Jude wanted all the privileges of having her, just not the responsibility of calling her his. Turns out someone else has no problem doing both.
warnings: suggestive content, angst, jealousy, situationship, mutual pining, open ending.
This is a bit long, but I liked it sooo much. Let me know what you think.
English is not my first language.
Reader
There was never a first date. No flowers. No awkward introductions to friends. No anniversary to remember.
Just a random Tuesday night when Jude texted "u awake?" and somehow never really left after that.
It had been eight months.
Eight months of late-night drives through Madrid, takeout on his couch, stolen kisses in empty hallways and lazy Sunday mornings where he'd hold me like he had nowhere else to be. Eight months of sleeping in each other's beds.
He knew exactly how I took my coffee. I knew exactly how he liked his eggs. He kept a hoodie at my apartment. I kept a toothbrush at his.
Anyone looking from the outside would've called it a relationship. Except it wasn't.
Because one night, before any of this became routine, Jude had looked at me with genuine regret and said, "I can't do relationships right now."
And I'd smiled. Pretended it didn't sting. "Then we won't call it one." Worst decision of my life.
I tell myself, over and over again, that this is going to be the last time. But then find myself here. Between tangled sheets with my legs spread wide, my nails digging into Jude’s bicep and his cock dragging through me.
— You're so good to me. — he coos in my ear, every thrust deep and rough — my girl, taking me so well.
His girl? I really want to understand how a man's mind works: how does he say he doesn't want a relationship and then, all of a sudden, start calling you his girl?
His hands are rough and calloused, but trace my hips and hold me down so gently, I can almost pretend he cares if I break. As if.
The arrangement worked perfectly for Jude.
He never had to answer questions. Never had to explain photos. Never had to introduce me as anything.
Yet somehow, every time he wanted company, I was there.
Every bad match, every good match, every lonely night, every morning after. He had all the privileges of having someone without ever having to call me his. Not in public, at least. Whatever Jude and I had, was strictly confidential.
I told myself I was okay with it. Until one day I realized I'd stopped saying yes because I wanted to, and started saying yes because I was terrified he'd eventually stop asking.
II was lying in his bed, while he takes a shower. He always asks me to stay over, even though he'll probably leave soon saying he has an appointment.
I'm scrolling through Instagram when the phone buzzes.
Drew Starkey started following you.
I frowned. That was... unexpected.
We had a couple mutuals, but we'd never met. Not even crossed paths at an event. I figured he'd probably hit the wrong follow button.
But just a minute later-
New message request.
hey. figured i'd shoot my shot before someone else did :)
I actually laughed. It was smooth. Confident, but not arrogant.
Still, men in my DMs weren't exactly breaking news.
Actors, athletes, musicians, every now and then one would decide we were soulmates after liking three Instagram posts.
— What are you laughing about? — Jude suddently ask, coming out from the bathroom.
Most of those guys disappeared after a week. So I locked my phone and forgot about it, ansewring.
— It was just a meme.
[...]
Well, Drew didn't disappeared. Actually, he kept texting me for a few days before I finally agreed to go on a date with him.
Two weeks later, I finally said yes.
Not because I thought he was the love of my life. Not because I'd suddenly gotten over Jude. Mostly because I was tired.
Tired of waiting.
Tired of pretending I was okay with whatever this thing between Jude and I was.
If he could keep me in limbo, I could at least remind myself there were other people in the world.
Drew picked a small Italian restaurant tucked away from the busiest streets. Fancy enough to avoid the tourist crowd, casual enough that I didn't feel underdressed.
He stood as soon as I walked in.
— Hey — I said, shyly. — Hi — he replies with a soft smile.
— I was starting to think you'd ghost me. — I laughed.
Dinner was... easy. There wasn't that overwhelming spark people always talked about. No movie soundtrack playing in the back of my mind. Just good conversation.
Outside the restaurant, we stood awkwardly for a second.
— So... — He rubbed the back of his neck. — So... — I answered, chuckling.
— Can I see you again? — I looked at him. I wasn't head over heels. But... For the first time in months, someone had spent an entire evening trying to get to know me instead of just trying to get me into bed.
— Yeah.
His smile came easy.
— Cool.
Jude
It had been an exhausting week. Training. Interviews. Recovery. Sponsors. Cameras.
The constant feeling that everyone around me expects so much from me burns in my chest. To be the best player, the best son, the best brother.
Except with Y/n. With her, I didn't have to perform, it was as if I didn't need to be anything other than just myself. I could leave my phone face down on the table. Sit in silence after a bad match. Complain. Laugh too loud. Fall asleep halfway through a movie. She never expected Jude Bellingham.
She just wanted Jude. Just Jude and Y/n. And maybe that was exactly why I couldn't give her more.
People think "I can't do relationships right now" means you don't have feelings. But actually I had too many.
Football had always come first. It had to. I couldn't ask someone to build a life around a schedule I didn't even control. I couldn't promise birthdays, holidays or even next week.
And Y/n deserved certainty.
Not cancelled plans because I'd been called away. Not headlines picking apart every photo of us. Not people blaming her every time I had a bad game.
So I convinced myself this was better.
Keeping her close, without asking her to carry the weight that came with loving me.
She wasn't supposed to become part of my routine. She just did. That certainty had become dangerously comforting. I just didn't know how temporary it really was.
u busy?
Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. She didn't answer me for the whole damn night. I wasn't mad or anything, just worried that something had happened, she never just disappears like that.
So I decide to text again in the morning.
everything okay?
She finaly anwsered, two hours latter.
sorry, was out. :/
Alright then. Out? Out where?
It's ok, glad you're fine :)
Can we meet tonight?
The answer came quickly this time.
can't tonight xx
At first, I thought everything was fine. She’s just busy. Stop being so clingy. But then I realized she might actually be avoiding me. Every time I tried to see her or find out how she was doing, she’d leave me waiting again.
I told myself I was overthinking it. She had a life outside of me. Friends, work, family. She wasn't obligated to be available every time I reached for my phone. I knew that.
So why did my apartment suddenly feel so fucking quiet?
I caught myself opening Instagram more often. Watching her stories before anyone else's, checking when she'd been active. Waiting for the little typing bubble that never came. It was pathetic.
I called before I could think better of it. She answered on the fourth ring.
— Hey, Jude
Usually she sounded warm. Like she was smiling before she'd even heard what I had to say. This time her voice was soft, polite, almost careful. It shouldn't have bothered me, but It did anyways.
— Everything okay?
— Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?
— I don't know... just checking.
A small laugh. Not the kind she used to give me. The kind people use when they're trying not to start an argument.
— You don't usually check. — That one landed harder than I expected. I try to recover.
— Thought I'd see if you wanted to come over.
She pauses for a second. — I can't tonight. — Again.
— Right...
— Maybe another day. — She said, quickly. Another day.
Funny how those two words sounded so much further away than see you tonight.
[...]
Afterwards, when I finally made it to see her, she lay beside me with her head resting against my shoulder. Exactly like always.
And yet, it wasn't.
She wasn't tracing lazy circles against my chest. Wasn't stealing my hoodie before getting out of bed. Wasn't asking what I wanted for breakfast. She just, looked tired.
The thought that she might not want this anymore, might not want me anymore, made my heart tremble.
She got dressed without rushing, without lingering either. She kissed me once, soft. Then reached for her bag.
— You're leaving? — She looked at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. — Yeah. — I frowned.
— You usually stay. — A tiny smile. One that didn't quite reach her eyes.
— I know.
The apartment felt colder the second the door clicked shut. I'd spent months convincing myself I didn't need a relationship, and, suddenly, missed everything that made us look like one.
[...]
My mates invited me out, in the hope I'd be less miserable. I hadn't even wanted to come.
Parties like these always felt the same. Too many people pretending they were having the time of their lives, too many cameras. I smile when I’m supposed to. Shake hands, laugh at jokes I’m not listening to.
The music is loud enough to drown out every thought except the one I can’t seem to get rid of. Her.
Every drink I take tasted flat. Every conversation ends with me glancing toward the entrance without realizing I am doing it. I keep checking my phone even though I know she hasn't texted.
I barely look up, until I did. Time has a funny way of slowing down when it's about to ruin your life. The first thing I notice is the dress, then her beautiful and husky laugh.
She looks... beautiful isn’t the word. Beautiful isn’t enough. She looks happy. Genuinely. The kind of happy I haven’t seen in weeks.
Then him. It took me a second to notice. His hand resting against the small of her back. Guiding her through the crowd like she'd always belonged beside him.
My jaw clenched. Who the hell does he think he is? Touching my girl like that. Like he knows her.
