to be during the endless negotiations with the Night Court's emissary, Morrigan, and in the secret meetings of your council regarding this visit.

The balcony you had ended up on after insomnia woke you before the sun came up was the size of a ballroom, and you suspected that was what it was used for due to the beautiful marble that decorated the floor. It had a view of the entire city, spreading below you in all directions.

Since you had arrived three days ago, it was the first time you could stop and admire the view that the House of Wind offered you of the city over which it loomed. Between uncomfortable meals, less-than-secret conversations, and discussions about the court's functioning, you had not had time. And you thought it had been for the best.

Upon your arrival at the house, you had been greeted by the High Lady and High Lord, with their court, as well as Morrigan, who, as the one in charge of the negotiations, was in charge of the introductions. Feyre had been perfect—the perfect image of a ruler that is everything. But you had not seen her outside official meals and meetings. Your people, and you suspected that she stayed at the private residence by the river. It made sense, given the matter of the child. In the house with your court, there was Nesta with her husband, General Cassian, who owned the residence and had opened his home to you.

It did not escape your notice that the highest point in the city was ideal for you, because it did not allow you to move around too much without being noticed. It kept your dragons as far away from the city and its inhabitants as possible.

You'd seen more of Nesta than Feyre or her husband, Rhysand, which didn't bother you as much as Armin said it did; he must have given her the disrespect he claimed she represented in matters of politics. But Night Court politics were more lax than the mortal ones they were used to, so you told him to relax. Well, to do what Armin considered relaxing. You weren't going to ask for a miracle, either.

You found it amusing to see how the proud and seemingly shallow Nesta Archeron was married to and in love with a man like General Cassian. They were so opposite in the eyes of the world that it was fun to watch them interact. It even made you feel tender. Nesta had caught you staring a couple of times, and she had already told you several times to shut up, even when you hadn't said anything.

You had seen Elain the day you landed too; she had been fascinated by Dreamfyre, one of the dragons that had come to the Night Court with you, along with Caraxes and Balerion, your own mount.

You hadn’t looked at Feyre much. Or at least, you hadn’t looked at her normally—not thinking much about how the interactions would be normal. You didn’t want to make her uncomfortable either, and you knew there were things you couldn’t control if you looked at her. Like the way it made you gasp at how she seemed to glow in her place in the world. She looked so comfortable and right where she was, and it led you to believe that you no longer had a place in her life, which led you to believe that was selfish.

And her husband could reportedly read minds, so you'd rather not think about her, out of respect for him. You didn't look at him much at first either, but it seemed like you'd be spending some quality time with him during meetings he wasn’t going to.

The sun began to peek over the mountains as you finished your thoughts, and the lights in the city slowly faded as the city took in the morning light. You decided you needed to get out and quickly returned to your room in the house so you could change into your riding gear.

As you changed in your room, Balerion woke up in his sleeping spot in the mountains, which he had taken as his own for the first few days of your visit. You could feel the way he moved, the way his muscles stretched, and the way the earth shifted beneath his claws. Finally, the feeling of both of your bodies coordinating through the bond, until your breathing and the dragon's were coordinated as if they were one, washed over you. Filling you with a calm that nothing else in this life had ever given you. Your breath felt hot as you pulled the harnesses over your head to adjust them at your waist and hips, then hooked those to the harnesses on your thighs.

Balerion took flight in the mountains as you walked around the house to the highest point you could reach on foot and began to climb without any problem to the house's highest point. Balerion circled the house twice before he was close enough for you to jump into the void and land on his back, something you had done many times. You got hooked on the mix and took Balerion to fly over the city and then the sea for a good while. You enjoyed the feeling of flying together and allowing yourself to leave all worries on the ground for a while.

You wanted to fly back to the house for breakfast, but Balerion was feeling like heading out into the woods and mountains, so you let him wander around the outskirts of Velaris with you on his back as well.

“Haven’t you played enough these days?” you asked the beast beneath you as he circled the sky in slow loops, indicating that he wanted you down there. He had probably smelled some prey in the mountains and couldn’t wait to drop you off at the House of Wind. A growl, the equivalent of an eye-roll to humans, sounded through the bond. “If I asked so nicely,” you scoffed, letting go of the reins of your mount and unhooking your harness from your saddle. You leaped off and landed in the woods surrounding the city, swooping down to the meadows that surrounded it. It was the first time Balerion—or any of your dragons—had seen mountains and forests of that immensity.

