𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: age gap relationship (rafe is late 30s, reader is early 20s), secret relationship, making out, heavy petting, praise, soft dom dynamics, emotional intimacy, yearning, reader lives with her parents, sneaking around, angst if you squint, 18+ only, mdni
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: after another late-night date, neither of you is ready to say goodbye. parked a block away from your parents' house, you steal just a few more minutes together before reality finds you again.
𝑎/𝑛: welcome to my little older bf!rafe universe ♡ i've been sitting on this idea for a while, and i finally gave in. this is just a little glimpse into their relationship—hope you love them as much as i do!
2.4k word count
the engine idles low and smooth. his car smells like leather and that cologne he wears. woodsy, expensive. it always clings to your clothes hours later, and you can already tell it’s settling into the silk of your dress, into your hair.
you know you'll have to change the second you get inside. hide the dress in the back of your closet behind the winter coats. take off the bracelet and tuck it into the velvet box at the bottom of your jewelry drawer, under the tangle of cheap necklaces from high school.
the dashboard clock reads 1:47 AM. your dad's alarm goes off at six. four hours and thirteen minutes.
you should go, you know you should. your hand rests on the door handle, cool metal against your palm, but you don't pull it. it feels like cement under your fingers and your throat feels dry.
"you're stalling."
his voice cuts through the quiet, low and amused, and heat crawls up the back of your neck. you don't look at him yet.
"i'm not."
"yeah?" there's a smile in his voice that feels smug and knowing, teasing. "then why are you still here?"
you twist the hem of the silk dress between your fingers—the one he’d handed you through the passenger window two nights ago with nothing but a “wear this friday.” it's way too nice. more expensive than any article of clothing you’d ever owned. the fabric is cool and slippery against your fingertips, the kind of material that catches on rough skin. nothing like the cotton sundresses hanging in your childhood closet.
"i'm going," you say, but you still don't move.
rafe shifts in his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him. you can feel him looking at you now, that burning attention that makes your skin prickle. he doesn't push. he just waits.
finally, you glance over.
he's leaning back against the driver's seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the fabric perfectly pressed even this late. there's that faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. the dashboard light catches the edge of his jaw, the shadow of stubble there.
"what?" you ask, defensive.
"nothing." his eyes drop to the bracelet on your wrist, then back to your face. the gold catches the light. "just wondering how long you're gonna sit there pretending you wanna leave."
heat crawls up your neck. "i'm not—"
"you are."
"i’m just… savoring it."
"come here." he says it like he already knows you’ll listen. and you do.
you unbuckle your seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet, and shift across the center console, awkward in the cramped space, your knee bumping the gearshift. his hands come up immediately, steadying you, guiding you until you're curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. his watch presses cool against your shoulder blade through the thin silk.
his arms close around you. the tension in your shoulders releases all at once.
"there," he murmurs.
you close your eyes and breathe him in. the smell of his cologne has already settled into your dress, but this close, you can still find the warmth of his skin beneath it. his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head keeping you tucked against him.
"better?" he asks.
"yeah."
"good."
you let yourself sink into him. somewhere beneath the cologne, you catch the smell of laundry detergent and clean cotton. your cheek presses into the soft fabric of his shirt, and for a little while, neither of you says anything. outside, the neighborhood is asleep. yellow streetlights, sprinklers spraying, nothing moving.
"you looked really pretty tonight," he says after a moment, quieter now.
your face heats. "you already told me that."
"i know." his hand slides down to your wrist, fingers hooking under the bracelet. the metal is warm now from your skin. "doesn't make it less true."
you press your face into his chest, hiding. the fabric of his shirt is soft, expensive. it probably costs more than most things you own.
he huffs a quiet laugh. "shy now?"
"shut up."
"mm." his fingers trace the gold links, one by one. "you're gonna take this off the second you get inside, aren't you?"
you feel the guilt twist in your stomach and you pull back slightly to look at him. "you know why…."
"it's fine." he's smirking again, but there's something sharper underneath. "hide it in that jewelry box. i get it."
"it's not—" you start, but you don't know how to finish. it's not that i don't want them to see. it's that i can't explain where it came from. can't explain you. you glance up at him, the corner of your mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. “you make it sound like i’m hiding evidence.”
he watches you for a second, amusement flickering across his face. “aren’t you?”
your eyes drift past his shoulder to the dashboard again.
2:03.
you try not to think about everything that comes next. shoes off at the door. skip the third step so it doesn’t creak. hold your breath past your parents’ room. don’t let the bedroom door click shut—
he tilts his head, studying you. "look at me."
you do. his eyes are dark in the low light, almost black.
"you worry too much," he says, and his hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "they're asleep. you're here. we're good, alright?"
"i know, but—"
"but nothing." his voice drops lower. "stop thinking about the clock."
you try, you really do. but then you start counting. fifteen minutes. ten. five. and then you’ll have to leave him again. climb out of his truck and disappear back into your parents’ house. watch him drive away alone.
"hey." his thumb presses gently into your chin, pulling your focus back. "where’d you go?"