He doesn't know she hates olives, he doesn't know she steals the blankets when she's cold. He doesn't know she cries whenever she watches About Time. But I do. I know all those things.
But maybe he gets to learn now.
I’d spent eight months learning every little thing about her. He’d spent, what? A few weeks?
And somehow he is already doing the one thing I’d never allowed myself to do. Loving her out loud.
I can't stop looking. Doesn't matter who's talking to me or how many people try to pull me into another pointless conversation, my eyes keep finding her.
— Mate... — I barely hear him. — Jude? — I blink, tearing my gaze away for the first time in what feels like forever.
— You alright? — He asked, very cautious, as if he didn't know how I would react.
— Yeah. — I force a smile that convinces absolutely no one. — Just tired.
— You don't look alright. — He follows my line of sight toward the other side of the room. — Who are you looking at?
— No one. — A lie, probably the thousandth of the night. Another teammate glances over before nudging him with a grin.
— Isn't that Drew Starkey? — He squinted, trying to get a better look. — the guy from that Netflix series.
My stomach tightens. Drew stops beside a group of people I vaguely recognize. I couldn't hear them, but I'm sure he was introducing her to his friends. One by one, they greet her.
They're shaking her hand, laughing with her and making room for her in the circle. Like she's meant to be there. Like she's meant to be with him. His hand never leaves her. Casual, effortless, almost protective.
Fuck. I know I don't have the right to be angry, after all, she isn't my girl. That’s not the reason, the reason is that I’m too afraid to admit my feelings or let her be a part of my life. That was my choice. I fucked everything up.
They drift toward the dance floor. I tell myself not to follow them with my eyes, but fail instantly.
He leans closer so she can hear him over the music and she laughs at what he says. She's smiling a lot, not the polite smile she'd been giving me these past few weeks, that's the real one. The one that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
His hand slides a little lower on her waist, she doesn't move it. Instead, her fingers slip into the hair at the back of his neck. My chest burns like hell. She pushes a strand of hair off his forehead. God. She used to do that to me all the time.
She leans in and whispers something in his ear, he throws his head back laughing. I don't hear a single word and I don't need to.
The way they're looking at each other tells me enough. Every touch. Every smile. Every whispered word. Every fucking glance. It's like watching someone else live the life I convinced myself I didn't want. Except I do. God... I do.
And I can't breathe.Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm already crossing the room, fast enough that people turn to look as I brush past them. I don't even remember deciding to move, I just know I need to get to her before he touches her again.
Neither of them notices me until I'm right there. My fingers close gently around her wrist, she startles, taking half a step back. Drew does too.
Her head snaps toward me and our eyes meet. Everything else disappears. She blinks once, then twice. Her lips part, close, part again. Like she's trying to find the right words and keeps losing them before they reach me. I don't know what to say either.
So the first thing that leaves my mouth is — Hi. — Her brows knit together in confusion. Drew breaks the silence.
— Is there a problem, man? — I don't even look at him, my eyes never leave hers.
— Can we talk? — My words are directed solely at her. She hesitates, glances at my hand still on her wrist, then looks back into my eyes, but before she can answer…
— No. — the lil shit steps between us. — She doesn't have to go anywhere with you. — So I look at him for the first time.
— I wasn't talking to you. — Silence hangs between our angry expressions. — Back off.
Instead of doing what I said, he takes a step forward. — Or what? — I can feel myself boiling inside, this guy has no idea what he's doing. — Don't push me.
Y/n steps between us before something happens. — Stop, please — Her voice isn't loud, but it’s enough. She places a hand on Drew’s chest, then looks at him. — It's okay, just give me five minutes.
He clearly doesn't like it. Good, now the jack ass knows what it feels like. He looks at me, then at her, before speaking.
— Are you sure? — she nods. — Yeah
He hesitates, but backs off. Before leaving, he mutters, "I'll be right there." That deeply irritates me. She grabs my wrist and leads me to a less crowded hallway.
The second we're out of sight, she lets go of me. She exhales sharply, rubbing her temples.
— What the hell are you doing? — Her eyes are fixed on me, furious. It makes me uneasy, I run a hand through my hair, pacing back and forth.
— What are you doing? — she frowns and answer — Excuse me?
— With him. — She crosses her arms, looking incredulous. — I'm on a date. — She said like it is nothing. The words hurt more than they should.
— You didn't tell me — She laughs, without humor.
— Was I supposed to? — Silence settles between us, she loses her patience with my lack of explanations. What is wrong with me, man?
— Jude. — She breaks the silence. — We don't owe each other explanations, you made that very clear eight months ago.
I run my hands over my face, my breathing heavy. — That's not...
— No?"— She takes a step forward. — Then tell me what this is. — I look at her, without any rehearsed answer. — I can't.
She blinks. — Can't what? — I shake my head, frustrated.
— I can't fucking stand seeing you with him. — She freezes. — Do you know what that felt like? Watching him touch you? Watching you smile at him? My chest... — I press a hand flat against my own chest. — My chest physically hurts every time I look at you with him.
She seems to stop breathing for a moment. Her eyes well up, but she holds it back. I laugh nervously.
— I know it is ridiculous. — A wave of courage washes over me, I have to admit it now or I’m going to lose her forever. — I kept telling myself I couldn't have a relationship. That football had to come first, that I was protecting you. But watching another man give you everything I kept refusing... — I shake my head. — I finally realized the truth.
She can barely speak. — …What truth?
I take a step, almost touching her. My voice falters. — It was never that I didn't want a relationship.— Another step. — I just wanted one with you so badly… — I swallow hard. — …that I got scared."
She closes her eyes for a second. When she opens them… there's hope, but also a lot of hurt.
She whispers: — You're late, Jude.
I think I'd rather she had screamed. Because somehow... those three words hurt so much more.
God, I’d love a whole scenario with actress!reader and Drew where he finally introduces her to his family. Like imagine the buildup?? He’s all nervous but trying to play it cool, and she’s there being effortlessly charming. And then the family immediately start teasing him because of course they do and love herrrr
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ → Drew takes you to the 2026 FIFA World Cup quarterfinal between England and Norway but maybe it wasn't a good idea
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ → none
ᴀ/ɴ→ It’s 7 a.m. here; I watched the England vs. Norway match, as well as the Argentina vs. Switzerland game, which aired here at 3 a.m. I’m currently sitting here with a toothache and can’t sleep, so I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what do you think.
Edit; With every work I write, I try out a new writing style—one that will finally suit me. When will that day come?
“Babe, this is the best idea you've ever had!”
You had been saying the same thing for the last fifteen minutes, practically bouncing with excitement as the two of you made your way through the stadium
“I know”
“No, seriously. The World Cup! England! Jude Bellingham!”
Drew looked at you out of the corner of his eye “Do you even remember you're here with me?”
“Of course i do!”
“Mhm-”
“Buuuut also with Jude”
He stopped walking “You're with me”
“I already regret bringing you” he signed
You laughed slipping your hand into his. The stadium was packed
England shirts, flags everywhere and thousands of people cheering
And you? You were busy filming a TikTok
A few minutes later both teams ran onto the pitch. And then...You saw him
“Oh my God!!”
“What?”
“THAT’S JUDE”
Drew didn't even have to look “I knew it”
“Drew you dont have to be jealous.”
“I knew this was coming”
“He's literally right there!! Breaths the same air like me!”
“Yeah he's playing in the game. That's usually how it works babe”
“But—”
“No.”
“I didn't even say anything”
“You didn't have to. I know what you wanted to say”
Thought the entire match you cheered for England. Mostly...For one specific player
“COME ON, JUDE!”
“What a pass!”
“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS INSANE!”
Meanwhile Drew sat beside you with his arms crossed “I feel like the third wheel”
You couldn't stop laughing
—
After the final whistle one of Drew's friends managed to get the two of you into the players' area
You were still talking to Drew when someone walked up beside you
“Excuse me?”
Both of you turned around
Jude Bellingham stood there with a smile “You've been screaming my name for ninety minutes”
Your face immediately heated up “Oh my god”
Drew slowly turned to look at you “I told you the whole stadium heard you”
“I-... I was supporting England!”
Jude laughed “I know, I heard. I just wanted to say thanks”
You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding “I thought I embarrassed myself”
“Oh, you definitely did” Jude teased “But in a good way”
Drew folded his arms “Great”
Jude looked over at him “I'm guessing you're the boyfriend?”
“Unfortunately for her”
“For me?” you gasped
He shrugged “She's been talking about you all day”
Your jaw dropped “babe!”
“What? I'm telling the truth”
Jude laughed again “Should I be worried?”