The three eldest, Vhagar, Balerion, and Meraxes, had been born in the lava of the volcanic islands. While these had a jungle surrounding the massive, steamy mountains, it was nowhere near a sight like Prythian and the Night Court. The rest of your dragons had already hatched by the time you reached the bay, so they knew only the burning desert and colorful cities. Dreamfyre, the youngest of the dragons you brought, was fascinated by the flowers and meadows surrounding the city. Balerion was obsessed with the mountains and the fighters he could take there. And Caraxes, the middle one, had a fascination with flying over the sea and perching on the rocky outcrops of the hillsides a few miles from the city. He wouldn’t go into the sea, but he fought the waves that rushed toward him when the tide came in.

Balerion's roar as he charged forward and the ground shaking at his energetic landing further up the mountain only made you laugh as you descended the mountain and admired the surrounding forest. You made it down a couple of meters when you heard a pair of footsteps in the forest and stopped dead in your tracks.

You had known these footsteps for years.

You walked through the forest, following the small, noisy footsteps. They were where you had been told they would be, and you approached, making noise so she would notice you, but you soon realized that the girl's awareness was not yet trained enough. You should have made more noise, but now it didn't matter. You would scare her one way or another because, standing a few meters behind her, young Feyre hadn't noticed you were there.

Something twisted deep inside you. If you were a man, and you had bad intentions, she wouldn't have noticed until it was too late. The hunters in the area were mostly good husbands and sons, good hunting partners to go out with from time to time, too.

But you can never know someone well enough, especially a man.

You saw a branch on the snowy ground and stepped on it, making a noise that would cause the girl to notice, with the file raised. At least she had good reflexes, you thought.

“Hey,” you greeted her with a smile, the same one you used to give Rue when you wanted to encourage her to do something new. “You are being too loud. You aren't going to find anything being so noisy.”

You approached the area where the footsteps were sounding, and with the silence that had characterized years of habit, you silently came to stand behind the footsteps that advanced with a predatory rhythm on the ground. They stopped dead a few seconds before she entered your vision.

The image was strangely familiar.

There stood Feyre, bow in hand and arrow on the string. She was watching a fully grown deer eating the grass a few feet away, visible between the trees. But she wasn't ready for the shot. You didn't understand why she wouldn't get a better angle to kill such a large animal. Her feet weren’t positioned for the shot or the possible chase. The string wasn’t stretched, nor was the bow raised to aim. If she moved too much now, she could make noise on the ground, and she’d miss the shot.

She wasn’t really looking to hunt that animal, you realized.

You could have turned around and left the place as quietly as you came. Feyre wouldn’t notice, as she hadn’t noticed you were so close, letting the opportunity slip away and going back to ignoring the moment until there was no other option. But you were here just for this, so you let habit take over.

“Are you planning on waiting for the deer to walk to the arrow on its own, Fey?” you asked, loud enough to send the deer running.

If she wasn’t ready to shoot when you found her, she was now. Feyre had turned fully and nearly fired her arrow at the sound of your voice, but you didn’t even blink and just let your gazes meet. With the hearing of a High Fae, Feyre must have grown unaccustomed to being surprised.

“Fey,” you called, and the rabbits that were just a few feet away from Feyre ran away in terror at the noise, returning to their hidden cave underground and easily avoiding the fired arrow.

“Stop scaring me,” the aforementioned begged irritably, her youthful and elegant voice echoing through the woods, probably scaring any other animals that might have been in the area.

“Stop being so mean and thinking so much, Fey,” you recommended with a mocking smile. “It’s not a good combination for a hunter.”

“So she can be loud or dubious? But not at the same time?” she asked, mocking your logic.

“You have a bow and arrow; if you want to hunt loudly, you simply train your hands and eyes to be able to reach greater distances,” you explained softly as you crouched down beside her and pulled a wild blackberry from your pocket. Feyre leaned in but gently moved her chin out of your reach. “And if you want to hesitate, you can let nature decide for you.”

