💌

I write sometimes (she/her) 21 🪷

[beersangel]

hii this is a stan acc for 💌:

- madison beer

- jude bellingham

- qsmp !!

- the marvel cinematic universe (bucky barnes and peter parker in particular <3)

- and other things such as criminal minds, teen wolf, the walking dead, stranger things + books such as the shatter me series, powerless, the prison healer, the off campus series and more…

Jude Bellingham master list ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

general master list ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

taglist 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

[beersangel]

ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ⭑ ᴊ.ʙ

⭑ in which..jude comes home to you after a win…

The apartment door had barely clicked shut before you were running.

Jude had only managed to kick off one boot when you jumped into his arms. He caught you instinctively, holding you steady as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Whoa—“ he laughed, stumbling back a step. “Hi.”

Instead of answering, you grabbed his face and showered him with kisses—on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his chin. Finally, you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. He laughed into it, holding you tight so you wouldn't slip.

“I missed you too,” he mumbled.

“You were incredible,” you said.

“I know,” he replied with a smug shrug.

you pulled back just enough to narrow your eyes at him, “wow and so humble about it”

“It’s one of my best qualities” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes, smiling, as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I still can’t believe that goal. It was amazing.”

His grin grew wider. “Oh!” he said, like he’d almost forgotten. “Did you see that?”

“Jude, baby, the whole world saw it.”

“I know, but did you?” He bounced you slightly in his arms, his excitement bubbling over.

You laughed. “Yes! Of course I saw it.”

“Good, because that one was for you.”

Your heart swelled. You reached up, cupped his jaw, and pulled him in for a slow, deep kiss. He let out a low happy groan, shifting one hand to the back of your neck while keeping the other firm on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, resting your foreheads together.

“I couldn’t wait to get home,” he admitted.

“oh yeah?” you said softly.

he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “yeah, all I could think about was getting back to you.”

Your heart fluttered. You leaned in for another gentle kiss, and when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled so brightly it made him grin, too. “I love you more.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

author’s note: today’s win was so surreal! here’s a cute one shot as a gift :o!!

⭑ click here for my Jude Bellingham master list

⭑ taglist: @tvdplllife @nico-says-no11 @kksturns @macncheesy16 @sluizi321-blog @nellyjav @writtenbychrissturniolo @whenlovesaround @pippapops @ghost4love @brucewaynegfreal @asokaavokado @luciiss9 @kangaroosheartme @unicornzombies @h-kitty-world @dianazyb

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 8:

The lighting was perfect, but the coordination was a nightmare. Aven had spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to arrange the squad for the website’s new team picture.

"Everyone, tighter! Move closer to the center," Aven called out from behind the tripod.

Jude, standing on the far left next to Kylian, wasn’t listening. He was leaned over, whispering something to Vini, who was standing in front of him.

"Bellingham, stand straight," Aven said, her voice sharp.

He did, though the grin on his face didn’t disappear. Aven adjusted her framing, squinting as she peered through the lens only to pull back and find him still staring right at her.

"Can you look at the camera?"

Jude didn't even shift his focus; his eyes remained locked on hers, heavy and amused.

"…The camera," she repeated, gesturing vaguely toward the lens.

"I am."

oh he thinks he’s so funny.

"No, You’re looking at me." she said, her patience thinning.

"Camera’s next to you though”

"Jude, just—" She cut herself off, her brow furrowing. "Stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

Before he could retort, a heavy hand smacked the back of his head, making him stumble.

"Come on, don't be an asshole, Jude," Kylian said, shaking his head. "Just look at the lens, man."

Jude grumbled something under his breath, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally shifted his gaze toward the camera. Aven’s expression softened instantly. She caught Kylian’s eye and mouthed, Thank you.

He gave her a slight nod, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Alright, hold that," Aven said, her voice finally steady. "Three, two, one."

The shutter clicked one last time, and Aven let out a long breath.

"finally, we have the perfect shot, that's a wrap everyone," she called out. "Check the website tomorrow if you want to see the photo"

A series of “thank you’s” drifted back toward her before everyone started heading towards the exit, laughing and shouting about their plans for the night.

Aven packed up her mountain of gear to haul back to the media office. she struggled a little as she hoisted two cameras around her neck and balanced a heavy tripod against her shoulder, her gear bag threatened to slide off her arm.

She turned to head toward the facility, but she barely made it three steps before the weight on her shoulder suddenly vanished.

She paused, turning around to see Jude walking behind her, the tripod now tucked easily on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

"Hey” she said, though her voice lacked any real bite. She caught up to his stride, looking up at him as she shifted her cameras. "You don’t have to do that. I had it."

Jude didn't even look at her, just kept walking with that long, easy stride. "Didn't say you didn't."

Aven trotted to catch up, gesturing toward the far exit where the rest of the squad was starting to pile into cars, buzzing with plans for their night out "Bellingham, seriously, You’re going to be late. The guys are already heading out."

"They’ll live if I’m five minutes late." he said, not breaking his pace.

"it’s fine, okay? Just give it to me and go." Aven kept walking beside him, frowning. It was strange. Why was he acting like this?

Jude didn't answer. He didn't even look down, just kept walking with a nonchalant shrug.

Aven let out a huff and reached up to try and take the tripod from his shoulder. Before she could grab it, he casually turned his shoulder, moving the gear just out of her reach.

She tried again, stretching for one of the tripod legs, but he shifted his body once more, keeping it just beyond her fingertips. After a few failed attempts, he stopped walking altogether and turned to face her, an amused smile now tugging at his lips as she stood there, still reaching for it.

“You done?” he asked.

She shot him a look and made one last grab for the tripod.

He simply lifted it a little higher.

A quiet snort escaped him as he looked down at her, and that was all it took. She couldn’t hold it together anymore.

She let out an exasperated laugh of her own, dropping her hand with a shake of her head. “You’re so annoying”

Jude just shrugged, his smile deepening into something softer as he turned and started walking again.

Asshole, she thought, though the word didn't have much sting to it. She shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh before picking up her pace to catch up with him.

They walked the rest of the way to the media office in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Aven pushed open the heavy glass door and Jude followed her inside, stepping around her desk to set the heavy tripod perfectly in its designated corner.

Aven dropped her gear bag onto her chair with a heavy thud, finally unlooping the camera straps from her neck.

His good deed done, Jude didn't linger. He gave a quick stretch of his shoulders and turned back toward the hallway to go catch up with the rest of the team.

"Hey, Bellingham?"

He stopped in the doorway, his hand resting casually on the frame as he turned to look back at her.

Aven felt a sudden, strange fluttering in her chest. She let the camera straps drop to the desk, meeting his eyes. "Thanks," she said, her voice dropping just a notch.

Jude paused, his brows lifting slightly. "Don't sweat it. It was nothing."

She hesitated, her thumb tracing the edge of her camera lens. "Not only for helping with the gear," she clarified, her gaze steadying on his. "For last night... thanks."

Jude held her gaze, the smug, teasing edge he’d carried all afternoon melting away into something far more grounded. He understood exactly what she meant.

He offered a slow, soft nod, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Anytime, Cross."