“No!” you answered a little too quickly
Drew raised an eyebrow “That was pretty fast, don’t you think?”
“Because you're making this weird”
“I'm making it weird?”
"You are!”
Jude looked between the two of you trying not to laugh “You guys are funny”
Drew sighed dramatically “I've been competing with you since we got here”
“I wasn't aware we were competing”
“Oh, we were”
Jude grinned “So... did I win?”
“No.” Drew answered immediately
You buried your face in your hands “I am so sorry”
Jude laughed “Don't be. He's entertaining” He looked back at Drew
“If I were a professional player, you wouldn't stand a chance against me” Drew said
“Oh Yeah?”
“I'd be her favorite player” said proudly
You couldn't stop laughing “You can't even play football”
“Don't need to. My pretty face would be enough”
Jude pointed at Drew “I like him”
“See?” Drew said proudly
Jude shook Drew's hand before looking back at you “It was nice meeting you both”
“you too”
“and thanks for the support” As soon as he walked away Drew looked at you
“so...”
“so?”
“..If I score a goal in the backyard later, will you scream my name like that too?”
You laughed so hard you had to grab his arm to keep “You know know how loud~”
ummmm omg ???? thank you so much for 3k followers !!!!
i appreciate y’all’s support !!!! even through times where my personal has been chaotic, yall are always there to show your love and appreciation for me and the work i put out.
thank you so so much, i truly appreciate each and every one of you awesome people 🥺💜
hi i love all your drew starkey content! i saw pictures and videos of drew at the lucky premiere and i was just wondering if you can do a drew starkey x actress!reader where actress!reader does a vlog about attending the lucky premiere with drew, thanks !! x
Y/n was wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her hair pinned back in a million places as her hairstylist and makeup artists worked simultaneously. A large mirror stood in front of her, which y/n pointed her camera at, her free hand holding up a peace sign.
“It has been a long, long time folks…” y/n began her video, “but we are SO back!”
Y/n let out a little whoop, her beauty team giggling as they focused on their work.
“I know I’ve been a bit MIA recently,” y/n continued to explain, gesturing widely with her freshly manicured nails, “but I have been working on a project I’m very excited to share more about with you very soon.”
“But,” y/n said, raising one of her hands, “today we are going to my wonderful, amazing, talented, hot husband’s premiere for ‘Lucky’.”
“I’m so happy to be here and I’m so happy to see Drew— and Anya, of course— getting all the love they deserve for this show.” Y/n grinned. “I will see you in an hour once I am dressed!”
Y/n gave the camera one last wave before clicking it off. She continued to chat casually with her beauty team as they finished up the final touches of her look. Once they finished, y/n was left with a simple yet elegant look that highlighted her natural features without outshining the stars of the show— Drew and Anya.
Just as she was about to step out of her robe and begin the careful process of putting on her gown for the evening, the door of the hotel suite slowly opened. Y/n turned just in time to see Drew’s head pop in, a wide smile on his face.
“Perfect timing, handsome.” Y/n grinned as he stepped inside the room. His hair and makeup were already done, evidenced by the plump nature of his lips and the perfectly messy-yet-styled quaff of his grown out buzzcut. He wore his dress shirt and pants, his jacketcoat draped over his forearm.
“You look amazing, baby.” Drew murmured as he quickly laid his jacketcoat on the bed and moved to stand in front of y/n.
“Wanna help me put on the dress?” Y/n asked with a quirk of her brow.
Drew immediately nodded his head with the excitement of a puppy dog.
Y/n’s beauty team giggled as they finished packing up before leaving the two of them be.
Y/n tugged at the belt of her robe, allowing the plush fabric to fall to reveal her ivory colored undergarments. They weren’t anything especially spectacular— just plain old cotton and spandex— but it still made Drew’s breath catch.
“Behave, Drew, we’ve got an event to attend.” Y/n murmured with a smirk as she began to unzip the garment bag. Inside laid her Dior dress for the evening, a pink, satin gown with floral elements. Y/n carefully took the straps off the hanger, lifting the fine fabric from the garment bag.
“You make it hard to.” Drew grumbled lowly as he took the dress from y/n’s hands. He held the gown out, the open zipper allowing the fabric to fall open enough for y/n to step inside.
It was a careful balance Drew had mastered after years of living with y/n.
Y/n stepped both of her feet in, shimmying slightly as Drew pulled the straps up her arms. His fingertips skimmed against her skin as he smoothed the straps over her shoulders.
Y/n let out a long exhale as she glanced up at the mirror in front of them. Drew looked over her shoulder, his eyes slowly tracing over every detail of the gown as it fell on her body.
“Gorgeous.” Drew murmured as he reluctantly looked away, finding the zipper resting against the small of y/n’s back. The zipper pulled the fabric snug against her body, the satin draping beautifully.
“Absolutely perfect.” Drew said with a long exhale, placing his hands on y/n’s hips gently before resting her chin on her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, both of them letting out little flustered chuckles.
“You wanna join my video?” Y/n asked, cocking her head in the direction of her camera sat atop the dresser.
“Ooh, sure.” Drew hummed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on camera… maybe an hour?”
Y/n rolled her eyes playfully before picking up the camera.
“Alright, folks, here is the final look.” Y/n said, pointing the camera at the large mirror in front of them. Drew stepped back a bit, still watching her as she moved around to show off her outfit.
“And also, Drew is here!” Y/n said happily, turning the camera towards Drew. He smiled, giving the camera a quick wave.
“Look at how handsome he is.” Y/n growled playfully, causing Drew’s cheeks to flush as he looked down at his dress shoes bashfully. “My little movie star.”
“I feel like a kid on the first day of school.” Drew chuckled, causing y/n to let out a laugh.
“Ok well,” y/n said, “now I think it is time to cue the montage of this evening's festivities— but first, remember to stream Lucky if you want to see this talented hottie!”
Drew flashed a wide grin, giving the camera a wink before the video cut to a chaotic yet fun montage of the show's premiere.
Drew walking the red carpet, his effortless charm practically radiating through the screen. His gray suit was tailored beautifully, looking great from every angle or pose he hit. Eventually, Anya, his co-star for the show, joined him in her own stunning white gown. The two’s friendship shone through, allowing them to show off their natural chemistry that translated to the screen. Y/n watched the two of them from just off the carpet, her own wide smile.
Y/n made her own walk across the carpet. She walked slowly, allowing her gown to flow behind her as she shifted between poses. The camera's bulbs flashed, the crowd cheering excitedly as she greeted them with a wave.
“Y’mind if I join you, miss?” Drew said with a cheesy wink.
“Of course, fine gentleman.” Y/n grinned. Drew smiled, coming to join y/n.
They immediately melted into each other's sides comfortably, smiling for the cameras. Drew’s hand rested lowly on y/n’s hip, smoothing the fabric lightly as they moved along the carpet. Every so often, Drew would murmur a little comment or joke, causing y/n to laugh and the cameras to flash excitedly.
“Ok folks,” y/n said as she stepped off the red carpet. “It looks like there’s a photobooth here?! What?!”
Y/n’s jaw dropped dramatically as she showed the photobooth sitting out for the premiere. It was a vintage booth, with a curtain and a spot to pick up your “Lucky Fake ID” after exiting the booth.
“Guys, I feel like this is a good end to the video… I mean how could you top this?” Y/n giggled as she stepped into the photobooth. She looked around the little booth with an excited expression.
“Where is my— Drew?” Y/n said, pulling back the curtain.
“I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry.” Drew chuckled, ducking his head into the booth. His tall figure tried his best to fit into the booth, smushing y/n against the opposite side. Y/n laughed as he finally wriggled in and sat on the seat.
“It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.” Drew laughed. “Here, let me—”
Drew grabbed y/n’s waist, hoisting her up before plopping her down on his lap. She let out a bit of a squeak as the two of them relaxed into the much more comfortable position. Y/n sat the camera in the corner of the booth, capturing the two of them as they got into their poses for the booth’s camera.
In the first picture, the two of them pressed their heads together, cheek-to-cheek, and smiled widely.
The second, Drew turned, pressing a dramatically, loud kiss to y/n’s face. She began to giggle, the camera capturing the look as her eyes began to crinkle.
The third, y/n’s laugh was loud and filled up her whole face. Drew continued to press a kiss to her cheek, this time a smile spreading across his lips as he let out his own giggle.
The fourth, the two of them put their noses together. The two of them smiled widely— looking at each other as if they were the only thing in the whole world.
i kinda imagined this as taylor + travis’s wedding, but that’s not explicitly stated so you can kinda imagine it however you want lol. enjoy <3
The venue was gorgeous. The branches of trees laced with string lights hanging over a dancefloor lined with tables, each covered with vibrant, huge bouquets of flowers. The guests milled about, most already pretty tipsy from the open bar, and having the times of their lives as the music blasted. The moon was high, the stars splashed across the deep blue of the late night sky. Despite the late hour, the night was still very much young.
