i wanna be naturally free

twenty-smth · chelsea fc · she/her masterlist · main blog · more writing

[dreamzofbeingrich-deactivated20]

black women so fine it’s ridiculous.

[myhobari]

can u do a jude bellingham one shot where he’s playing at a game and at some point during the game someone on the opposing team says something disrespectful about his partner (the reader) while the other players think he can’t hear but he does and he starts like telling them off on the field and almost like fighting them and everyone is involved trying to keep the two from fighting

and the reader is in the stands and is like wtf is going on and after the game he tells her what happened on the field.

thanks!!!

don't you dare.

a jude bellingham fic

summary - requested!

includes - boyfriend! jude // wag! reader // established relationship // black reader ofc // slight angst? // almost fight // reader gets called out of her name but not explicitly to her face

a/n - wow wow wow looks who's finally writing again

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The stadium was alive.

Not simply loud, but alive.

Thousands of voices rose and fell together, vibrating through the seats beneath you. White shirts filled nearly every section of the stands, flags waved high above people’s heads, and somewhere behind you, a man had been passionately arguing with the referee for the last ten minutes as though he could actually be heard from the upper level.

Normally, you would have laughed.

Tonight, however, you could barely focus on anything except the number five moving across the pitch.

Jude had been restless all morning. He always carried a certain intensity on match days, but this one mattered more than most. The score was still level deep into the second half, and every challenge seemed harder than the last. Every time he gained possession, two opposing players closed in on him. Every time he went down, your stomach clenched.

Still, he kept getting back up.

That was Jude.

You watched him chase down a loose ball near the touchline, shielding it with his body as an opposing midfielder pressed into his back. Their legs tangled. The whistle blew, awarding Madrid the free kick, and Jude turned away without complaint.

At first.

The other player said something.

You couldn’t hear it from your seat. You could only see the way his mouth moved and the smug little smile that followed. One of his teammates laughed beside him.

Jude stopped walking.

Your brows pulled together.

He turned his head slowly, like he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. The stadium continued roaring around him, but Jude stood frighteningly still.

The player said something else.

This time, whatever it was wiped every trace of concentration from Jude’s face. His expression hardened instantly, jaw flexing as he marched back toward him.

“What the hell?” you muttered, leaning forward.

Jude shoved the player in the chest.

The reaction was immediate.

The player stumbled back before surging forward, hands flying to Jude’s shoulders. Jude knocked them away and stepped closer until they were nearly forehead to forehead. The referee sprinted toward them, whistle shrieking, while players from both teams swarmed the scene.

You shot out of your seat.

“Jude!”

There was no possible way he could hear you, but his name tore from your throat anyway.

The argument grew uglier by the second. Jude was shouting now, pointing directly into the player’s face as Antonio wrapped both arms around his chest and tried to drag him backward. Jude fought against the hold, still barking words you couldn’t understand.

The opposing player’s teammates formed a wall around him, shoving Madrid players away. Someone pushed Jude from the side. He lunged again.

The entire stadium erupted.

You stared in disbelief. Jude got angry, of course. He was competitive, emotional, and far too passionate to pretend he didn’t care. But this was different. This wasn’t frustration over a foul or an argument about a decision.

This looked personal.

“What happened?” you asked no one in particular.

Beside you, one of the other players’ girlfriends looked just as confused. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like that.”

On the pitch, the referee held up a yellow card.

Jude barely looked at it.

His eyes remained fixed on the other player, and even from the stands you could see the fury burning in them. Antonio kept a firm hand pressed to his chest while another teammate spoke close to his ear, trying to calm him.

The opposing player glanced toward your section of the stadium.

It lasted less than a second, but you saw it.

Then he smirked.

A cold, uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach.

Jude saw that too.

He jerked forward so suddenly that Antonio nearly lost his grip. Several players moved between them again, and the referee warned both sides with frantic gestures.

“Jude, stop,” you whispered, nails digging into your palms. “Please.”

Eventually, the match resumed.

Technically.

Jude played as though something inside him had snapped. Every pass was sharper. Every run was faster. He fought for every ball like it had personally offended him, the crowd roaring each time he won possession.

Ten minutes later, he drove through midfield, exchanged a quick pass at the edge of the box, and buried the return into the bottom corner.

The stadium exploded.

Jude ran toward the corner with his teammates chasing him, but instead of performing his usual celebration, he turned toward the opposing players and stared.

His teammates quickly crowded around him, blocking whatever might happen next.

You should have been celebrating. Everyone around you was screaming, hugging, and jumping.

But all you could think was, What did he say?

Madrid held the lead until the final whistle.

When the match ended, Jude shook hands with almost everyone except the player from earlier. The two were kept on opposite sides of the pitch, surrounded by watchful teammates and staff.

You waited in the players’ family area afterward, bouncing your knee so rapidly that the woman beside you gave it a concerned glance. Usually, after a win, the room buzzed with excitement. Tonight, every cheer sounded distant.

Your phone remained blank.

No message from Jude.

You had replayed the moment a hundred times in your mind by the time the door finally opened.

Jude entered wearing his tracksuit, headphones resting around his neck. His curls were still damp from the shower, and exhaustion sat heavily across his face.

The second he spotted you, something in his expression softened.

You stood. “What happened?”

He glanced around the room. “Can we go somewhere private?”

That did nothing to settle your nerves.

You followed him into the quiet corridor outside. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you turned to face him.

“Jude, what happened out there? You nearly got sent off. I thought you were going to hit him.”

“I nearly did.”

“That isn’t comforting.”

“I know.”

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned against the wall. The anger was gone now, or at least buried beneath the surface, but you could still see tension in the set of his shoulders.

You stepped closer. “What did he say?”

Jude’s eyes lifted to yours before immediately looking away.

“Jude.”

“He was trying to get a reaction.”

“Clearly, he got one.”

“Yeah.” He let out a humorless laugh. “He did.”

You waited.

Jude pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. For a moment, you thought he might refuse to tell you. Then his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“He said I’d been distracted all match because I was too busy checking whether you were watching me.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

“No.”

His voice dropped, and suddenly you understood his hesitation.

“His teammate told him to leave it because they thought I couldn’t hear them. Then he said…” Jude stopped, jaw tightening. “He said you probably weren’t watching the match anyway. Said you were probably too busy looking around for whichever player you’d leave me for next.”

Your mouth fell slightly open.

Jude continued before you could respond, words coming faster now.

“Then he called you a name. I’m not repeating it.”

The pieces clicked into place, the laughter, the smirk, the glance toward the stands.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“So you shoved him?”

“I told him to say it again.”

Despite yourself, you stared at him. “Jude.”

“I told him to say it to my face instead of muttering it to his mate like a coward. He did. So I shoved him.”

There was no pride in his voice. No smugness. Only lingering anger and an almost painful sincerity.

You exhaled and leaned beside him against the wall.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

“You could’ve been sent off,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

“You could get fined.”

“I know.”

“You scared me.”

His head turned immediately. “I’m sorry.”

The apology came so quickly that some of your frustration faded.

Jude moved in front of you, his hands settling gently at your waist. The contrast almost made your chest ache. Those same hands had been shoving someone away less than an hour ago. Now he touched you as though you were something precious.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That was very obvious.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but the almost-smile vanished just as quickly.

“I know I should’ve walked away,” he said. “I know people say things on the pitch because they want to get inside your head. They talk about your game, your family, anything they think will work. Usually, I can ignore it.”

