#she also wasn’t a big fan of the internet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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ni yao de ai — ryomen sukuna.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?” And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?” Then it became bigger and bigger. One after the other, he could not shut up. He was, after all, too damn in love. “Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?” And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 6k words.

Note: i'm working on the actor nanami fic, so here is something for you to enjoy while you wait for that. also, i keep thinking about how sukuna would have been like pro-hero bakugo had he not been dating reader. like, he would be so good at volleyball, but he would be so eager to be blunt about absolutely everything and just be so crass, you know??? anyway, our sukuna managed to not be like that, cause he's #1 lover boy first. enjoy this!!! see you in a couple days!! i love you!!! <3

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THIS WAS NOT OUT OF THE ORDINARY NOWADAYS, FOR YOU TO SIT HERE. Your long-time boyfriend, professional volleyball player Ryomen Sukuna, has always been a bit of a big deal. Well, you try to not make it to be but you both know that it is.

He was undeniably talented, incredibly confident, and dangerously charismatic. But it wasn’t until this past year, when he officially made Japan’s national team and became their standout player, that his star practically exploded.

And with that… came you.

You didn’t ask for it at all. The attention, the headlines, the fan-cams. However, by virtue of loving Sukuna, you had become a fair bit of a participant in his stardom. And it wasn’t like Sukuna did it on purpose.

Well, actually he kind of did. Because if there was one thing about your boyfriend, it was that he never shied away from publicly loving you. In fact, he leaned in. Hard.

And you?

You could never say no to him when he asked. Ever. Because you loved him as he is, and that includes loving you. And if supporting him meant occasionally being pulled into the spotlight alongside him. Well… you’d do it a million times over. That’s how much you loved him.

It started small at first.

Little moments here and there.

Well, he tried to ease you into it.

Like when Sukuna played his first international match for Japan, and you sat quietly in the front row with his family. You thought you were being lowkey, just there to support your love. But the cameras caught you. Multiple times. Your face blown up on the jumbotron — smiling, proud, hands clasped in silent prayer every time he served.

Sukuna noticed you on the screen mid-game, and instead of ignoring it like any normal athlete would. And then he would go on and smirk. Then almost like he can’t help it, he winked at you. On live television. You damn near sank into the earth.

The clip instantly blew up on Twitter.

Everyone on the internet lost its mind.

Suddenly there were viral captions like:

“When the national team’s ace makes eye contact with his girl mid-game and winks?????”

“The way he’s SO unapologetically in love I’m crying.”

“The girlfriend has MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY I’m obsessed.”

And you? You just wanted to disappear.

Ryomen Sukuna, on the other hand, ate it up.

“You see how they love us, babe?” he grinned later that night, scrolling through TikTok edits of you two.

“My love, I was literally just sitting there.”

“Nahhh, you were the cutest girlfriend alive.”

“Stop watching the videos, I look like I was going to hurl because of nervousness.”

“Nope. I’m obsessed with us. Sorry, babe.”

But then it started escalating. Almost too quickly. The more Ryomen Sukuna won on the national stage. And the more the media realized he could not shut up about you. The more you started to become a topic. At first, it was small questions during post-game conferences.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?”

And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?”

Then it became bigger and bigger.

One after the other, he could not shut up.

He was, after all, too damn in love.

“Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?”

And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

And suddenly you were trending on Twitter at every single match.

People started calling you “Japan’s National Team Girlfriend”.

There were TikToks like “POV: You’re dating an Olympic-level volleyball player and he’s obsessed with you”. Someone even made a fan account dedicated to you. Some people are making fan accounts about the two of you. It was just insane.

You were horrified about it.

You never expected this.

Sukuna, however, was thriving.

“Babe, you’re famous now.”

“I am just—this is crazy, my love. I didn’t think this for myself.”

“Too bad. You’re dating a national treasure. That makes you one too.”

“You're the only national treasure here, not me—”

“Wrong. We’re a package deal. We always have been, babe.”

“Well, fuck. Looks like I gotta know how to deal with this.” You sighed, leaning into the couch. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.” He says, looking at you with those warm loving eyes. “Very much.”

You sighed, moving close to lean into him. “I love you too. Very much.”

And then, of course, came the Vogue interview soon after that.

Sukuna got asked to do a pre-Olympic feature for Vogue Japan. It was going to be a full-blown video interview and magazine spread to highlight him as the country’s volleyball superstar heading to his first Olympic Games.

You didn’t think much of it at first—until Sukuna casually mentioned. “They wanna do a segment with you, too.”

You froze. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah, you know….like those….interviews we watch.” Sukuna said it, like it was the most casual thing. “Like a couples segment. You know. Cute shit.”

“Okay, but this is insane. I don’t think I’m good enough to be interviewed for a magazine like Vogue.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most beautiful and smartest person in the world, like the coolest. How could you not be in the magazines?”

“You’re just saying this cause you’re biased.”

“So?” He snickered, leaning closer to you like a cat to his owner. “Isn’t my opinion the only thing that matters?”

“My love, please—”

“Babe, come on. It’ll be fun. Just some quick questions. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Are you sure you want me there?”

“I always want you with me.” He whispers to you, eyes adoringly looking at you. Almost begging. “Please come with me.…I’ll make it worth your while later.”

You can’t say no to him. Not like this. Not ever. You sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

And so, here you are now, right beside your boyfriend, in this studio.

The massive studio hummed with quiet energy. You could feel the subtle buzz of camera equipment, the low chatter of the production crew, and the muffled thuds of footsteps as people flitted around making last-minute adjustments.

Despite the growing tension in the room, there was one person who looked like he couldn’t be less bothered and that was Ryomen Sukuna himself. Your beloved Sukuna is now Japan’s top star volleyball player right now.

The man who was about to debut in his very first Olympic Games. And yet he sat there like he was in his living room, entirely unruffled by the cameras or the fact that the world was about to have their eyes glued on him.

To him, this was just like any other day. It was nothing special, nothing worth that much of a fuzz. It’s media day. Well, of course he was with you. That was always something that made him happy.

But the occasion in itself just as it was, like on all work days.

It truly did make sense for him to be like that.

After all, Sukuna had been through enough media circus for the past few years. With all the pre-game conferences, after-game interviews, constant media coverage during training camps.

By now, cameras had become like background noise to him. Even though he wasn’t the most camera-savvy person, he had long accepted that it came with the job. As much as you have.

Though, you know it was just still so insane. This level of fame was not something you expected to see. But well, what can you do? Your boyfriend is an ace at anything he does, and he always will be.

So here he was now, gold chain glinting under the bright studio lights, his long arm draped casually behind your chair as if he had all the time in the world. His thumb, rough, calloused from years of playing was tenderly brushed the curve of your shoulder absentmindedly, warm and familiar. His long legs were spread obnoxiously wide, his knee brushing against yours like it belonged there.

You, however, were fighting down a giggle like you did when you were both younger. It wasn’t fair how good he looked in front of the camera. Your Sukuna was in his official team Japan tracksuit, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed forearms.

His messy pink hair was styled back, just enough for his sharp jawline to be obnoxiously prominent and his signature smug grin made it look like he had already won gold before even stepping onto the court.

And then like he could feel you staring, Sukuna leaned toward you.

You raised a brow as you finally noticed his ruby eyes tender on you.

“What? There something on my face?”

“Bet I can answer faster than you, babe.” His voice dropped low, just for you to hear, the gravel in his tone sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You snorted, glancing at him. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t embarrass me, my love.”

His grin sharpened, canines flashing. “No promises, babe.”

You groaned to yourself.

You were so screwed.

He’s competitive even on this.

The interviewer settles in her seat across from you both, a friendly smile on her face. “Alright, we’re rolling!” she calls out. “Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The crew claps behind the camera and you and Sukuna stand up, quickly bowing your heads lowly to everyone in the room, greeting them politely one by one. The crew did the same, with eyes full of awe as they both looked at you two as you sat down.

“Alright, hello everyone!” the interviewer finally smiled, straightening in her seat. “We’re here today with Ryomen Sukuna, Japan’s powerhouse volleyball player heading to his very first Olympic Games — and we’ve got his longtime girlfriend, [Your Name], who is also a Astrophysics researcher joining us today!”

Sukuna perked up a little at that introduction, his grin widening. “Renowned, huh?” He turned to you, his voice dropping low, teasing. “Damn, babe. Are you that famous now, my baby?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting down a smile. “Says the Olympic athlete. Let’s not do this, please.”

The interviewer laughed. “We are so excited to have you both here. Thank you for making time despite your hectic schedules — especially you, [Your Name]. I imagine taking a break from Astrophysics research work isn’t easy?”

“Oh—” you started, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I really shouldn’t have gotten a break. I was actually supposed to have a research advisory today…”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brows raising. “Wait—what?”

You blinked. “…Huh, what?”

“You never told me that. I thought you just got permission.” Sukuna scoffed, his head tilting. “Babe, you really have a major advisory today? How the hell did you get off work?”

“Ohhh, yeah…” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… funny thing about that.”

The interviewer’s interest piqued. “Oh?”

You hesitated and then bit back a smile. “So… My head researcher’s daughter is actually a huge fan of Sukuna. Like, borderline obsessed.”

Sukuna’s brows shot higher. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” you chuckled sheepishly. “And when they found out I was doing this interview with him, my boss was like, ‘Yeah, just get me his autograph and I’ll look the other way on you missing the advisory.’”

Sukuna immediately cackled. “Really? That’s damn hilarious.”

“Swear to god, it's crazy in there when it comes to you.” you laughed, sinking a little in your seat. “He told me, ‘If you get me a video of him saying hi to my daughter, I’ll even let you off the hook for the paperwork you forgot to pass last week.’”

“Babe.” Sukuna turned his entire body toward you, his grin practically ear-to-ear. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? That’s easy. Just give me a pen later—hell, I’ll record her a whole-ass personalized video.”

You scoffed, blushing. “Oh my god, no—you don’t have to do that much—”

“Nahhh, I gotchu, babe, don’t worry.” Sukuna grinned mischievously, already plotting. “I’ll make her dad look like a hero. Gonna be like: ‘Hey princess, your dad is the real MVP for letting your fave’s girlfriend skip work today to give you content.’”

You smacked his arm, mortified. “Oh my god, you are so insane.”

The production crew lost it almost immediately.

The interviewer covered her mouth, laughing.

“I’m serious!” Sukuna laughed, scarlet eyes crinkling. “You know how many brownie points that’ll get you at work? You could literally ghost them for a week and they’ll still cover for you.”

“Oh my god, stop—”

“And the paperwork you forgot?” Sukuna shot you a playful smirk. “I’ll just sign it with ‘Ryomen Sukuna’s girlfriend is a genius, give her a raise.’ Boom. Problem solved.”

“RYOMEN SUKUNA.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Sukuna raised his hands in surrender. “Just don’t call me that, okay? You know what my name is.”

The interviewer was crying. “I am so sorry, I can’t breathe—you guys are adorable.”

You slumped in your seat, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never living this down.”

Sukuna just laughed harder, his hand finding your thigh and giving it a warm squeeze. “Nah, you’re good, babe. I’ll make sure you’re employee of the month after this.”

The interviewer, trying to recover. “W-well! We really appreciate you being here, [Your Name]. Seriously. It's not every day we get a literal astrophysicist and an Olympic athlete in the same room.”

“Oh no, I should be the one thankful!” you stammered, still flustered from Sukuna’s antics. “Thank you for having me here with my love. Honestly, it’s such a privilege.”

Sukuna practically preened. “Her love. You guys heard that, right?”

You smacked his arm. “Oh god, don’t even start.”

“Too late, babe.” Sukuna grinned smugly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m riding that high all day. Like, that’s from the one I love right there. I’m riding this forever.”

“You can’t just—” You lower your face to your hands, feeling yourself warm. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t get embarrassed so fast!”

“I’m trying hard not to!”

The interviewer was now fully crying from laughing.

And you? You were about two seconds away from melting into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

You just can’t believe he’s like this today.

“So, uh, are you guys ready for some quickfire ten-second questions?” She asks as you finally recover, lifting your head.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles dramatically. “Easy. We’ve been together more than a decade or so. I can ace this.”

You scoff. “You’re gonna overthink everything.”

Sukuna feigns offense. “Excuse you? I’m very decisive.”

The interviewer laughs. “Alright, let’s put that to the test. First question: Sukuna, what’s your favorite pre-game meal?”

“Ramen.” he says instantly. Then, a beat later, “Wait. No. Her curry. Yeah, yeah. That one….the spicy one. Final answer.”

Your mouth drops open. “Are you serious? I thought you hated it.”

He grins smugly. “It’s true. I loved it all. Took another plate after you left. Your food hits different, you know?"

You roll your eyes but can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “O–okay, I guess.”

The interviewer beams. “Cute. Okay, [Your Name], what’s his go-to post-game routine?”

“Oh, easy.” you say, straight-faced. “Complaining about his back. Then how he doesn’t like how Gojo Satoru took that line shot at him at a game. Take a ridiculously long, hot shower. He has a beer before we eat dinner. Then aggressively demands my cuddles.”

Sukuna sputters at you. “Aggressively?!”

You arch a brow. “You corner me in the kitchen. Every time.”

He throws his head back in a laugh, his large hand sliding to your knee. “Okay, fine. Fair point.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Alright, Sukuna — who’s the first person you call after a big win?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Her. Always her. And she picks up, even mid-experiment.”