Y/n was out on the crowded dancefloor, dancing with a friend of hers as they each nursed their own glass of champagne— which definitely wasn’t their first of the night. Joe was just off to the side, standing at one of the high top tables with some other football players that happened to be attending the same wedding. They were chatting about pre-season lineups, and Joe really was trying his best to listen and engage, but kept finding his eyes and thoughts drifting over to y/n on the dancefloor.
He watched as she swayed her hips side to side, tossing her head back to sing as the chorus of the song hit its crescendo. She always looked beautiful— oftentimes frighteningly, overwhelmingly so— but underneath the lights and with a wide smile on her face, she looked positively radiant. She was enchanting, each tap of her foot and twist of her body pulling him in closer and closer. He found his eyes remaining on her, but his mind began to drift to thoughts of her dancing again on a dancefloor, but this time a white dress billowing around her and a glimmering diamond on her finger. She’d spin, letting out a giggle as—
“Joe?” A voice drew him out of his thoughts. He blinked, clearing his head before focusing back on y/n as she stood in front of him. He straightened, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile as he looked over her before meeting her eyes. The previously loud, booming music had slowed to a gentle piano partnered with soft vocals.
“Y–yes?” Joe asked, taking a quick sip of his drink before setting the glass down.
“Dance with me?” Y/n grinned. The corner of his eyes cringed slightly at the question, more on instinct than genuine annoyance.
“Y/n…” Joe sighed, his cheeks already flushing with preemptive embarrassment at the prospect of making a fool of himself on the dancefloor.
“Please.” Y/n hummed, her lips turning downward in a dramatic pout— a dramatic pout that immediately made Joe crumble as he offered his hand out to her. Just as quickly as the pout had come, it was gone as the two of them made their way out onto the dancefloor.
The two of them found their place amongst the sea of couples swaying gently. Joe’s hands fell to her hips, pulling her closer as she laced her fingers behind the nape of his neck. The two of them swayed quietly, Joe trying his best to correctly time his steps while simultaneously stealing glances at y/n as she looked around the venue. He was doing an alright job until he mistimed one of his steps, stepping on y/n’s toe for a split second as she let out a surprised yelp.
“Shit, sorry.” Joe said, biting at his lip as he gazed down at her foot with a hiss. She’d barely faltered as she continued into their next steps. Y/n laughed, reaching to brush away one of Joe’s stray curls that refused to stay swept back with the rest of his hair.
“It’s alright.” Y/n grinned. “You’re a football player, not a dancer. I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to dance.”
Joe chuckled, shaking his head to himself as his eyes met hers. The corner of her eyes crinkled as she smiled up at him in a way that made him want to grab her by the face and kiss the hell out of her— but he quickly remembered they were at a public, formal event and instead opted for pressing a kiss to her forehead. She smiled up at him as he pulled away before she moved to rest her cheek against his chest. Underneath the fabric of his dress shirt she could hear the steady thrum of his heart even over the music. When she inhaled, she could smell his cologne. It was a perfect moment, one both of them wanted to capture and etch into their very bones.
Eventually, the music slowed before fading out. Y/n lifted her head, looking up at Joe who was already gazing down at her.
“You’re so perfect.” He murmured, his eyes full of nothing but total love and admiration. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she let out a flustered giggle.
“And I’m the luckiest woman alive.” She said in response, rising up onto her tip toes to press a kiss to Joe’s jaw before resting back down on her high-heeled feet. The two of them stepped apart, one of Joe’s hands remaining carefully splayed along her hip as they turned to listen to the DJ as he spoke into the mic.
“Alright, gents, it’s time to clear the floor for the bouquet toss.” The DJ said, ushering for the bride to come over. She held a large, elegant bouquet and a wide smile on her face. Joe turned towards y/n, who shooed him away playfully. He rolled his eyes before obliging, stepping off the checkered dancefloor but keeping his eyes focused solely on her.
Y/n crowded in with the other women, laughing to herself as a couple eager girls clamored to the front. Y/n remained just off to the side, close enough to the group without having to worry about being shoved by an aunt or cousin.
“Alright,” the bride said, turning her back to the women.
“3…2…1!” The bride and crowd counted down. As she reached one, the bride tossed the bouquet behind her, the flowers sailing through the air for what felt like an eternity until landing squarely in y/n’s arms.
“Oh my god!” Y/n let out a surprised yelp, fumbling with the flowers as the women let out excited squeals. Her head whipped around to find Joe, who was staring back at her with a shocked smile as the men began to mob him, jostling him around by his shoulders.
“Congratulations, we’ve got a future Mrs Burrow here.” One of the women teased, causing y/n to let out a flustered chuckle. At the sound of “Mrs Burrow”, Joe quirked up a teasing brow and smirked that annoyingly handsome smirk of his.
Based on the excited look on y/n’s face, it was safe to say Joe had found the right time to put the diamond ring he’d been keeping in his drawer for months to good use.
Sinopsis: Three weeks into their fake relationship, the line between acting and reality begins to blur. As feelings grow stronger and the truth becomes impossible to ignore, both you and Clark must decide whether to let the lie end—or finally admit what has been real all along.
Warnings: Workplace Harassment, Stalking Behavior, Emotional Distress, Anxiety, Self-Doubt, Fear of Rejection
WC: 8,400 words approx.
Three weeks.
They had been doing this for three whole weeks.
And Clark had made those weeks so charming that sometimes you forgot it was all a lie.
For a moment, when he smiled at you from across the desks, or handed you a freshly made coffee without you even having to ask, or when his fingers laced with yours as you walked down the stairs, it felt real.
Like you were actually dating.
Like you actually cared about each other.
Like all of this would actually last forever.
But then you remembered it was a favor.
That Clark was kind to everyone.
That there was nothing special about the way he treated you.
And the cold returned.
They had thought a month would be enough.
One month of lies.
One month of fake kisses and intertwined hands.
And Benjamin would get bored and finally leave you alone.
That had been the plan.
But Benjamin didn't get bored.
Benjamin didn't give up.
If anything, the lie seemed to entertain him even more.
Because now he wasn't just bothering you.
Now he was making jokes.
And his jokes weren't funny.
They were the kind of jokes that made you freeze.
The kind that stole the air from your lungs.
The kind that made you grit your teeth to stop yourself from saying something you'd regret later.
One day, while everyone was at their desks, you and Clark were drinking coffee and Lois was flipping through a newspaper a few desks away, Benjamin approached with his mug in hand and that smile you hated with every fiber of your being.
He leaned casually against your desk.
Right in front of you.
And spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"Well, when Clark breaks your heart, please come to me. I actually know how to treat a woman."
He laughed as if he had said something incredibly clever.
And your blood ran cold.
Lois looked at him with such obvious irritation that it seemed like sparks might shoot from her eyes.
She opened her mouth, undoubtedly preparing a very colorful insult.
But she never got the chance.
Because at that moment, you felt your chair move.
Clark had grabbed the backrest and gently pulled you closer to him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Then you felt his hand settle against your waist.
His palm rested there, fingers spread, firm but never tight.
The warmth of his touch traveled through your clothes and straight to your skin.
It was a calm touch.
The kind that didn't say you're mine.
The kind that said,
It's okay. I'm here.
And it worked.
Every time Benjamin tried to make you uncomfortable, Clark appeared with a gesture like that.
And it felt as though the fear slowly dissolved.
Like a reward after a long week.
Like an unexpected gift that made you smile inside.
But it wasn't a possessive touch.
Clark never took advantage.
Never put his hands where they shouldn't be.
Never held you too tightly.
Never lingered longer than necessary.
It was simply a hand on your waist.
Steady.
Comforting.
The kind of touch that said,
I'm here. You're not alone.
And even though you knew it was part of the act—
Even though you knew he was only doing it to make Benjamin leave—
You still liked it.
Far too much.
"Then you'll have to wait a little longer," Clark said.
His voice was so calm it sounded as though he were discussing the weather.
"Maybe a few more months. Or years. Unless we end up getting married, of course."
The sentence made you go pale.
Married.
He had said married.
Your heart lurched so violently you thought it might leap right out of your chest.
You stared at Clark with wide eyes.
But he was still looking at Benjamin with that polite smile that wasn't entirely polite.
From Jimmy's desk came an explosive coughing fit, as if someone had choked on their own breath.
Benjamin's eyes widened too.