"nowhere. i'm here."
"you sure?"
you nod and he searches your face for another moment, his gaze is steady.
"good." he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. then your temple. the corner of your mouth. each one so carefully placed and unhurried. you go still.
"rafe—"
"what?" he murmurs against your skin.
"i should—"
"should what?" he pulls back just enough to look at you. "go back inside?"
the words hit harder than they should. you look away, focusing on the stitching of his collar.
"i just…” you swallow. “i wish i could…”
he's quiet for a moment. his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.
"i know, baby," he says finally. “not yet."
not yet. like it's inevitable. like it's just a matter of time. like one day you'll walk through his front door and stay. and maybe it is.
"but one day," he says, quieter now. "you're gonna wake up beside me and you won't have to leave."
god, you want that so badly it scares you.
to fall asleep with your head on his chest and wake up there too. to feel him pulling you closer before either of you says good morning. to hide your face in his neck while he laughs quietly and kisses your hair. to stay exactly where you are because there’d be nowhere else you had to be.
"yeah," you whisper.
his eyes flick back to yours. "yeah?"
"yeah."
his hand tightens slightly in your hair, and then he's kissing you.
it's soft at first. but then you make a small sound and pull him closer, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he groans low in his throat. you taste the whiskey from dinner on his breath, warm and sharp, and it makes your head spin.
his hand slides down your back, pressing you against him, and you arch into it. his other hand finds your thigh, fingers splaying wide through the silk. the cool metal of his watch presses against your ribs as he pulls you closer.
"c'mere, sweetheart." he murmurs against your mouth. "closer."
you still weren't used to hearing him call you sweetheart. the first time he did, you'd looked over your shoulder because you were sure he couldn't have been talking to you.
you shift closer, your knee pressing into the seat beside his hip. all you can focus on is him. the crispness of his shirt beneath your palms, the weight of his hand at your waist, the warmth of his body.
you kiss him harder, more desperately, your hands sliding up to his hair. your fingers rest in it, tugging slightly, and he makes a low sound, his hand tightening to an almost bruising grip on your hip.
"jesus…" he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you. the blue of his eyes is almost gone, swallowed by his pupils in the dark. "look at you."
you can't say anything. can't think. you just pull him back down, kissing him like you're running out of time. his hand slides higher on your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and you gasp into his mouth.
"easy, baby," he murmurs, but there's a smile in his voice. "we've got time."
"do we?" you ask breathlessly, and he laughs—a real laugh, quiet and warm.
"yeah. we do."
he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head. you’re still gripping his shirt, still not ready to let go. you can feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, as fast as yours.
his hand settles at the small of your back before you realize you’ve started to pull away.
you don’t.
“stay a little longer,” he says quietly. “just… twenty more minutes. please.”
"okay," you whisper, nodding softly.
"yeah?"
"yeah."
he says nothing after that. just pulls you back against him, like the conversation never needed another word. you don't say anything either. just hold him tighter. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and you settle into the space beneath his chin, your dress bunched awkwardly around your legs, his jacket sleeve cool against your bare arm. for the first time all night, you stop thinking about getting home.
the minutes tick by too fast. the clock on the dashboard glows 2:28, then 2:29. the numbers feel accusatory.
"i really should go," you whisper eventually, even though the words hurt.
his arms tighten around you for just a second before he forces himself to let go.
"i know."
you pull back to look at him. his jaw is tight. his eyes don't leave your face.
he cups your face in both hands and kisses your forehead. soft. lingering. his lips warm against your skin.
"text me when you're inside," he says.
"i will."
"good girl."
you feel heat spread across your cheeks and he smirks, satisfied.
he helps you out of the car, his hand steadying you at the small of your back. the night air is cold against your skin, sharp after the warmth of the car, and you shiver. goosebumps rise on your arms.
he notices immediately.
he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, even though you're only walking a block. it's warm from his body, smells like him, heavy with the weight of expensive fabric. the sleeves hang past your hands.
"rafe, you don't have to—"
"go," he says, nodding toward your house. the porch light is still on. "before i change my mind."
you smile despite yourself. he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.
but you don't move.
your feet stay planted on the pavement. his jacket heavy on your shoulders, and you can still feel the ghost of his hands on your waist.
he notices. just like he notices everything else about you. his gaze settles on your hands, twisting the sleeve of his jacket.
"you don't wanna go."
it's not a question.
you look up at him and your throat feels tight. you shake your head, just barely.
a few months ago, you would’ve laughed at yourself. you weren’t usually like this. usually saying goodbye was just that—a goodbye. somehow, with him, it always felt like you were leaving something behind.
"c'mere," he murmurs. he doesn’t wait for you to close the distance this time. one hand cups your chin, pulling it up closer to him, and the other settles at your waist before his mouth finds yours again.
you kiss him back, your hand resting against his chest, and when he pulls away his forehead stays pressed to yours. you’d kiss him forever and ever if you could.
"you gotta go, baby," he whispers. his voice is rough.