You left the innocent-looking blackberries a few feet away from you, and both of you went off to continue your hunt. That day, when you walked down the road back to the house, a rabbit lay dead with blackberries in its mouth, with no physical wounds to be seen. Nature had decided.

“Good to know you still know how to draw a bow. For a second there, I thought you didn’t remember how I saw you there.” You turned to look at her, approaching her, not offended by the arrow pointed at your face.

You stood a meter away from her and looked into her eyes as she slowly lowered her bow, coming out of the fight instinct. You heard her subtly sniffing the air for any trace of a non-human scent on you, the same way Morrigan had when you had done the same to her once when she visited the bay as an emissary during negotiations. But like Morrigan, Feyre wouldn’t find anything amiss, and you wished you had an explanation to give her, but you barely knew more than she did about what you were these days.

“You ruined my dinner,” Feyre said matter-of-factly, to which you smiled knowingly and simply crouched down, grabbing a rock from the ground. You heard Feyre shift her feet out of habit.

It was like the world had suddenly lost all sense of time, as the present bled into your past. When you threw the rock at the tree, causing a group of hidden birds to fly away, and Feyre killed two of them with a single arrow, it felt like nothing had changed. Even though neither of you was even the same species you were when you used that trick.

A silence formed between the two of you and the forest, with only the abrupt sound of birds falling to the ground echoing around the area before silence returned. She wasn’t sure if she was expecting you to leave or if she just didn’t know what to say about the sense of time running out around the two of you. It was all the forest’s fault.

“I’m sorry about Rue,” was the first thing she said to you directly after all these years.

The forest moved naturally as you and Feyre each held Rue’s hand while venturing out on the little girl’s first expedition. At ten years old, Rue was two years younger than Feyre, and she seemed excited to teach someone else as you had done with her. The fact that she was teaching your little sister felt like a full circle for her—a way of repaying you for your teachings.

Watching her crouch beside a trail in the dirt, diligently explaining how to follow it and how much time had passed since the animal had gone by, you realized that you could never tell her the truth about your teachings.

“Look, Rue,” Feyre whispered lovingly as she pointed to where the trail ended, at the door of a cave where the rabbits lived. “We need to set the traps here, near the cave. Not too close so that they leave and create a new entrance, but in the area where they’ll take a path in search of food. Look over here.”

Feyre led Rue, who was watching her intently, by the hand through the area. You didn't interrupt her lesson.

When you learned that Nesta and Elain were alive, despite everything they had been through, you found envy in your heart.

Rue had been safe, barely managing to buy her freedom from the brothel where she had been sold, without ever having someone lay a hand on her, thanks to your uncomplaining work. Nesta and Elain had been in the middle of a war, turned into beings they didn’t understand, fighting with their own identity and caught in the crosshairs of many enemies.

The odds had been on Rue’s side, not Nesta’s or Elain’s. You should have felt something about the fact that the sisters had survived against those odds, while she had died in a situation that hadn’t even been targeted.

But you quickly realized, with sadness, that you were only relieved the Archeron sisters had beaten the odds—all three of them together and against all logic. The absence of your sister weighed on your heart like a stone sewn into it, tugging at the stitches, opening unexpectedly at the thought of something she would have liked or moments she would have enjoyed seeing.

Never fully healed, but never truly as raw as the moment she bled out in your arms. You wanted to say something, but a lump formed in your throat, and you realized you didn’t really have anything to say to that. All you could manage was to acknowledge that it was what it was—and you meant it deeply, too.

That always drew looks from people you didn’t like, and you didn’t want to, nor could you, allow Feyre to see you that way now.

“I hope you’ve learned to cook with seasonings over the years, Fey,” you said, moving a little closer to her and pointing at the dead birds a few meters away. “Because wild geese require skill so they don’t turn out dry on the grill.”

Feyre grimaced as she looked at the fallen animals. She quickly concluded that, first, she didn’t need the meat since she didn’t hunt for food anymore—she just went out shopping—and second, she lacked the skills to cook them even if she wanted to, judging by the face she made while staring at the dead birds.