And for a second—
Just one second—
You saw him caught completely off guard.
Speechless.
Clark didn't give him time to recover.
He turned toward you.
Leaned slightly closer.
And looked at you with such gentle eyes that they almost hurt.
"Ready for lunch?" he asked.
With his free hand, he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face.
Then tucked it behind your ear with a tenderness that sent a shiver across your skin.
"Yes," you answered.
Your voice came out much higher than you intended.
But you smiled.
A real smile.
The kind that appeared without permission.
You grabbed your purse with trembling hands.
Clark took your hand.
He held it as naturally as though he'd done it a thousand times before.
And perhaps he had.
Three weeks of holding your hand had already turned into habit.
The habit of taking your hand.
The habit of walking beside you.
The habit of making you feel safe.
He pulled you gently to his side and draped an arm across your shoulders in a loose embrace.
Then he walked away with you toward the elevator.
Benjamin remained behind.
Coffee mug still in hand.
Expression twisted.
But you didn't look back.
You didn't want to see him.
You only wanted to leave with Clark.
When the elevator doors closed behind you and you were finally alone, Clark immediately stepped away.
It was almost as though he had been waiting for privacy to drop the act.
One step.
Then another.
He adjusted his glasses with a finger.
His cheeks were slightly pink.
And his smile looked much more shy than before.
"I hope I didn't overwhelm you," he said immediately, speaking a little faster than usual.
"The marriage thing, I mean. That was too much, wasn't it? I'm sorry. It just slipped out. I wanted him to leave already, and I couldn't think of anything else to say, and—"
"If this lie keeps going," you interrupted, a laugh escaping your chest, "we're going to have to adopt children and pretend they're ours."
Clark looked at you with wide eyes.
For a second, you worried you had said something incredibly stupid.
But then he laughed too.
A soft, warm laugh.
And his entire face relaxed.
"We could name the girl Sophia," he suggested, as though he were being completely serious.
You laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind that bent your body forward and made your stomach hurt.
"Sophia?" you repeated between giggles.
"It's a pretty name," Clark said with a shrug.
"And if it's a boy," you replied, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye, "we can name him Derek. Like Derek Shepherd."
Clark nodded.
His smile was so wide that dimples appeared in his cheeks.
"Derek Kent," he said, testing the name despite the fact that it didn't sound quite right.
He was obviously lying.
And you laughed again.
"Sounds good."
"We still have time to think about it," you suggested.
And both of you smiled.
Neither of you willing to admit how frighteningly easy it was becoming to imagine a future that was supposed to be fake.
Then came the newsroom party.
Clark told you about it the day before, during your "fake couple dinner", because that was normal now, wasn't it?
It was normal for the two of you to leave work together and go to the Italian restaurant afterward, to ask for the same table as always, to share pasta and talk about your days as if you had been doing it for years.
It didn't even feel strange anymore.
It was part of the routine, like going down to the editors' floor or getting coffee from the machine in the hallway.
But that night, while you watched Clark move the silverware with his large hands, something wouldn't leave you alone.
Something had been eating away at you from the inside for days, and you knew you had to say it.
"Clark," you began, letting your fingers fall onto the table, gently tapping the checkered tablecloth. "Do you think this is still okay?"
He lifted his gaze from his plate.
There was a little sauce at the corner of his mouth, barely visible, and you thought you should tell him so he could wipe it away, but you didn't.
You just kept looking at him.
Waiting.
"Because at the end of the day, we're..." You tried to find the right words, the ones that wouldn't sound so harsh, the ones that wouldn't make him defensive.
But you couldn't find them.
So you told the truth, even though the truth hurt a little.
"Lying."
Clark didn't say anything at first.
He only placed his silverware on the table, slowly, and leaned back against his chair.
He looked at you with those clear eyes that seemed to see beyond what you wanted to show him.
And you felt your stomach twist, because yes, of course you were lying.
Pretending was hard.
It was hard to wake up every morning and remember that everything you did, every kiss on the cheek, every hand held, every time he brushed your hair away from your face, was part of a show.
The hard part wasn't acting for everyone else.
The hard part was acting for yourself.
Because that lie was starting to make you feel strange around Clark.
But not strange in an uncomfortable way.
Not the kind that made you want to run away.
It was a different kind of strange.
The kind that made you wonder things you shouldn't be wondering.
Like whether Clark could ever truly fall in love with someone like you.
Because sometimes, in the way he looked at you, in how gentle his voice was when he asked how you had slept, in how natural it felt to have his hand on your waist, for one second you believed it was real.
You believed he felt something too.
But then came the question.
The question that always arrived like a cold shower:
And you? Did you believe Clark could fall in love with you?
The answer was no.
You didn't believe it.
Because Clark was kind to everyone.
Because Clark treated the cleaning lady with the same sweetness he showed you.
Because Clark didn't see you as someone special, only as one more person on his list of people to help.
And you weren't a reporter.
You didn't have interesting opinions like the people who wrote articles did.
You didn't know how to talk about politics or economics or the important things happening in the world.
You only took pictures.
You hid behind a camera and captured moments, but when someone asked for your opinion, when someone asked what you truly thought, your words got tangled and you either said something silly or stayed quiet.
You didn't have a well-formed opinion, and that made you feel strange.
As if you didn't quite fit there.
As if you were a guest who had stayed longer than she should have.
So continuing with that lie could only hurt you.
You knew that.
Every day you spent with Clark, every kind gesture he made for you, every time you laughed together, you were digging a deeper hole.
A hole that would hurt to climb out of later.
Because the lie was going to end.
It had to end.
And when it ended, Clark would still be Clark, kind to everyone, and you would be just another coworker.
A photographer he had once pretended to date.
And nothing more.
Clark smiled.
Despite everything, he smiled.
And that smile broke your heart a little because you couldn't read what he was feeling.
It was impossible.
His face was like a closed book, one with no title on the cover.
Did he feel anything after pretending for so long?
Or was this just another favor to him, like helping Steve with an article or walking Zoe to the printer?
You didn't know.
And not knowing was the worst part.
"Then we won't go to the party together," Clark said, and his voice sounded different, lower, as if he had made a decision that cost him something.
You stared at him with wide eyes.
You hadn't expected that.
You thought he would say you should keep pretending a little longer, that you should endure it until Benjamin finally got tired.
But no.
He chose the first option.
Separation.
And that hurt more than you wanted to admit.
"Well..." you began, but the words got stuck in your throat.
And then you knew.
You knew that what you were about to say was probably the reason you had decided to end all of this.
Because you couldn't keep going.
Because every day you spent falling a little more in love with him, every fake caress that made your heart race, was a broken promise.
And you didn't want to reach the point where you couldn't look at him without crying.
So you took a deep breath, clenched your hands under the table so he wouldn't see them trembling, and said it.
"I heard Sarah say she liked you."
Clark went still.
He blinked twice.
Three times.
As if he hadn't heard you correctly.
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
You felt your throat burn, but you continued, even though it hurt to say, even though every syllable felt like swallowing ground glass.
"The other day, in the break room. She was talking to Marta and said she's wanted you for a while."
You lowered your gaze to your plate, to the pasta you barely wanted to eat anymore.
"Maybe you should invite her. To the party, I mean. Or out. Whatever you want."
Clark didn't answer right away.
He looked at you with an expression you couldn't decipher, something between confusion and surprise.
Then, after a silence that felt eternal, he spoke.
"So soon?" he asked, his voice strange, as though he were thinking out loud.
You lifted your head and looked at him in confusion.
"Soon?"
"Yes," Clark said, shaking his head as though what you had just said was absurd. "We're supposed to be breaking up today, aren't we? So... finding a date for Saturday's gathering wouldn't be very appropriate. Especially if I'm going to be devastated over you."
You laughed.
You couldn't help it.
A small, trembling laugh that came from deep inside your chest.
It made you laugh that he said "devastated," as if he were a character in an old movie, as if it truly mattered to him that people didn't think badly of him.
But you also laughed because it was sweet.
Because even though everything was fake, even though there were no real feelings behind his words, he wanted to be loyal to you.
He wanted to protect the lie until the very last moment, for you, so you wouldn't look bad.
And somehow, that hurt more than if he had said yes, that he was going to invite Sarah.
"Are you going with someone?" Clark asked, tilting his head to one side.
You shrugged, pretending you didn't care, even though inside you felt as if something you couldn't name was collapsing.
"Well, I can be the one who cries over you. That way you can invite whoever you want without it looking bad."
Clark frowned slightly, as though he didn't like the idea.