Your chest tightens, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You’re too much.”

“Hey, I really do call you the most after every match.”

“And after a loss?” she presses.

Sukuna leans slightly toward you, his arm shifting so his hand now rests protectively on your thigh. “Also her. But I’m significantly more annoying.”

You snort. “So much pouting. He becomes, like, unbearable.”

Sukuna gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Unbearable?! I’m mourning, babe!”

“You’re sulking. Just like right now.”

“Same thing!”

The interviewer is practically doubled over laughing. “I love this dynamic. Okay, favorite thing about each other — go.”

Sukuna’s answer is immediate. “Her laugh. Hands down. Best sound in the world.”

Your heart lurches, face instantly heating. “Oh my god, shut up—”

“No, like dead serious, babe.” he interrupts, his smile softening. “Could be having the worst day ever, and if she laughs? I’m good.”

You smack his arm, your face now an embarrassing shade of red. “You’re being gross on camera!”

Sukuna shrugs, unbothered. “Truth is truth, babe.”

The interviewer melts. “Okay, your turn, [Your Name].”

You stammer, still flustered. “Uhh—” you scramble to think of something non-cheesy, but instead, your mouth betrays you. “The way he always warms his hands before touching my face.”

Sukuna freezes. “…Huh?”

You blink. “…What?”

“That’s your favorite thing?” he asks, blinking at you like you’d just dropped a bombshell.

You squirm. “I mean, yeah. You do it all the time. Like, even if we’re just watching a movie or something — you always warm your hands first. It’s cute.”

The grin that spreads across Sukuna’s face is devastating. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

You physically groan. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The interviewer is practically swooning. “This is the cutest thing ever—okay, okay, next one. Sukuna, if you could steal any skill from your girlfriend, what would it be?”

“Her patience.” he deadpans.

You burst out laughing. “What?”

“No, like actually, I really think you mastered it so much.” he insists, leaning forward. “You have no idea how insane she is at staying calm. Like, I’ll be losing my mind over a game or a bad practice, and she’ll just—” he waves his hand, mimicking your nonchalant demeanor, “‘Okay, babe, it’s fine. You’ll win next time.’ Like. What the hell? Where do you get that?”

You’re dying of laughter. “It’s called balance, my love.”

“It’s witchcraft.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Then learn it.”

He laughs at your words. “No, but I’m genuine about this. My girl can sit there and deal with a long day where her research yields bad results and do it again even though it takes long. And come home to me sulking and just know how to be just as patient.”

You looked at him, eyes full of love. “You’re so….I love you. Just a lot.”

He smiles back at you. “Love you too, babe.”

The interviewer sighed, whimsically. “I love you two so much. Okay, final question—and you both have to answer this.” She leans in dramatically. “What’s the very first thing you’ll do if you win gold at the Olympics?”

Sukuna’s cocky grin is instant. “Kiss her. On live TV.”

Your jaw drops “‘kuna, my love! Don’t just say that!”

“What?” he laughs, utterly shameless. “Manifesting, babe.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Your boyfriend snickers. “Yeah, you say that now but you’re gonna make out with me after this—”

“Oh my god, not here!”

The interviewer howls with laughter. “And what about you, [Your Name]?”

You glare at Sukuna but ultimately sigh in defeat. “I guess… I’ll let him.”

Sukuna beams, victorious. “See? Obsessed with me. You were lying earlier, hm? Saying you won’t and now here you are, you admit the truth. I am so vindicated.”

You slap his arm, but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but I am your annoyance. That's my happy life right there, being loved by you like that.”

The interviewer shakes her head, still giggling. “I swear, if you actually win gold and kiss her on live TV, I’ll play this clip everywhere.”

Sukuna’s arm curls around your shoulder, pulling you in. “You better be ready, babe. I’m serious.”

And the terrifying part? You can already picture it. Because you know that he can do it. He can win it all just like that. You could see the gold medal around his neck, the camera zooming in, and Ryomen Sukuna turning straight to you with that same smug grin before sweeping you off your feet.

You purse your lips into a flat line, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…..I’m prepared.”

The interview finally wraps up there.

You’re still a little dazed. The cameras, the lights, the overly intimate questions about your relationship—but Ryomen Sukuna? He still looks happy, still completely unbothered. Like he lives for this. Which, you suppose, he does.

His arm never leaves your shoulder as you stand to shake hands with the Vogue team, his thumb still brushing absentminded circles against your skin. And just as you think you can finally slink away into the background, done with all the attention, Ryomen Sukuna pulls you right back in.

“Babe, c’mon.” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your temple. “Stay for the photoshoot.”

You blink. “What?”

“The shoot. They’re doing my Olympic feature photoshoot now.” He grins like he already knows how this will go. “Hang around for a bit.”

Your eyes narrow. “I thought this part was just you?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you need me here?”

“Moral support.” he says with a teasing smirk. “Also, you look really cute today, and I need you to stand there and be hot while I take photos.”

You gawk. “My love…..”

“What?” He shrugs, pulling you even closer as he starts walking toward the set. “I’m serious. Just stand off to the side, babe. I’ll behave.”

You have exactly zero trust in that promise. But you sigh and let him tug you along anyway. Because at the end of the day, you can’t say no to him. You never could. Not then and certainly not now. That’s just how much you loved the man.

So you do stay. But you try your hardest to stay out of the way. This is just for him, and only for him. You shouldn’t meddle. This isn’t for you. You do not want to get involved. So you make sure he sees you but sees you preoccupied, as you take food from the snack pile and coffee from the coffee machine.

The photoshoot setup is expansive. There were grand lighting rigs, enormous backdrops, a team of stylists fussing over Sukuna’s hair and clothes. He’s already swapped his casual attire for his Japan national team uniform, crisp and iconic in its red and white.

And good god, you were stunned.

He looks obscenely good, even better than normal.

You were just hypnotized.

Like, you can definitely say that it's an actual deity-tier sort of beauty. Tall and lean, the muscles in his arms and thighs practically sculpted. His sharp features and dark tattoos look even more striking against the stark white backdrop. And the way he carries himself. It was that dangerous, unbothered confidence that had the photographers practically swooning as much as you were already.

You stand quietly off to the side, as you stuff yourself with snacks. You were doing your best to stay unnoticed and so far so good. But the moment Sukuna locks eyes with you from across the room, in the middle of his solo shoot, you already know you’re already fucked.

Because he grins. That stupid, sharp, predatory grin.

And you just know something is going to happen.

Because, you know that look on his face.

He’s about to pull some bullshit.

“Alright, Sukuna — tilt your chin up a bit. Perfect, perfect — can we get some more intensity in those scarlet eyes?”

He obliges easily, shifting his stance. For a few moments, you think you’re in the clear. Maybe he’ll actually behave. Maybe he’ll just get through his shoot without doing anything that would just throw you off your horses.

“Hey.” Sukuna suddenly calls out — loud enough for the entire set to hear. His gaze zeroes in on you. “Can she come here real quick?”

Your stomach drops.

The entire team turns to look at you.

Your soul leaves your body.

“I swear to god…..” you hiss, mortified. “No—”

“C’mon, babe.” he grins. “Just real quick. Just one picture.”

The photographer, looking intrigued, asks, “Wait — are you talking about her?”

“Yeah. Of course I’m talking about her.” Sukuna says smoothly. “That’s my girl.”

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

You try to melt into the floor. “My love, no—”

“Babe, come on.” he says, mockingly sweet, “I thought you were here for moral support? Come on, just one picture. I won’t even ask them to include it in the spread.”

The team just absolutely loves what’s happening right now. They’re already whispering to each other, eyes lighting up with interest. One of the assistants, who was clearly a hopeless romantic, suddenly gasps, “Oh my god, can we get her in a couple of shots?”

“No, no, no you don’t have to.” you stammer, mortified. “I-I’m not part of the shoot—”

“You are now, babe.” Sukuna smirks, already striding over to grab your hand.

“My love, I’m not even— I didn’t sign anything—”

“Babe, relax.” he murmurs, tugging you right into the center of the set like it’s nothing. “You’re not doing a solo shoot. Just stand next to me. That’s it.”

The photographer, gleeful, immediately jumps in: “Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes. Let’s do a few couple shots. Just casual. We can get a few ‘power couple’ frames, I love this.”

“No, please, it’s not fair to you all or him.” you say, panicked. “It’s his shoot, I’m not supposed to—”

Sukuna grins down at you. “C’mon, babe. What’s one photo?”

You glare. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He tugs you even closer. “C’mon, let me show off my pretty girlfriend a little. Please?”

“…I hate you so much.”

The next twenty minutes are the most unhinged photoshoot of your life.

It starts simple. Ryomen Sukuna standing tall in his Olympic uniform, with you just casually next to him. He’s still smug and composed, while you try your best to look like you belong there. But then it escalates, as it always does with him.

“Can you put your arm around her waist?” the photographer asks.

Sukuna immediately complies, almost too gleefully, you might add, as he was pulling you flush against his side, his arm curling snug around your lower back.

“Actually, can you lean down and nuzzle into her neck a bit? Just natural intimacy.”

You really could feel your soul just saying a hail mary and saying goodbye for good. Your Sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. His mouth brushes your temple, his nose drags against your skin, and he actually whispers in your ear: “Told you you’d be in this shoot, babe.”

“I hate you so much, like a lot. Right now.” you grit, cheeks burning.

“You love me, a lot. I can tell.” he grins. “Like look at that bright eyed love!”

“Can we get one with her in front of him? Like, you know, back to his chest?” The director suddenly says.

You barely have time to react before Sukuna’s already wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. His long fingers splay warmly across your stomach, deliberately making the pose look far too intimate.

The camera shutter goes crazy.

And then—the final blow from the director:

“Okay, for the last shot—Sukuna, can you kiss her?”

Your brain explodes. “WHAT—”

“Ohhh, I think I can.” Sukuna drawls, thrilled. “Hang on.”

“I swear to god, you can’t just—my love!”

Too late for any arguments, he’s made up his mind. His hand slides up to your jaw, his thumb tilting your chin just slightly. And then, without a hint of shame, he leans down and kisses you. Right there. On the set. With the cameras flashing like crazy.

It’s not even a small kiss. It’s full and lingering. It’s passionate and hot and burning. It was the type of kiss that only belongs to you two. Yet you don’t push him away or pull away. Instead, you let his hand cup the edge of your face, his mouth molds against yours, and you feel his stupid grin against your lips.

The photographer practically screams. “Oh my god, that was too good! That was just perfect!”

You finally part from him. But it took you a bit before you were back down to earth from the spellbound trip to love. “You are so annoying, I swear!”

“Babe.” he says, smug as hell. “I think we just sold out this magazine issue.”

“I’m going to kill you, that was too passionate! That’s just for us—"

“Please. You’re gonna frame these photos later.”

“Ugh, no I won’t!”

“You so will.”

And when the photos do come out, everything just shifts in the world. The entire internet loses its mind over Japan’s national volleyball ace and his head-over-heels-in-love girlfriend like he always is, you realize, miserably, that Ryomen Sukuna was absolutely right.

Because you do, in fact, frame one of the photos.

Well, almost all the photos you got.

And what does Ryomen Sukuna do?

He never shuts up about it.

══════════════════

epilogue

The group chat video call came in less than five minutes after the interview aired. You barely had time to process the fact that the clip of you and Sukuna had already exploded on social media — like a firestorm-level viral.

Your phone was pinging nonstop with texts, notifications, and Twitter mentions of people collectively losing their minds over “Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF” like it was the rom-com of the century. Like it was the most important trope out there.

And just when you thought you could quietly crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment…

Incoming Video Call: “Menaces + Nanami (we tolerate him)”

“Oh my god no—”

“Babe, answer it!” Sukuna grinned, already stretching his long arm to grab your laptop. “I need to see what they’re about to say.”

“Sukuna, I’m literally not ready for this shit—”

“You’re literally adorable, babe. Don’t worry!” Sukuna smirked, already clicking Accept. “Let me enjoy my W.”

The call connected. Chaos immediately erupted.

Gojo Satoru (Camera OFF): “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Geto Suguru (Camera ON):

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Nanami Kento (Camera ON):

“…Are you all seriously screaming?”

Itadori Yuuji (Camera ON):

“BROOOOOO THEY WENT SO HARD IN THAT INTERVIEW OH MY GODDDD!”

Fushiguro Megumi (Camera ON, Visibly Unamused):

“…I’m logging off.”

Gojo Satoru (Camera ON, Appearing Out of Nowhere):

“NO YOU’RE NOT, MEGUMI— OH MY GOD YOU TWO WERE INSANE.”

You immediately face planted onto the table, groaning. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“Babe, why? You were really cool!” Sukuna laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “This is literally my proudest moment.”

“Oh my god, this is just so—” You groaned.

“Bro. Bro, oh my god.” Itadori was crying. “Sukuna. The way you said ‘Her love. You guys heard that, right?’ I— I fell off my couch cheesing, bro. You haven’t changed!”

“RIGHT?!” Gojo practically screeched. “And then he was going like ‘I’ll get you employee of the month, babe.’ I almost died! This was so—I can’t even explain it!”

Sukuna was thriving. His grin stretched wide, his canines flashing. “Ayyyeeee, you finally got it Gojo! You got someone, so you understand right? You see how I held her down? Boyfriend of the year.”