There was a time when such a hunt would have been a relief, providing a week’s worth of food for both families. The weight of the present lingered between you both more than you’d like.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Feyre finally asked, trying to spark a conversation and shake off the awkwardness. You realized the one stuck in the past was you, not her, so of course she wanted to escape the memories that were creeping into the moment. “I thought you’d be sleeping in, given the late meetings your court had.”

As you walked downhill asymptotically, pacing yourself to avoid getting too close, you thought about what she might have said if you did approach: We know what you are doing; We are in the house, and we are watching you.

But you and your council had anticipated that. There were magical barriers you couldn’t defend against. Still, you knew what not to say, simply assuming that the shadowsinger would pass his information along to his superiors one way or another. Communication, in your humble opinion, was much easier that way.

“I’ve found sleep less necessary than usual these days,” you commented as you passed her. “And if I didn’t take Balerion out for a ride, he’d start getting fussy and end up landing on the house just to annoy me. It’s a very nice building, and I fear Nesta would poison me for dinner if even one brick of her house moved because of my dragon.”

You heard Feyre moving through the forest, but you resisted the urge to turn around and look. You allowed yourself to walk slowly, telling yourself to watch for uneven ground. Feyre joined you silently, the birds tied around her neck, with her quiver of arrows resting on her back.

“Personally, I like to keep my quiver on my hip,” you pointed out as you adjusted yours in its place, hanging below the bone on your left side. “It’s easier to draw several arrows at once that way. With my eye, it’s sometimes necessary before I get a prey to fall.”

Feyre nodded, looking at the left pupil that dripped down onto your iris. She had noticed the way you turned your head to the left over the days, so she had gotten used to walking on that side every day.

“Balerion?” Feyre’s question set off a roar that echoed into the distance. She looked in the exact direction of where your beast was in the mountains, and with her hearing so precise, she would surely create a beeline to it if she wanted to.

“He’s a bit of a diva,” you explained as you began to walk down the mountain.

In the pace of the walk, you naturally ended up half a step ahead of Feyre, with her to your left—the same formation you used when walking in the woods to hunt. Your right eye was not only a genetic anomaly, but it was also a cause of vision loss on that side. You had never known how that drop had gotten there. Your mother had once told you that you were born with it. Your father had once coldly told you that it had come to you by accident.

Now both of your eyes could see perfectly—both of them. The fire and the lava had healed them the same way they had healed any scars or pains on your body. But you didn't say anything about it.

At the foot of the mountain, at the edge of town, was a clearing of green grasses and small white mountain flowers growing in random places. You and Feyre walked in silence; you wished you had something to say, but anything felt wrong. When you stopped, you waited for her to keep walking, assuming she didn't want to either; she had nothing to say.

As you began to walk across the grass and passed the first patch of flowers in your path, Balerion flew over the area, casting a shadow that made it seem like night had covered the hillside. Feyre looked up to see him pass. Your feet settled on the ground, ready for the tremor that came as the dragon landed dangerously close to your position, but Feyre stumbled enough that she had to instinctively grab onto your arm.

When the earth stopped shaking and Balerion settled back on the ground, Feyre was still clinging to your arm. You could understand why. You were the odd one out in this situation, smiling at the beast in front of you like it was a puppy barking at your arrival at the house because it brought a new friend.

“Relax, Balerion,” you demanded, using the language of dragons, making sure he understood and heard what you were saying, still not approaching the part of the dragon that was raised in front of you. “You are like a child!!”

The dragon's breath washed over both of you, and you pulled Feyre's arm so she was behind you. The color radiating from Balerion's breath was always bright; sometimes it could burn the grass he breathed on when he took naps, and sometimes it was like a summer breeze.

You never knew what would happen, and you didn't know how Feyre would react to the worst options. You knew it wouldn't affect you, so the instinct to protect led you to act before thinking. You immediately felt uncomfortable with your actions. You were out of place, you shouldn't have done that, you thought to yourself.

You let go of her hand and walked toward the dragon's snout; his jaw was higher than yours, but Balerion lowered his head so you could caress his nose. You took a deep breath, resting your forehead against the tip of his nose, and he imitated you naturally.