“But not me?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Never you.”

The answer was so immediate that warmth rose beneath your skin.

Jude stepped closer until there was barely space between you.

“He doesn’t know you,” he said. “He doesn’t know anything about us. He doesn’t get to look up at you, say something disgusting, then laugh like your name is something he can use to entertain his friends.”

“He didn’t actually say my name, did he?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a little.”

“Baby.”

The warning in his tone was gentle, but you caught it. You fought back a smile.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

You lifted your hands to his face, smoothing your thumbs along the tension in his jaw.

“I appreciate that you wanted to defend me,” you told him. “I do. A very small, slightly unhinged part of me even thinks it was kind of hot.”

“Only a small part?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

His first real smile of the evening appeared. It was brief and tired, but it was there.

You continued, “But I don’t need you risking yourself every time some idiot says something about me. Especially when I can’t even hear it.”

“I could hear it.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And I’m supposed to do what? Let him disrespect you?”

“You scored the winning goal.”

Jude paused.

You raised your eyebrows. “That probably hurt him more than a punch would have.”

His mouth curved again. “The punch would’ve helped.”

“No.”

“A little.”

“Absolutely not.”

He finally laughed, lowering his forehead to yours. The sound was soft, all the sharp edges leaving him at once.

“You’re not angry with me?” he asked.

“I’m a little angry.”

“Fair.”

“And you’re not getting praised for almost starting a brawl.”

“Also fair.”

“But…” You slid your arms around his neck. “I love you.”

His hands tightened at your waist.

“I love you too.”

“Even though I’m apparently preparing to leave you for a mystery footballer?”

Jude pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t.”

You laughed at the seriousness in his face. “I’m joking.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It really isn’t.”

He kissed you before you could tease him again.

There was still adrenaline in it. You could feel it in the way he pulled you close, in the firm press of his mouth against yours, in the breath he released when your fingers slipped into the curls at the back of his head.

But beneath all that fire was tenderness.

An apology.

A promise.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed yours as he spoke.

“I’ll handle it better next time.”

You narrowed your eyes. “There won’t be a next time.”

“If there is.”

“You’ll walk away.”

Jude hesitated.

“Jude.”

“I’ll try.”

You gave him a look.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll walk away.”

“Thank you.”

“After I score.”

You rolled your eyes, but he was smiling now, and you couldn’t help smiling too.

He took your hand and began leading you down the corridor, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“For the record,” you said, “I was watching you the entire match.”

Jude glanced sideways at you, satisfaction immediately returning to his face.

“I know.”

“How?”

He lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours.

“Because I always check.”

——

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[zerocoded]

NOBODY'S BUSINESS !

It starts with a hand around your waist, then you're sitting on his lap, then he's stealing kisses between conversations... Somewhere around the fifth time Jobe tells him to get a room, everyone realizes the alcohol isn't the problem, Jude Bellingham just stopped pretending to have any shame.

WARNINGS ◦ suggestive content, mdni ◦ alcohol use ◦ tipsy & handsy!jude ◦ making out ◦ clingy!jude to an unreasonable degree ◦ poor bellinghams just wanted a peaceful evening ◦ every time i say "this one will be short" i end up writing another domestic manifesto. sorry.

2,452 ━━━━━ drabble jude bellingham x reader

۶ৎ 𝓩 , i genuinely believe tipsy jude would just become a human weighted blanket. this is my evidence. no plot, just jude bellingham forgetting that other people can, in fact, see him. (& lots of making out 😝😝😝)

━━━━━ read on ao3

The villa buzzed with the kind of easy, familiar warmth that only came when the Bellinghams managed to gather everyone in one place. Post-season in Madrid had been a whirlwind—trophies, travel, endless expectations—but tonight the sprawling garden and open living spaces felt like a proper exhale.

Strings of soft lights hung between trees, casting gentle glows over the stone patio where Mark was manning a makeshift grill with the focus of someone who refused to let anyone else touch the meat. Denise moved between the kitchen and garden like the quiet conductor she always was, refilling glasses and laughing at old stories.

Jobe had actually made it over from Germany, sprawled across one of the oversized outdoor sofas with the kind of dramatic exhaustion only a younger brother could pull off. Morgan Rogers and his partner had driven up too, along with a couple of Jude’s closest teammates who had become more like family over the long campaign.

You were in the middle of it all, a glass of wine in hand, moving between groups as the evening stretched. The successful season had left everyone in high spirits, and the celebration felt intimate rather than performative.

Jude had started the night relatively normal, laughing with his dad by the grill, teasing Jobe about his latest training stories, pulling you close for the occasional kiss or hand on your lower back.

But as drinks flowed and the hours passed, the alcohol slowly stripped away his usual careful filter. The version of him that always kept one eye on the room, aware of everyone watching, simply faded. What remained was pure, unfiltered Jude: touch-oriented to an almost comical degree.

He never strayed far. If you wandered into the kitchen to help Denise with more plates, he appeared a minute later, leaning against the counter beside you, fingers absently tracing the hem of your top while he asked what you were doing. If you stepped out to the garden to chat with Morgan’s partner near the flowers, Jude followed shortly after, sliding an arm around your waist as though he’d been there the whole time.

It was never dramatic, he just... gravitated. Like the planet had shifted slightly and you were the new center.

At one point you ended up standing beside the long outdoor sofa, talking with Denise and Morgan’s partner about some upcoming family trip. The conversation flowed easily, laughter rising when Denise recalled a particularly chaotic holiday from years ago.

Jude had been sitting on the sofa listening, or at least pretending to, for a solid thirty seconds. Then, without a word or change in his expression, he reached over, hand settling firmly at your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion he guided you backward and settled you sideways across his lap, your legs draping over his thigh as if it were the most natural seat in the garden.

His arm looped around your back to keep you steady, chin already resting on your shoulder as he picked up the thread of whatever Jobe was saying across from him.

You blinked, half-annoyed, half-amused, twisting in his hold. “Jude,” you said, voice carrying that familiar mix of exasperation. “I was in the middle of a conversation, you know.”

He hummed, eyes still on the group, fingers absently playing with the ends of your hair. “You can talk from here, darling.” His voice was low, warm, completely convinced he was being reasonable. One hand stayed spread across your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles like it was helping him listen better.

Denise let out a bright laugh from her spot on the arm of the sofa, shaking her head. “He’s been like this since forever, but the drink really brings it out.”

Jobe groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “For God’s sake, he’s doing it again. Mate, she’s two feet away. Let her breathe.”

Jude blinked, genuinely puzzled, glancing between you and his brother. “What? She’s right here.” His arm tightened just a fraction around you, as if to prove the point.

You rolled your eyes, trying to push off his lap, but he simply adjusted his grip, pulling you back down with that effortless strength.

“Stop moving. You’re comfy.”

The group dissolved into laughter, the kind that came from watching someone they loved be utterly, shamelessly gone. Morgan exchanged a knowing look with his partner, both of them grinning like they’d seen this coming. One of the teammates muttered something about “post-season Jude” under his breath, earning another round of chuckles.

You swatted at Jude’s chest, fighting a smile. “You’re insufferable when you’re like this.”

He just smiled that slow, dopey smile, chin still on your shoulder as he pressed a lazy kiss to the side of your neck. “M’not insufferable, I’m affectionate.” His fingers hooked loosely through one of your belt loops, holding you in place while someone else picked up a new story.