“You really are, bro!”

“My love, stoppppp!” you wailed dramatically.

“Nah, babe. Let me cook from boyfriend to husband!”

“Okay but REAL TALK. [Your Name]. Explain to me why your head researcher just casually let you off work because his daughter’s a fan of Sukuna.Also, how the hell are there fans of Sukuna?” Geto Suguru says as he munches on his popcorn.

“Taking offense to that last part, Geto.”

“Hahaha, I don’t care!”

You groaned harder. “I really don’t know. But it worked. I mean, people are asking me for Sukuna’s autographs for their kids at the research facility.”

“No, cause that’s wild, actually.” Suguru laughed. “Your literal superior was like, ‘Get me his autograph and you can skip work.’ That’s insane. I wish I could do that.”

“Well you could had you gone to the same research dept as me.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna work there. Your deadlines are crazy.”

“Hey, my influence is really good for her right now!” Sukuna grinned, leaning into you smugly. “I’m basically her office’s MVP. They should name a telescope after me, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s not what I'm working on right now! That’s the other team!”

“Eh, same thing.”

“The Ryomen Sukuna Space Observatory, nice ring to it.” Gojo said dreamily. “Iconic.”

“Guys, really.”

“I would like to formally request to be excluded from this narrative.” Nanami Kento deadpans as he puts away his paperwork.

“Oh shut up, Kento. Are you still acting tsundere after all this time?” Gojo cackled. “You enjoyed it.”

“No. I did not.”

“Then why’d you text me ‘how did Sukuna–san improve in comedy? he’s hilarious.’ right after it aired?”

Nanami froze. “I did not do that—”

“YOU DID TOO!” Itadori gasped loudly. “I saw the receipts, senpai. You can’t just lie about that!”

“Lies.”

“Don’t deny it!”

“I will deny it, there’s no proof.”

“…Sukuna–senpai, I have to say, you being in love still after all this time really made me cringe.”

Gojo Satoru lost it. He almost fell off his chair, laughing. “That’s so—what the, that’s so—”

“See? People do cringe when you go lovey-dovey!” You tease him, and then laugh as you lean against him.

“Wow, didn’t know that’s your true feelings about me, babe.” Sukuna scoffed, faking offense as he playfully rolled his eyes. “No love for the Olympic boyfriend, huh?”

“You sounded like a sickeningly in love golden retriever, and it was disturbing.”

Sukuna snorted. “If I still had the privilege to order you one hundred laps, I would.”

“Hm, but you don’t.”

“All because you’re jealous. How’s your date yesterday? Bad like last time?”

Megumi recoiled like he’d been shot. “Senpai, that’s so—”

“Nahhh, I get it, Megs. Cause I’d be mad too if I was third-wheeling greatness like this, while I’m waiting on Cupid to give me luck.” Sukuna gestured grandly to you and himself. “It’s hard out here.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t be mad, bro. Just manifest your own [Your Name].”

“I swear to god, senpai.”

“Again, manifest. Hell, I’ll even help you. My sister’s into you—”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay but can we talk about how senpai just easily offers the autograph AND the video like it's nothing?” Yuuji enthusiastically says, smiling from ear to ear.

“REAL! Like, this is so crazy. ” Gojo gasped. “He just casually said ‘I’ll make your boss look like a hero, babe.’”

“Bro is so down bad, man.” Geto snickers, drinking his beer. “Everyone’s losing their shit everywhere.”

“And then he was like, ‘yeah don’t worry, I’ll help sign your paperwork.’’” Yuuji grows louder, more enthusiastic than before. “I can’t believe people are seeing it more closely like this. You’re a lucky lady, senpai!”

“Yeah, who can say they have such a long loving thriving relationship, no?” Gojo teases, as he leans on the screen. “LIke, people are jealous!”

“Guys, please!” you howled, your head hitting the table as your face turned scarlet. “PLEASE STOP—”

“SU-KU-NAAAAA–SENPAIIIIII!” Yuuji screamed, clapping. “You’re built differently, man. This is why you’re not bitchless!”

“This is why you follow in my footsteps, Itadori.” Sukuna laughs proudly. “You will only end your suffering if you follow me. That goes for you, Nanami, Fushiguro.”

“No thanks.” Nanami and Fushiguro say, almost at the same time.

“Nah, cause now that I think about it….my girl’s gonna expect me to do well too, Sukuna.” Gojo says, rubbing his chin. “That’s such a cruel move, Sukuna!”

“Hey, I love my girl as easily as breathing.” Sukuna raises his beer can, like cheers. He grins. “Good luck. I’m here if you need tips.”

“…The fact that this interview is already at 4 million views is baffling.” Nanami whispers as he looks at his phone. “It was just released an hour ago.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh yeah, it’s viral now.” Megumi deadpanned. “It’s already trending. Twitter’s obsessed with you two.”

“Yup, yup.” Itadori confirmed. “Hashtag ‘Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF’ is number one right now.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”

“Dead serious.”

“My love.” you whirled on him, horrified. “What did you do?”

Sukuna, entirely unbothered: “Won.”

“Bro, people are literally shipping you two like it’s a Netflix rom-com.” Gojo snickers, sighing. “I want mine to be like that.”

“Right?” Suguru agreed. “And they’re already calling you ‘The only loverboy to ever loverboy’ which is kinda crazy to say about Ryomen Sukuna.”

Yuuji sighed. “But it fits, don’t you think? He loves his girl.”

Sukuna beamed. “As they should.”

You were spiraling. “I can’t go back to work like this. They’re gonna tease me—”

“No, babe, you’re good.” Sukuna said smugly. “You literally got immunity. They’re too obsessed with me now.”

“OH MY GODDDD.”

“…So when exactly did you two sign up for a publicized rom-com?” Nanami asks.

“Bro, right?” Gojo laughed. “Next thing you know Sukuna’s proposing on live TV after winning gold.”

Sukuna gasped dramatically. “Wait. That’s fire, actually.”

“Hey, don’t you dare!” you screamed.

“Imagine it, though!” Gojo egged on. “He wins gold. Camera zooms in. Sukuna pulls you onto the court. Boom. Proposal.”

“Don’t give him ideas, Gojo Satoru!”

Geto cackles. “Nah, once you give Sukuna ideas and he likes it, he’s not gonna change his mind.”

“Write that down, bro!” Itadori gasped.

“Oh, I will!” Sukuna grinned.

“Ryomen Sukuna, I swear to god—”

“Hey, hey, slow down. That’s not my name.”

“I’m not stopping until you say you won’t do that.”

“Here me out, let me cook on this idea, like this is a really good idea. Come on!”

“No!”

1K notes · View notes

bucketsorbueckers · 4 days ago

Text

Paige Bueckers Day

Paige X Azzi

one shot - dual POV - 5.5K words

warnings: NONE. this is pure fluff. inspired loosely by spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine

Summary: They named a day after her. Put her face on a billboard. Turned her hometown into a headline. And still, in the hours before her first WNBA game, all Paige Bueckers can think about is the one person who said she wouldn’t be there—the only person she really wants to see in the crowd.

A/N: wrote this right after the announcement of paige bueckers day and literally couldn’t stop spiraling about how soft it could all be . i know azzi probably isn’t there today but in my delusional little brain? she is. she always is. also shoutout to the anon who asked if i’m capable of writing happy things—this is me trying. pls tell me if it counts <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The truth is, when she first heard the news, she didn’t think it was real.

KK had sent her a text. No preamble. Just a link and a blurry screenshot of a city proclamation that maybe, maybe, had her face on it.

She assumed it was a joke. One of those strange internet jokes she was always just slightly outside of. Designed to stir people up or make them laugh, depending on which corner of the internet you landed in.

But the longer she stared at the post—and the verified seal on the city’s website—the harder it became to deny that, somehow, this was very real.

Her hometown, Hopkins, Minnesota, was renaming itself for one day.

To Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

There was even a line in the official proclamation—something about athletic excellence and community pride—followed by the words: “Hereby declared: Paige Bueckers Day.”

She read the line twice, then once more, because it felt like her brain had forgotten how to process the English language.

Welcome to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

It was the kind of thing that sounded like a prank. Or a punishment. Possibly both.

She called KK.

“Tell me this is fake,” she said, skipping hello entirely.

KK didn’t even try not to laugh. “Pack your bags! We’re going to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, girl.”

Paige sat down on the edge of her bed, like maybe that would steady her. “I haven’t lived there in years.”

“You don’t have to live there to belong to it,” KK said, voice taken in a slightly more serious tone. “They’re proud of you.”

She was quiet for a second. “They renamed the whole town.”

“Only for one day.”

“Still,” she said, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re playing your first pro game in Minnesota. They wanted to do something special.”

Paige stared at the wall, at the framed photo of a lake that could’ve been anywhere. “A gift would’ve been fine.”

KK laughed again, softer this time. “You’re such a freak about this stuff.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“You are. You deflect. You downplay. It’s, like, your love language or something.”

Paige didn’t answer, just pulled her knees up and rested her chin on top of them. Her new apartment was quiet in the way new places always were—climate-controlled and just a little too clean, like no one had ever really lived inside it.

“They’re putting up signs,” KK added. “Like, real ones. Metal. Highway font. I think there’s even a parade.”

“Oh my God.”

“Just don’t wear sunglasses and a hoodie like you’re in witness protection, okay? Let people be happy for you.”

Paige sighed and let herself fall back onto the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow.

She was proud. Of course she was. Proud and grateful and maybe a little in disbelief that it had all led to this. Her first pro game. In Minnesota, of all places. In a stadium that used to feel too big for her dreams and now felt too small to hold them.

Still, there was something terrifying about being celebrated like this. Like you were already the person they thought you were. Like there wasn’t still so much to prove.

“I’ll try,” she said finally.

“Try harder,” KK said, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll save you a corn dog.”

“You think this is the State Fair?”

“I think it’s Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, and anything can happen.”

Paige smiled despite herself, then hung up and laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

It was early. The Dallas skyline still dark and soft around the edges, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only person awake in the world. Azzi was probably still asleep.

She’d never been a morning person. Not even at UConn, when early lifts and bleary-eyed conditioning were part of the daily ritual. Paige used to wake first and sit in the stillness for a few minutes before nudging Azzi’s shoulder, watching her groan dramatically and pull the covers over her head like they were shielding her from the cruelty of time.

Paige glanced at her phone, then set it back down without unlocking it.

She wasn’t going to text. Not yet. Not when Azzi had just gotten back from vacation the night before and finally had the rare luxury of a morning without alarms or obligations.

Still, she missed her. In that quiet, persistent way that didn’t knock you over so much as settle in—background noise that never really faded. It had only been a few weeks—three, technically—but it felt longer.

At UConn, they’d been wrapped into each other’s lives so completely, it had been hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Same practices. Same flights. Same off days spent curled up on the couch, a half-watched show playing as their legs tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Back then, distance had been theoretical. Something that happened to other people. Now it lived in time zones and FaceTimes and the way Azzi’s voice cut in and out on bad WiFi. It felt like they were running parallel. Close enough to see each other’s outlines, but just far enough apart not to touch.

Paige rolled onto her side, her hand brushing the place on the bed where Azzi wasn’t. It was one thing to miss someone in theory. It was another to fall asleep reaching for them, and wake up with nothing but sheets.

With a sigh, she opened her phone, ignoring the flood of texts about the latest announcement. The headlines, the reposts, the dizzy blur of congratulations from people.

At the top of the list was one from Dijonai. Three minutes ago. She guessed no one in Dallas could sleep.

they really gave me the teammate that’s got cities renaming themselves 😭 couldn’t just give me a hooper, huh? had to be a whole cultural moment lmk when the parade is. proud of you fr.🫶🏽

Paige snorted, a real laugh catching in her throat before she could stop it. And then her eyes dropped to the only pinned message.

Azzi.

Last text: 12:03 a.m. sorry babe. its been an impossible day. call you tomorrow. love you

Paige read it twice, even though she’d already memorized the shape of it. The lowercase softness, the familiar apology. She knew Azzi meant it, knew she would call, just like she always did. But still. It stung in that quiet way absence always did. Not sharp, just dull and constant, like pressing on a bruise to make sure it still hurt.

She didn’t text back. Not yet.

Then she scrolled up. Past the memes, the check-ins, the goodnights. Until she found the one she kept reading even though she already knew it by heart.

The third, or maybe fourth, apology Azzi had sent since calling to say she wouldn’t be at Paige’s first WNBA game:

i hate this. i really do. i just can’t say no. not this time. it’s a huge opportunity. and if i skip it, it might not come around again. i’m sorry. i wanted to be there more than anything.

Paige had read it in the middle of Trader Joe’s. Standing in front of a pyramid of honeycrisp apples, her cart half-full and suddenly too heavy. She’d stared at the screen for what felt like forever, then set her phone face-down and walked out without buying a single thing.

She’d told Azzi it was okay. That she understood. That she was proud of her. And all of that was true. It was just also true that it wrecked her a little.

Not because Azzi was choosing something else. But because they were finally learning how to choose themselves. How to want things separately. How to grow without growing apart.

She closed her eyes.

It was so much easier when they moved in tandem—same goals, same team, same mornings and nights stitched together. Now everything was a little more delicate. A little more sacred. Because the love was still there. But the space between them was starting to mean something, too.

She groaned, rolling over in bed, looking out the curtains she had left open. The city lights twinkling as the sky warmed. The morning breaking through.