The way Balerion moved under your hands and the sound of their coordinated breathing left you baffled by the world for a few seconds. You didn't notice when Feyre relaxed into place and sighed heavily.

“I don’t know what to say,” Feyre confessed from behind you. You lifted your head from where your forehead was resting against Balerion, but you didn’t look at her. “It feels like I don’t know you, but I know I do, and I want to know everything about why—I don’t know how to ask without feeling like I’m invading someone’s life and that I have no right to want to know when you were alone.”

Silence.

“We both live what we have to live, Fey,” you said, caressing the scales on the dragon’s nose, looking at the shape your sunlit hand made against Balerion’s blackness, which seemed to absorb the surrounding light. “You have to believe that we are both where we should be now, and that will not change.”

Silence.

“The past doesn’t change either,” Feyre said, whispering your name at the end, the same way she used to call you when you were both young.

She was right; they both are who they are now, but they had also once been what they had been, neither canceling out the other despite the feeling that filled you these days. Sometimes you wished one would undo the other, that the past would be enough to win over the present. Or that the present would wipe out the past. But it didn’t work that way. Maybe, just maybe, you might be able to accept the mix, to lose nothing and have everything.

Could you do it?

Yes, you could try.

“He wants to know who you are.” It wasn’t a lie; Balerion really was like a puppy wanting to meet a new friend; he probably sensed through you what Feyre meant. But you were desperately changing the subject with them.

“Looks like he wants to eat me or you.” Feyre stared blankly at Balerion from her spot, bowing over the man, dead birds still in her hand.

“He always looks like that; he just has a problem with not knowing when to stop eating.” The joke caused an irritated growl from the dragon, who blew to ruffle your hair and playfully tease you. “It’s the truth.”

Balerion sat his butt down on the grass with a slam, agreeing to change position so that his new friend could get closer, thus making his form smaller in front of both of them. This was an attempt to make himself less intimidating, you assumed.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?” you asked Feyre, and she saw that for what it was: an attempt to not want to ignore the past or the present, an attempt to find a balance between the two without what they were and what they are or will be preventing them from knowing who the other is now. And she nodded slightly.

You motioned for him to put down the birds, bows, and arrows on the ground. He walked calmly and steadily up to where you were standing in front of Balerion's enormous head. Balerion moved closer in excitement, and you pushed him back into position immediately by pulling on one of the tusks protruding from between his fangs, while Fey waited for you to signal him to come closer.

“Give me your hand,” you asked when she was at your side. Feyre gave you her right hand. You placed her hand on the scales and let it sit there for a moment, letting the tension of the moment pass. When you felt her body realize there was no danger and her fingers moved only over the scales, you let go of her hand and allowed her to pet the dragon herself. “See, he’s a very big pup.”

“A fire-breathing one,” Feyre joked back, Balerion snuggling under her hand like a kitten, causing you to roll your eyes at his attitude. He’s not all that gentle and obedient when it comes to dealing with younger dragons. “He’s quite beautiful for such a dangerous animal,” Feyre commented as she stroked the scales with both hands and felt the heat of the fire running beneath Balerion’s scales. You smiled at the sight.

“You should see it at night, in the moonlight. When he flies through the sky, it looks like he has stars and can camouflage himself perfectly. He disappears from view if you are underneath him,” you explained, proud of Balerion and how he had grown from a rock in the volcanoes to the enormous beast he was now.

A glint on Feyre's hands caught your attention. Her wedding ring, a jewel that sparkled in the sun, reflected in your eyes as if it wanted to purposely annoy you more than its meaning could.

“It must be quite a sight,” Feyre commented, and your frown changed before she saw your face as she turned to ask you more questions about Balerion.

To your chagrin, you quickly realized that the plan for acceptance and balance you had outlined with Feyre that day was far too ambitious for your circumstances.

It all started the next morning. It was time to visit the Illyrian Mountains. Armin, as your general, and Luka, your secretary and master spy, refused to let you go alone, despite your insistence. It wouldn't make any difference if they tried to kill you, whether they were there or not, but you still gave in, in the end, for their peace of mind. Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel were your guides on that occasion.