The conversation moved on around you, plates of food passed, glasses refilled, but Jude remained exactly where he was, playing with your fingers, resting his head against yours, stealing small kisses whenever you paused to sip your drink.

Later, when you stood up to grab another bottle of water from the kitchen, he followed without hesitation. “Where you going?” he asked, voice soft as he caught up, two fingers slipping through your belt loop again to keep you close.

“Water, baby. Three metres away.”

He hummed, unconvinced, trailing after you anyway. Inside the kitchen he leaned against the island while you opened the fridge, then reached out and pulled you back against his chest the second you closed the door.

“Missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair like you’d been gone for hours.

You turned in his arms, laughing despite yourself. “You are ridiculous tonight, William.”

“Am not.” But there was a spark in his eyes now, that playful edge emerging as he realized how much your annoyance entertained him. He dipped his head, kissing you slow and deliberate, then pulled back just enough to grin. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed with me.”

The teasing only got worse after that. Every time you tried to step away to talk to someone else, he’d find a way to reel you back, sometimes with an arm around your shoulders, sometimes by simply patting the spot beside him until you gave in.

At one point, while you were mid-sentence with Jobe about his season, Jude hooked an arm around your waist and tugged you down onto his lap again, chin on your shoulder, completely ignoring the way you swatted at him.

“Jude, I swear—”

“What?” He looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes, the picture of sincerity. “You were standing, now you’re sitting. Better for everyone.”

Jobe made a gagging noise. “He’s actually lost it. Mum, do something.”

Denise just laughed from across the garden, raising her glass. “Leave him be, it’s been a long season.”

The evening carried on like that, warm, overlapping conversations, music drifting through the open doors, plates slowly emptying. Jude remained glued to you in that absentminded way, convinced the whole time that he was acting completely normal.

Only much later, when Mark finally pointed it out directly—“Son, you’ve had Y/N on your lap for forty minutes straight”—did he pause, look down at where you were comfortably settled against him, and blink slowly.

“…Oh.”

A beat of silence. Then he shrugged, pulled you a little closer, and carried on exactly as he was, pressing another lazy kiss to your temple while the laughter erupted around you. You rolled your eyes again, but you were smiling too hard to truly fight it.

The garden lights had softened into a warmer glow as the evening deepened, the sky above the villa shifting from dusky blue to true night. Music still played low from the speakers, but the conversations had grown mellower, voices overlapping less urgently as plates emptied and drinks slowed. People were scattered more loosely now, some clustered near the grill where Mark was finishing the last rounds, others lounging on the sofas with the kind of comfortable fatigue that came from good food and better company.

Everyone was a little buzzed, the successful season’s weight finally lifting in a haze of laughter and easy silences.

You slipped away quietly after a while, telling Denise you just needed to check on something upstairs in one of the guest rooms, a forgotten charger Gio had mentioned earlier. Nothing urgent, but the kind of small task that felt necessary in the middle of a long night.

The villa’s interior was cooler, quieter, the distant hum of the gathering filtering up the wide staircase like background noise. Your bare feet padded softly on the tiles as you made your way down the hallway toward Jude’s bedroom wing, the familiar scent of the house wrapping around you.

You didn’t hear him at first to be honest, then the soft pad of footsteps followed, unhurried but inevitable.

Jude appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, silhouetted against the warm light from below, his shirt slightly rumpled from the evening’s lounging. He didn’t say anything right away, just closed the distance with that same absentminded pull that had defined the whole night, one hand already reaching for your waist before he’d fully caught up.

“Thought you were just getting water,” he murmured, voice lower now that it was just the two of you, the alcohol still softening his edges.

His fingers spread wide against the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly against him as you paused in the hallway outside his bedroom door.

You turned in his hold, half-exasperated, half-smiling. “I told you I’d be quick, you didn’t have to follow me all the way up here.”

He hummed, not really listening, his head already dipping to press a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Missed you,” he said simply, like it explained everything.

His hands were everywhere in that lazy, tipsy way—sliding up your sides, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other traced the curve of your hip, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, eyes heavy-lidded but bright, a small, dopey smile playing on his lips as he studied your face in the dim hallway light. “You look pretty like this, baby, all soft from the wine.”

You laughed quietly, the sound muffled against his chest as he leaned in again, but he caught your chin gently, tilting your face up so he could kiss you properly. It started slow, familiar, but the alcohol had loosened something in him.

He smiled into it almost immediately, the curve of his mouth unmistakable as he deepened the kiss, one hand threading into your hair while the other slipped under the hem of your top, palm warm against your skin. He tasted faintly of the drinks he’d had downstairs, and when he pulled back for air he didn’t go far, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-closed as he stared at you.

“Seriously,” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “How do you always look this good, princess? Even when you’re trying to escape me.” The teasing edge was there, playful and affectionate, but his hands kept moving, tracing your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he backed you gently against the wall beside his bedroom door.

Another kiss followed, slower this time, his body pressing into yours with that natural, unselfconscious need. He smiled again when your fingers tightened in his shirt, nipping lightly at your lower lip before soothing it with another kiss.

“Stay here a minute. Don’t need to go back down yet.”

You tried to protest, half-laughing between kisses. “C'mon, everyone’s still outside—”

“They’re fine,” he whispered against your jaw, lips trailing lower to your neck, hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pressed you more firmly against the wall. His touch was handsy but never rushed, exploring in that tipsy, appreciative way, palms mapping the familiar curves of your body like he was rediscovering them. He pulled back once more to look at you, eyes dark and soft, that wide, genuine smile breaking across his face again. “You’re my favorite person in the whole house right now, don’t leave me alone with them.”

The kiss that followed was deeper, lazier, his body molding against yours as one hand slipped further under your top, thumb stroking along your ribs. He made a quiet, contented sound when you arched into him, smiling into the kiss once more, the expression so purely happy it made your chest tighten.

“Love when you do that,” he murmured, barely pulling away, lips brushing yours with every word. “Makes me forget there’s anyone else here.”

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, studying the soft, unfocused warmth in his eyes and the way his smile lingered like he couldn’t help it. A soft laugh bubbled out of you, half-amused, half-disbelieving. “You’re so gone, William,” you teased, fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you took him in, the flushed cheeks, the heavy lids, the complete lack of awareness that he was trailing after you like a shadow. “I mean it. I’ve never seen you this far gone. You’re properly out of it tonight, baby.”

He blinked slowly, still smiling that dopey, content smile, like the observation barely registered.

“M’not gone,” he protested softly, but there was no conviction in it. His hands stayed exactly where they were, one slipping higher under your top while the other squeezed your hip, pulling you flush against him again. “Just… happy. With you.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips once more, the kiss slower and deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours in a way that made your knees feel a little weaker. When he pulled back, forehead still pressed to yours, he was staring at you again, really staring, like he was committing every detail to memory in his hazy state.

Downstairs the laughter rose and fell, distant and warm, but up here in the hallway it was just the two of you, Jude’s hands steady and affectionate, his kisses teasing and thorough, the alcohol stripping away any remaining self-consciousness until all that remained was the simple, overwhelming want to keep you close.

He didn’t rush, he just held you there against the wall, kissing you like the rest of the night could wait a little longer, smiling every time you laughed or tried to remind him there were people downstairs waiting.