She missed Azzi. In the soft, persistent way that lingered in empty spaces—in the quiet before practice, in the stretch of her own bed, in the apples she never bought. But she knew things were fine.

They were Paige and Azzi.

Even with states between them, even with calls that came too late and texts that came too early, even with the ache that never really went away. They were still them.

And that was enough for Paige Bueckers.

It always had been.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

With the game opener days away, practice had become more intense. Not in a bad way, just in the way it does when you know everything’s about to count a little more.

The drills ran sharper. The passes came faster. Everyone moved like they were trying to outrun nerves without admitting they had any.

And Paige felt it too. In the tightening of her chest before scrimmage. In the way she tied her shoes a little slower, a little tighter, like maybe that would help her stay grounded.

She wasn’t scared, exactly.

Just… aware.

Aware that all of this—this new chapter, this team, this new city she called home—was real now. No longer a thing she could imagine or plan for. It was happening. With or without the comfort of the familiar.

And ready or not, she’d have to step into it.

She was the last one off the court, staring out at the paint like it held the answer to some impossible question.

Nai came and stood beside her, arms crossed loosely over her chest, gaze following Paige’s like they might both see the same thing if they looked long enough.

“What’re we lookin’ at?” she asked, voice low, like she didn’t want to scare the thoughts away.

Paige shifted her weight, one sneaker scuffing lightly against the hardwood. “Just thinkin’.”

Nai tilted her head, a rare softness flickering across her features. “You nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Paige shrugged. “Not nervous. Just… awake.”

Nai laughed, low and scratchy. “Girl, I’ve been awake since you showed up with a whole damn ZIP code named after you.”

Paige groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna remind you daily. Until they take the signs down. Might steal one, hang it in the locker room.”

She sat beside her on the court, stretching out long legs, unbothered.

“You’re allowed to feel weird about it,” Nai said after a beat. “Big things feel weird.”

Paige let the silence sit for a second before answering. “It’s just a lot, I guess. And I’m used to having someone around who knows what to say.”

Nai nodded, not pushing. Just sitting with her.

Then: “Azzi?”

Paige glanced over. “She can’t make it.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But she believes in me. That helps.”

Nai nudged her shoulder. “I believe in you too, Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please stop.”

“Absolutely not.”

And for the first time that morning, the knot in her chest loosened, just a little. Because maybe this new life didn’t have to look like the old one to still be good.

After practice, there was a wave of notifications on her phone. Mentions, texts, a new batch of graphics with her face on them.

But only one that mattered.

One missed call. Azzi Fudd.

Paige had to physically stop herself from abandoning all her stuff in the locker room just to call her back. Instead, she moved on autopilot: packed her bag, got through treatment, said goodbye to her teammates (who had cracked one too many jokes about Paige Bueckers, Minnesota), and made her way to the parking lot.

As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, she exhaled. Long and slow, like she’d been holding her breath all day and didn’t realize it.

She didn’t even start the car. Just pulled her phone from the cupholder, the screen lighting up in her hand like it knew where she was going. She hit Azzi’s name and held the phone to her ear, already smiling.

It rang once. Then again. And then:

“Paige, hey,” came the voice she’d been waiting for, soft and warm, and instantly home.

Paige leaned her head back against the seat. “Hey,” she breathed. “You called.”

“Of course I did,” Azzi said. “You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Paige’s throat tightened. “No. I just—miss you.”

There was a pause, and then Azzi said it in the way she always did. Gentle. Certain.

“I miss you too.” And just like that, the space between them felt smaller. Not gone. But less like a canyon and more like a bridge.

“Now,” Azzi said, voice curling at the edges with a smile Paige could hear, “how was practice?”

They slipped easily into their rhythm. The one they’d built across dorm rooms and hotel hallways, FaceTimes in airports and calls stretched out across time zones. A back-and-forth that felt less like catching up and more like coming home.

When the conversation lulled, Paige could hear the soft rustle of sheets, the subtle shift of weight. Azzi settling into bed on the other end of the line.

“So,” she said, drawing it out like she already knew the effect it would have. Paige could hear the smirk without needing to see it. “Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, huh?”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Azzi said, absolutely delighted. “And I’m never letting that go.”

“It’s for one day,” Paige muttered.

“Still counts.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s very on brand.”

“I’m serious. The mayor cried.”

Azzi laughed, the sound low and lovely and a little sleepy. “Of course he did. You’re a hometown hero. Let people love you, P.”

Paige went quiet for a second, the praise sitting warm in her chest.

She closed her eyes and imagined Azzi there with her—knees tucked to her chest in the passenger seat, hair still damp from a shower, reaching over to lace their fingers together.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered.

“I know,” Azzi said. “I do too.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

It was two days before the game, and Azzi had been a bit…quiet.

Not distant, exactly. When they talked, it still felt like them. Familiar and warm in that way nothing else was. But the responses came slower. The calls shorter. They hadn’t FaceTimed since earlier in the week, which wasn’t like them.

Paige told herself not to read into it. That people got busy. That schedules conflicted. That even the people who knew you best were allowed to disappear for a day or two.

Still, something buzzed under her skin. Not worry, not quite. Just that quiet hum of noticing.

She’d sent a photo earlier. Something dumb from practice. Normally, Azzi would’ve replied within minutes. With something that made her laugh. With a heart.

Instead: nothing. Just the message, sitting there, delivered but unread.

She locked her phone, shoved it deep in her bag, and tried to let it go.

But the truth was, she missed her. Missed her in the specific, impossible way that made everything feel a little dimmer. Like she was walking around in half-light, just waiting for Azzi’s voice to flip the switch back on.

“Didn’t know Paige Bueckers brooded,” Nai said, eyeing her from across the locker room.

“I’m not brooding,” Paige argued, her voice landing a little sharper than she meant. She caught herself, exhaled. “Just…thinking.”

“Pretty much the same thing,” Nai said with a shrug, tugging her hoodie over her head.

Paige leaned back against the bench, letting her shoulders drop. “Was it tough?” she asked after a beat. “The first few years…for you and Lyss?”

Nai didn’t answer right away. She sat down beside her, elbows resting on her knees.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “It was. Different cities. Missed calls. One of us always waking up while the other was crashing.”

Paige nodded, like her body already understood it even if her heart didn’t want to.

“But we figured it out,” Nai went on. “Not all at once. Just…piece by piece. It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about showing up. Even when it sucked. Especially when it sucked.

Paige looked at her. “How’d you know it was worth it?”

Nai cracked a smile. “Because I’d rather miss her than not love her.”

The words landed heavy and easy all at once, like something that had been lived through instead of just said. Paige swallowed.

Paige glanced at her. “That ever scare you?”

Nai shrugged. “Sure. But love’s never been about convenience.”

Paige sighed, leaning back against the locker.

“I guess I just hate that she’s missing this,” she said quietly. “Even if I understand why.”

“You can hold both,” Nai said. “Doesn’t make you ungrateful. Just makes you human.”

Paige nodded, grateful for the wisdom. They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need filling.Then Nai nudged her knee.

“Anyway, stop brooding. It’s messing up your aura.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Nai chuckled, standing up and stretching. “I’m just sayin’,” she said. “Sometimes the best shit shows up when you’re not lookin’ for it.”

And then, she was gone.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Paige woke up on Paige Bueckers Day—which was still a sentence that didn’t feel real—with one thought running through her head:

She was about to play in her first WNBA game.

It was the thing she’d dreamed about since she was a kid. Not just in the casual, it-would-be-cool kind of way. But in the way you build your whole life around. The way you say no to normal things, and yes to everything that hurts a little, because someday it might be worth it.

And now someday was here.

She lay still for a moment, her heart already beating a little too fast, as if her body knew what the day meant before her brain had caught up. The dream hadn’t vanished, it had just changed shape. From posters on her bedroom wall to press conferences and shootarounds and teammates with names she used to scream at the TV.

From something imagined to something real. And weirdly, the real part was the scariest.

Because once you’re in it, once it’s yours, you don’t get to chase it anymore. You just have to live it.

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone and blinked at the brightness, thumbing through a few unread texts.

The newest was from DC.

Her name was on a billboard.

An actual, honest-to-God billboard. Bold letters, dramatic lighting, probably wedged somewhere between a life insurance ad and a reminder to buckle up. She hadn’t seen it in person yet—just the photo Nai sent, which was blurry and aggressively zoomed in, like she’d taken it from the passenger seat of a car moving too fast.

The text just read:

u famous famous now

Paige stared at it for a long beat, then let the phone fall back onto the sheets beside her.

Some days, all of this still felt like a story she’d made up as a kid. Except now, other people were reading it too. Out loud. On billboards.

She sighed and picked the phone back up, thumb dragging lazily across the screen until she found it.

A message from Azzi.

good morning, superstar. sorry i missed your call last night. i was wiped. but i’m thinking about you. a lot. today’s huge. proud doesn’t even cover it. love you.

Paige read it once. Then again, slower. She smiled, small and private, like the kind you save just for yourself.

Proud doesn’t even cover it.

She let that settle in her chest for a moment before typing out a reply. Something short. Something honest.

miss you. love you. wish you were here.

She hovered for a second before hitting send.

And then she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, planted her feet on the floor, and stepped into the kind of day she’d been dreaming about her whole life.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The bus ride to the arena was loud. Jittery voices bounced around the aisle. Half nerves, half adrenaline. The kind of energy that couldn’t sit still.

Paige sat near the window, headphones in but nothing playing. Just the hum of white noise, her own breath tucked in between.

She was trying to focus.Trying not to think about how she hadn’t heard from Azzi since last night. No text. No call. Just silence where there was usually something. And maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was travel, or timing, or just one of those things. But it still found its way under her skin.

She finally hit play on a song, turning the world down a notch, and stared out the window. Trying to remember the girl who used to dream of this moment. And trying not to wonder why it suddenly felt like something was missing.

Beside her, she felt someone's presence, turning to find DC.

“G’mornin’, Bueckers,” she said, dragging the word out like a tease. “Big day.”

Paige pulled one headphone out. “You don’t say.”

Nai leaned back, one arm slung over the seat. “You got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The I’m not nervous but also haven’t blinked in four minutes look.”

Paige huffed a laugh, soft but real. “I’m fine.”

Nai didn’t push. Just leaned back, stretched her legs out like she owned the whole row.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few beats before Nai said, offhand, “Funny thing about quiet days.” Paige glanced over. Nai didn’t look at her. “They don’t always stay that way.”

Then she yawned, put her hood fully up, and returned to her seat by Lyss.

Azzi’s POV

Azzi checked her phone again, even though the time hadn’t changed in the last thirty seconds.

The plane was starting its descent, and her stomach did that thing it always did during turbulence, flipped, like it wasn’t entirely sure about gravity.

But if she was being honest, turbulence was easy compared to keeping secrets.

She was terrible at keeping them. Especially from Paige.

They talked every day. Multiple times. Sometimes about nothing—what they ate, what their teammates said, which reality show they were secretly watching without the other—but sometimes about everything. The big stuff. The heavy stuff. The I don’t know how to do this without you kind of stuff.

Which made this particular silence feel loud.

She’d texted last night, told her she was proud. Told her she was thinking about her. Both true. Both incomplete.

What she hadn’t said was that she was sitting on a flight confirmation and a suitcase she packed two weeks ago.

Paige thought she wasn’t coming. Azzi hated that part.

But the surprise had become its own kind of promise. A way to show up when it mattered, even if it wasn’t how they used to. No more shared hotel rooms or warm-up playlists made for two.

Just this: effort and timing and showing up in ways that took more planning than they used to, but meant more, too.

The plane dipped lower, and she pressed her forehead to the window, watching the city come into view, familiar and strange at the same time.

Somewhere down there, Paige was probably staring out her own window. Probably thinking too much. Probably trying not to.

Azzi smiled, small and quiet.

She has no idea.

Paige’s POV

The Target Center.

She’d been here a hundred times, maybe more. But never like this. Never as a player.

Always a fan. A kid in the stands, craning her neck to see past grown-ups, gripping nachos in one hand and possibility in the other. She knew the echo of the place. The way it swallowed sound and spit it back louder. She knew how the court looked from every angle except this one.

Now she was walking through the tunnel, jersey on, sneakers laced tight, her name stitched across her back like it had always belonged there.

It hadn’t hit her fully. Not yet. But it was starting to.

She wasn’t thinking about the billboard. Or the headline. Or the fact that somewhere out there, people were calling this Paige Bueckers Day like that was a normal thing to say.

She was thinking about the game. About the first possession. The first pass. The rhythm of the offense. Where her feet needed to be and how fast she could get them there.

There was a small part of her, tucked somewhere under all that focus, that still ached for the familiar shape of Azzi beside her. But it was quieter now. Sort of.

Warmups were underway. And what started with shaky knees, hands that wouldn’t quite settle, was slowly morphing into something steadier. The ball hit her palm just right. The court stopped feeling like a stage and started feeling like home again.

Her body knew what to do. Her mind was catching up.

The nerves didn’t disappear. They just shifted. Got quieter. Folded themselves into her rhythm. And she focused. Because today wasn’t just a game. It was the first day of the rest of the life she always wanted.

Azzi’s POV

Her heart thudded.

That old, familiar rhythm she’d never been able to shake.

Paige, Paige, Paige.