You figured Cassian was staying in town because the dragons were supposed to be staying there, too. Though that must have meant Feyre’s court believed the Illyrians would be able to handle several dragons at once if need be, which you found amusing, both because it sounded like something Cassian would do and because it also meant they hadn’t decided yet how much control you had over the beasts.

It was even funnier when the three of them appeared flying over the camp hours after you arrived, where you had to explain that it was difficult to tell them to stay far away from you. Dragons are protective beasts, and you were their mother, after all.

Cassian joined you not long after. He was the punchline in your statuses, and Armin had to hit you to stop you from laughing.

Spending time with Rhysand was torture. You wanted to hate the bastard.

Would that be the most logical thing to do, right?

You wanted Feyre, and he had her; hate should have been the healthiest way out of everything. But you didn't. You severely suspected he was perfect. Not because he didn't have flaws. No, you'd heard plenty of those flaws from Luka. But you also knew what he'd done, which was more than you should know.

When Luka, with his tattooed face, ink-blackened hands, and raspy voice, had offered the most drastic way out for information, you had refused his sacrifice. But ultimately, you knew there was information about the High Fae that no information network you could muster would get from them without them noticing. You needed the tactical information if you were going to move forward with negotiations and visits for a potential deal, and you desperately wanted to follow through.

So you ended up giving in, knowing that it was the only way to overcome the Shadow Singer, or at least level the playing field as much as possible in your favor.

You had offered to make the sacrifice, but he had refused, as there was no telling what your blood might do to the process, and so now Luka had no ring finger on his left hand. “I don’t plan on listening to wedding tales for myself. So I can’t do anything but grip my daggers, and I can use my other hand for that until I get used to it,” Luka had told you.

The ritual gave you the information you knew you needed, even if you didn't know you needed it or that you needed it at some point. For more precise information, more sacrifice was needed, and you wouldn't let your friend sacrifice a full hand for you, even though he had been more than willing until you sternly ordered him not to.

The information you had been given was indeed what you required. Your council needed to know how trustworthy the Night Court was and what they might find there if they went. That they had received, and perhaps all too effectively.

Rhysand played the annoying idiot role well enough, but you had the information to see through him in a way you hadn't expected to be able to. You weren't sure if it was his love for his people or his loyalty to Feyre, but you couldn't find it in yourself to hate him. You respected him in a way that wasn't just out of fear, but because he seemed to be where many (including you) would want him to be and not waste the chance (like others).

And it only made everything more difficult because the trip to the mountains confirmed the information about the Illyrian armies you had thanks to Luka's missing finger. You returned to the House of Wind on Balerion to ensure that you got the dragons out of the mountains as quickly as possible, as the few days you were there caused nervousness among the locals. You definitely wouldn't be going on vacation to the mountains at the invitation of anyone from the area anytime soon.

“And?” Mayhem, your lady-in-waiting and bodyguard, asked. You glanced at her through the mirror, and it answered the question sufficiently. You silently wondered if Azriel and his shadows had already realized that they weren’t communicating, as if they already knew what they should know and what they shouldn’t.

You still didn't understand how you would manage the balance if the path remained as marked as it had been since before you left the Bay. The next stop would be the Court of Nightmares, so you could see the other part of the court's military forces.

You found yourself standing on the same balcony, looking up at the darkening sky the night after your arrival from the mountains.

“Hello,” Feyre greeted, appearing in the doorway. The two courts were supposed to be dining together that night—some sort of political dinner, you supposed. You waved back, leaning over the balcony railing, looking down. She leaned against you, and you shifted in place to put some distance between you, even if it was just a few inches. “How were the mountains?”

“Very windy,” you commented, sighing heavily, “and it seems the locals didn’t like me very much. I’m still not sure if it was my lack of a penis or my extra dragons. A mystery indeed.” You scoffed, and Feyre laughed in response.

“Devlon is a delight to be around, no doubt about it,” Feyre explained as she turned to sit on the edge and looked at you for a moment in silence, as she often did when she wanted to tell you to stop thinking. “I hope you still enjoyed the beauty of the mountains.”