For now, in this quiet pocket of the villa, you were exactly where he needed you to be.

author's note — if you enjoyed and would like to see more of my football works, click here :DD if you ever catch me writing a non-affectionate jude bellingham, assume i've been hacked lol. love whoever read till here, byeee <3

TAGLIST — @hesperisms @caratchronicles @candidupped @fairybalance647 @ingydingyy @nessalvswlrd

[picunha]

[shotsweetera]

Title: ferran torres being obsessed with yn for 9 minutes straight

Pairing: Ferran Torres and Blackfem!reader

Summary: Compilation of Ferran just being obsessed with his girlfriend for minutes straight. 🤟🏾✨️

The video opens with him being interviewed post match, journalists are asking standard, dry tactical questions. Ferran sits there with his classic, serious media face, jaw clenched, nodding politely, totally locked in. But then, a reporter phrases a question, “...and how has life in Barcelona been settling down for you and Y/n your girlfriend?”

The shift is instantaneous. The rigidity melting immediately away. His head tilts, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and this massive, helpless boyish smile breaks across his face before the reporter can even finish the sentence. He has to bite his lip to try and steady himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he murmurs into the mic, “Yeah, thanks for the question, she.. she makes everything easy, you know? We are moving, and things have been hectic, but she makes it feel so light.”

*[0:43 - 1:30] The Invisible Tether*

Footage from a crowded airport lobby after an away game. Fans are swarming the barriers, shouting his name and shoving jerseys forward for an autograph. Y/N, dressed casually in an oversized leather jacket and shades, quietly steps back out of the frame, giving him space to interact with the supporters without being suffocated.

Even though he’s signing pictures and smiling for selfies, his head is on a constant swivel. He signs a jersey, looks up, and his eyes immediately scan the lobby until they lock onto her, waiting near the security line. The second he spots her, his shoulders visibly relax. He gives her a quick, subtle nod—just checking in, and doesn't stop looking back at her between every single autograph. He literally can not function if he doesn't know exactly where she is standing.

*[1:31 - 2:15] The Look*

A high-definition fan-cam from the stands during a warm-up session at Camp Nou. Y/N is sitting on the bench near the tunnel, chatting with one of the staff members. Ferran is supposed to be doing drills, but the camera catches him jogging backward, his eyes entirely glued to her. He has this look of pure adoration, mouth slightly open, eyes soft and heavy, completely captivated. Someone passes him the ball, and it literally hits his foot and rolls away because he's too busy staring at her laughing.

*[2:16 - 3:05] Paparazzi in Paris*

Or that one time they were spotted inside a high-end designer boutique in Paris. Y/N is looking through a rack of clothes, holding up a sleek silk dress to her frame, and it seemed like she was asking about his opinion on it. Ferran isn't even looking at the dress. He’s standing directly behind her, acting like a human shield.

His large hands are locked firmly around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. He leans down, resting his chin on her shoulder, murmuring something in her ear that makes her throw her head back in a laugh, and he immediately plants a soft kiss right on the side of her neck, completely unbothered by the staff or the cameras outside.

*[3:06 - 3:55] The TikTok Fan-Cam*

A viral, 45-second twitter recorded discreetly by a fan sitting a few tables away at a dim, private restaurant in Madrid. The video is zoomed in close. Ferran and Y/N are sitting together, but they’ve both abandoned their food. He’s holding both of her hands, his thumbs stroking the backs of her fingers. They are locked in intense, deep eye contact, completely lost-in conversation, smiley faces and shiny lovey eyes. At one point, Y/N leans forward to whisper something, and Ferran reaches up, cups her jaw with his palm, and pulls her in for a quick lingering kiss. The rest of the restaurant is bustling around them, but they always seem to look like they were the only people in the room. All the time.

*[3:56 - 4:40] Heavy Hands*

A compilation of shorter clips highlighting Ferran’s incredibly touchy, possessive nature when they walk together. Whether they are leaving a stadium or a place, walking through a hotel lobby, or hitting up a grocery store, his hands are never just politely resting by his side. In almost every clip, his arm is hooked low around her hips, his palm resting heavily and comfortably right against the curve of her ass, or having them in her back pocket, pulling her closer to his side with every stride. It’s casual, confident, and completely instinctual for him.

*[4:41 - 5:25] The Ultimate Hype-Boy Instagram Story*

A screen-recording of an Instagram story Ferran posted. It’s a mirror selfie Y/N took before a gala, wearing a gorgeous, form-fitting dress that hits every curve perfectly. Ferran reposted it to his main feed, adding no text except a row of drooling emojis and a single red heart, making sure his millions of followers know exactly how obsessed he is with his girl’s. It was deleted after a couple of minutes. Yn probably threatened him to delete it, lol.

*[5:26 - 6:15] Table for Two (and a Dog)*

A chaotic, sweet snippet from yn's vlog. They are sitting in their kitchen making a casual lunch. One of Ferran’s rescue dogs is begging for food at Y/N’s feet. Y/N goes to move away to get a plate, and Ferran literally grabs her by the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her back into his space. He wraps his arms around her from behind, locking her in place, and just buries his face in her hair while she complains that she can’t cook with him attached to her spine.

*[6:30 - 6:55] Switched sides*

A sweet, stable video taken by a fan on the streets of Barcelona. The fan didn't recognize Ferran at first; they ran up because they recognized Y/N from her own socials. The video shows the fan asking Y/N from her picture. Instead of looking annoyed or impatient, Ferran eagerly steps forward, reaching out his hand to take the fan's phone. The fan later wrote in the caption: “Ferran literally had the biggest, proudest smile on his face while taking the photo of us, like a professional Instagram boyfriend 😭.”

*[7:01 - 7:45] The locker room*

A clip from a behind-the-scenes club documentary. The team just won a major trophy, and the locker room is absolute chaos—champagne flying, music blasting, players screaming. Amidst the madness, the camera pans to the corner. Ferran is sitting on a bench, completely detached from the party, holding his phone up on a FaceTime call with Y/N. He’s pointing the camera around to show her the celebrations, yelling over the noise, “Mira, mi amor! We did it! I wish you were down here!”. With a smile that looks like it’s splitting his face in two.

*[7:46 - 8:30] Blind to the Red Carpet*

Footage from a charity gala red carpet. The photographers are flashing lights rapidly, shouting at Ferran to look left, look right, look at the center lens etc. Ferran complies for about three seconds before he turns entirely to his left to look at Y/N, who is adjusting her gown. He steps out of his solo posing slot, grabs her hand, and pulls her into the center of the backdrop with him. He spends the next two minutes just looking down at her, whispering something that makes her grin, completely ignoring the direct instructions of the event coordinators.

*[8:31 - 9:14] The Final Whistle Melt*

The video ends with slow-motion footage from the final whistle of a high-stakes match. Ferran scored the winning goal. His teammates run up to hug him, lifting him in the air, but the camera tracks his eyes. The absolute millisecond he breaks free from the huddle, he looks straight toward the family VIP box. He locks eyes with Y/N, raises a hand to his lips, blows a direct kiss right to her section, and taps his chest twice.