With one final, lingering look, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

・・・・・

author’s note: what do we think about this chap? I kind of speed ran it I hope it’s okay :o

⭑ click here for the series master list

⭑ taglist: @tvdplllife @nico-says-no11 @kksturns @macncheesy16 @sluizi321-blog @nellyjav @writtenbychrissturniolo @whenlovesaround @pippapops @ghost4love @brucewaynegfreal @asokaavokado @luciiss9 @kangaroosheartme @unicornzombies

[beersangel]

I love this pic so much

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 7:

The umbrella incident hadn’t magically made them friends.

If anything, Aven had spent the following week making sure it didn’t.

They still argued. Jude still called her Cross in that irritating tone of his, and she still found at least one reason a day to tell him to fuck off so on the surface, nothing had changed.

But something felt different.

Being around him felt easier somehow. Their arguments were still frequent, but they didn’t feel as hostile as they once had. There was less actual irritation behind them now, though Aven wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened.

She tried not to think too much about it.

By Friday, Aven had other things on her mind anyway.

her morning had started with her phone vibrating against her nightstand—a call from her mother that had spiraled within seconds. The conversation ended exactly as it always did: with her mother's bitter digs about Aven's "selfish" career and the brothers she'd supposedly left behind. It left a hollow, sharp ache in Aven's chest that no amount of coffee could dull.

She had spent the entire day locked in the editing bay. The blue light of the monitor burned her eyes as she mindlessly scrolled through hundreds of frames from yesterday's training session. She barely processed the images; the colors blurred into grey, and the faces of the players felt like distant memories. By the time the building finally went quiet, she just wanted to go home and disappear into the darkness of her apartment.

She packed up her gear with heavy, mechanical movements, swung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out of the empty media office, heading down the long glass hallway toward the exit.

"Hey cross!”

Aven stopped and turned around. Jude was walking up the corridor from the opposite direction, a sports drink in his hand and a towel over his shoulder.

"You weren't on the pitch for the practice match," Jude said, stopping a few feet away from her. His voice wasn't soft; it was just his usual direct self. "You're always out there. It was weird."

"I had edits to finish," Aven said, she tried to keep her voice normal, but she was exhausted, emotionally and physically, "Have a good weekend, Jude."

She turned to leave, but he stepped into her path, blocking the exit.

"Hold on," he said, frowning down at her. He scanned her face, noticing the way her jaw was set and how tightly she was holding her bag. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

"Don't lie. It's annoying," Jude said bluntly. He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly. "And you just called me Jude. You never call me Jude. It's always Bellingham."

Aven let out a slow breath, looking down at the floor. She felt the sting of tears in the back of her throat and swallowed them down, furious at her own lack of control. “It’s nothing,” she said, tightening her grip on her bag. “I’m tired. Can you just move?”

Jude didn't move out of the way. He stood his ground, looking down at her with a stubborn expression of his own. "What is it?"

"It's nothing, Jude. Let it go."

"No," he said, his voice firm, like he was talking to a teammate on the pitch. "Stop being so stubborn, tell me what's wrong, did someone say something to you?"

Aven let out a short, disbelief-filled scoff, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "Are you seriously asking me that when you're the one who says shit to me every single day?"

Jude went quiet. He actually paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at her face, completely processing the words. The usual competitive spark in his eyes dulled into something genuinely concerned.

"Was it me?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping its demanding edge. "Did I say something that messed up your night?"

"No," Aven said, the fight draining out of her just as quickly as it had come, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. She hated this—feeling vulnerable, like she was seconds away from falling apart. Especially in front of him. "No, it wasn't you...I just-I want to go home”

Jude heard the exhaustion in her voice. He knew something was wrong, knew there was something behind the sadness in her eyes, but it was clear he wasn’t going to get it out of her. Not tonight.

So he didn’t try.

He just nodded once and stepped to the side, clearing the path to the glass doors.

Aven didn't wait. She pushed past him, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floor, and stepped out into the cool evening air. She didn't look back to see if he was still watching; she just walked straight to her car, the drive home feeling like a blur of streetlights and suppressed anger.

Once she reached her apartment, she didn't even bother with dinner. She went straight to her bedroom, peeling off her clothes and collapsing into bed. She lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. She tried to force her brain to shut off, to stop replaying the biting words her mother had thrown at her, but the silence of the room only made her thoughts louder.

Her phone buzzed against the bedside table.

She groaned, reaching out blindly to grab it, half-expecting another email from the club or a late-night notification. She squinted at the screen in the dark.

A text from... Bellingham?

She frowned, her heart doing a strange, fluttering kick against her ribs. She opened the message.

it was the picture she'd taken of him looking annoyed at the guy who tripped him, the one he insisted she deletes.

Aven stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the screen.

She blinked as the reality of it sank in. He'd sent it to make her laugh. He was trying to..cheer her up?

Why?

Her mind raced. He had spent weeks being hostile, cold, and arrogant. He hated her—or at the very least, he was supposed to. Why would he suddenly act like this? Why would he care if she was having a bad night?

She gripped the phone tight, the light from the screen casting long shadows across her face. Part of her wanted to type a biting, sarcastic response, but the other part—the part that felt incredibly fragile and lonely—just wanted to stare at the picture until the ache in her chest subsided.

She looked at the blinking cursor, feeling completely overwhelmed. Should she reply and acknowledge the ridiculous gesture, or just shut the phone off and pretend it never happened?

She stared at the pout on his screen for so long the phone finally dimmed, plunging the room back into darkness. It was such a stupid and weirdly thoughtful thing to do. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, hesitating.

She tapped the screen, the light snapping back to life.

Aven: Is this your way of trying to make me laugh?

she hit send.

She bit her lip as she waited and the bubbles popped up almost immediately.

Jude: Is it working?

Aven let out a small, sharp exhale that was dangerously close to a laugh. It was infuriating how quickly he had bypassed all her defenses.

Aven: It's ridiculous. you're ridiculous, bellingham.

over at his penthouse, Jude felt the corner of his mouth quirk upward at the use of his last name, a quiet sense of relief settling in his chest. She was calling him ridiculous, and in his book, that was a good sign.

Jude: I know how much you enjoy my suffering.. figured this might make your night better..

Aven felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She was smiling, in spite of the knot in her stomach and the lingering exhaustion from the morning.

Aven: Okay, maybe it helped a little.

Aven: But this definitely doesn’t make us friends. I still barely tolerate you.

Jude: I'd never dream of it, Cross. Get some sleep.

She set the phone down, her pulse finally starting to slow. The apartment felt a little less quiet, a little less heavy. She knew she should probably be worried about the shift in their dynamic, about why the club's biggest star was suddenly trying to cheer her up. But as she curled into her pillow, the bitterness of the morning felt like it was finally fading.

・・・・・

author’s note: hope you enjoyed reading :p

⭑ click here for the series master list

⭑ taglist: @tvdplllife @nico-says-no11 @kksturns @macncheesy16 @sluizi321-blog @nellyjav @writtenbychrissturniolo @whenlovesaround @pippapops @ghost4love @brucewaynegfreal

[beersangel]

I’ve already written like the next 4 chapters of my way but I’m trying to space them out instead of posting them all in one go 😮

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 6:

A few weeks went by, and things didn't change much. They still didn't get along, but they had at least stopped trying to glare each other to death in the hallways.

A thunderstorm hit Valdebebas right as evening training ended. Within minutes, the sky turned a dark purple, and rain began to pour.

Aven stood under the narrow concrete roof of the players' parking lot, wrapping her arms tight across her chest.

She had her main camera bag zipped up and shoved directly under her jacket to keep it dry, which made her look like she had a giant, awkward lump on her chest.