“I did,” you admitted, glancing at her briefly and pointing at Balerion in the distance with a smile. “And Balerion seems to want to take up residence in those sacred mountains of yours. He says it has good hunting, which is a guarantee of moving by their standards, but I don’t think he’d be very welcome.”

“I don’t think they could do much about that, could they?” Feyre seemed amused at the idea of the massive dragon you called a pup taking up residence in Ramiel and no one being able to stop it, the same way she imagined you taking the bay. Her imagination wasn’t close to the truth, but they didn’t know, nor would they be told anytime soon.

“The wedding,” you pointed at her ring, shining in the sunset, looking at it instead of her face, afraid something would betray you. “And the birth.”

“Thank you,” Feyre whispered sincerely and looked at the ring on her finger fondly, as if remembering her happiness and being happy about it. You moved your gaze to the horizon again.

“I hope he was and is chubby.” You wished for him, remembering the words that adults in your town exchanged when a baby was born alive in one of the families. The memory made Feyre smile honestly.

“Yeah, I guess that’s consistent,” Feyre whispered, and you nearly rolled your eyes as the scent of expensive cologne hit your nose before you looked at the man in question.

“Your husband has nosy tendencies,” you blurted out before you could control yourself, crossing your arms. Feyre let out a laugh at the lack of malice in your voice.

“A little,” she admitted, looking over at where Rhysand stood, his expression feigned offense.

“And I wanted to tell him that the food is ready, but I ended up being insulted,” he complained, approaching Feyre. And before he could reach her, you were already on your way to the door. “I thought we were all friends.”

Rhysand stood in his way as if expecting you to confront him and share a mocking fight, but you simply muttered and continued on your way, not even looking at him, running away from the situation as if you weren’t even aware of the fire.

“Something like that.”

The balance slipped from your grasp as if you were trying to hold onto seawater in a storm, and it cruelly hit your face during your visit to the Court of Nightmares. You sat in an elegant chair in front of an elegant table, with your boots on the polished marble floor, so polished it was like a mirror. A high-faced fae stared at you in disgust from her spot directly in front of you. You didn’t know if it was your presence or your casual attire (your usual riding clothes) that bothered her. You suspected it was a mix of both.

Rhysand asked for updates on the court and didn’t explain who you were or what you were doing there. He just allowed you to sit and listen. The fae whose name was Keir was the ruler of this side of the court on behalf of Rhysand and Feyre. Keir answered Rhysand’s demands, not taking his eyes off the way your boot was thrown over the edge of the table and into his line of vision because of the way you had crossed your legs. You had only made sure he had that angle of vision, much to his irritation.

Azriel was leaning against a wall not far from where Rhysand was sitting, and he seemed as entertained by Keir's irritation as you were, though it was less subtle.

For some reason, you felt the comment coming. Ever since you’d taken over the bay, it always got through to some people, and you’d learned to feel almost like you were an oracle when the need to point fingers got the better of people. You picked up the wine glass on the table, and the single sip you took while Keir was talking about what you knew about court caused him to grimace in disgust.

“Is our finest wine of the season not enough for our mortal guests?” Keir asked, his tone making it clear where he had changed the word he wanted to use to one that wouldn’t get him into trouble. But he spat out the word "mortal" with such abruptness that it felt just as insulting in some way. Now that was a skill, you thought with amusement.

“Is this the best there is here?” you asked, genuinely concerned about the quality of the spirits here. “I guess you can’t expect much from a vintage made in stone and darkness.”

“The whiskey is more passable,” Rhysand commented in amusement. You let out a murmur and looked at him skeptically.

“We have better wines in the Bay, and it’s a desert!” you pointed out indignantly.

The floor is a mirror; the wine should be just as luxurious; it was a huge contradiction in your opinion. You wondered when else that place was just part of a facade for the rotten and bitter beneath.

“That is true,” Keir said again, looking and speaking with undisguised disgust now. You looked at him in response. “The Aspiring Whore of the Slaves sits with the Night Court this moon.”

You smiled. There it was, the comment.

“Well, I’m retired as a courtesan. And I use the term 'courtesan' because if I had been just a prostitute, I would have been cheaper,” you commented. You settled back against the back of the chair to move your boot in front of him again, annoyed as much as you could.

“You’d think a courtesan would be better educated,” Keir spat.