[transcendingthegame]

beautiful mistake ~ j.bellingham

pairing: footballer!jude x black!fan!fem!reader

word count: 1.1k+

warnings/notes: accidental Injury, instant attraction, fluff

summary: what started as an exciting visit to see your favourite player, turns into an injury that comes with benefits you never expected.

a/n: hi lovelies!! firstly I just want to say thank you sm for the love on my first two fics. I decided that while I wait for more requests I’ll clear out a few fics that I’ve been keeping in my drafts, thinking of making this a series but you guys let me know if you’d like the next part <3

part 2

masterlist

The energy inside the stadium was absolute chaos. It was a Champions League clash, the kind of night where the air felt thick with static and thousands of voices joined together in a deafening, rhythmic roar.

You had lucked out with incredible seats - right in the lower tier, only a few rows back from the pitch. Up close, the speed of the game was almost terrifying. The players looked like giants, moving with a blinding, physical intensity that you couldn't fully appreciate on a television screen.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as the ball went out of play on the far side. You adjusted your glasses and pulled the collar of your oversized shirt up slightly against the evening chill. It was a pristine white Real Madrid kit, sporting a very specific name and number on the back: BELLINGHAM 5. You’d been a fan of his for a long time, but tonight, wearing his name so close to the action made you feel a little self-conscious.

Suddenly, the play shifted with terrifying speed.

A loose touch in the midfield sent the ball bouncing toward the touchline right in front of your section. Jude Bellingham came sprinting across the grass, his long strides eating up the distance as he tried to keep the ball in play. He lunged, his boot connecting with the ball in a desperate, last-ditch clearance.

But his angle was slightly off.

Instead of flying down the pitch, the ball went airborne, hurtling straight into the crowd at a lethal velocity.

Before you could even register the white-and-black blur, let alone duck, the heavy leather ball smacked you squarely in the face.

Smack!

The impact knocked your head back, sending your glasses flying into the row in front of you. A collective gasp rose from the fans sitting around you as you stumbled back into your seat, clutching your nose, your eyes watering instantly from the sheer, burning sting of the blow.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" a fan next to you cried out.

Through the dizzying, throbbing pain in your face and the watery blur of your vision, you heard the sharp trill of the referee's whistle. But the game didn't just carry on.

Jude, having seen the ball strike a fan directly, didn't even wait for the ball-boy. He vaulted over the low digital advertising boards, his eyes wide with immediate, genuine concern as he jogged straight toward your row.

"Hey, hey - I'm so sorry!" Jude’s deep voice cut through the surrounding chatter. He reached the edge of the stands, leaning over the metal railing, his breathing heavy, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Are you alright? I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Now that he was only inches away, his eyes locked onto your face. Even with your eyes watering and your nose turning a deep, angry shade of red, you were breathtaking. And then, his gaze drifted down. He saw the white kit you were wearing. He saw his own name, his own number, stretched across your chest.

A look of pure, agonizing guilt - mixed with an instant, undeniable spark of attraction - flashed across his handsome face.

"Oh, no," he groaned softly, his hand coming up to touch his own chest in disbelief. "You're wearing my shirt. Out of everyone here, I had to hit you. I feel absolutely terrible."

He reached over the railing, his large, warm hand gently cupping your shoulder, his thumb rubbing comforting circles through the fabric of the kit. The touch was incredibly sweet, a little bolder than necessary, but his eyes were so filled with genuine concern you couldn't even complain. "Is anything broken? Is your nose bleeding?"

"I- I think I'm okay," you stammered, your voice sounding a little nasal as you gently touched your nose. Someone in the front row kindly handed your glasses back to you. You slid them onto your face, and Jude's face finally came into sharp, stunning focus. He was even more handsome up close, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart do a dangerous flip. "Just a bit shocked."

"Listen to me," Jude said, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register as his hand slid down from your shoulder to gently squeeze your forearm. He leaned in a little closer, his gaze lingering on your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. "I have to get back on the pitch, but do not leave after the whistle. Stay right in these seats. I’m coming back to find you, and I'm bringing you my match shirt. Promise me you won't leave?"

You could only nod, completely dazed by his proximity. "I promise."

"Good girl," he murmured, giving your arm one last, lingering squeeze before turning and jogging back onto the pitch, throwing an apologetic hand in the air to the referee.

For the rest of the match, your face throbbed, but your mind was completely elsewhere. True to his word, the moment the final whistle blew, Jude didn't head down the tunnel with the rest of the squad.

While the other players clapped the fans, Jude made a straight line for your section. He had already pulled his damp, mud-stained match shirt over his head.

He jogged over to the railing, his bare, athletic chest on full display, glistening slightly under the floodlights. He held the folded white jersey in his hand, a massive, charming smile breaking across his face the moment his eyes found yours in the crowd.

"You stayed," he said, his voice warm as he leaned over the barrier, handing the shirt directly to you. It was still warm, smelling faintly of his expensive cologne and the grass of the pitch. "Here. A peace offering. I hope it makes up for the headache I gave you."

"Thank you," you smiled, clutching the fabric to your chest. "It definitely does."

Jude lingered, his elbows resting on the metal railing. He was being extra touchy now, reaching out to gently adjust the collar of the shirt you were wearing, his warm fingers brushing against the bare skin of your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He leaned in close, his dark eyes sparkling with a playful, confident charm.

"Your nose still looks a little red," he murmured, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "I’d feel like a complete monster if I let you walk out of here without making sure you're actually okay. I want to pay for any medical checks you might need. An X-ray, some ice - whatever you need."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that," you protested softly, blushing furiously. "Really, it's just a little sore."

"I insist," Jude said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument as a slow, smug grin spread across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, sliding it across the flat top of the barrier toward you. "Put your number in. I'll text you tonight to make sure you got home safe, and you can let me know if we need to get a doctor to look at that pretty face of yours."

He was being incredibly smooth, his intentions written clearly in the intense, sweet gaze he was leveling at you. You took the phone, your fingers brushing against his, and quickly typed in your digits.

Jude took the phone back, his smile widening as he locked his screen. He reached over the barrier one last time, his hand gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your jawline for a brief, electric second.

"I'll text you in an hour," he promised, his voice low and incredibly sweet. "Get some ice on that nose, yeah? I'll speak to you soon."

With a final, lingering wink, he turned and jogged down the tunnel, leaving you standing in the stands with his match shirt in your hands face burning, not from the ball impact, and your heart racing faster than it had during the entire ninety minutes of the game.

[zerocoded]

HOMME DE MA VIE !

Dating Kylian Mbappé means slowly realizing you haven't reached for a single door, bill, or shopping bag all afternoon. Not because he expects praise for it, but because taking care of you has become his second nature.

WARNINGS ◦ established relationship ◦ first anniversary ◦ domestic fluff ◦ slice of life ◦ soft kylian mbappé ◦ off-season? (mid-season break) ◦ boyfriend material ◦ no angst bc we got that too much already this week ◦ comfort read ◦ competent man agenda

1,29O ━━━━━ drabble kylian mbappé x reader

۶ৎ 𝓩 , wrote this while listening to confidence by kim because WHY NOT, that's kylian's song idc >< also, i had to write this for my own peace of mind after the semis because i need a time and place where this man is happy, even if it has to be in a fictional world 🙂

━━━━━ read on ao3

The afternoon light in Madrid was soft and winter-pale, the kind that made the city feel smaller and quieter than its usual frantic pulse. Your first anniversary had landed awkwardly in the middle of the season, squeezed between recovery sessions and upcoming match preparations.

You had suggested staying in, letting him rest properly in the few precious hours he had free, and offering to come over instead so he wouldn’t waste energy traveling. Kylian had simply shaken his head, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We’re going out,” he’d said, casual as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s our anniversary, we should celebrate.”