"Besides," you continued, speaking faster so you wouldn't have time to regret it, "I've already interfered enough in your life. Sarah probably wanted to go out with you for a while, and because of me, because of my lie, she couldn't. It isn't fair to her. Or to you."
"No," Clark said suddenly, with a firmness that surprised you.
He shook his head from side to side, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.
"You can't cry over a man. I mean... you're far too beautiful to cry over anyone."
He fell silent as soon as he finished the sentence, as though he had only just realized what he had said.
His cheeks turned red.
Truly red.
He pushed his glasses up with a trembling finger.
Looked down.
Looked up.
Looked down again.
And a quiet, awkward "right?" escaped his lips in a whisper.
You laughed.
Again.
But this laugh was different.
Softer.
Warmer.
You laughed because Clark had blushed like a teenager, because he had said something so lovely without meaning to, because for one second, just one second, it seemed like his words weren't part of the show.
But then you thought you were exaggerating.
That surely he was just being kind.
That you shouldn't read more into it than there was.
So you stored that sentence in a secret place inside your heart, in that little drawer where you kept the things that made you happy but that you couldn't take out.
"Then we'll just go separately," you said, shrugging again as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "That way everyone will know we've broken up. And that's it. End of the lie."
"And what will happen with the editor?" Clark asked, his voice turning serious again. "Benjamin. Once he knows we're no longer together, he'll start bothering you again."
"I guess I'll face it," you said, and this time you didn't laugh.
Because that wasn't funny.
"And if it gets worse, I'll tell Perry. I don't know if anything will come of it, I don't know if they'll believe me, but maybe that's better than always dodging him, hiding behind other people, feeling afraid all the time."
Clark nodded slowly, his face serious.
He said nothing, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours for a long while, as if he were committing your face to memory.
"Thank you, Clark," you said, and this time your voice came out steadier.
A smile formed on your lips, the kind that appears when something hurts but you're still grateful.
"It was the best fake relationship I've ever had. Better than the real ones, even."
Clark smiled too, and that smile reached your soul.
It was sincere, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made people look even more beautiful.
"I only did the basics," he said, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. "What every man is supposed to do. Treat a woman well, take care of her, listen to her. I didn't do anything extraordinary."
You laughed softly and shook your head.
"To you, it's basic. To others, it isn't. To others, that's too much."
Neither of you said anything else after that.
You finished dinner in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need words.
Clark paid the bill, as always, and walked you to the entrance of your building.
You walked slowly, without rushing, your hands tucked into your pockets so you wouldn't be tempted to hold them.
Because there was no need anymore.
The lie had ended.
When you arrived, Clark stopped on the sidewalk, right before the steps leading up to your door.
He slid his hands into his pants pockets and looked at you with a slightly sad smile.
Or maybe that was your imagination.
Maybe you were only seeing what you wanted to see.
"Well," Clark said, moving his head as though he didn't quite know what to do with his body now that he couldn't kiss you goodbye. "Take care. And if anything happens, if Benjamin bothers you again, tell me. It doesn't matter if we're not a fake couple anymore. Tell me anyway."
"Okay," you said, a knot in your throat making it hard to speak properly. "Thank you for everything, Clark. Truly."
Clark nodded.
He took one step back.
Then another.
And turned to leave.
He walked a few meters away, hands still in his pockets, head lowered.
You stayed there watching him, watching as he moved farther away, as he became smaller in the empty street.
Your heart was beating hard.
Too hard.
And something in your chest begged you to call out to him, to tell him not to leave, to tell him you didn't want it to end.
But you didn't.
You stayed silent, arms crossed over your chest, watching Clark disappear around the corner.
And when he finally vanished, when only the echo of his footsteps remained on the asphalt, you felt the cold again.
The same cold as always.
Only bigger.
Heavier.
As if the entire winter had settled inside you.
You climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, opened the door to your apartment, locked it behind you, and collapsed onto the couch without even turning on the light.
The darkness wrapped around you like a blanket.
And you stayed there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Clark.
About his smile.
About his hand on your waist.
About the way he said your name.
About how he had told you that you were far too beautiful to cry over anyone.
And then, before you could do anything to stop it, one tear slipped from your eye.
Then another.
And another.
You cried over Clark, even though he had told you not to.
You cried because the lie had ended, but the real feelings were still there, large and heavy and impossible to ignore.
You cried because you liked Clark.
Because you had liked him since the first coffee he offered you.
And now, after a month and two weeks of fake kisses and held hands, you liked him even more.
Then came the newsroom party.
Clark told you about it the day before, during your "fake couple" dinner, because that was normal now, wasn't it?
It was normal for the two of you to leave work together and go to the Italian restaurant afterward, to ask for the same table as always, to share pasta and talk about your days as if you had been doing it for years.
It didn't even feel strange anymore.
It was part of the routine, like going down to the editors' floor or getting coffee from the machine in the hallway.
But that night, while you watched Clark move the silverware with his large hands, something wouldn't leave you alone.
Something had been eating away at you from the inside for days, and you knew you had to say it.
"Clark," you began, letting your fingers fall onto the table, gently tapping the checkered tablecloth. "Do you think this is still okay?"
He lifted his gaze from his plate.
There was a little sauce at the corner of his mouth, barely visible, and you thought you should tell him so he could wipe it away, but you didn't.
You just kept looking at him.
Waiting.
"Because at the end of the day, we're..." You tried to find the right words, the ones that wouldn't sound so harsh, the ones that wouldn't make him defensive.
But you couldn't find them.
So you told the truth, even though the truth hurt a little.
"Lying."
Clark didn't say anything at first.
He only placed his silverware on the table, slowly, and leaned back against his chair.
He looked at you with those clear eyes that seemed to see beyond what you wanted to show him.
And you felt your stomach twist, because yes, of course you were lying.
Pretending was hard.
It was hard to wake up every morning and remember that everything you did, every kiss on the cheek, every hand held, every time he brushed your hair away from your face, was part of a show.
The hard part wasn't acting for everyone else.
The hard part was acting for yourself.
Because that lie was starting to make you feel strange around Clark.
But not strange in an uncomfortable way.
Not the kind that made you want to run away.
It was a different kind of strange.
The kind that made you wonder things you shouldn't be wondering.
Like whether Clark could ever truly fall in love with someone like you.
Because sometimes, in the way he looked at you, in how gentle his voice was when he asked how you had slept, in how natural it felt to have his hand on your waist, for one second you believed it was real.
You believed he felt something too.
But then came the question.
The question that always arrived like a cold shower:
And you? Did you believe Clark could fall in love with you?
The answer was no.
You didn't believe it.
Because Clark was kind to everyone.
Because Clark treated the cleaning lady with the same sweetness he showed you.
Because Clark didn't see you as someone special, only as one more person on his list of people to help.
And you weren't a reporter.
You didn't have interesting opinions like the people who wrote articles did.
You didn't know how to talk about politics or economics or the important things happening in the world.
You only took pictures.
You hid behind a camera and captured moments, but when someone asked for your opinion, when someone asked what you truly thought, your words got tangled and you either said something silly or stayed quiet.
You didn't have a well-formed opinion, and that made you feel strange.
As if you didn't quite fit there.
As if you were a guest who had stayed longer than she should have.
So continuing with that lie could only hurt you.
You knew that.
Every day you spent with Clark, every kind gesture he made for you, every time you laughed together, you were digging a deeper hole.
A hole that would hurt to climb out of later.
Because the lie was going to end.
It had to end.
And when it ended, Clark would still be Clark, kind to everyone, and you would be just another coworker.
A photographer he had once pretended to date.
And nothing more.
Clark smiled.
Despite everything, he smiled.
And that smile broke your heart a little because you couldn't read what he was feeling.
It was impossible.
His face was like a closed book, one with no title on the cover.
Did he feel anything after pretending for so long?
Or was this just another favor to him, like helping Steve with an article or walking Zoe to the printer?
You didn't know.
And not knowing was the worst part.
"Then we won't go to the party together," Clark said, and his voice sounded different, lower, as if he had made a decision that cost him something.
You stared at him with wide eyes.
You hadn't expected that.
You thought he would say you should keep pretending a little longer, that you should endure it until Benjamin finally got tired.
But no.
He chose the first option.
Separation.
And that hurt more than you wanted to admit.
"Well..." you began, but the words got stuck in your throat.
And then you knew.
You knew that what you were about to say was probably the reason you had decided to end all of this.
Because you couldn't keep going.
Because every day you spent falling a little more in love with him, every fake caress that made your heart race, was a broken promise.
And you didn't want to reach the point where you couldn't look at him without crying.
So you took a deep breath, clenched your hands under the table so he wouldn't see them trembling, and said it.
"I heard Sarah say she liked you."