Her car was parked fifty yards away across an asphalt lot that was quickly turning into a lake. The rain was coming down in thick, blinding sheets, bouncing off the ground like smoke.

She stared at the water, trying to figure out how soaked she would get if she just ran for it. Her boots would definitely be ruined.

The glass doors behind her slid open with a soft hiss.

Jude walked out, dressed in his black club tracksuit and holding a massive black umbrella.

He didn't see her at first. He popped the umbrella open with a loud thwack, took one step out, and then stopped.

He turned his head and looked at her. Then he looked at the huge lump under her coat.

"You look ridiculous, Cross," he said flatly. His deep voice carried easily over the noise of the rain.

Aven didn't look away from the parking lot. "I'm protecting twenty thousand euros worth of gear, Bellingham. Keep walking."

Instead of going down the steps, Jude moved closer.

His trainers squeaked against the wet concrete as he stopped right next to her, shifting the massive umbrella so it covered her head too.

The cold wind stopped hitting her face immediately. Standing that close, the space felt way smaller, and she could smell his soap and clean clothes.

"Your car is all the way by the far fence, isn't it?" Jude asked, looking out at the grey sedan.

"Yes."

"Sucks for you." he tutted.

"Are you going to just stand here or are you leaving?" Aven asked, finally turning her head to look up at him.

Jude leaned against the concrete pillar, holding the umbrella with one hand.

A small, annoying smirk touched his lips. He looked completely dry and entirely too happy about it.

"I was going to offer to share the umbrella" he murmured, looking down at her jacket before meeting her eyes again. "But it's a long walk, lots of rain. Feels like a favor that needs paying back."

Aven let out a sharp breath. “whatever it is, my answer’s no.”

"I didn't even say what it is though” he shot back, his smirk widening.

“You probably want me to say that guy did trip you from behind and that you had a right to a foul.”

Jude let out a short laugh through his nose. He shifted his weight, stepping a bit closer so the umbrella blocked the wind from hitting her side. "It was a clear foul, for the record. But no. I was going to tell you to delete that photo from the mixed zone. The one where you said I looked like a frustrated toddler."

"It's already uploaded to the club's shared drive," Aven lied smoothly, her expression entirely blank. "The marketing team loves it. They think it shows passion."

Jude’s eyes narrowed, “You’re such a liar, Cross.”

“I’m not lying, Bellingham, it’s true.” she lied again, but he knew.. he could tell when she was lying.

They stood there for a long moment, locked in a silent standoff while the rain pounded against the fabric above them. They were standing close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his shoulder. It was annoying how useful his size was right now, since his broad shoulders blocked most of the chilly breeze.

Jude shook his head. "Fine. Stay here and get soaked. See if I care."

He took a step out into the downpour, tilting the umbrella away. Instantly, a burst of freezing wind sprayed a sheet of water right across Aven's jeans.

fuck.

she tried to stay silent, to not call him back, she really did..

"Bellingham," she called out, her stubbornness finally snapping as the cold water hit her skin.

Jude stopped on the first step and looked back over his shoulder, looking incredibly smug. "Yeah?"

Aven glared at him, her arms gripping her hidden camera bag tighter. She needed to get to her car, and she hated that he knew it.

"Walk me to the car," she muttered, letting out a sharp breath. "And I'll delete your stupid photo."

Jude stared at her, thinking it over. The smug look faded, replaced by that familiar, competitive look in his eyes. "The high-res one too? From your actual memory card?"

"yes" she said, hating that she had to give in. "Now bring the umbrella back, it's freezing."

Jude let out another short laugh, stepping back onto the dry platform and holding the umbrella high over both of them. "After you, Cross."

The walk across the flooded asphalt was slow. Jude held the massive umbrella high enough so it wouldn't hit Aven’s head, but he kept it tilted aggressively toward her side, making sure the driving rain hit his own right shoulder instead of her jacket.

Aven walked with her hands still clamped over the camera bag under her coat, her eyes fixed on the deep puddles. "You're walking too fast," she muttered, her boots splashing into a shallow pool of water.

"I'm walking normally," Jude replied, his voice dropping slightly to compete with the thunder clapped overhead. "You're just short”

"I am average height, Bellingham..you’re just..massive”

He shot her a wicked, knowing smile, as he leaned in closer. "oh, you have no idea," he murmured.

The realization hit her instantly, the double meaning landing with an impact that made her skin crawl. She smacked his arm hard, her nose wrinkling and her face twisting into a look of genuine disgust as she shook her head. "Ew, what is wrong with you?

he let out a quiet huff that was almost a laugh, but he noticeably slowed his pace anyway, keeping his large frame firmly positioned against the blowing wind.

By the time they finally reached her gray sedan near the far fence, the right side of Jude's black tracksuit was completely soaked through, the fabric clinging darkly to his shoulder and arm. Aven pulled her keys out of her pocket with a clumsy, one-handed tug, unlocking the doors.

She quickly slipped her camera bag out from under her jacket, putting it safely into the passenger seat before turning back to face him under the heavy canopy.

"Alright," Aven said, brushing a stray, damp strand of hair away from her eyes. "You held up your end. Hand over your phone."

Jude looked at her, his eyebrows raising slightly. "My phone?"

“I’m not opening my gear bag in the middle of the rain and risking it getting wet Bellingham” she deadpanned, gesturing to the pouring rain around them. "I'll text you the raw files tonight, you pick the one you want gone, and I'll delete it from the drive and my card."

Jude stared at her for a second, his mouth twitching like he wanted to argue, but the rain was coming down harder now, bouncing violently off the top of the umbrella. Without a word, he fished his phone out of his dry pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over.

Aven quickly typed her number into his contacts, hit save, and gave herself a missed call before handing it back.

"Check your messages later tonight," she countered, stepping backward into the dry safety of her driver's seat. "And go get in your car before your other shoulder gets soaked."

Jude glanced down at his wet sleeve, then back up at her, his expression shifting into something slightly less guarded as he watched her get into her car and drive off.

・・・・・

By 10:00 PM, the storm had finally passed over Madrid, leaving nothing but damp streets and a cool breeze.

Aven sat at her desk with a mug of tea, her laptop screen illuminating the dark room. True to her word, she had pulled the raw sequence from the Allianz Arena mixed zone.

She exported five shots of Jude looking intensely annoyed at the guy who “tripped” him.

He actually did look like a frustrated toddler—his lower lip was slightly out, his eyebrows were knitted tightly together, and he looked entirely ready to throw a massive tantrum.

It was hilarious.

She opened her phone, found the new contact, and sent the files over.

Aven: [5 attachments]

Aven: The sequence. Pick one to delete.

A few minutes passed. Then her phone buzzed.

Jude: Delete number 3.

Aven: Ugh, that was my favorite. It really captured your inner five-year-old.

Jude: Delete the whole sequence, Cross. You promised.

Aven: uh-uh I promised to delete the one you picked. Don't push your luck.

There was a short pause before the next message popped up.

Jude: Fine. Number 3. Just make sure it's gone.

Aven clicked on the third image on her laptop, which was the absolute peak of his glare. She hit delete, wiping it from her card and the drive, leaving the other four safely saved.

Aven: Done. It's officially gone.

Jude: Good. Thanks.

Aven was about to set her phone down and close her laptop when it buzzed one last time.

Jude: By the way, my right shoulder is freezing because of your average-sized self. You owe me a coffee on Friday.