So here you were, bundled in oversized coats, caps pulled low and sunglasses shielding your faces, wandering through the less tourist-heavy streets of Madrid without any real plan. The air carried a crisp chill, and Kylian walked on the outside of the sidewalk every time, his shoulder brushing close enough that you felt the steady warmth of him. He never announced it or made a show; he simply shifted you gently inward whenever a cyclist or scooter whipped past, his hand light at your back for the briefest second before it returned to his pocket.

You drifted into a tiny bookstore first, the kind with creaky wooden floors and shelves that smelled of old paper and ink. Kylian browsed beside you, occasionally pulling a title down and showing it to you with a raised eyebrow or a quiet comment. When you lingered over a novel, he added it to the small stack without a word, continuing the conversation about the last match as if nothing had happened. At the counter, you reached for your wallet out of habit. His card was already tapping against the reader before your fingers even closed around the leather.

The same thing happened at the neighborhood bakery, the scent of fresh pastries and warm bread wrapped around you like a hug as you stepped inside. You picked out a couple of things you knew he liked, teasing him about his strict diet, and he grinned—boyish and quick—before quietly adding a few more items while you were still talking. By the time you turned back, the bag was in his hand and the transaction was done.

He passed you a warm croissant without ceremony, tearing off a piece of his own as you continued down the street.

A small café came next, tucked into a quiet corner with steamed-up windows and the low hum of conversation. Kylian held the door for you absentmindedly, then pulled your chair out while still mid-sentence about a funny story from training. He ordered for both of you after noticing the way you scanned the menu, remembering exactly how you liked your coffee. When you excused yourself to the restroom, you returned to find the bill already settled and a fresh glass of water waiting at your spot. He had one too, but only after making sure yours was there first.

The afternoon unfolded like that: slow, aimless, perfect in its ordinariness. You wandered into a flower stand where he bought you a small bunch of simple blooms without fanfare, tucking them carefully into the crook of your arm so they wouldn’t get crushed. Later, in a little record store, he flipped through vinyls beside you, occasionally bumping your shoulder with his when he found something he thought you’d like. Every heavier bag somehow ended up in his hand. Every door opened before you reached it.

He adjusted your scarf when the wind picked up, fingers brushing your neck with the casual competence of someone who simply noticed these things before they became problems.

You never asked for any of it, that was the part that settled warm and deep in your chest.

Kylian wasn’t performing. He was just… being Kylian.

Playful when he teased you about your terrible sense of direction, affectionate in the way he slung an arm around your shoulders during a quiet moment on a bench, confident without ever tipping into showiness. His humor stayed dry and light, a quick grin or a muttered joke about how the paparazzi would never find both of you in the ridiculous scarf he was wearing.

As the light began to soften toward evening and you headed back toward the car he’d called while you were still buttoning your coat, the realization crept up on you.

You paused on the sidewalk, turning to him with a small frown. “You’ve paid for everything today.”

Kylian blinked, genuinely confused for a second, as if the observation had come out of nowhere. “...Obviously, bebé.”

You laughed softly. “You’ve never let me pay.”

“I have,” he said, shrugging as he adjusted the flowers in your arm so they sat more securely.

“Name one time.”

He paused, thinking. A slow, boyish grin spread across his face. “You bought popcorn once.”

“After you’d already paid for dinner.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Another shrug, easy and unconcerned, his hand finding the small of your back as you started walking again. “It just is.”

You glanced up at him, catching the way the late afternoon light caught in the fade out haircut peeking out from under his black cap. A faint smile played on your lips as you shook your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mon cœur, I’m just efficient,” he replied, the French endearment slipping out warm and casual, laced with that dry, boyish humor. His eyes crinkled at the corners behind his sunglasses as he grinned down at you.

The city interrupted before you could fire back. A sudden gust of wind whipped down the narrow street, tugging at the edges of your scarf and sending a few stray petals from the small bouquet scattering across the pavement, one stubborn petal landed right in your hair. Kylian noticed immediately, he stopped mid-step, turning toward you with a low chuckle that built into a full, bright laugh, the kind that made his whole face light up and crinkled the bridge of his nose in that boyish way the paparazzi rarely got to see.

“Hold still,” he said, still grinning as he reached up. His fingers were careful, brushing the petal free from where it had tangled in your hair near your temple. “You look like you’ve been rolling around in a flower shop. Very romantic, very Madrid.”

You swatted at his arm lightly, laughing despite yourself, cheeks warming under the cool air. “Thanks for the save. I was going for mysterious stranger, not walking bouquet, but okay.”

“Too late, mysterious walking bouquet suits you.” He tucked the rescued petal into the pocket of his coat with mock seriousness, then offered you his arm so you could loop yours through it. The simple gesture kept you close as you continued down the street, his stride easy and unhurried, always matching yours without effort.

The afternoon stretched like that, unscripted and comfortable, until the sky began to deepen into early evening tones.

Kylian’s steps slowed near the corner where his driver would pick both of you up, his arm still linked with yours. He glanced down at you, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw more noticeable up close.

“You good?” he asked quietly, the question simple but carrying that underlying care. “Not too cold? We can head back whenever you want, mon cœur. No rush, but I know the schedule doesn’t wait.”

You nodded, squeezing his arm lightly. The day had been exactly what you both needed, nothing extravagant, just time woven through ordinary streets and small moments. And as he pulled you a little closer against the chill, his hand warm and steady, it felt like the most natural celebration in the world.

author's note — hope you have enjoyed this tiny drabble lovies!!! kyky deserves the best and his time will come (again) dw <3 (guys i'm actually so heartbroken over his latest appeareances WHY DOES BRO LOOKS SO DEPRESSED NOOOO BBY)

TAGLIST — @hesperisms @caratchronicles @candidupped @grittysbiggestfan

[12amintoronto]

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ... kylian mbappé x reader 📱🤍

──────────────────────

wc: 1.5k

synopsis: you're on the phone with your best friend that you can't hang up on as she runs to you about the dire status of her situationship, but it's difficult to focus when your boyfriend, kylian, is all over you.

contents: fluff, sfw, kisses (lips, cheek, neck, you name it my friend), female reader, touchy, oc who is y/n's best friend

notes: because i felt the calling to write something for kyky 🩵🩵 i think he is so fine. showing one of my fav frenchies some loveee

──────────────────────

it was madness on the other line... to the point where it made you really stop and think and just look around, thinking to yourself; "damn, i'm grateful i haven't run into guy trouble this bad..."

you sighed as you listened to your best friend on the other end of the phone who was caught up in a whirlwind of frustration with her current situationship.

still, she's your best friend - and you're happy that she can confide in you when things go south, so there you were, offering whichever little pieces of advice you have to your bestie, as you were curled up on the sofa with a blanket over your legs, as you wore one of your man's t-shirts that was much too big on you... having sips of your tea in steady intervals.

you murmured just the right responses as she went onto you about this guy. you listened intently and hummed in total agreement when she was speaking.

it was your mission to help your best friend out.

that was until your boyfriend, kylian, had come downstairs, approaching you, having just come out of the shower - topless with a a pair of nike sweats on.

you had to pay attention to your friend though, so you just smiled and batted your lashes at him flirtatiously, since you still had to let him know that he looks insanely good.

if only you'd known that doing so was gonna be a big mistake.

your nonchalant flit of your lashes was enough to make kylian smirk... it was enough for him to be fully convinced that he's got your attention now.

lord, you could catch the scent of his ridiculously expensive cologne from where you were sitting.

he strides on over to you, as his sexy smirk had turned into a soft bite of his bottom lip while he took the sight of you in as he got closer to you. kylian didn't say a word while doing so... he just lowered himself down close to you on the sofa, and rested his head in your lap, seeking the soothing feeling of your fingers on his nape.

you mouthed silently to him as you momentarily held your phone away from your ear - "behave, baby."

kylian? he just smirked.

you rolled your eyes in a playful manner as you turned your attention back to your best friend who was on the other line, continuing to spill the tea.