Clark went still.
He blinked twice.
Three times.
As if he hadn't heard you correctly.
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
You felt your throat burn, but you continued, even though it hurt to say, even though every syllable felt like swallowing ground glass.
"The other day, in the break room. She was talking to Marta and said she's wanted you for a while."
You lowered your gaze to your plate, to the pasta you barely wanted to eat anymore.
"Maybe you should invite her. To the party, I mean. Or out. Whatever you want."
Clark didn't answer right away.
He looked at you with an expression you couldn't decipher, something between confusion and surprise.
Then, after a silence that felt eternal, he spoke.
"So soon?" he asked, his voice strange, as though he were thinking out loud.
You lifted your head and looked at him in confusion.
"Soon?"
"Yes," Clark said, shaking his head as though what you had just said was absurd. "We're supposed to be breaking up today, aren't we? So... finding a date for Saturday's gathering wouldn't be very appropriate. Especially if I'm going to be devastated over you."
You laughed.
You couldn't help it.
A small, trembling laugh that came from deep inside your chest.
It made you laugh that he said "devastated," as if he were a character in an old movie, as if it truly mattered to him that people didn't think badly of him.
But you also laughed because it was sweet.
Because even though everything was fake, even though there were no real feelings behind his words, he wanted to be loyal to you.
He wanted to protect the lie until the very last moment, for you, so you wouldn't look bad.
And somehow, that hurt more than if he had said yes, that he was going to invite Sarah.
"Are you going with someone?" Clark asked, tilting his head to one side.
You shrugged, pretending you didn't care, even though inside you felt as if something you couldn't name was collapsing.
"Well, I can be the one who cries over you. That way you can invite whoever you want without it looking bad."
Clark frowned slightly, as though he didn't like the idea.
"Besides," you continued, speaking faster so you wouldn't have time to regret it, "I've already interfered enough in your life. Sarah probably wanted to go out with you for a while, and because of me, because of my lie, she couldn't. It isn't fair to her. Or to you."
"No," Clark said suddenly, with a firmness that surprised you.
He shook his head from side to side, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.
"You can't cry over a man. I mean... you're far too beautiful to cry over anyone."
He fell silent as soon as he finished the sentence, as though he had only just realized what he had said.
His cheeks turned red.
Truly red.
He pushed his glasses up with a trembling finger.
Looked down.
Looked up.
Looked down again.
And a quiet, awkward "right?" escaped his lips in a whisper.
You laughed.
Again.
But this laugh was different.
Softer.
Warmer.
You laughed because Clark had blushed like a teenager, because he had said something so lovely without meaning to, because for one second, just one second, it seemed like his words weren't part of the show.
But then you thought you were exaggerating.
That surely he was just being kind.
That you shouldn't read more into it than there was.
So you stored that sentence in a secret place inside your heart, in that little drawer where you kept the things that made you happy but that you couldn't take out.
"Then we'll just go separately," you said, shrugging again as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "That way everyone will know we've broken up. And that's it. End of the lie."
"And what will happen with the editor?" Clark asked, his voice turning serious again. "Benjamin. Once he knows we're no longer together, he'll start bothering you again."
"I guess I'll face it," you said, and this time you didn't laugh.
Because that wasn't funny.
"And if it gets worse, I'll tell Perry. I don't know if anything will come of it, I don't know if they'll believe me, but maybe that's better than always dodging him, hiding behind other people, feeling afraid all the time."
Clark nodded slowly, his face serious.
He said nothing, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours for a long while, as if he were committing your face to memory.
"Thank you, Clark," you said, and this time your voice came out steadier.
A smile formed on your lips, the kind that appears when something hurts but you're still grateful.
"It was the best fake relationship I've ever had. Better than the real ones, even."
Clark smiled too, and that smile reached your soul.
It was sincere, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made people look even more beautiful.
"I only did the basics," he said, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal. "What every man is supposed to do. Treat a woman well, take care of her, listen to her. I didn't do anything extraordinary."
You laughed softly and shook your head.
"To you, it's basic. To others, it isn't. To others, that's too much."
Neither of you said anything else after that.
You finished dinner in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need words.
Clark paid the bill, as always, and walked you to the entrance of your building.
You walked slowly, without rushing, your hands tucked into your pockets so you wouldn't be tempted to hold them.
Because there was no need anymore.
The lie had ended.
When you arrived, Clark stopped on the sidewalk, right before the steps leading up to your door.
He slid his hands into his pants pockets and looked at you with a slightly sad smile.
Or maybe that was your imagination.
Maybe you were only seeing what you wanted to see.
"Well," Clark said, moving his head as though he didn't quite know what to do with his body now that he couldn't kiss you goodbye. "Take care. And if anything happens, if Benjamin bothers you again, tell me. It doesn't matter if we're not a fake couple anymore. Tell me anyway."
"Okay," you said, a knot in your throat making it hard to speak properly. "Thank you for everything, Clark. Truly."
Clark nodded.
He took one step back.
Then another.
And turned to leave.
He walked a few meters away, hands still in his pockets, head lowered.
You stayed there watching him, watching as he moved farther away, as he became smaller in the empty street.
Your heart was beating hard.
Too hard.
And something in your chest begged you to call out to him, to tell him not to leave, to tell him you didn't want it to end.
But you didn't.
You stayed silent, arms crossed over your chest, watching Clark disappear around the corner.
And when he finally vanished, when only the echo of his footsteps remained on the asphalt, you felt the cold again.
The same cold as always.
Only bigger.
Heavier.
As if the entire winter had settled inside you.
You climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, opened the door to your apartment, locked it behind you, and collapsed onto the couch without even turning on the light.
The darkness wrapped around you like a blanket.
And you stayed there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Clark.
About his smile.
About his hand on your waist.
About the way he said your name.
About how he had told you that you were far too beautiful to cry over anyone.
And then, before you could do anything to stop it, one tear slipped from your eye.
Then another.
And another.
You cried over Clark, even though he had told you not to.
You cried because the lie had ended, but the real feelings were still there, large and heavy and impossible to ignore.
You cried because you liked Clark.
Because you had liked him since the first coffee he offered you.
And now, after a month and two weeks of fake kisses and held hands, you liked him even more.
The next day, you arrived at the Planet.
The building looked the same as always, with those high walls and that smell of paper and coffee you already knew by heart.
You rode the elevator up, clutching your purse against your chest, feeling the eyes of people coming in and out on every floor.
You were calm.
Or at least, you were trying to be.
Inside, you still had that knot in your stomach, the one that didn't go away no matter how deeply you breathed or how hard you tried to think of pretty things.
The elevator opened on the top floor.
That was where they usually placed the crowded tables for social events, those folding metal tables that were always scratched and covered in coffee stains.
But not today.
Today, everything was different.
The tables were large and round, covered with white tablecloths that fell all the way to the floor.
There were flowers in the center.
Real flowers.
The kind that smelled lovely and clearly cost money.
The chairs had fabric covers and bows tied around the backs, and small lights had been hung on the walls, twinkling like stars.
Everything looked elegant.
Beautiful.
As if someone had spent the entire night decorating the room.
You walked through the entrance, and everyone looked at you.
There was curiosity in their eyes.
It was obvious from miles away.
Some people arched their brows.
Others whispered something into the ear of the person beside them.
And a woman from accounting looked you up and down as though she were doing mental calculations.
You knew why.
You knew it was obvious what had happened when they saw Clark hadn't arrived with you.
It gave the impression that a breakup had occurred.
So you sighed, squared your shoulders, and walked toward the table with the drinks and food.
You weren't going to hide.
You weren't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you uncomfortable.
There was everything on the table.
Sandwiches cut into triangles, cups filled with colorful juices, trays of cookies and little cakes, and a pile of fried things you absolutely loved.
You grabbed a plastic plate, one of those thin white ones that bends if you put too much weight on it, and served yourself some chopped fries.
You looked at them for a moment, took a bite of one, and chewed slowly as you watched the people around you laugh and talk.
"I knew it," a voice said beside you.
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
You knew that voice.
You hated it with your entire soul.
You turned your head, and there was Benjamin, wearing his gray suit and that crooked smile, leaning against the table as if he owned the place.
You looked at him without speaking, only with your eyes, and felt the fries get stuck in your throat.
"It's just that you weren't Kent's type," he said.
His eyes moved over your face, up and down, as though he were measuring you, as though you were a trophy he had lost.
"You're more... I don't know. He seems nerdier, more boring. I told you I could be more fun."
He took one step closer.
Then another.
His voice became lower, more intimate, as if the two of you were alone in the room despite the hundreds of people around you.
You felt your skin prickle.