She grinned as she climbed the stairs of the Target Center, hood down, hair pulled back like she had nothing to hide, even though she absolutely did. There was something electric about walking in without Paige knowing. Like slipping into a scene before your cue.

The ticket had shown up in her inbox two nights ago, sent from Dijonai with a single message: Got you. Front row. She’s gonna lose it.

Azzi could only hope.

The man at the security checkpoint scanned her ticket, gave her a polite nod. “You’re good. Down the hallway to your left. Courtside.”

Azzi walked slowly, her hand brushing the railing as she went. She adjusted the jersey as she walked. BUECKERS across her back. Not subtle. Not even close. But subtle hadn’t felt right today.

She’d ordered it two weeks ago, expedited the shipping like a lunatic, even though she told herself she wasn’t going to wear it. It felt too obvious. Too loud.

And then today happened. And there was no version of this where she didn’t want Paige to see it.

The hallway opened into light and noise and movement, and she stepped out into it like she’d crossed a threshold. The court was already alive, players jogging through layup lines, shoes squeaking, the low thrum of music pulsing under it all.

And then, she saw her. Paige.

Not just Paige the way the world saw her—face on billboards, name in lights, the kind of talent that demanded attention—but her Paige. Hair pulled back. Jaw set. Moving with the kind of focus that made everything else feel blurry.

And for a second, Azzi forgot how to be casual. Forgot how to sit. Forgot how to breathe normally in a room where Paige Bueckers existed like that, on fire, and also entirely in control of it.

She found her seat, second row, directly behind the bench. Lowered herself slowly like she was afraid to make a sound. And watched.

Paige didn’t see her at first. Which made it easier to look. To really look.

She looked like everything Azzi had ever believed in. Everything she’d ever rooted for. The kind of person you hoped the world wouldn’t break. And somehow, despite the spotlight, the pressure, the weight of expectations that would’ve flattened anyone else, Paige had made it through.

Achieving everything she ever wanted, and still keeping her goodness intact.

Azzi’s chest tightened. The pride of it. The ache of loving someone so much you could barely sit still in your own skin.

Azzi had just been pulled into a conversation with a younger girl who had recognized her, eyes wide as she asked about playing in college, about shooting form, about favorite sneakers. Azzi had leaned in, smiling, answering every question.

She wasn’t facing the court when it happened. But she felt it. That pull. That electricity she knew too well. She turned, slowly, and there Paige was. Staring straight at her.

Azzi’s heart jumped, then took off sprinting. She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. Couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t have wanted to.

And on Paige’s face: that flicker of surprise, like the world had just tilted an inch and she was trying to find her balance again. That heartbeat behind the eyes.

Azzi didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. She just held her gaze.

Happy Paige Bueckers Day.

Paige’s POV

A water break was finally called.

She grabbed her towel and drifted toward the sideline, eyes skimming the lower rows of the arena. Not searching, just taking it in. The blur of signs and navy and white. People wearing her jersey. Not unusual. Not today.

And then her gaze snagged on one.

A girl in the second row, just behind the bench, chatting with a younger fan. Baggy pants. BUECKERS stitched in bold across her back.

Paige didn’t think much of it at first. People wore her jersey now. That was still weird, sure, but not surprising. Not today.

But there was something about her. The way she sat. The way she tilted her head mid-conversation. A familiarity Paige couldn’t quite place but couldn’t shake either.

Her heart moved before her brain did.

Azzi.

No. That wasn’t possible. Azzi had told her she couldn’t make it. That the timing didn’t work. That she was proud, but far away. And yet…

Her heart thudded, like it was screaming: You know this.

And then the girl turned.

Paige’s heart stopped. Or stuttered. Or maybe just launched itself into her throat.

Azzi, courtside. In her jersey. Sitting like she had every right to be there. Which, to be fair, she did. But Paige had been so sure she wasn’t coming.

For a second, Paige didn’t move. Just stood there, towel in hand, caught between disbelief and something else she didn’t have words for yet.

And then Azzi smiled. Not a small, polite smile. Not the kind you give for cameras or fans or polite conversation. No, her whole face lit up, bright and sure and unapologetically happy to see her.

It was, objectively, the prettiest smile Paige had ever seen.

And for one terrifying second, she genuinely didn’t know how she didn’t sprint across the court, hurdle the row of folding chairs, and pull her into the kind of hug that knocked them both over.

“Told you quiet days don’t always stay quiet,” Nai murmured, bumping Paige’s shoulder as she passed.

Paige turned, eyes narrowed. “You knew?”

Nai raised both brows, unapologetic. “Helped.”

Paige stared at her. “You helped her do this?”

Nai grinned. “Watching you mope all week was painful. But this?” She gestured toward the stands, where Azzi was still seated like she’d always belonged there. “So worth it.”

Paige shook her head, trying not to smile. Trying harder not to look again. Failing completely.

Warmups ended, and Paige knew she probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help but follow the invisible string that always pulled her to Azzi, no matter the distance, no matter the day.

She walked straight toward her.

She knew the arena was watching. Cameras. Fans. Commentators already sharpening their angles. Some would call it unprofessional. Say she wasn’t locked in. Use the moment to prop up whatever criticism they’d already decided on.

But if she was being honest? She didn’t care. Because Azzi was here. She was here. And that mattered more than whatever version of her someone might try to write later.

Paige reached her, stepped into the space like it had been waiting for her, and wrapped her arms around the love of her life. She buried her face in Azzi’s neck, let herself breathe.

“Az.”

Just one word. An exhale. A prayer. A thank-you so full it shook in her chest.

Azzi held her tighter. Didn't say anything right away. Didn't need to.The world could wait. Just for a second.

She smiled against Paige’s skin the way she had since she was sixteen. Soft, hidden, private.The kind of smile that belonged to them and no one else.

Paige and Azzi.

Always circling back. Always finding each other, like gravity had opinions. Like the universe held a soft spot for their kind of love and girls who didn’t know how to stay away.

There was never a moment where they said we’ll always choose each other. They just kept doing it.

“Should you be doing this?” Azzi whispered, lips brushing just beneath her ear.

And Paige laughed, low and unapologetic. “It’s Paige Bueckers Day, baby. Pretty sure that means I can do whatever I want.”

#pazzi fics #azzi x paige #paige x azzi #pazzi

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favefandomimagines · 3 months ago

Text

Now That We Don’t Talk (j.b)

Summary: now that we don’t talk…

AN: this is a long one boys and girls and nonbinary friends

Alternate Ending

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

"Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight."

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

“You good?”

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

“No.”

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Split From Joe Burrow.

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

Joe hadn’t been looking for it.

He had just finished practice, his body sore, his mind exhausted. The locker room was buzzing with post-practice energy—teammates joking around, music blasting from someone’s speaker. He pulled his phone out, scrolling through notifications absentmindedly, until—

There it was.

A headline from E! News, pushed to his phone by an algorithm that clearly didn’t give a damn about how much he didn’t want to see this.

"Y/N Goes Public with New Romance: A Red Carpet Debut with Superman Star David Corenswet!"

Joe froze, his thumb hovering over the screen.

He shouldn’t open it.

He should swipe it away, pretend he never saw it.

But his hands had a mind of their own.

The article loaded, the first thing he saw was a photo.

A picture of her.

Y/N, sitting in the back of a sleek black car, wearing a stunning gown that looked like it had been made just for her. Her hair was styled perfectly, her makeup soft but radiant. She looked beautiful. Effortless. Happy.

And beside her—him.

David Corenswet. The new Superman. A literal superhero.

He was leaned in close, whispering something in Y/N’s ear. And Y/N?

She was smiling.

Not just any smile. That smile. The kind Joe hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. The kind that lit up a room. The kind that used to be reserved for him.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.

A sharp pang shot through his chest, something bitter settling in the back of his throat.

Y/N and the actor had revealed their relationship on the red carpet of her new movie.

A premiere. Something Joe had never gotten to do with her.

Because of football.

Because he was always too busy.

Because he never made the time.

And now? This man was there. Supporting her. Walking beside her with his hand on her waist, proudly standing by her side, looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

Like she deserved. Joe never gave her that.

He had been too caught up in his world, too focused on his career, always thinking there would be time later.

But later never came.

Because he had lost her.

And now, she had moved on. She had forgotten him.

Joe felt something tighten in his chest, a slow, suffocating kind of realization creeping in.

She’s happy without me.

The words echoed in his head, loud and unforgiving.

The article went on about how they had been spotted together for weeks, how David had been at the premiere, supporting Y/N like a real partner should. It even mentioned how the two of them looked completely in love.

Joe couldn’t read anymore.

He turned his phone over, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor of the locker room.

Around him, the noise of his teammates laughing, talking, living their lives carried on. Like nothing had just shattered inside of him.

“Yo, Burrow, you good?”

Joe blinked up at Ja’Marr, who was standing in front of him, helmet in hand, brows raised.

Joe forced a shrug, masking it. Because what was he supposed to say?

"No, actually. My ex, the love of my life, just soft-launched her new relationship with Superman, and I think I might be having a breakdown."

So instead, he exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Ja’Marr smirked. “Man, get some sleep. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Joe let out a humorless chuckle.

Ghosts were easier to deal with. This?

This was watching the person he once thought he’d spend forever with, moving on as if he never existed.

And the worst part? She deserved it.

She deserved someone who would show up for her. Someone who wouldn’t make excuses. Someone who could love her out loud, the way he never could.

Still, the realization left a sour taste in his mouth.

Because no matter how much she had moved on—Joe hadn’t.

And now? He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

#imagine #imagines #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow

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gottencents · 4 months ago

Text

WAIT - Ningning Yizhuo

pairing. idol!ningning x streamer!reader

synopsis. while streaming, y/n is interrupted by ningning, who enters off-camera in an eye-catching Versace outfit before heading to a fashion show. y/n can’t stop complimenting her.

It was a chill Friday afternoon, and Y/N was streaming, relaxing with her fans while chatting about her week. Her stream was buzzing with activity, the usual comments flowing in: “You look so pretty today!” “Where’s your new outfit from?”“When’s the next vlog coming out?”

Y/N was answering questions while casually scrolling through the chat, trying to keep up with all the comments. Her room was softly lit, the mood casual, and she was wearing an oversized hoodie, the kind that looked effortlessly cool and cozy.

“Okay, okay, so I’ve been trying to work on a new video idea... What do you guys think of a day in the life?” Y/N asked, glancing at her chat.

The chat exploded in excitement, as they always loved her vlogs. But before Y/N could respond, the door to her room creaked open.

“Hey, I’m leaving! Just wanted to show off my outfit before I go,” Ningning’s voice came from just off-camera, a bit excited but soft, almost like she didn’t want to interrupt.

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Ningning! You look so cute today!” she exclaimed, just as Ningning walked into view, her outfit immediately catching everyone’s attention.

Ningning was wearing a sleek, black Versace dress with a fitted waist and bold golden accents that made her look like she just stepped off a runway. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she wore minimal makeup that highlighted her natural beauty.

She did a little spin for the camera. “What do you think? It’s for a Versace fashion show later today,” she said, clearly excited but also trying to act like it was no big deal.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her voice practically dripping with admiration. “Oh my god, Ningning. You are literally a goddess. Like, I’m not even joking right now, you look stunning.” She leaned closer to the camera, grinning. “Pretty sure you just broke the internet, babe.”

Ningning froze for a second, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink as she awkwardly laughed, trying to brush off the compliment. “Y/N, please,” she muttered, covering her face with one hand. “You’re embarrassing me.”

But Y/N wasn’t about to stop. “No, seriously! You are absolutely gorgeous. Like, are you sure you’re not a real-lifeangel? I’m convinced you were sent from the future to remind us how to look good,” she said, grinning at the camera like a proud partner.

Ningning laughed nervously, glancing off-camera as if she was hoping for a distraction. “Okay, okay, stop! You’re making me all flustered,” she said, trying to laugh it off, but her face was flushed pink.

The chat was losing it, fans typing “Relationship goals!” “Aww, Y/N’s so whipped for Ningning!” and “I love how she’s so supportive, I can’t.” Some even started sending heart emojis and asking, “Are you two dating?”

Y/N, not even realizing how much she was gushing, kept the compliments coming. “No, seriously, Ningning, you’re sopretty. I’m like, actually jealous. If I had an ounce of that confidence, I would—”

Ningning groaned, covering her ears like she couldn’t hear anymore. “Okay, Y/N, stop it! I’m gonna die from all the compliments,” she said, laughing but clearly flustered now. “You’re making me look like a mess right now!”

Y/N smiled widely, unfazed. “But I’m just speaking the truth, babe. You’re so pretty it should be illegal.” She winked at the camera. “Guys, am I wrong? I think we can all agree Ningning is, like, a walking magazine cover.”

Ningning’s face was now fully red, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, okay, I’m going to be late!” she said, grabbing her bag and making a move to head out. “But seriously, Y/N, stop or I’m not coming back here.”

Y/N stood up from her chair, smiling widely. She walked off-camera, appearing in the doorway just as Ningning was about to leave.

“Fine, fine. But only because you’re leaving,” Y/N said, placing her hand on Ningning’s shoulder as if she were giving a final farewell. “You look beautiful, though. Always.”

Ningning looked down at Y/N, her expression softening. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, but there was a fondness in her tone. “You’re the best though. Don’t let the chat get to your head, okay?”

Y/N grinned, putting a hand over her heart. “No promises.”