"i know."
but neither of you moves. his hands slide down your arms and he squeezes once.
"i’ll see you tomorrow night, alright?" he says.
you nod. your throat is too tight to speak.
"good girl," he murmurs against your hair.
he kisses your forehead. then your temple. then the corner of your mouth. lingering. gentle.
finally, he steps back, his hands falling away from your arms and the cold air rushes in where he was.
you turn and start walking, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. the sidewalk is uneven under your heels. his jacket hangs heavy on your shoulders. you don't look back yet because if you do, you'll turn around.
when you reach your front door, you glance back. he's still there, leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting. making sure you get inside safe.
you slip inside as quietly as you can. the house is dark and silent. the floorboards don't creak. you hold your breath as you pass your parents' bedroom door.
you pull out your phone: inside. safe.
his response comes immediately: good. sleep well, baby. dream about me.
you smile, hiding his jacket in the back of your closet and the bracelet in your jewelry box. the silk dress gets hung carefully on a padded hanger.
tomorrow you'll see him again and for now, that's enough.
a/n: thank you for reading!! i can't tell you how excited i am to finally start posting on here. if you enjoyed this little glimpse into their world, i'd love to hear your thoughts! reblogs, comments, and messages genuinely mean so much to me. requests are open, and i can't wait to write more. thanks for giving these two a chance ♡
gentleman!jude who . . . lets you ride his dick after a long day.
gentleman!jude who . . . always praises you while having sex. He just wants you to know how pretty and good you are to him. Jude has so many sweet things to say to you.
gentleman!jude who . . . knows you have a huge fixation with his biceps, which is why when he’s fucking you from behind, he wraps his arm around your neck, choking you a little with his bicep.
gentleman!jude who . . . always teases during sex. Even though he’s a gentleman, Jude likes to play around and be the type to make you beg for what you want. To understand Jude's teasing, you have to focus on the questions.
"Does it feel good?"
"Do you want it? How badly do you want it?"
"Will you let me come inside you, my love? Please ask me for it."
gentleman!jude who . . . never, under any circumstances, starts undressing you without first kissing your hands, your shoulders, and your neck.
gentleman!jude who . . . treats your pleasure as a priority. If he notices you’re tired or stressed, he’ll lay you down on the bed, take off your shoes, and take care of you without asking for anything in return. He will spend hours eating you out and using his fingers, making sure you have multiple orgasms. For him, it’s: happy wife, happy life.
gentleman!jude who . . . is the type of boyfriend who opens the car door for you, who wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close to his body when you’re walking down the street, and who looks at you like you’re the most valuable prize he has ever won in his entire life. Jude will give you the dirtiest sex at night, but he will always wake up being the most polite, protective, and deeply in love man in the world. Just a real gentleman.
gentleman!jude who . . . loves looking into your eyes, demanding direct eye contact when things get intense. If you try to hide your face in the pillow or cover your eyes because you’re embarrassed by how loudly you’re moaning, Jude will gently take your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him.
gentleman!jude who . . . uses his suits to drive you crazy during sex. He knows perfectly well the effect he has on you when he’s dressed elegantly. Sometimes, he won’t even take off his shirt or tie, he’ll just unbutton what’s necessary to be sexier. Feeling the cold, expensive fabric of his suit brushing against your bare skin while he thrusts into you deeply is an experience every woman should feel. (just not with your charming boyfriend)
gentleman!jude who . . . adores gifting you fine lingerie just for the pleasure of taking it off you himself.
gentleman!jude who . . . has such a serious sense of chivalry that he prefers to sync his orgasms with yours so you never feel alone at the climax.
gentleman!jude who . . . pays attention to the smallest details you mention in passing. If one day you say that a specific book, perfume, or candy caught your eye while talking, don’t be surprised if a few days later you come home and find it on the table with a cute note written by Jude.
gentleman!jude who . . . never lets you walk on the curbside of the street.
gentleman!jude who . . . loved kisses, both giving and receiving them. He couldn’t live without your lips.
You only meant to spend the morning doing absolutely nothing. Your boyfriend, however, has other plans—and apparently no shame whatsoever when it comes to making out with his girlfriend on his parents' sofa.
WARNINGS ◦ sfw content ◦ slow morning makeout with jude there i said it ◦ established relationship bc i'm a lonely bih ◦ detailed descriptions of making out ><
2,892 ━━━━━ drabble jude bellingham x reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , this is my official ballblr debut... please be kind 😔 i've been spending way too much time on wc twitter lately and those people know how to appreciate fine men, so if this exists... blame them 😝😝
━━━━━ read on ao3
A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.
You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.
A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.
After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”
You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”
“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”
You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”
“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.
The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”
You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.
Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.
Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”
You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”
He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.
You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".
His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.
You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”
Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.
He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.
“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.
One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.
Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.
“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.
You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.
Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.
You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”
He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”
Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”
The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”
The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.
“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.
You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.
“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.
He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.
You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.
Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.
Jude's hand never really stopped moving.
It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.
You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.
For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.
He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.
author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>
jacobvanloon
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