Aven stared at the screen, a small, involuntary smile tugging at her mouth. She shook her head, typing back quickly.

Aven: I don’t owe you shit, Bellingham..see you Friday.

・・・・・

author’s note: England vs France on saturdayyy :o

⭑ click here for the series master list

⭑ @tvdplllife @nico-says-no11 @kksturns @macncheesy16 @sluizi321-blog

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 5:

The post-match mixed zone at the Allianz Arena was absolute chaos.

Real Madrid had scraped a brutal, physically exhausting 1-1 draw against Bayern Munich, and the German press was desperate for blood. The narrow, concrete corridor beneath the stadium was packed tight with camera crews, bright lights, and reporters screaming questions in three different languages over the metal barricades.

Aven was currently trying to navigate the mess with two heavy camera bodies slung across her shoulders and a massive telephoto lens tucked under her arm. She was completely stuck behind a massive German television crew. A cameraman backed up blindly, his heavy equipment shoving her hard against the metal barricade, while another reporter aggressively elbowed past her to get a better angle. She stumbled slightly, her jaw tight as she tried to protect her lenses from getting smashed in the crush. She hated this part of the job—being treated like an invisible obstacle by a crowd of desperate media.

"Bellingham! Jude! Over here, please!"

There was a sudden spike in the noise level as jude walked into the corridor.

He strode into the light, looking completely wiped. His hair was damp and there was a fresh, angry scratch running down the side of his neck from a collision in the second half. A particularly aggressive British reporter leaned halfway over the barrier, thrusting a microphone directly into his face.

"Jude! A word on the referee's decision in the seventy-fifth minute? Do you feel Real Madrid were robbed of a penalty?"

Jude stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the microphone.

Aven knew that look by now—he was about to say something that the club's PR department would be cleaning up for the next three days.

He was about to snap a response, but his eyes swept the chaotic crowd and locked onto Aven.

He saw the heavy camera crew leaning right into her, saw the way she was trapped against the metal railing, visibly tense as people shoved past her without a care. A dark flicker of irritation crossed Jude's face that had absolutely nothing to do with the reporter's question.

Before the reporter could press him further, Jude stepped forward, using his massive frame to slice right through the media scrum. He didn't look at the press. Instead, he reached straight into the crowd, his large hand gripping the strap of the heavy gear bag on Aven's shoulder and firmly pulling her out from behind the railing before anyone else could slam into her.

"Sorry, mate," Jude said flatly to the reporter, keeping his body positioned like a shield between Aven and the crowding cameras as he moved them forward. "I can't talk right now. I have to go over the game photos with the club photographer."

Aven blinked, staring up at him in disbelief as he kept a steady, grounding grip on her bag strap, effortlessly plowing through the rest of the press.

The reporters groaned, but the sheer size of him meant no one was going to argue.

He didn't let go of her strap until they pushed through the double doors at the very end of the corridor, breaking into the quiet, desolate locker room hallway.

Aven immediately yanked her shoulder back, readjusting her bag. "What the hell was that, Bellingham?"

Jude let out a long, exhausted breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

The aggressive, tense posture he had held in front of the cameras melted away, leaving him looking thoroughly drained. "I was saving myself a fine from UEFA and saving you from getting trampled by the camera crew"

"I was doing just fine until you dragged me into the spotlight," Aven shot back, though she didn't actually push him away. She leaned against the wall, shifting the weight of her lenses. "You however looked like you were about to swing at that reporter."

Jude leaned his back against the wall a few feet away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. A slow, dry smirk finally pulled at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her. "I had it completely under control, Cross."

"Right. That's why your jaw looked like it was about to snap in half," she deadpaned, looking him up and down. "Nice yellow card, by the way. Very disciplined."

Jude's smirk faded into a glare, though there was a distinct lack of the genuine hatred from their first week. "The bloke tripped me from behind. It was a clear foul."

"It was a terrible tackle and you know it," Aven countered smoothly, a tiny, competitive spark in her eyes. "I have it in high-definition on this card right now. You looked like a frustrated toddler, it was very amusing" she smiled.

Jude let out a short, quiet sarcastic laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he looked down at his shoes.

the cold animosity was still there, but it had morphed into something much more comfortable—a predictable, sharp rhythm they both knew how to play.

"Your lifting form is terrible, by the way," Jude noted casually, nodding toward the heavy bags on her shoulders. "You're going to ruin your back carrying those like that."

"Thanks for the medical advice, superstar," Aven replied without a beat, turning toward the exit doors that led to the buses. "Go get some ice on your neck. You look like a mess." she shot back over her shoulder, not looking back as she pushed through the exit doors into the cool Munich night air.

・・・・・

author’s note: if anyone wants to be added to the taglist lmk!!!

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⭑ taglist: @tvdplllife @nico-says-no11 @kksturns

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 4:

The flight to Munich was loud and cramped. Aven sat three rows behind the rest of the team, her laptop propped open on her knees. She had her massive noise-canceling headphones pulled over her ears, mostly just wanting a barrier between herself and everyone else.

She was completely exhausted, her body still fighting the club's hectic schedule.

A shadow fell over her screen.

Aven didn't look up immediately. She finished editing a shot of Jude from training before she finally slid one side of her headphones down to her neck.

Jude stood in the aisle, holding a bottle of water. He had his hood pulled up, looking buried in his gray club tracksuit. He wasn't glaring this time, but his expression was carefully neutral.

"You're going to have to move," he said flatly.

Aven blinked, looking from him to her own seat. "this is my seat"

"I know," Jude replied, pointing a finger past her toward the empty space by the plastic wall. "I'm 4F. I have the window. Get up so I can get in."

Aven looked at the narrow space between her knees and the seat in front of her, then back up at him.

He was way too big to just squeeze past. She let out a short, annoyed breath, thoroughly displeased about having her workflow interrupted.

"Fine," she muttered, unbuckling her seatbelt. She closed her laptop with a sharp click and stood up, stepping out into the narrow aisle. "No need to stand over me like that, I'm moving."

"Just pointing out you're blocking the way," Jude said, sliding past her into the row.

His shoulder brushed against her chest as he moved, taking up an unnecessary amount of room before he dropped heavily into the window seat.

Aven settled back into her aisle seat, immediately pulling her headphones back over her ears. She didn't want to look at him.

Jude adjusted his seat, buckled his belt, and then turned his head to look at her.

Through the side of her vision, she could see him staring.

Aven sighed, pulling one side of her headphones away before looking at him. "What?"

"The photos from the Bernabéu," Jude said, keeping his voice quiet so it wouldn't carry. "The club posted them. My mum liked the one by the corner flag."

Aven turned her head to face him properly. "Good for your mum."

Jude's mouth twitched, a tiny, reluctant shift in his jaw that wasn't quite a smile. "She asked who took it. I told her it was the new photographer who thinks she runs the place."

"I don't think I run the place, Bellingham," Aven said, her tone deadpan. "I just do my job. You're the one who seems to think the world stops spinning because you had a bad day."

"I don't expect the world to stop," he shot back quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I expect people to keep out of my way when I'm working."

"I was behind the advertising boards. That's literally the designated spot," she countered, leaning back into her seat. "If you don't want me in your space, don't celebrate five feet away from my face."

Jude stared at her for a second, then looked down at his water bottle, spinning it slowly between his hands.