The two exchanged a quick, sweet kiss before Ningning pulled away, now standing at the door. “I’ll be back later,” she said, with a wink. “Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone.”

Y/N blew her a kiss as Ningning turned to leave. “Have fun at the show, you runway queen!” she called out, her voice dripping with affection.

As Ningning left, Y/N returned to her seat, her smile still wide, and looked back at the chat, where the fans were losing their minds.

“They are SO cute together! Relationship goals for real.”

 “Did she just call her a runway queen?? I’m crying.”

 “Omg, Y/N is whipped for Ningning—look at the way she’s smiling after she left.”

 “Y/N literally can’t stop complimenting her, it’s so wholesome.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. I see what’s going on here. Yes, I love her, and no, we’re not dating—but do I wish we were? Maybe.”

liar she thought.

She grinned mischievously, raising an eyebrow at the camera. “Maybe one day you’ll see what I mean, though. She’s literally perfect.”

The chat went wild again, sending in thousands of heart and fire emojis. The comments flooded in:

“Go Y/N, get that girl!”

“I love their dynamic, it’s so cute.”

“Y/N’s literally in love, lol.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart full from the playful moment with Ningning. “Alright, enough of me being a simp for now,” she said, adjusting her mic and turning back to the chat. “But seriously, Ningning is amazing, and I’m not even sorry for hyping her up.”

The rest of the stream continued on as usual, but the fans couldn’t stop talking about the cute interaction. They had seen something that was undeniably special between Y/N and Ningning—a kind of bond that made everyone root for them.

#cents works #aespa #aespa x reader #ning yizhuo x reader #ningning x reader #aespa ningning #ning yizhuo #ningning #kpop gg x reader #kpop gg #kpop wlw #fluff

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hamzahsbaby · 2 months ago

Note

OMGG i NEED a comfort/angst fic with Hamzah where the reader (ur regular girl without a big social media) end up breaking down emotionally when a bunch of hamzah’s fan girls start to either get personal with there hate comments on u or reveal personal information. Hamzah ends up comforting u and reassuring his love, leading u two to either take to the podcast or their bts on patreon in order to address it and hopefully create boundaries 🙏🙏 just know you’d eat this up

warnings: possible cringe warning … not sure … something takes over when i write angst and i can’t ever tell if my work is good or not …. but enjoy yay!

the comments didn’t bother you at first, you told yourself you could handle it, and you really could, at first. but now it was all too much; screenshots of your personal instagram had somehow gotten out, video upon video tearing apart you and your looks, people somehow finding your family, the list went on and felt like it never ended. strangers on the internet picking apart your life, thinking that just because you were dating someone in the public eye meant that you didn’t have a right to any privacy.

you’d been laying in bed all day, the only comfort you had was hamzah’s hoodie embracing you and hamzah’s hourly check in on you, he wanted to sit next to you and listen to whatever it was that was bothering you but you wouldn’t let him. he was upset, but more sad than anything, sad that you felt like you couldn’t tell him what was going on. although he had a pretty good idea, he wanted to hear it from you.

“alright,” hamzah sat next to you on the bed, you peered your head out from the hoodie you were wearing. hamzah looked so perfect, too perfect for someone like you. “you’ve gotta talk to me baby.” he rubbed your ribs, his touch immediately bringing you comfort.

you shook your head, tears forming in your eyes. trying to vocalize the negative feelings you were experiencing always made you cry. “i just,” you spit out, sitting up in hamzah’s bed, his hand stayed put on you. “i can’t do this anymore. i’m sorry.” you cried.

“what’re you sorry for babygirl?” hamzah wiped the tears falling down your face. the nickname he gave you making you want to fall into pieces, but also giving you some sense of reassurance. “i love you.” hamzah hugged you, you didn’t have to say anything but it’s like he knew exactly what you needed to hear. “so fucking much. you know that right?” he grabbed your face, looking you in the eyes when he said it, he needed you to know it. “you are my perfect girl.” your frown turned into a grin. hamzah knew it wasn’t the right time but god there wasn’t a single time you looked bad. you were literally day two without showing, red puffy face, wet eyelashes, and a rats nest for hair but you still looked like something out of a dream— soft, raw and beautiful.

“i love you.” you trembled. your lips shook as the words left your mouth. you were so fucking grateful for someone like hamzah, and even on the days you felt like you didn’t deserve him, he was there to tell you that you deserved him and so much more. “i don’t care what anyone says about you, or about us.” he reassured for the third time tonight, “you’re the one i want to be with.” hamzah pulled you in again. “forever.” tears forming in his eyes as he thought about how you wouldn’t have to go through this if it weren’t for him.

. 𖥔 ♡ ݁ ˖

after a few days of calming down and you and hamzah being able to have an actual conversation, he invited you to the podcast to speak your peace, and although you didn’t have much to say you accepted his request.

and when it came to discussing the boundaries you two were putting up the viewers, you swore you’ve never seen him so serious and upset on camera before. he really didn’t play about you and he needed the world to know it. “you guys act like if she weren’t here that you’d be next in line or something.” hamzah babbled into the mic, essentially going on a 10 minute tangent about how you’re just that girl, his girl.

you and martin awkwardly listened as hamzah kept boasting about you and putting down the losers who thought it was okay to ruin your privacy. “okay hamzah,” you cut him off. “i think they get it.” you giggled.

“just making sure there’s no room for confusion.”

#ೀ works ⋆#hamzah ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic imagine #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzahthefantastic x y/n #hamzahthefantastic x you #hamzahthefantastic blurb #hamzah x you

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psformybss · 1 month ago

Text

The Secret is Out II

part 1 | series masterlist

warnings: emotional intimacy, social media chaos, cast group chat energy, soft couple moments

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

They posted just after 10:00 p.m. Late enough to feel casual, private—intentional in its quiet. But not late enough for the internet to sleep through it.

Within ten minutes, screenshots had landed in group chats and fan accounts. By twenty, Twitter had caught fire. The puzzle pieces that the internet had been putting together just hours before—prom photos, birthday posts, the glint of a ring in the paparazzi pictures— was now complete.

Fan reactions poured in like rain after drought.

“HELLO YOU ARE TELLING ME DREW STARKEY IS MARRIED AND THEY KEPT IT A SECRET”

“she’s been right there the whole time. like actually THERE. in his life. in his photos. in his little smiles. IM NOT OKAY”

“she’s not tagged. she didn’t even drop a location. she’s so off-grid coded i’m obsessed.”

“what do you MEAN they’ve been married for a while? what does a while mean?? 3 months? a year?? five???”

“me, a hater at 10:21 p.m. me, in love with her by 10:54 p.m.”

Drew had tossed his phone onto the coffee table without ceremony—face down, screen dark. No buzzing notifications. No refreshing the app. No second-guessing. Just one quiet decision, released into the world with a simple tap.

Y/N had curled into the corner of the couch beside him, her legs tucked close, one hand resting lightly on the blanket draped over both their knees. The other held her phone, the soft glow of the screen painting her features in quiet blue. But she wasn’t scrolling. Wasn’t reading comments. Wasn’t in the app at all. She just stared at the home screen, like maybe, if she looked at it long enough, the world might pause. Or rewind. Or slow down.

“You’re sure?” she asked after a long, careful beat. Her voice was barely a whisper, like asking it too loudly might undo everything they’d just done.

Drew didn’t hesitate. He reached out, brushing his thumb over her knee, the touch gentle but grounding. “I’ve never been more sure,” he murmured.

It wasn’t fear that sat in her chest. Not exactly. It was more like that first step into wide open air—the hush after the leap, before you hit the water. The moment when everything feels too big and too still at the same time. Like walking out into a clearing after months of moving in shadow. Vulnerable. Exposed. Real.

Not hiding anymore.

By morning, her phone was a blur of numbers and notifications. Her follower count had tripled. Strangers combed through every quiet, forgotten post she’d ever made. The photo of Drew half-asleep on a plane, hoodie pulled over his face. Teddy bounding through fresh snow. A blurry snapshot of the two of them sitting on a cabin porch, backs to the camera, heads tilted toward each other like they were mid-laugh.

They said it hadn’t been a soft launch after all. It had always been loud. Just not in the way they expected.

That night, long after the initial wave had crested and people had stopped tagging her in edits every two minutes, Drew came back from the kitchen with a second blanket and a fresh cup of tea she hadn’t asked for but gladly accepted. He handed it to her wordlessly and sat down, lifting the blanket and tucking it around her as if it were muscle memory.

She set the mug on the coffee table, untouched for now, and leaned into his side, her head finding the curve of his shoulder. He kissed her temple, then rested his cheek against her hair.

“I think your sister texted me eight separate crying emojis,” she mumbled.

“She also sent me a wedding meme,” Drew replied. “But like, a really bad one. Glitter font and everything.”

Y/N snorted, the sound soft and real against his chest. “How is it that the worst part of going public is the group chat?”

“Because they have material now,” he said, smiling. “They’ve waited years for this.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Are we crazy for doing it?”

Drew didn’t answer right away. He just studied her for a moment, the way her eyes searched his, the way the shadows from the lamp curved softly across her skin. Then he leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Intentional. Like it wasn’t just reassurance—it was a promise. When he pulled back, their foreheads stayed pressed together, breath mingling in the space between.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re not crazy. We’re just done hiding.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “It’s gonna feel strange, not covering, not ducking out early or standing five feet apart in photos.”

“It will” he agreed. “But it will also feel good. Like breathing.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in quiet and fleece and the kind of warmth that doesn’t need explaining. His thumb brushed slow circles against the inside of her wrist. Her leg slid over his, anchoring them together under the blanket.

“Still ours,” he said at last, voice low and steady.

She nodded against his shoulder. “Even if they all know now.”

“They don’t know,” he said gently. “They just saw. And what they saw? That was real. But the rest?” He kissed her hair. “That’s still just for us.”

And she believed him.

The world could keep spinning, keep wondering, keep piecing together their story from photos and guesses and grainy screenshots.

They had already built the quiet.

And the quiet wasn’t going anywhere.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

an: and the secret is outtttt. im running out of ideas y’all so plssss send requests also it doesn’t have to be just for this one it could be any drew or rafe requests :)

also ignore any mistakes there might be in the smau's i did them last night while half sleep

#drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader #drew starkey blurb #obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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madridfangirl · 1 month ago

Text

Three is a crowd!

Jude bellingham blurb.

Jude gets jealous to see his girlfriend with her admirer at a party. And he makes his feelings known.

...............................................................

Jude took one final look at himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he quickly picked up the gift bag and headed out for the party. He was late, but he could still make it for some time.

It was Roma’s birthday. Her boyfriend was in town for the week so she had decided to throw a small pool party at one of their colleague’s places. Of course, with Roma, nothing was small, not really. A cozy gathering meant for close friends & colleagues had turned into a guest list of 50+, as Ananya had huffed exasperatingly.

But hey, it was her day, and she quite liked to be treated as a princess on her day, so everyone just played along. Even Chris, who was a lot like Ananya in terms of keeping things small & private, had agreed wholeheartedly that it was a great plan. Roma sometimes joked that Chris should be with Ananya and she should be with Jude, given how similar their personalities were.

Jude was also looking forward to see his girlfriend, who he hadn’t seen much of in the last few days because she was busy planning the party for her best friend. And with Roma, it was more of a birthday week than just one day so a lot was going on in their apartment.

He had recently gone public with Ananya, just over two weeks ago, in early August, shortly post the Euros. After a lot of deliberation, they figured it was the right time. Ananya had gotten into Stanford and was leaving for the US mid-September, where the scrutiny would be much lesser than Madrid. And she was already on notice period in her office, so the impact on her work situation would be subdued too. Big tournaments were over, it was the beginning of a new season, so no expectation per se of being seen together in big matches. And Jude really really wanted to do this before she left for 2 long years. He had managed to convince her it was the right time, and she couldn’t deny the logic.

The act of going public was via a photo Jude had posted on his story, of the two of them. Jobe had clicked it at their family home in Birmingham a few months ago - a simple shot of them sitting together outdoors for barbecue, Jude’s arm around her shoulders and her head resting slightly on his shoulder, a happy smile on their faces, eyes sparkling with contentment. Ananya had diligently gone through all their photos to pick the absolute appropriate one, and Jude agreed with the choice.

Along with the photo was a caption of Jude announcing that he was seeing her, but no tag was made to her private account. And there was an explicit request for privacy, stating she is a private person. The expected backlash came, but not as much as she was anticipating. There was obviously a lot of immediate interest in knowing more about her but there wasn’t anything on the internet since her insta was private & she wasn’t on other socials. So the fan pages & gossip sites didn’t have much to go on after a week and the trending went down. Gradually, most fans turned quite vociferous that the couple should get the privacy that they were requesting for, after they realised this was not some stunt & the pair genuinely wanted to keep it low key. In fact, people respected the fact that he was announcing his commitment & not playing any games with them or the media. And they respected it even more that the girl wanted no part of this limelight, that she was actually a normal girl. Well, most people did. There was of course the lot who called her too simple & basic and thoroughly undeserving of their prince.

Jude had offered to get her security for the time she was in Madrid but she wanted to just stay normal. They had agreed to revisit it if things got crazy, but thankfully it didn’t, since Jude & his team were super tight-lipped about her & the house stance was there will be no further comment on this. So even the tabloids didn’t have much to go on beyond the speculative pieces. She had conceded to let Agnes be her dedicated chauffeur though, out of concern for people recognising her on the streets or in the metro.