“You wouldn’t know, with the quality of wine you drink. You couldn’t pay me dead,” you explained simply. It was true that, at your peak in the market, you had been one of the highest-paid in the Pirate Islands. It wasn’t something you were bragging about; it was a fact. You knew what you had been and what you were. That idiot couldn’t use it against you. You had learned that long ago. “And in my view, I have tasted fine wines in the Night Court, mostly in the restaurants of Velaris. I assume you haven’t had that opportunity, given their low standards.”

A bitter but malicious smile formed on Keir’s face, and there you knew. The idiot.

“I haven’t had the honor yet, but soon, I hope.” The arrogant idiot. If only he’d kept quiet. Or maybe you could have, but you needed the information.

You dined with your court privately that night. Nesta and Cassian were gone, but you wouldn’t let a word slip out of place because you knew that didn’t mean you weren’t being heard.

“Was the visit as we expected?” Luka asked casually as he figured out how to hold the fork with his missing finger, trying out positions and attempting to poke his potatoes, slowly figuring out how to best use it.

“Yes,” you said in a tone that ended the conversation before it even began. You downed your entire glass of wine (the same one you bragged about that afternoon in the Court of Nightmares) in one go. You quickly wiped the little that escaped your lips with the napkin on the table.

Everyone at the table knew what it meant. There would be no alliance because the Night Court had not yet recovered from the Hybern War.

Luka's sacrifice had not only shown the truth of Rhysand and his Inner Circle's character; it had also laid bare the results of the wars and circumstances that had wronged the Night Court.

With Amarantha ruling for sixty years, leaving Rhysand trapped without the ability to control his queen, the Illyrians had grown too accustomed to freedom, not only resisting the High Lord's ancient rules but the laws as well. They had gone to war through gritted teeth, but more for the chance at glory, and had been slaughtered in the thousands at a time. Many believed Rhysand had driven many to their deaths, knowing they had no chance, and though death in war was noble in the culture, the grudge of those who hadn't died still smoldered. To top it off, Nesta and her Valkyries had been spit in their faces, for they surely hadn't expected her to survive as she did.

To add Keir's forces to his troops, a deal had been made, one that the appointee himself had confirmed had not yet been paid.

The rest of the war with Hybern wasn't enough to get you back into battle, something you needed them to do if you signed that treaty. It was sooner rather than later because you had fired the first arrow when you declare yourself queen of all mortal lands. The queens of the continent were quick to respond with their own declaration or action, which wouldn't be long in coming, and it was only uphill from there.

She would be flying with Balerion into battle before the year was out, something he had seen coming. And the Night Court could not offer you the troops you required even if they now intended to help you, and you could not walk into battle with one of the Inner Circle as your weapon. They would tear apart any mortal army that crossed them, and you were not going to rule over ashes other than those of your own making.

What security would it give to the people who would be your subjects, who feared invasion because of the lack of a wall, if you won their lands with the direct help of those they saw as enemies?

There would be no balance, no matter how much you held on or wanted to put on or take off the scale. The reason you were there was nonexistent, and that left anything else you built on top of it in the dust.

You knew that. But you had still come. You had come anyway, knowing the possibilities, and you knew it would break your heart one way or another. It was a reality now, and it didn't feel any better even though you saw it coming.

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[melodiousoblivionao3]

Why am I hearing that a load of people on X are blaming Son for the loss??? I don’t understand what she did wrong today, I thought she played great

If they are then they’re wrong. She played incredibly well. Gotham after the equalizer lost a lot of control of the game, but she and Tierna were pretty much the steadiest forces and trying to keep it together. Gotham got 6 cards and it’s a miracle they didn’t get more or lose more than 1 player to a red.

One of their OB’s got a yellow and then got subbed out at the half and her replacement got a yellow. Their other one got subbed out at the 65 and then her replacement got a red card. They replaced Delanie when they thought they were going to win with McCall who hasn’t played that long in a while iirc, Rose, Yaz, and Ella were also subbed out. Esther was starting scraps with everyone and their mother.

Sonnett and Tierna both did incredible work this entire season, Sonnett especially. You can’t blame a game like this on one player.