The aggressive friction from their first week had settled into something quieter, but it was still incredibly heavy.

They just didn't like each other. It was that simple.

"You don't talk like the other press," he muttered after a moment.

"Because I don't care about getting an interview," Aven said, looking him dead in the eye. "I get paid whether you like me or not, Bellingham. So you can save the attitude for the journalists who actually care about your mood swings."

Jude let out a short, quiet breath through his nose. It sounded almost like a laugh, but his face remained completely serious, he muttered something under his breath before pulling his hood down further over his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes.

Aven watched him for a beat before opening her laptop again, continuing her work.

The silence stretched between them for the next hour, filled only by the low hum of the plane's engines. Aven kept her focus locked on her screen, her fingers moving rhythmically across the trackpad as she sorted through more match files.

Beside her, Jude hadn't moved. His head was still tilted back against the headrest, his long legs uncomfortably cramped in the tight space.

she worked her way through editing until she felt it, her fingers hovering over the trackpad as a familiar, heavy wave of sickness started to coil in her stomach.

She let out a long, slow sigh, her shoulders slumping. She knew this feeling. It was like clockwork—exactly an hour after boarding, the nausea would hit her like a truck. She had been dreading it since they took off, and sure enough, the cabin started to feel too warm, the air thick and stale. The world seemed to tilt slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the spinning sensation to stop as all the color drained from her face.

Beside her, Jude shifted, his eyes cracking open to glance at her. He frowned, his gaze sharpening as he took in her pale skin and the way she was gripping the armrests.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, his voice low but sharp. "You look like you're about to throw up."

Aven swallowed hard, her throat feeling tight. "M'fine," she managed to choke out through gritted teeth.

Jude shifted in his seat, his expression moving from annoyance to guarded concern. He looked at her, then at the narrow aisle, then back at her. "If you're going to throw up, Cross, make sure not to do it my way."

Aven's stomach flipped again, and his words made her irritation spike, even through the sickness. She glared at him, her eyes watering. "Stop saying the word 'throw up', Bellingham."

Jude stayed silent, his eyes lingering on her face. He didn't offer a comeback or a sneer; he just watched her, his expression unreadable and oddly focused, as if he were waiting to see if she was going to collapse right there.

The pressure in her stomach became too much to ignore. Aven unbuckled her seatbelt with shaky fingers and stood up, stumbling slightly as she navigated into the aisle.

Jude watched her go, his gaze tracking her progress toward the front of the cabin without saying a word.

She locked herself in the cramped airplane bathroom, leaning heavily against the mirror. She didn't actually throw up, it never came that easy, but the cold water she splashed onto her face and the back of her neck helped chase away the worst of the dizzy, spinning feeling.

She took a few deep, steadying breaths until the color began to creep back into her cheeks, then opened the door.

As she stepped back into the narrow aisle, she nearly collided with Carlos. He reached out to steady her arm, his brow furrowed with genuine concern.

"Whoa, easy there," Carlos said, looking her over. "You okay? You look a bit pale."

"Yeah," Aven exhaled, wiping a stray drop of water from her forehead. "Just a bit of nausea. I get it on long flights. I'm fine."

Carlos gave her a knowing, slightly mischievous look, his eyes flickering toward her seat in row four. "Glad to hear it. And hey, seeing as you're up—did you and Jude get a chance to actually talk? Clear the air a bit?"

Aven froze, it clicked instantly, he had her and jude sit next to each other so that they can 'reconcile their differences' She let out a long, tired sigh, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

"I knew it," she muttered, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "I knew it wasn't a coincidence."

Carlos chuckled, a low, knowing sound, and leaned against the galley wall. "Look, it's been a rough few weeks for everyone. You two are the two most stubborn people I've ever met, but you're both important to this team. I figured a few hours of forced proximity might do the trick."

"You figured wrong," Aven said, though the sharp edge was missing from her voice. "It was mostly just us arguing and me trying not to lose my mind. I'm pretty sure he was considering throwing me out the emergency exit."

Carlos grinned, unbothered. "He hasn't thrown you out yet though, has he? That's progress."

Aven let out another sigh, looking back down the aisle. She could see the top of Jude's hoodie from here; he was still sitting there, staring out the window, looking more bored than angry.

"You're a menace, Carlos" she said, starting to walk past him.

"Just doing my job, Aven!" he called after her.

She made her way back to row four and slid into her seat. Jude didn't look at her immediately, but he shifted, giving her just a tiny bit more room as she sat down.

"You're back," he noted, his voice flat.

"I'm back," she confirmed, buckling her seatbelt.

"Everything... handled?"

Aven caught the slight hesitation in his voice—the way he almost sounded like he was checking to make sure she was actually okay, despite his best efforts to sound annoyed.

She turned to look at him, spotting the slight tension in his shoulders. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Jude didn't say anything else. He just gave a small, curt nod, the movement barely perceptible, before he turned his head completely toward the window.

Aven settled into her seat, pulling her headphones back on, though she didn't turn on any music. She just let the silence settle over them. The nausea had receded into a dull, manageable thrum, and she managed to get some shut eye before they landed in Germany.

・・・・・

author’s note: england just lost..here’s something to help with the pain…

⭑ click here for the series master list

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3:

The media room at the Santiago Bernabéu on a matchday was completely different than the quiet, controlled facility at Valdebebas.

Journalists from every major European outlet were crammed into the press tiers, their voices a low, ceaseless hum that reverberated through the tunnels. Aven stood in the narrow corridor just outside the home dressing room, checking the settings on her camera.

Tonight was the first major Champions League group stage match of the season. The stakes were high, the pressure was immense, and the club's social media team wanted "tunnel content" which basically meant unfiltered, high-contrast shots of the players as they made the long, lonely walk from the dressing room to the pitch.

It was exactly the kind of high-intensity environment Aven thrived in.

She knew how to disappear into the woodwork, how to flatten herself against a concrete wall and become a ghost with a lens.

The heavy doors of the Real Madrid dressing room suddenly opened, and the squad began to filter out.

Aven's finger worked the shutter rhythmically, capturing the tight, hyper-focused expressions of all the players.

Then came the end of the line.

Jude Bellingham strode out of the dressing room, his expression cold and concentrated.

He looked formidable. But the second his eyes swept the corridor and landed on her, the mask slipped just enough for a familiar, chilly disdain to take over.

Aven didn't drop her camera. She raised it to her eye, tracking him as he walked toward her. Through the viewfinder, she saw him deliberately shift his path, steering his broad shoulders closer to the wall—closer to her—until he was actively crowding her space as he passed.

"Don't get in my way, Cross," he muttered under his breath, his voice cutting through the tunnel noise, low and sharp. He didn't break stride, his shoulder missing hers by a mere fraction of an inch as he pushed past.

Aven didn't even blink. She kept her finger on the shutter, capturing the rigid, arrogant line of his back as he marched toward the mouth of the tunnel.

"If you put half as much energy into the match as you do into being difficult, you might actually be dangerous today, Bellingham." she called out after him.

Aven smiled when she saw his shoulders stiffen, but he didn't look back, disappearing into the bright, blinding light of the stadium as the roar of the crowd erupted like thunder.

The match itself was a masterclass in frustration. The opposition was playing a notoriously stubborn low-block, suffocating Real Madrid's midfield and hacking down anyone who tried to break the lines. From her designated spot on the baseline, kneeling just behind the advertising boards, Aven had a front-row seat to Jude's escalating fury. Every time he was fouled without a whistle, he screamed at the referee. Every time a pass fell short, he slammed his fists against his thighs.