Her office had been another story. It was right in the heart of Madrid and people were simply stunned with this development. On the first day back at work, a random woman who Ananya had never seen before sat next to her in the cafeteria and straight up asked how Jude was in bed. Ananya was tongue-tied. Then, Roma stood up to give a cutting speech for people to drop their creepiness and get a life. Post that, the murmurs at the back continued but folks didn’t bother asking her this stuff directly.

Some girls were red with jealousy, in sheer disbelief of how someone ‘plain’ like Ananya could land Jude or where they would have even met. It initially bothered Ananya, but with Roma’s help she eventually started finding it amusing. Of course with her close girl gang she still had to answer a lot of questions, with their giggling faces staring at her, but that was something she didn’t think she could ever get out of.

Jude was super present during that first week, calling / texting her every few hours, to the point of annoying her. But she appreciated the nagging; she knew he was doing it to distract her and it worked. Overall, the going public thing had gone as smoothly as was realistically possible in their situation.

And tonight would be the first time they would be out together, outside of their closest friends or his family. Jude was quite looking forward to it. She didn’t know he was going to be there, since he had an overlapping shoot, but it got done quickly & he wanted to surprise her. Well, Roma too, but mostly her.

‘Hey man, wassup?’

Chris greeted him warmly when he entered. Chris was an American & not a football fan, so was quite chill with Jude.

‘Hey, where’s the birthday girl?’

‘Oh she’s everywhere. Just saw her like 2 mins ago.’

‘And you’re on gate duty?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Figures.’

‘Oh my god YOU MADE IT.’

Roma dashed from across the room and hugged Jude tightly, making him smile.

‘What a welcome. And Happy Birthdayyy!’

‘Thank you. And what do we have here?’

She looked at the bag curiously, spotting the RM logo on it. Jude handed it to her, and fully expected the resulting shriek when she saw the signed Zidane jersey inside.

‘I LOVE YOU. OH MY GOD. Best day of my life.’

Jude & Chris smiled at her antics as she spun around with joy while hugging the jersey. Shortly after, Jude excused himself to find his girl, making his way to the pool where Roma had last seen her.

But he froze in the doorway. Because she was there, with HIM.

The last person Jude ever wanted to see in this world, was standing next to his girlfriend, immersed in a deep conversation. Her full attention was on him, nodding along, as if he had just discovered all the unknown secrets of the universe & was sharing his findings. What a fucking leech!

Jude had done a fantastic job of just zoning this guy out from their lives. They never talked about him since that Christmas cabin visit. Even though he knew they saw each other at work every day. The understanding was that she would tell him if anything major ever happens with that guy or anyone else. She hadn’t said anything, so Jude knew nothing of note had happened. But unfortunately, that didn’t mean that he stopped existing. Around her. Coz he was still very much there. And this moment just made it too fucking real.

If it were up to Jude, that guy won’t ever be in the 10km radius of her. Obviously, at work, he couldn’t control that. But there was no fucking way he was going to let this little scene continue here. Hell no. It was time to show that irritating insect his place.

Ananya felt Jude’s presence, a shift in the air, a whiff of his cologne, before she felt his hand on her waist, turning her slightly towards him, into his side.

‘Hey baby.’

He said in an audible sing-song voice. Their eyes met. And in that split second, her eyes urged him to appreciate the situation & be the bigger person but Jude was having none of that.

His other hand cupped her jaw, and she shut her eyes when Jude tilted her face up & leaned in for a kiss, letting his lips linger for two seconds more than a casual greeting kiss. His hand on her jaw firmly covering the meeting of their lips, shielding her & their moment from that guy’s gaze, somehow managing to make his point yet keeping it private.

Ananya knew fully well what he was doing. But there was nothing she could do. He would never admit his little ploy and would throw something like ‘what I can’t kiss my girlfriend?’ or ‘what’s your excuse now?’

And she had no logical reason. Because the argument to be sensitive to Arjun’s feelings would be a non-starter for Jude.

Also, even after 10 months together, she still got a little lightheaded when he held her & kissed her like this. Her hand automatically clutched his shirt lightly as he kept her steady with his hold on her waist. She sighed a little when he broke the kiss, still leaning into him, holding on to him, needing a moment to recover while Jude dropped his hand from her face and turned to look at the immobile guy standing in front of them.

Arjun felt bile rise in his throat in real time. He wanted to run, but felt like his feet had been plastered into the ground.

Jude fucking Bellingham was standing in front of him. Kissing the girl who had stolen his heart so badly that he was still trying to put the pieces back together.

His favourite player of the season, from his lifelong favourite club, was dating the girl of his dreams. The girl who was simply perfect for him in every which way. But had chosen to go with the guy who already had so much. Way too much, yet he took her too.

How was it fair? It was like some super-natural forces of the universe aligned to make her pick him. She wasn’t like that, not her. In fact she hated such intrusive attention. The connection had to be that deep for her to be willing to deal with all that came with it, and even go public with him.

The last thought made him sick. But Arjun recovered quickly when Jude turned to look at him.

An awkward staring contest ensued. Neither men breaking it. Jude didn’t want to and Arjun didn’t know how to.

It just hit Arjun what his current favourite player must have thought of him all these months, & none of those would have been remotely pleasant thoughts. It also soured the Clasico experience for him. Watching it live at the Bernabeu was one of his most treasured memories, but now he understood how they were in the VIP box and who she was with that night when Arjun & others were out partying after the match. It made him look at it in a very different light. That was the night he had lost her.

Not that he ever had her, or even tried to. For weeks before that night, he had thought of asking her out. His best friend had nudged him multiple times. But Arjun believed that rushing things with her won’t go well. She needed time & space to first get to know him, only after that he could make a move.

But lo & behold, rules of the game didn’t apply to this privileged golden boy. He came out of nowhere & swept her off her feet. What were the odds? But clearly his luck defied all odds. What a surprise! A cruel joke!

It also wasn’t lost on him where Jude’s hand was firmly planted - below her waist but right above her butt. Like only a boyfriend could. He looked away, he just had to.

Ananya had recovered by then & tugged on Jude’s shirt lightly to break the deafening silence. He complied with a curt nod to Arjun.

‘Jude.’

No handshake, no warm side-hug. A very un-like Jude kinda greeting.

Arjun almost wanted to scoff. Like he didn’t know who Jude was. Actually, he wished he didn’t know him. Watching him on his screen every match would be painful now.

‘Arjun.’

He nodded back. Ananya was secretly glad that Arjun didn’t lose his bearing in front of Jude. Most guys would have in this situation, especially when Jude was being kinda brattish.

The two men couldn’t have been more different. Jude was dressed head to toe in a chic designer ensemble, oozing natural ease & confidence, while Arjun was in a sharp formal shirt & trousers, measured & classy.

She tried to come up with something smart to say, anything to cut the tension here, but her brain betrayed her at the worst possible moment. So she took an easy way out.

‘Umm let’s get a drink Jude?’

The said man turned towards her, and his gaze softened immediately as he nodded.

She grabbed his arm & started leading him towards the bar, away from the scene.

‘See you tomorrow!’

Ananya bid her goodbye politely to Arjun.

‘Yeah let’s continue where we left off.’

That irked Jude. A lot. He almost wanted to turn around & say something, but Ananya was diligently dragging him away. Well, she was trying. So he swallowed his irritation & played along. A drink won’t hurt at this time.

Thankfully, they found a fairly tipsy Roma at the bar, and her overjoyed mood rubbed off on the rest. Ananya felt the tension in Jude’s posture ease gradually, and his arm wrapped around her shoulders from behind. She leaned back into him, and allowed herself to drown in the merriment around her. Later, Roma dragged the group to the makeshift dance floor as the DJ blared one hit after the other.

After dancing & drinking their hearts out, Roma & Ananya somehow found themselves hugging each other, swaying to the music. Jude & Chris let them be, enjoying their drinks, and were on catching duty in case one of them trips, which looked very likely to them.

‘What a great party!’

‘It really is, isn’t it?’

‘I’m so glad you’re having the best birthday.’

‘Well, I’m with my fav people, so…’

‘Awww.’

‘How’s the ‘I love Ananya’ club going?’

Ananya rolled her eyes loudly & lightly smacked her arm, but Roma just shrugged & laughed.

‘Not too bad I guess.’

‘Has Jude tried to hit him?’

‘NO.’

‘Curse him?’

‘NO.’

‘Has he tried to drag you to the washroom to take you then & there?’

‘Oh god no.’

‘So it’s going pretty good then.’

‘I guess so.’

Jude decided to intervene in that moment, wrapping an arm each around both of them.

‘Heard my name. Missing me much?’

‘Think of the devil…..’

Roma said dramatically.

‘Pls, you love me. And a bit more after today.’

When Ananya enquired what they were referring to, Roma mentioned the signed jersey, and Ananya immediately turned to look at Jude, crossing her arms.

‘There’s one waiting for you at home. Did you really think I’d forget about you?’

She smiled, untangled herself from Roma & went to give Jude a big hug, which he reciprocated immediately. And Roma left the lovebirds alone to attend other guests.

It was that time of the night when the people were high and music had mellowed down to match the vibe. Ananya’s face was buried in his chest, tucked under his chin, as he held her & swayed her lightly to the tune.

‘Are people looking?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘But….’

‘Doesn’t matter babe. And no, not too much actually.’

‘Hmmm.’

Jude slowly caressed her back, which relaxed her & she sighed into his chest, losing herself in the moment again. She could do that, drink freely & not worry about a thing, coz Jude was here now.

Arjun had tried very hard to keep the happy couple out of his sight, since that puke inducing moment. He even tried to respond to the advances of a hot blonde girl he had never seen before, who was talking like a 7 yr old for some reason, but Arjun tried to focus more on the hotness piece for now. And how she was half falling over him, rubbing his arm repeatedly.

Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicked at times towards her. What hit him more was not so much the kiss (it was painful, no question) but the deep emotional intimacy & connection she seemed to share with the other guy.

The way she smiled at him; it was the same smile Arjun had seen many times in the office when she looked at a text on her phone or went to take a quick call in one of the empty conference rooms.

The way her skin flushed at his suggestive touches, or when he leaned over to whisper something teasing in her ear. (Arjun had to fight to not imagine how flushed she would get in other situations.)

The way she melted into his arms, fully in sync, moving when he moved, sharing an unspoken language with him, talking through their eyes. So fucking palpably in love.

But she looked happy. At peace. How could he ever be mad at that? How could he ever wish for that to go away? He couldn’t.

Arjun did wonder though what Jude did to deserve such unconditional bond with her. DID HE DESERVE it at all? He was a footballer after all - a young, rich, popular, handsome one whose fame had just skyrocketed. Their history with women was no secret, nor was their lifestyle. Even in the last year, there were multiple articles about him speculating his relationships. Was he cheating on her & manipulating her to believe otherwise? Coz she won’t tolerate cheating, Arjun knew she would walk away. So why then did she choose to stick with him? When it was quite obvious how this would end. One day, he’d hurt her. Bad. And she, of all people, didn’t deserve it. Arjun just wished she sees that soon, before she gets too attached. But it looked like that ship had already sailed.

The blonde girl was making heart eyes at him by now, after blabbering something about wanting to take a drive, and that was his cue to get the fuck out of this party. Away from the sight of them.

Ananya swayed in Jude’s arms for god knows how long. She was relieved at how he had calmed down, and was quite proud of how maturely he had handled the situation after the initial hiccup. But later that night, when they were in the car with Roma & Chris, on their way back from the party, she felt something shift in his mood from the way his hand gripped her thigh, firmly & possessively.

Roma suggested an afterparty at their apartment but Jude intervened decisively to say Ananya & him would head to his place, which was on the way to the girls’ apartment. When they reached, Jude opened the door, extended a hand to help Ananya out & bid goodbye to the other couple. Ananya felt his turmoil from the way he held her hand tightly, and the short walk from their driveway to the main door made her nervous.

Once inside, when Jude was locking the door & putting the alarm on, Ananya had to think quickly on her feet. When he turned around, she extended her arms towards him, cocking her head to the side, smiling lazily, something she knew he found adorable. Indicating that she wanted to be carried.

Jude looked at her face, then her arms, then back at those pouty lips. His eyes softened & he exhaled sharply, giving in.

When he picked her up, she thought she would be carried upstairs to the comfort of their bed but Jude brought her to the garden, to the edge of the pool.

‘What are we doing here?’

‘Well, you said you had never been thrown in the pool at a pool party.’

But he didn’t throw her in. The pool was only 5 feet & he didn’t wanna risk a bad fall. So he set her down, took off everything he was wearing (barring his briefs) and swiftly slipped inside the pool.

‘Come on in.’

She was wearing a deep blue summer dress, thin straps at the top, fitted till the waist and widely flowing from waist-down till below her knees.

‘The dress?’

‘Take it off.’

‘We are outside.’

‘It’s dark. Only the porch light is on.’

It was dark. Only moonlight twinkling on the water. Plus the yard had high trees & fences. But it was still outside & it made her nervous. Especially now, when so much attention was on them. She’d be damned if someone saw them half-naked in the pool.

Jude ducked his head in & emerged back, fully wet, water dripping from his sharp jaw-line & hair. Eyes only on her. Straight out of a wet obscene dream. Impossible to say no to.