Felt your hands begin to tremble.
But this time, you didn't freeze.
This time, you moved your foot.
One step back.
Then two.
You moved away from him as if he were fire that could burn you.
"Benjamin," you said, and your voice came out firmer than you felt, "even if I left Clark and every man in the world disappeared, I would never, not even if I were born again, go out with you. So please, be more professional."
The man stared at you.
He blinked twice, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
Around you, a few people turned to look.
A girl from human resources stopped eating her little cake and stared.
A guy from sports raised an eyebrow.
You had drawn attention.
But you didn't care.
You weren't going to stay quiet this time.
"You've become quite insolent," Benjamin said, and his voice was no longer soft.
It had an edge now.
A sharpness that made you clench your teeth.
"Do you call a woman insolent for trying to stop being harassed by a man who refuses to leave her alone?" you asked.
And even though you were trembling with fear inside, even though you felt like your legs might give out beneath you, you kept talking.
He couldn't do anything to you.
Not with so many people around.
Not in the middle of the party.
Maybe on Monday.
Maybe on Monday, when you were alone, he would find a way to retaliate.
But not today.
Today, you were safe.
"What a strange concept of kindness you have."
Benjamin smiled.
But it wasn't a pleasant smile.
It was the kind of smile people wear when they're planning something ugly.
He crossed his arms and leaned slightly toward you, just enough for you to feel his breath.
"Did creating a fake relationship with Clark Kent make you think you could make me jealous?" he asked, his voice a venomous whisper. "You're a—"
He never finished the word.
"Corvin."
Clark's voice arrived like thunder in the middle of the silence.
You turned your head and saw him walking toward you with long, firm steps.
He was wearing his blue suit, the one that suited him best, and his glasses caught the light from the party.
He wasn't smiling.
His face was serious.
More serious than you had ever seen it.
He came to your side, and his hand found your waist, right where he always placed it, but this time the touch wasn't for pretending.
It was to protect you.
You felt it in the way his fingers tightened slightly.
In the way he pulled you against his side as if to say,
This girl is with me.
"It's rude to disrespect a woman," Clark said, his voice calm but firm.
He wasn't shouting.
He didn't need to.
His height and serious expression were enough.
"Disrespect her with the truth?" Benjamin asked, shrugging one shoulder as if he couldn't care less. "I was only telling her things as they are."
"Well," Clark said.
And then he smiled.
But it wasn't a kind smile.
It was a knowing smile.
The kind of smile someone wears when they have an ace up their sleeve.
"You said the same thing to your secretary. And to the editor under your supervision. And to Lily's photographer. And to the receptionist downstairs."
Benjamin went pale.
His eyes widened slightly, and his mouth twisted as though he had bitten into a lemon.
"And it seems the complaints increased since yesterday," Clark continued, without dropping his smile. "Perry received all of them. Every single one. Signed and dated."
You looked at him in confusion.
Complaints?
What was he talking about?
Benjamin clenched his fists and opened his mouth to say something, but Clark didn't give him the chance.
"Now, please," he said, his voice turning colder, "show some respect to my girlfriend."
He held you by the waist and guided you away from there.
You walked quickly toward a corner of the room, behind a column where the others' gazes couldn't reach.
You were silent, your heart pounding in your ears, trying to process what had just happened.
"Clark..." you said when you finally stopped.
He positioned himself in front of you, blocking your body with his, and although his face was serious, his eyes held a different kind of brightness.
He was still looking toward where Benjamin had remained, with an anger he could barely contain.
"They're going to fire him," Clark said, his voice lower now, as though he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Starting tomorrow. Perry received the complaints from every woman he harassed. Not just the ones from the Planet, but also from other places where he worked before."
You stared at him, unable to understand.
Your eyes widened, and your mouth went dry.
"I spoke to each of them," Clark continued.
And now he did look at you, directly in the eyes.
"I convinced them to file harassment complaints. I told them they weren't alone, that if they all spoke together, nobody would be able to silence them. Cat and Lois are handling all the paperwork for the formal reports."
You drew in a breath.
The air entered your lungs as though you were breathing for the first time in months.
"Yours is still missing, of course," Clark said, his voice softening a little. "Only if you want to file it. I'll be your witness. I saw everything. I heard everything. I was there."
"Thank you, Clark," you whispered.
The words came out small, almost voiceless, because your throat had tightened again.
But this time, it wasn't from fear.
It was from relief.
From a happiness so enormous it almost hurt.
"I guess there's no need to pretend anymore."
Clark nodded.
A small smile appeared on his face, but his eyes were still serious, as if he were waiting for something else.
"Now you can go out with Sarah," you added.
And you meant it.
It hurt to say, but it was the right thing.
The lie was over.
Clark no longer had any obligation to you.
He could live his life.
Go out with whoever he wanted.
Be happy without having to worry about inventing fake kisses and embraces.
But Clark tilted his head.
He wrinkled his nose as though he had smelled something unpleasant, and his brows drew together in a small gesture of confusion.
"Pretend?" he asked, as if the word didn't make sense.
You stared at him, not understanding.
And then he took a deep breath, pushed his glasses up with a trembling finger, and continued speaking.
"I... didn't pretend."
Your heart stopped.
Or maybe it started beating far too fast.
You weren't sure.
"We pretended to have a three-month relationship," Clark said, his words coming slowly, as if he were choosing each one carefully. "That's true. But I didn't pretend when I said I liked you in front of everyone. That... that was true."
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.
Clark looked down for a moment. He adjusted his glasses again even though they didn't need adjusting, and when he looked back at you, his cheeks were red.
Red like the flowers decorating the tables.
"I just didn't want you to feel uncomfortable," he continued, his voice so quiet it was almost impossible to hear. "I waited for all of this to be over so I could... so I could tell you. So you'd know it wasn't just a favor. At least not for me. That I..."
He paused.
Swallowed hard.
You watched his lips move, and suddenly it felt impossible to breathe.
"I like you," he finally said. "Not since a month ago, when we started all of this. No. I..."
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if remembering something.
When he opened them again, there was a light in them you had never seen before.
"Four months ago," he said precisely.
The certainty in his voice stole your breath away.
"Exactly. Monday, June 5th. You were sitting at your desk, and I was walking by to take some paperwork to printing. You looked at me and said you liked my glasses."
A smile slipped onto your face.
You remembered that day.
It had been a rainy Monday, one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. You had arrived soaked and in a terrible mood.
But Clark had walked over with his glasses slightly crooked, and without thinking, you had told him they looked good on him.
That they suited him.
That was all.
Just a silly comment, the kind people make without giving it any importance.
But he had remembered it.
Four months later.
With the exact date and everything.
"I wasn't sure if you were just being nice," you said, your voice rough, as though you were about to cry, but not from sadness. "I thought there was no way you could like me. That you were too good for someone like me."
"Oh, Clark."
This time your eyes filled with tears.
Good tears.
"I like you so much. So, so much."
Clark's eyes lit up.
They became bright, as though someone had switched on a little light inside them.
His hands trembled slightly at his sides, as if he didn't know what to do with them.
Carefully.
So incredibly carefully.
As though you were touching something fragile.
You tugged lightly on his jacket.
Your fingers curled around the lapels, pulling him gently toward you.
Clark understood.
Clark leaned down.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Until his nose brushed against yours.
His eyes were still open, staring at you as though he couldn't quite believe this was happening.
And then his lips touched yours.
It wasn't one of the quick kisses you exchanged for Benjamin's benefit.
It wasn't a polite brush against your cheek.
It was a real kiss.
The kind of kiss given wholeheartedly.
The kind that carried every feeling that had been left unsaid.
Clark's hand returned to your waist, but this time it wasn't to protect you from a harasser.
It was to keep you close.
To hold on to you.
And you wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, letting yourself melt into him.
Maybe, after all, neither of you had ever been pretending.
Maybe all this time, without realizing it, you had been building something real.
A relationship that had begun quietly.
The kind that grows slowly, like a plant putting down roots long before anyone notices the flowers.
A relationship that was now, finally, more real than any relationship you had ever had before.
Clark pulled back just enough to catch his breath.
Then he looked at you with a smile so wide that dimples appeared in his cheeks.
"So," he said, his voice slightly rough, "am I still your boyfriend?"
You laughed.
A laugh that came straight from your soul.
Bright.
Free.
"Yes," you said.
And then you kissed him again.
"Yes. Of course you are."
And behind the column, while the lights twinkled overhead, while people laughed and music played softly in the background, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a long time.
i can’t believe she’s married… like my day one artist getting her happy ending is making me feel very emotional and parasocial……. contact me in 5-7 business days
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