By the seventy-fifth minute, the score was still locked at 0-0, and the tension in the stadium was suffocating.

Then, a breakthrough. Camavinga intercepted a loose ball in the center circle, driving forward before slipping a perfectly weighted, diagonal pass into the box.

Jude burst out of nowhere, throwing his body forward with a desperate, lunging slide to beat the keeper to the ball.

The sound of his boot hitting the ball echoed over the noise of the crowd as it flew into the top corner of the net.

The stadium absolutely exploded. Eighty thousand people screamed in unison, a deafening wave of sound that shook the camera in Aven's hands.

Jude was already up, sprinting toward the corner flag right where Aven was kneeling. He sprinted with his arms wide, his face contorted in a triumphant, primal roar. It was the iconic celebration, the one the world loved. He slid to his knees on the turf, stopping barely five feet away from her lens, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his temple.

Aven's instincts took over. She didn't think about their feud; she didn't think about his attitude. She just saw the perfect shot.

She captured the grass spraying from his knees, the veins bulging in his neck, the sheer, terrifying intensity of his gaze. It was a masterpiece. A sports photo that would be on the front page of every newspaper in Europe tomorrow morning.

Jude held the stance for three seconds before his teammates mobbed him, burying him under a mountain of white shirts.

An hour after the final whistle, the stadium had emptied into a ghost town of echoing corridors and discarded plastic cups. Real Madrid had held onto the 1-0 win, and the relief in the building was palpable.

Aven was back in the auxiliary media room, the heavy double doors shut against the cold night air. The room was entirely empty, the other photographers having already filed their wires and left for the local bars. She sat at the long press table, her laptop open, the glow of the screen illuminating the dark circles under her eyes as she ran through the final batch of edits.

She was exhausted. Her knees were bruised from kneeling on the concrete baseline, and her shoulders felt like lead.

The door to the media room suddenly clicked open.

Aven didn't look up, assuming it was a stadium janitor coming to clear the trash. She kept her fingers moving on the trackpad, adjusting the exposure levels on the celebration shot.

"You're still here."

The voice made her fingers freeze.

She lifted her head slowly. Jude was standing in the doorway, looking significantly cleaner than he had an hour ago. He had showered, his hair still damp, and he was dressed in the official club black suit, though the tie was already loosened and his top button was undone. He looked tired, the post-match adrenaline crash finally hitting him, but the sharp, competitive edge in his eyes hadn't duller a bit.

"The media train doesn't stop just because you want to go to sleep, Bellingham," Aven said, her voice dropping into its usual cool, unimpressed tone. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Some of us actually have to work for a living after the ninety minutes are up."

she knew she was being petty but she really couldn't help it when it came to him.

Jude closed the door behind him with a soft click, walking into the room with a slow, deliberate stride. He didn't leave. Instead, he walked right up to the press table, stopping on the opposite side, directly across from her laptop.

"Let me see it," he commanded quietly.

"See what?"

"The shot from the corner flag," he said, nodding toward her screen. "I saw you take it.”

Aven let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I don't report to you, Bellingham. If you want to see the photos, check the club's Instagram in an hour like the rest of the world."

Jude's eyes narrowed, his hands sliding into the pockets of his suit trousers as he leaned over the table, intentionally invading her space again. "I'm the subject of the photo, Cross. I think that gives me a right to a preview."

"It gives you a right to nothing," she countered smoothly, her gaze locking onto his. "You've spent the last two weeks treating me like shit. You don't get to act like a prick on the pitch and then come in here expecting me to do you favors."

For a moment, the old friction flared up between them, hot and heavy in the quiet room. Jude stared down at her, his jaw clenching, clearly unused to someone denying him something so simple.

But then, his eyes drifted down to the laptop screen she was trying and failing to hide.

The celebration photo was sitting right there, fully rendered in high definition. Jude went silent. He leaned a fraction closer, his eyes scanning the image.

He looked at the crisp detail of the turf, the perfect lighting catching the sweat on his face, the raw, unadulterated power she had managed to capture in a single, frozen microsecond.

Aven gave up hiding the screen as she watched his expression closely, looking for any sign of his usual arrogance.

"It's... good," he admitted reluctantly, his voice dropping an octave, the hostility momentarily replaced by a grudging, stubborn awe.

"It's perfect," Aven corrected flatly, entirely unapologetic about her own talent. "Because unlike you, I actually do my job with some shred of professionalism."

Jude's head snapped back up, the softer look instantly vanishing, replaced by a scowl. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"Neither can you," she shot back, tilting her chin up. "You could have walked past this room. You chose to come in here and demand things from me."

Jude stared at her for a long, tense beat, the air between them thick with that familiar, volatile energy. Aven just stared right back, her expression an unyielding wall of indifference.

Jude let out a short, sharp scoff, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, giving her one last, cold look over his shoulder. "Yeah whatever, see you on the plane to Munich on Thursday, Cross. Don't be late."

The door shut behind him with a firm click. Aven stared at the empty space for a second before looking back down at her laptop.

She let out a long, slow breath, her heart thumping just a little faster against her ribs.

・・・・・

author’s note: hope you enjoyed reading 🫰🏻

⭑ click here for the series master list

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2:

The thing about Aven Cross was that she had spent her entire life learning how to hold her ground in rooms full of people who thought they were bigger than her.

Growing up as the only girl in a household of four older brothers who all played semi-pro rugby, you either learned to speak up or you got trampled.

By the time she picked up a camera in university, she had already developed a skin thick enough to withstand the volatile egos of elite athletes.

None of it rattled her.

Which was precisely why the Jude Bellingham situation wasn't going to break her, even if it was making her first two weeks at Real Madrid incredibly annoying.

It was a Tuesday morning at Valdebebas, and the air was already thick with the kind of dry, suffocating Spanish heat that made everyone a bit more short-tempered than usual.

Aven stood on the sidelines of the main training pitch, a heavy telephoto lens balanced expertly on her shoulder as she watched the squad finish their warm-up laps.

Her contract with the club was straightforward: she was there to capture "unfiltered, raw intimacy" for the season-long documentary and social media campaign. The club wanted grit. They wanted the sweat, the frustration, and the unfiltered reality of a title-chasing squad.

Unfortunately, that meant she had to be everywhere.

And everywhere she went, Bellingham seemed to be there, radiating pure hostility.

Ever since their disastrous "first" meeting in the media room, an icy, unspoken tension had settled between them.

They hadn't spoken a single direct word to each other in ten days, but the tension was so loud.

Whenever Aven pointed her lens toward the midfield drills, Jude would intentionally turn his back, or worse, jog directly into the path of another player with a smile on his face to ruin her composition.

It was petty, childish, and entirely beneath a player of his caliber. But Aven, true to form, didn't give him the satisfaction of looking frustrated.

Every time he ruined a shot, she just calmly lowered the camera, looked at him with an expression of profound boredom, and moved on to someone else.

"Aven! Por favor, tell me you got that link-up play between Vini and Rodrygo," Carlos, the digital media director, called out as he jogged over to her, wiping sweat from his forehead with a clipboard.

"Got it from three different angles, Carlos," Aven replied smoothly, tapping the side of her camera housing. "The lighting on the far side of the pitch is perfect right now. I'm going to move down toward the penalty box to catch the tactical scrimmages."