Slowly, she took off the dress, & his hungry gaze landed on her matching deep blue lingerie, escorting her as she stepped inside the pool. He stayed still, letting her come to him.

Ananya wanted to talk about what he was feeling, but Jude had other plans. Wildly different plans. When she scooted close & cupped his cheeks, staring into his turbulent eyes, Jude caught her wrists, pinning them behind her back firmly, and crashed their lips together in a kiss that made her hot all over in the cool water.

He let her wrists go, moving his hands to her boobs, squeezing them hard, taking off the wretched garment covering the sweet mounds, tearing his mouth away from her lips to suck the hardening nubs. She gasped at the sudden intensity, trying to hold on to his shoulders to anchor herself, but his actions were rapid, not letting her settle.

‘Jude…honey….pls look at me….’

She tried to cup his cheeks again, but Jude lifted her by her waist & placed her on the steps, spreading her legs wide apart. Her panties were ripped off in seconds and she grabbed the railing on the steps when Jude moved his mouth between her lags, lapping at her with a pace that made her want to scream. And she did scream when he ate her out relentlessly, making her wet for more than one reason.

The intensity of his mouth made her clutch the back of his head, trying to slow him down but Jude grabbed her hips harshly and used the angle to double down, not coming up till he completely shattered her, making her scream his name in agony mixed with ecstasy, forcing her to peak over & over with the force of his will. Only stopping when she fell forward, catching her before she slipped, letting her rest against his torso as she panted into his chest. Sweaty wet bodies squished together.

He let her catch her breath, threading his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, before backing her against the wall of the pool, lifting her by the butt to wrap her legs around his waist, and lowering himself inside her with a few quick, precise strokes.

They were face to face now, her arms around his neck, as he briskly moved inside her, manoeuvring her lower body to constantly hit different angles, making her gasp with almost each stroke.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she weakly pressed her lips against his, breathing into his mouth.

‘I love you.’

She whispered. And he just thrusted harder, sending shockwaves through her body.

‘Jude….I love you.’

He tensed, following it up with another frenzied thrust.

‘And HE loves you. STILL.’

Ananya shut her eyes, feeling his hurt, while her body thrummed with pleasure. She didn’t want their private moments to be infiltrated by someone else’s thoughts, this should just be about the two of them.

‘Not denying it then?’

She pulled herself apart a bit to look into his stormy eyes - rougher than a tsunami, more intense than the depths of an ocean.

‘You’re….not…letting me…speak..’

He groaned animatedly, only half satisfied with the response, and went back to ravishing her. Usually, when Jude had a task that he set his mind to, he executed it flawlessly. This was no different. His mission to drown his frustration under her breathless moans was playing out to the T. Momentarily, he forgot the pang he felt in his heart when he saw the two of them together. And the realisation that this happened every fucking day. That creature saw her, lurked around her every fucking day. And there was nothing Jude could do about it.

She came again, screaming his name, her walls squeezing him deliciously, wrangling his high out of him too. Coating her insides fully, not separating till he was convinced she won’t drip.

Jude helped her out of the pool, on to the lounger on the side, and slowly tapped at her soaked form with a towel. She took over a few moments later, and he went to fetch a towel for himself.

When her senses recovered, she wrapped the towel around herself & quickly looked around to find any sign of anyone possibly watching them, but as Jude had meticulously explained so many times, it wasn’t possible. Someone could have heard her though, she was convinced she sounded like a cat that ran under a car.

Her boyfriend was drying himself a few steps away, his back to her. His words were still playing at the back of her mind. She stood up gently, her legs a bit wobbly still, and hugged him from behind, resting her face on his broad back.

He sighed, covering her hand with his.

‘You okay?’

‘More than ok. Coz I’m with you.’

When he didn’t say anything, she walked around him to look at his pretty (& still wet) face, finally cupping his cheeks softly and pulling him down for a lingering kiss.

‘Take me to bed now?’

‘Yeah.’

She was lifted bridal style again, and she smiled this time, loving the princess treatment. Walking away, she could vaguely see their undergarments just floating in the pool, & made a mental note of fixing that later. She’d absolutely die if the housekeeper finds them like that.

When they passed the kitchen on their way up, Jude asked if she wanted to have something, given she had a fair bit to drink. But she just wanted to hold him & kiss him & tell him how much she loved him. Why it didn’t matter what a third person might feel. This was just about the two of them.

He laid her on the bed, and she pulled him down next to her, curling into his side, placing soft kisses on his chest.

‘My baby.’

She cooed to him, reaching up to caress his face, showering him with affection before broaching the sensitive topic.

Jude’s head was still all over the place. And her soft, inviting body rubbing against his made his blood rush south. Fast & hard. He was nowhere close to being done with her, not tonight.

When Jude pulled her towel off, flipped her to get on top, pinning her hands over her head (all in a few seconds), she squirmed & wriggled underneath him, breaking away from his kiss. That offended him, deeply.

‘What?’

‘Wait…pls wait.’

‘We should talk first.’

‘About what?’

‘You know what.’

‘I don’t want to. Not now. Later.’

He dove in again and she evaded his mouth again.

‘SERIOUSLY? You’re saying no to me now?’

Jude wasn’t used to that. She had never refused him when he was in such a mood and needed her badly. His mind obviously linked it to an unpleasant reason, & she saw the hurt instantly on his face.

Agitated, he rolled away from her, sitting up on the bed. She sat up too, pulling the sheet around herself, and shifted next to him, speaking softly.

‘I’m not saying no. Just saying we should talk first.’

‘And I’m saying I don’t wanna talk right now. That counts for nothing?’

‘It’s not good to bottle things between us, baby. It’s not healthy.’

‘I will just fucking end up saying something that would get you mad. Can’t you see that?’

‘I won’t get mad. Wanna hear what’s in your heart.’

She moved to caress his back but he stood up abruptly to pace around the bed.

‘I HATE HIM.’

‘I know.’

‘I HATE that he’s with you every fucking day. Looking at you. Fantasising about you. Fucking son of a…’

‘Jude. I hear you. And I get it. But pls believe me when I say this - I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him. A girl knows, she just knows. He’s not like that.’

He stopped pacing & crossed his arms, staring straight at her.

‘Oh he’s not, yeah?’

‘Yes, he’s not. If I would have felt uncomfortable even once, I would have done something about it. Remember our deal? I said I’d come to you if there ever was anything - but it’s just not true. Not when he was….when he had….feelings. And not now, when he has moved on.’

Jude looked at her like a detective investigating a criminal.

‘How do know he has moved on?’

Ananya took a deep breath to calm herself. Did he think she was keeping tabs or something?

‘Roma told me he’s been on a few dates. Even with women in our office.’

‘How do you know those are dates & not hook-ups?’

‘How does that even matter?’

Jude scoffed like she asked him something silly, which irked her.

‘Hook-ups are for sex. Doesn’t mean he’s over you.’

She looked at him with irritation, looking for something to beat his logic.

‘He’s not the hookups type. At least….I don’t think so.’

This time, Jude simply laughed in her face.

‘Sure, so he’ll just say no to sex yeah? You’re so cute sometimes. I’ve NEVER met a man like that.’

His tone & presumptuousness was starting to get on her nerves now. What was the poor guy supposed to do? Die? Leave the city? His job? Because Jude didn’t like him? It had been 10 months for crying out loud. The world does not revolve around one person.

‘Not everyone is like….’

She checked herself at the last second, horrified, but Jude pounced on it.

‘Like what? Like me? That’s it, isn’t it? You think he’s better than me, don’t you? Morally superior, high Indian values and all that? Someone you can take to your parents easily? Where you don’t have to set the ground for MONTHS and even then want to wait for the right time for an in-person meeting, like in our case? SAY IT ANANYA.’

She flinched at his words and the hurt in his voice. Shaken, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him desperately, whispering sorry into his chest. He didn’t say anything, but his posture eased, deflated. She dragged him to the edge of the bed, making him sit down & then climbed into his lap, kissing all over his face.

‘I’m sorry honey. Didn’t mean it like that. I’m so sorry.’

She kissed his face again, and he loosely wrapped his arms around her.

Ananya cupped his cheeks and made him look into her eyes.

‘Listen to me. No third person can come between us, not anymore. No one can sway us, unless our intent is to cheat. Do you think I want to?’

‘No.’

‘Then that’s it. Whatever he or anyone else might feel is irrelevant. You can hate him & you’re justified, I won’t stop you.’

‘But you don’t hate him.’

‘I don’t have a reason to.’

‘And you have a soft corner for him, you always defend him. Don’t deny that.’

She wasn’t going to insult his intelligence by denying that.

‘Maybe.’

‘Why? What has it always been there?’

‘Initially, coz he was kind, respectful & not chauvinistic. It’s rare in my field, believe me. And then later…..’

She had to pick her words carefully, especially when Jude was watching her like a hawk.

‘Maybe I feel guilty….for hurting him unknowingly. And I am thankful that he respected my choice & never made me uncomfortable. That’s also rare in my field, and for men in general.’

‘What if he’s using that to wait in the wings, waiting for me to fuck this up so he can be the knight in shining armour?’

‘He’ll have to keep waiting then.’

‘Can you promise me that?’

‘Promise you what?’

‘That you’ll never be with him. No matter what.’

She looked at his face curiously, thinking over this strange ask. Unfair ask. The feminist in her was screaming inside that it was wildly inappropriate for him to ask her this. He had no right to. What she did if they didn’t end up together was really none of his business. How could he try to dictate her life like that?

But the girlfriend in her could see that her man was hurting. The way his eyes were twitching, waiting for her response, the way his hands were fidgeting on her back, the nervous gulps, the way his voice broke when he said that last line - Jude was in pain and if it was in her power to soothe him, she was absolutely going to.

‘Ok.’

This caught him off guard. He was 90% sure this would be one of the things that would make her mad. But he knew he wanted this promise from the moment he saw the two of them together.

‘Happy now?’

He shook his head & rested his forehead against hers.

‘Scared.’

‘Why, my love? You have me, all of me.’

‘Feels like you’ll slip away, no matter how hard I try to keep you mine. If it’s not this asshole, it might be some other prick from this super elite school you are going to, a million miles away.’

‘Your fear is growing, coz your love for me is growing. That’s how love works.’

‘It’s wretched.’

‘Sure is.’

‘Do you feel it too, the fear?’

‘All the time. Like at least a million women would kill to be in my place, I know that.’

‘But no one can be you.’

‘And no one can be you.’

‘Man I love you.’

‘Finally. Kept me waiting all day.’

They moved at the same time for a kiss, sighing into each others’ mouth.

‘Need one more promise.’

‘What now?’

‘You’ll let me fly you down whenever you can spare any time. None of this ‘I can’t splurge on you’ nonsense anymore. It’s not splurging. I NEED you. I fucking need you with me.’

‘Ok.’

‘Don’t go back on this later.’

‘I won’t.’

‘God I’m gonna miss you. How is it just a month? You’ll be gone, and I won’t get to hold you every night, see this face every morning.’

She was trying very hard to hold herself together but this did her in. Her choked voice came in a whisper.

‘And…you think I won’t miss you too?’

A tear rolled down her cheek, jolting him instantly.

‘Hey, hey….shhhhh.’

‘When I’m the one going away, when I’m the one putting us through this, don’t you think I feel guilty?’

‘Oh baby, no, not this. It’s ok.’

He wiped her tears, patting her back slowly.

‘How is it ok, when I wake up in the middle of the night & stare at your sleeping face, and it makes me NOT WANT TO GO?’

With that, all the pent up emotions of last few months came out, along with the waterworks. Jude held her through it, letting her soak his shoulder with her emotions, cooing softly into her ear.

Minutes later, when she calmed down & clung to his chest, an idea struck him.

‘I have the perfect thing to make you feel better.’

She thought he was talking about sleeping. She couldn’t be more wrong.

He wrestled the sheets off from around her, with her still in his lap, and lifted her by her butt to carry her to the large French window in his bedroom.

‘Let’s make new memories together. You get what I mean by ‘new’ yeah?’

‘I always get what you mean. You’re never subtle.’

‘That’s your department. I just take what I want.’

With that, he flipped her naked body & pressed her front to the window, the cold glass making her shudder.

This was not like the pool. It looked into the street. Ananya could see cars passing by and some people too. There were still lights outside.

‘Jude people can….’

‘Dark inside. Lights outside. They can’t see us. Basic science.’

‘But…’

Before she could finish the sentence, he lifted one of her legs to get the right angle & pressed his tip against her entrance, his other hand coming to her front, sliding down to rub circles on her clit. Shutting her up. For words at least.

For the next half hour, she was pushed & thrusted against the window, her body & laboured breaths painting the glass with marks. As he moved her like he owned her. And maybe he did. And maybe she liked that.

Later that night, Jude woke her up with kisses down her back, starting from that spot right at the back of her neck which immediately made her gooey. Her sleepy eyes, groggy voice & messy hair spread across the pillow turning him on even more. Telling her that since they only had a month left before she leaves, they had to make their time extra efficient. Basic logic. She quipped that it was ‘basic Jude logic’ but shifted readily on her back to invite him in & even helped him to get ‘ready’ quickly. Like he knew she would. Like they were perfectly in sync, as Arjun had so righty observed.

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There you go. 6.4k words.

I came back after a long time & enjoyed writing this.