"no, yeah. like... i totally get it," you told her, determined to stay this attentive to her predicament, which sounded pretty dire - or she at least made it sound like that was so...

"...honestly, girl... he's not even worth your time. he's just been playing games, it's not cool one bit."

you said it plain and simple, feeling a pang of pride at your skills in giving relationship advice.

but a sensation graced you just then so well in a way that make you nearly lose grip of your phone.

kylian had shifted in the slightest to press a tender kiss near the inside of your thigh.

"no, y/n... you've got business to take care of on the phone here..." you told yourself in your thoughts, the only person able to hear that being you.

"like... if he seriously cared, then you wouldn't doubt him. you wouldn't feel stressed being in the position that you're in. you'd be- ah..."

your words... your entire train of thought was halted, no... more like completely obliterated already as kylian only began to kiss up your thigh, higher, higher...

"you there? you okay?" your best friend asked on the other end.

"...yeah. he's just... not worth the bother, girl..." you trailed.

as kylian was deliberately pressing those soft, slow, lazy kisses up your leg, inching closer to alongside your hip... you glared at him in a way that said stop it right now. he, on the other hand, looked up at you with a smug grin and let out a soft chuckle as he went back to practically worshipping you with his lips.

you wanted to be a good friend and hear your bestie on the other line out.

kylian made it an incredibly difficult task.

but lord, you would be lying to yourself if you said you actually wanted him to stop. he was challenging your task at hand... the attention given between him and your best friend on the line becoming less divisive...

because he was stealing it all.

kylian's starting to enjoy this too much. his fingers slyly made way to hook right at the hem of the t-shirt you wore, which was much too large for you considering that it is his after all.

once he sat up so that he could press his lips to your collarbone, simultaneously lifting your top by the bottom hem... you couldn't conceal the hitch of your breath.

"y/n." your best friend said... now more sternly.

"i'm paying attention, yeah-! right, go on-"

you swear that kylian is gonna be the death of you, all because of this moment.

"i don't know what to do anymore. i think i should just give up on guys... for good. once and for all."

kylian kept up the teasing touches... his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist that was covered by the t-shirt only seconds ago. you were barely there on call, anymore. but you had to focus, focus, focus...

you started, "no, girl... don't say that, you just-"

and at that exact moment that your sentence was cut off, it was all kylian's fault. then and there... you felt his lips press gently below your ear. your weak spot.

what were you left to do?

you pressed your thighs together as he kissed you there... you couldn't help but whine just a little bit.

and you knew you couldn't do anything about it now that your best friend had heard.

"wait- are you okay? you sound weird." she asked.

"oh, nothing- i just... shifted the wrong way on the couch." you managed to speak.

you could feel kylian chuckling softly, his lips still lingering just beneath your ear. lord, you wanna kill him! but him? he doesn't care. he only wants you... as if he even has to tell you, for the way he's been kissing you for the past bit has made it more than clear.

kylian's lips grazed the shell of your ear... before finally speaking to you in a hushed, sultry tone.

"hang up, bébé."

you exhaled deeply, coming to terms.

the more your french man coerced you into a trance, the less help you were being to your best friend on the other line. you were seriously losing this battle.

you looked at yourself... barely there as your friend went on about how she thinks she should at least take a break from guys.

kylian's palms splayed across your body... one hand with a firm grip on your thigh... the other hand's fingers splayed across your belly. he didn't even need to put into words how much he could just devour you here and now, for his look did all the talking needed.

your man had you absolutely finished.

"hey, you know, let me call you back in a few minutes. i just remembered i need to go and take care of something." you lied, proceeding to just pray and hope your friend would let you go.

"alright... don't take forever though, girl. do your thing. seeya!" she replied.

immediately, the pad of your thumb darted to tap the red circular button on your touchscreen that'd hang up the call.

and just when you were about to deliver all the scolding you had pent up...

kylian swiftly captured your lips with his own, kissing you hungrily, yet with a tender, soft sort of passion behind it all. you melted into it, as you could feel his fingers pressing into the skin of your waist like he was deprived of you like never before.

he moaned into your mouth quietly before pulling away just barely, your lips still brushing his.

"you are soooo..." you started

"you were taking too long, ma belle." he murmured softly against your lips. "just needed your attention."

you laughed to yourself softly and brought your hand right back to the first place that you had touched him this morning - the nape of his neck. "you're so annoying, kyky."

"and you love me. i felt you folding under all the pressure~" kylian quipped, quickly pulling you into his lap with one swift movement of his strong arms around you, only making you blush more as you straddled him... he kept one hand splayed on your thigh, squeezing lovingly.

"babeeee..." you complained, the sarcasm in your voice obvious, because let's face it... why would you ever want kylian's fine self to stop? your gaze soon met his again.

with that, he planted another loving kiss to your lips... giving another soft squeeze to your thigh.

"mmmh... your friend's not getting a call back from you any time soon, bébé."

[locsandletters]

ᯓ distraction; d.doue

──one shot

pairing ➜ désiré x black!fem!reader

word count ➜ 1.5k

warnings/notes ➜ slight nsfw.

summary ➜ you interrupt désiré’s gaming session… he doesn't seem to mind.

he’s been on that damn game for hours.

first it was fifa. then it was warzone. then it was some other shit that you stopped caring about because all you could think about was how good he looked like this—shoulders all relaxed, arms stretched long, hands on the controller. mouth twitching with his little half-laughs. headset tilted just slightly off his head. chin dipped, focused. a heavily-accented voice echoing in the room, all low and casual and full of that cocky grin he always wears when he’s winning.

you’re laid up on the couch across from him, legs curled under yourself, just watching. scrolling aimlessly, but not really seeing anything. you’ve been sneaking glances at him every few minutes, hoping he’d look over. give you that look. the one that means he’s ready to give you attention. the kind you need.

but it’s been an hour. and then another. and your patience is slipping.

because the thing is—you’ve been like this all day. fidgety. achey. bothered. and it only got worse when désiré got comfortable in that damn chair, legs bent just right, thighs toned under his shorts, bouncing every now and then with the rhythm of the game. it was the way his voice dropped when he got serious. the way he licked his lips when he was focused. the way he smirked when he made a decent play.

it was everything. and it was killing you.

so you shift again, thighs pressed tight, biting your lip. trying to wait. trying to behave.

but then the smallest thing triggers you. he leans back, one leg stretching out, the other staying bent—and that simple movement is quite literally your last straw. his thigh flexes, toned and warm-looking, the kind of comfortable you could sit on for hours. and you’re not even trying to be dramatic about it, but the heat in your body jumps up a few degrees. because you can’t anymore. you don’t even want dick, not yet. not really. you just need to get off. you need to feel something. and he’s right there.

you toss your phone to the side and slide off the couch, padding over slow, bare feet on cold floor, oversized t-shirt brushing against your thighs. désiré glances at you for half a second—quick little up-down scan—but doesn’t say anything. just smirks like he knows something you don’t.