"Perfect, perfect. You are a lifesaver," Carlos muttered, already looking distractedly at his phone. "Oh, and the boss wants a few close-up reaction shots of Bellingham for the pre-match graphics. He's starting on Saturday after the injury scare."

Aven suppressed a sigh, her jaw tightening just a fraction. "Right. I'll see what I can do."

She walked down the touchline, the grass crunching softly under her trainers. The squad was splitting into two groups for a high-intensity, small-sided game. Jude was on the bibs team, anchoring the midfield with a fierce, aggressive energy that showed his wrist was feeling significantly better. Even though she thoroughly disliked his personality, Aven couldn't deny the sheer, terrifying brilliance of his talent. Through the viewfinder, he was a force of nature—dynamic, physically imposing, and hyper-aware of every moving piece on the board.

She braced the heavy lens against her knee, tracking him as he received a sharp pass from Camavinga. He turned effortlessly, driving past a defender with an explosive burst of pace.

She caught the spray of water from the turf, the intense focus in his eyes, the taut strain of his muscles. It was an undeniable shot.

Then, Jude looked up.

Right through the glass, his eyes locked directly onto hers. The moment he realized she was the one tracking him, his posture stiffened. Instead of continuing his run toward the goal, he made a sharp, unnecessarily aggressive pass off to Lucas Vázquez and slowed his pace to a jog, intentionally checking out of the play just to ruin the continuity of her sequence.

Aven pulled her face away from the camera. She didn't look angry; she just stared at him across the twenty yards of grass, raising a single, unimpressed eyebrow.

Jude didn't back down. He grabbed the hem of his training shirt, wiping the sweat from his face while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her, his expression dripping with that same cold, arrogant defiance from a week ago.

He was waiting for her to snap, waiting for her to pack up her gear and complain to the staff so he could prove she couldn't handle the environment.

Aven merely held his gaze for three long seconds, gave a slow, deliberate shake of her head, and turned her back on him completely to focus her lens on Aurélien Tchouaméni.

The scrimmage wrapped up twenty minutes later under the shrill blast of the manager's whistle. The players immediately collapsed toward the hydration stations, lunging for ice towels and water bottles.

Aven remained by the tactical boards, checking her exposures and metadata on the small camera screen, eager to get back to the media room and away from the heat.

"You're in my way."

The voice was low, clipped, and instantly recognizable.

Aven didn't move an inch. She finished locking her current memory card container, slowly slid it into her pocket, and only then did she turn around.

Jude was standing directly in front of the hydration table she was leaning against. He was drenched in sweat, a cooler towel draped over the back of his neck, breathing heavily from the session.

He was deliberately crowding her space, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.

"The pitch is roughly a hundred and five meters long, Bellingham," Aven said, her voice a cool, deadpan contrast to his heated state. "There are three other water stations. I'm sure your legs can carry you an extra ten feet."

Jude's eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "This is the station assigned to my group. Move your gear."

"My gear is on the grass," she noted, gesturing subtly to the padded bag resting securely by her feet, completely clear of the table. "I'm just standing here. Unless you're implying that my presence is enough to block a six-foot-one midfielder from grabbing a Powerade?"

A sharp, humorless scoff escaped him. He stepped even closer, his chest nearly brushing the strap of her secondary camera. "I'm implying that you're an annoying distraction. You've been hovering around the drills all morning"

"It's called doing my job," Aven shot back, her tone dropping into that dangerous, unyielding calm that had caught him off guard during their first encounter. "I'm contracted by Real Madrid to document the team. That includes you, whether your fragile ego likes it or not."

Jude stared down at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. The sheer audacity of her words seemed to momentarily short-circuit his brain. His eyes flicked across her face, searching for a trace of hesitation or intimidation but Aven simply stood her ground.

Jude's mouth thinned into a tight, dangerous line. He reached past her, his arm deliberately brushing against her shoulder as he grabbed a water bottle from the cooler with an aggressive snap.

"We're going to have a very long season, Cross," he whispered.

Jude gave her one final, freezing look over the top of his water bottle before turning on his heel and striding away toward the locker room tunnel, his broad shoulders tense.

Aven watched him go, a slow, steady breath escaping her lips. Her heart was thumping against her ribs from the sheer adrenaline of the confrontation, but as she picked up her gear bag and swung it over her shoulder, a cold, competitive spark settling deep in her chest.

・・・・・

author’s note: are we liking this so far? :D I’m enjoying writing it, I hope you guys are enjoying reading it :p

⭑ click here for the series master list

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 1:

The midday sun was baking the pristine pitches of Ciudad Real Madrid, the heat shimmering off the grass in waves.

Inside the air-conditioned sanctuary of the main media building, Aven Cross stood by her laptop, her neck aching from four hours of non-stop shooting. Taking this job with Real Madrid had been the most terrifying—and liberating—decision of her life.

She’d moved to Spain entirely alone, fleeing a suffocating home environment where her success felt like a burden. Her mother hadn't been proud when Aven landed the role; she’d been bitter, deeply envious that her daughter had secured a prestigious international career while her sons were still struggling to find their footing. The last conversation had ended in a cold, pointed silence, and Aven hadn't looked back since.

Here, she was just a professional. She was a talent, not a disappointment.

Earlier that morning, she’d been briefly introduced to the squad during their warm-up. It had been a whirlwind of handshakes and quick nods. She remembered the team clearly, Vini’s bright smile, Rüdiger’s kind words, but one stood out for all the wrong reasons.

Jude Bellingham.

He’d been standing slightly apart, his face pulled into a dark, impenetrable scowl, jaw tight, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

When the coach had introduced her, Jude hadn’t even glanced her way, his eyes fixed somewhere else like he was bored.

She had marked him as someone to avoid.

Hours later, the room was quiet. Aven was finally getting through the backlog, crossing out the names of the players she had successfully photographed on her master sheet.

Valverde. Camavinga. Courtois. Rüdiger—who had spent a solid three minutes jokingly trying to intimidate her lens before breaking character to laugh. Everyone was accounted for.

Well, almost everyone.

She sighed, glancing at the final name left unticked at the very bottom of the page.

Jude Bellingham.

“Where is he?” she muttered to herself, checking her watch. He was forty-five minutes late for his slot.

The media coordinator had abandoned her twenty minutes ago to chase down a PR emergency down the hall, leaving her entirely alone in the cavernous room to wait.

She knelt down by her gear bag, deciding to use the dead time to swap out her standard 24-70mm lens for a sharper, prime 50mm.

The heavy double doors at the back of the room suddenly swung open with a dull, aggressive thud.

She didn't look up immediately, her fingers too focused on securing the lens cap of the glass she’d just detached.

“We have five minutes,” a sharp, irritated voice cut through the empty room, echoing off the high ceilings. “I’ve still got treatment after this.”

She finally lifted her head.

Jude Bellingham stood in the doorway, practically radiating a dark cloud of annoyance. He was still in his training gear, the dark navy shirt damp with sweat, a black compression bandage wrapped tightly around his left wrist.

His jaw was set so hard she could see the muscle ticking, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the room as if actively looking for a reason to turn around and walk right back out.

It had been a rough morning on the pitch. From her brief glances out the media room window earlier, she had watched the manager run the squad through grueling, high-intensity tactical drills under the blistering Madrid sun. Jude had spent a significant portion of it looking visibly frustrated, arguing a foul call with one of the assistant coaches and kicking a stray cone out of his path on the way to the tunnel.

