chapter two / vee and shubi

The elevator pinged as it reached the top floor, and Shubman stepped out, his heart racing in a way he couldn't quite explain. 

The building was sleek, all glass and steel, the kind of luxury you'd expect from someone who wasn't just a cricket star but was living life on his own terms. 

But this—this place—was all Verena.

Her flat wasn't huge, but it had that expensive, minimalist charm that screamed "I've got taste." 

He could smell the faint scent of candles and something sweet from the kitchen, like cinnamon or vanilla. 

As soon as he walked in, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in the space.

Verena was in the kitchen, her back turned to him, stirring something in a pot. 

She wore a loose sweater and ripped jeans, looking effortlessly gorgeous, like she hadn't just been working all day like this was her life, exactly how she wanted it. 

Her long, dark hair fell in waves over her shoulder, catching the light just right, making Shubman's breath hitch a little.

He slid his jacket off, tossing it over the back of a chair, and walked over to her. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach. 

She didn't even flinch, just leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest with a quiet sigh.

"You smell good," he murmured, his voice rough from the long drive. "Smells like... home."

She laughed softly, her breath warm against his neck. "It's just dinner, Shubman. Nothing fancy."

"Everything about you is fancy," he said, his hands sliding over her body as if they were magnets.

Damn, she was so fucking soft. He couldn't help but graze his fingertips over the curve of her waist, pulling her even closer.

She turned in his arms, giving him that knowing look—half teasing, half serious. "You've been saying that since high school."

He grinned, that signature cheeky grin of his that made people fall in love with him. But tonight, it wasn't about cricket or fame or any of that bullshit. 

It was just them. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, his hands pushing through her hair as she kissed him back with equal hunger.

She pulled away first, her breathing uneven as she looked at him. "You're soaked through," she said, eyeing his damp t-shirt, his hair still dripping from the rain outside. 

He hadn't bothered to dry off after the shower that he had taken. "You need to shower."

His eyes darkened. "You think so?"

Verena gave him a playful shove, but the tension in the room had already shifted. The air was thick with something else now. Something a little more primal. 

He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her close again. She didn't fight it. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising with every shallow breath she took.

Before she could say anything, Shubman spun her around, his hands gripping her waist as he backed her toward the bedroom. Fuck, this woman.

She stopped short, a wicked smile forming on her lips. "You're really trying to get me in bed, huh?"

He smirked, lifting her up with ease, feeling the weight of her body against his. His muscles flexed under the strain, but he didn't feel tired. 

His body, toned from endless hours of cricket, was made for moments like this. His abs flexed under his shirt as he carried her toward the bed, the veins in his arms straining with the effort.

Verena let out a breathy laugh, but it was almost like a challenge. "Careful. You're gonna break something."

"Trust me, I don't break easily," he said, throwing her playfully onto the bed before crawling over her. 

His body hovered over hers, eyes raking over her with that intense, burning gaze he always wore when he was with her. 

His chest was heaving, his shirt clinging to his skin, revealing the defined muscles of his torso, the way the fabric tightened around his broad shoulders.

Verena was already undoing his shirt, not giving a damn about the slow, teasing way he had stripped her of her composure. 

His abs, chiselled and smooth, glistened in the dim lighting of her room, the tension between them palpable. 

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, his lips brushing her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"Shubman," she whispered, her voice dropping lower, darker. She slid her hands over his back, feeling the muscles under his skin twitch. 

He couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him as she touched him.

"I need you," he muttered, his lips brushing against hers in between words. He was lost in the sensation of her skin under his hands, the way she fit perfectly against him. 

He'd been dreaming of this, of her, for months.

Her hands slid lower, teasing the waistband of his jeans. "I can tell," she said, voice dripping with honey and mischief. 

"And what are you gonna do about it?"

His eyes burned with something primal as he yanked his shirt off, his body now fully on display—tall, lean, but with just the right amount of muscle. 

He wasn't the biggest guy on the field, but damn, did he know how to make it work. And right now, he was about to make it work for her.

Without another word, he crashed his lips against hers again, his body pressing her further into the mattress, and for the first time all day, nothing else mattered. 

Not the cricket matches, not the media, not his teammates and their suspicious little comments. It was just them—two bodies, two souls, finally meeting in the chaos they both needed.

Her fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, as his hands roamed, desperate to memorize every inch of her.

And in that moment, as the apartment seemed to hum around them, the world outside faded away completely.  

The room was thick with heat, the soft sound of their breaths filling the air as Shubman's lips traced down her neck. 

His hands, almost unconsciously, moved lower, grazing over the curve of her waist, his fingertips brushing against the delicate skin where the fabric of her shirt had ridden up.

He paused for a moment, eyes locking on her hipbone. A small, black-inked symbol there caught his attention—a tattoo he knew all too well. 

It was his nickname, Shubi, etched in cursive, curled into a soft swirl. She had gotten it years ago, but every time he saw it, it still hit him like the first time.

It was more than just ink; it was a promise. A commitment between them that neither of them ever needed to speak aloud.

His heart skipped a beat as he let his fingers trace the outline of the tattoo, his touch light but firm. 

The coolness of the ink against his fingers felt like it was burning him. 

It's mine, he thought. She's mine. 

And the tattoo was a reminder of everything they'd built, all the quiet moments shared in secret, away from the world's prying eyes.

As his fingers lingered there, Verena's gaze shifted toward him, following the path of his touch with a knowing smile. 

She didn't say anything, just tilted her head slightly, her lips curving with that quiet confidence she always wore.

And then, her eyes dropped to his side. He felt the heat of her gaze like a physical touch. Her fingers trailed slowly, almost teasingly, down his abdomen, before brushing against the waistband of his jeans. 

She made her way to his hipbone, where, tucked just under his waistband, was the tattoo that was just for her.

"Vee," it read, her nickname inked in the same delicate script as hers. He could feel her breath hitch as she lightly traced it, a soft shiver running through his body. 

Her touch was light, but it made his skin burn, his pulse quicken.

She glanced up at him, eyes locking with his in a way that made everything else disappear. They both knew about the tattoos, had known for a while now. 

But still, there was something intensely intimate about the moment. A silent exchange passed between them—a conversation that didn't need words. 

The tattoos were their secret, their bond, hidden beneath layers of fabric and skin, but always there, always present.

Shubman's heart pounded as he stared at her, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. 

His mind was filled with nothing but the image of her tattoo, her touch on his skin, the way she was the only person in his world who got him, understood him completely, without the need for any performance or mask.

He placed his hand over hers, gently pressing her palm against his skin, holding her there for a moment. 

"You're the only one who can call me that," he whispered, his voice rough, full of emotion.

She smirked, leaning up to kiss him, the taste of her lips sweet but laced with the fire they both knew was just beneath the surface. "And you're the only one who gets to call me Vee."

Shubman chuckled, his lips curving into a smile against hers. "Lucky me," he murmured, his hand sliding down her back, pulling her closer.

SOUP RANTS!

the second chapter is here!
did we like it?
do comment your favorite part
what do you think will happen in the next chapter?

until then
yours lovingly,
soup <3