Clearly, the locker room hadn't cooled his temper.

“Good afternoon to you too,” she said calmly, standing up and dusting off the knees of her jeans.

His brow furrowed deeper as he took a few heavy steps into the room.

“Are we doing this or what?” he asked, ignoring her greeting entirely as he strode toward the grey backdrop. He didn't offer a hand, didn't introduce himself, and barely even looked her in the eye. “I don't really fancy standing around all day.”

She set her camera down on the tethering table, her movements slow, deliberate, intentionally refusing to match his frantic, angry energy.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Jude stopped right in front of the backdrop, crossing his massive arms over his chest. When she didn't immediately pick up her camera to start clicking away, he raised an eyebrow, his posture turning rigid. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning against the edge of the table and looking him dead in the eye. “There is.”

He tilted his head, a faint, frown resting on his face. “What?”

“Your attitude,” she said flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, crossing her own arms, perfectly matching his stubborn stance. “Look, Bellingham, I get it. You’re tired, you’re sore, and you’re forty-five minutes late for a photo shoot you probably didn't want to do in the first place. But I’ve been on my feet since seven this morning shooting the rest of your team, and not a single one of them treated me like I was the reason they had a bad practice. I didn't come here to be your emotional punching bag because things didn't go your way on the pitch.”

Jude stared at her, genuinely stunned.

For a second, the room was so quiet you could hear the subtle hum of the air conditioning unit. Nobody at Valdebebas talked to him like that. Not the junior staff, not the media interns, and definitely not a freelance photographer on her first official week with the first team.

His eyes narrowed, a dark, icy glare settling into his features. “I’m just trying to get this over with quickly. I don’t need a lecture from the hired help.”

asshole.

“Great. So am I,” she replied, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy calm that completely ignored his attempt to put her in her place. “But if you’re going to give me half-assed poses and a face like you’re being forced into a hostage situation, the photos are going to look like shit. Then the marketing department is going to reject them, and they'll make you come back down here next week to redo them anyway. Do you want to do this twice? Because personally, five minutes of your presence is already pushing my limit.”

Jude opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and let out a sharp breath. He stepped closer, attempting to use his height to intimidate her, but she didn't even flinch.

“you know you’ve got a lot of nerve” he murmured, his voice laced with pure hostility. He looked at her properly now, hatred and a strange, stubborn irritation warring in his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” she countered smoothly, picking up her camera. “Now, take a step to your left.”

He didn't move for a heartbeat, his jaw clenching so hard it looked painful.

She didn't lower the camera, waiting him out with a steady, unblinking gaze through the viewfinder.

The animosity between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Eventually, with a loud, aggressive scoff, Jude shifted a foot to his left. He glared directly into the lens, it was clear his mood was bad coming into this room and was worse when he found out that the new photographer wouldn’t just take his shit.

“Like this?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Perfect,” she said, her voice entirely deadpan as she locked her focus. “Now look at the lens.”

For the next ten minutes, the room felt like a battlefield. The air was cold and silent, broken only by her sharp instructions. There was no competitive amusement, no reluctant softening.

Every time she told him to turn, he did it with an exaggerated, resentful stiffness. Every time he glared, she met his gaze with absolute indifference, clicking the shutter as if he were nothing more than a piece of scenery she was forced to document.

When she finally turned off the strobe lights, the relief in the room was palpable, though the animosity still lingered heavily in the air.

“We done?” he asked, spitting the words out as he stepped off the grey backdrop.

“We’re done,” she said coldly, already kneeling down to disconnect the cables, completely turning her back on him. “You can go back to your treatment now. Don't let me keep you.”

He didn't offer a final word. Jude just turned on his heel, his movements sharp and controlled, and walked toward the double doors. He didn't look back, and he didn't slow his pace; he simply pushed through, letting the heavy doors swing shut behind him with a final, echoing thud that rattled the quiet room.

Aven let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to ebb. She stayed knelt on the floor for a long moment, listening to the silence of the studio. The air still felt charged, heavy with the residual friction of their argument, but at least he was gone.

She reached for the tethering cable, her hands finally steadying as she coiled it. She told herself it didn't matter. He was just a player—a difficult, arrogant, incredibly talented player who happened to be her subject for the afternoon. That was it. She didn't need him to like her; she just needed to do her job.

But as she stood up to pack the final strobe, she couldn't stop her eyes from drifting toward the monitor. The raw files were still open. In every shot, she had captured that raw, jagged intensity—the set of his jaw, the cold fire in his eyes.

She flicked through them, watching his face change from a scowl to a glare to a moment of pure, focused anger. It was brilliant work, technically perfect, but it was uncomfortable to look at.

She closed the laptop, silencing the images, and grabbed her bag. As she walked toward the exit, she couldn't help but wonder if tomorrow would be just as icy, or if this was just the beginning of a long, exhausting season of clashing heads. She pushed the thought away, telling herself that whatever happened tomorrow, she wouldn't be the one to back down.

・・・・・

author’s note: helloooo!!! if anyone wants to be added to the taglist click the here..also to remind you again I don't watch football unless it's the World Cup :o so please please please keep in mind that I basically don't know shit...anyway hope u enjoyed..

⭑ click here for the series master list

[beersangel]

Jude Bellingham master list ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

series:

⭑ My Way

one shots:

⭑ for you

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⭑ introduction

⭑ chapter 1

⭑ chapter 2

⭑ chapter 3

⭑ chapter 4

⭑ chapter 5

⭑ chapter 6

⭑ chapter 7

⭑ chapter 8

⭑ chapter 9 [coming soon..]

[beersangel]

𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢. | Jude Bellingham

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Aven Cross is a new photographer for Real Madrid. She moved to Spain to build her own career and escape a difficult family life back home. She is hard-working, professional, and refuses to let anyone push her around.

Jude Bellingham is a star player for the team. He was having a very bad day after a tough practice, and he arrived at his photoshoot in a terrible mood, acting rude and impatient with everyone.

When they met, Jude tried to intimidate Aven with his bad attitude, but she stood her ground and told him exactly what she thought of his behavior. Neither of them wanted to back down, turning a simple job into a tense argument.

After such a rough start, will these two find a way to work together, or are they going to keep clashing for the rest of the season?

・・・・・

𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎:

hi everyone!! to start this off I just wanted to say that I only watch football when it's the world cup so I am a larp when it comes to the sport #honest #dontcancelme..but I came on here looking for good jude fanfics and only found a couple, I needed more so i took matters into my own hands and wrote what I wanted..if any info is inaccurate please just ignore it :p this is purely fictional so it doesn't really matter! enjoy the story <3

ps: yes I named her aven after the most iconic photographer ever..aven brooks from duplicity..ifykyk..

・・・・・

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜:

this fic will include the following tropes:

- enemies to friends to lovers trope

- slow burn

it will also include:

- swearing

- family issues

- sexual content and references

- everything is fictional, the story is not based on real events or matches! so it's all hypothetical!!

- also I'm proud to say English IS NOT my first language..

𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

[beersangel]

drop a “⚽️” in the comments to be added to the jude bellingham taglist!

[beersangel]

larped the World Cup so bad I developed a crush on Jude Bellingham and started writing a fic about him…it’s an enemies to friends to lovers and it’s sooooo good so far :o