“cover me real quick, i need to reload,” he mutters into the mic.

you walk over to his side, fingers grazing his shoulder lightly, testing the waters. he hums but doesn’t look up.

“baby,” you say softly, leaning down near his ear, letting your lips graze his jaw. “can i ask you something?”

“mmhm.” his voice is distracted, low. he’s still focused on the screen, thumb tapping buttons with ease. “what’s up?”

you glance down at his thigh—that thick, firm stretch of muscle under cotton, tensed and relaxed all at once. your mouth waters. you press your palm to it gently. he twitches, just barely.

“can i please ride your thigh?” you ask. whisper it. sweet and breathy.

his head turns, slow. finally, finally looks at you. eyebrows raised. lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. that smug, knowing look all over his face.

“say that again?”

you blink at him, trying not to squirm under the weight of his stare. “can i ride your thigh?” a pause. a swallow. “please?”

he sets the controller down—finally—and leans back in the chair, eyes raking down your body in nothing but amusement.

needy you is his favourite you.

“go ahead then,” he murmurs. smiles lazily, because how could he ever refuse you?

you don’t waste time. you climb into his lap, swinging one leg over, straddling the solid length of his thigh. it’s warm, even through the shorts, and your body shudders just from the contact. his hands settle on your waist, casual, letting you get comfortable.

when he feels your panties dragging against him — thin cotton, soaked, he chuckles. “you been sitting over there thinking about this, this whole time?”

you nod, slow, already moving your hips. grinding soft, slow. just enough friction to tease yourself. to make your breath hitch.

“knew you were fidgety for a reason,” he says, his tone all teasing and low. “should’ve said something earlier, baby. i would’ve helped you out.”

his fingers dig into your waist a little, guiding you now, setting the pace. slow at first. torturous. just the right pressure where your clit brushes against the seam of your panties every time you rock forward.

you moan, soft. try to hold it in, but it spills out anyway.

“shh,” he mutters, lifting the headset slightly. “my boys are still on the mic.”

you nod, biting your lip hard, but keep grinding. can’t stop. don’t want to. it feels too good. his thigh flexes under you, muscle tensing every few seconds, giving you just enough to work with. and his hands—gosh, his fucking hands—tight on your hips, fingers pressing into the dip of your lower back, dragging you forward every time you slow down.

he’s watching you now. really watching. eyes heavy, lips parted just a bit. chin tilted up so he can see the way you bite your lip, the way your brows pull together, the way your thighs shake already.

you bury your face in his neck, trying to quiet the sounds leaving your mouth, but he hears them. every breath. every gasp. every muffled whimper.

“you close already?” he asks, voice full of amusement. “haven’t even touched you yet.”

you nod again, but it’s frantic this time. desperate. your hips pick up speed, chasing the feeling, and he lets you. just holds you in place and lets you use him. lets you fuck yourself on his thigh for your own selfish pleasure.

but then you moan. loud this time. too loud, his name slipping carelessly out of your mouth.

“oi, who’s that?” a thick accent says in his headset. olise, surely. you freeze. désiré grins.

“don’t worry about it,” he says into the mic, laughing a little. “mind your business.”

and you continue moving. slower now. dragging your soaked panties against his thigh like you’re trying to hold on, but it’s already too late. you’re shaking. thighs trembling, body tight. and he knows. he feels it.

“gonna cum for me?” he asks, sickly sweet, lips brushing your ear.

“mhm,” you damn near whimper, holding onto him tighter.

“go on then,” he smiles. “do it. make a mess for me, pretty girl.”

and that’s really all it takes. your body tenses, head buried in his neck, and you cum hard—silent and shaking, grinding down like you’re trying to melt into him. your panties stick to your pussy, soaked through. his thigh’s wet now. and his hands are still holding you firm, like letting you go is the last thing on his mind.

he hums as you shake. satisfied. smug as hell.

“i’ll be back,” he says into the mic, and before the guys can ask questions, he yanks the headset off and drops the controller to the floor.

his hands slide up your back, slow. warm.

“was that enough?” he asks, tone completely different now. more suggestive. “or you want more?”

you look up at him, dazed. still catching your breath. lips parted, eyes low. then nod your head. “want more.”

“so needy,” he laughs. kisses your cheek. trails it down to your jaw.

and before you know it, you’re being led to his california king bed, because one thing about désiré — he could never say no to you.

[rmadridcore]

When You’re Here

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: Jude, missing you deeply, is overwhelmed with joy and love when you surprise him by showing up at the Bernabéu to watch him play.

Word Count: 3.1K

Author’s note: I had this in my requests for a while, sorry for the delay, hope you love it anon! 🤍

Jude’s typical training day demeanor was straightforward: laser-focused. On any other day, he’d immerse himself fully in the drills and exercises, cracking a joke here and there during breaks but tuning everything else out when it came time to work. Today, though? Today was different. Yesterday was the same. In fact, he hadn’t been himself for weeks — ever since you left for that work trip.

Normally, Jude could handle brief separations. He was no stranger to them, away games you couldn’t attend or your quick business trips that lasted a week, tops. But this time was different. You had been gone for almost a month, and Jude was on the verge of losing it.

Sure, you two FaceTimed every night before bed. You called whenever you had a spare moment. You texted back and forth throughout the day, as much as your schedules allowed. But none of it felt like enough for Jude. He wanted you there with him — not just virtually, but physically. He needed to feel the warmth of your presence, to hold you, to have you by his side. The emptiness of your absence seemed to grow louder with every passing day.

“This is probably the 20th time you’ve checked your phone, bro,” Camavinga teased, breaking Jude out of his spiraling thoughts. Jude wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, phone in hand for what felt like the millionth time today, scanning for a reply that still hadn’t come.

Jude sighed, tossing the towel aside. “I texted her, and she hasn’t responded,” he muttered, his frustration slipping out in his tone.

Camavinga chuckled. “She’s probably busy, man.”

Jude nodded half-heartedly, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted, though the crease in his brow remained.

“How long’s it been since you texted her?” Vini chimed in.

Jude blinked, glancing back at his phone to check. His teammates knew you well. They’d met you often at team dinners and events, where you were always effortlessly charming, seamlessly blending into their lively banter. They also knew how hopelessly smitten Jude was with you — and, admittedly, they’d been enduring his constant moping and wistful sighs for weeks now.

“Fifteen minutes,” Jude declared, as if that was an eternity, his voice tinged with irritation. He tossed his phone onto the bench with a thud.

The boys exchanged amused glances before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

Jude shook his head, his lips twitching in reluctant amusement. “You lot are useless,” he muttered, though a soft chuckle escaped him.

He sat down next to them, stretching his legs and trying, and failing, to shift his focus back to training. He knew logically that you weren’t ignoring him. You had a demanding job that kept you busy, and the rational part of him understood that you’d reply the moment you had a free moment. But logic wasn’t winning against the ache of missing you.

The truth was, Jude wasn’t just annoyed or impatient, he felt incomplete without you. Over time, he’d come to realize how deeply you’d become woven into his life. You weren’t just his partner; you were his peace in the chaos, his constant in the mess of fame and football. You made him laugh when nothing else could, listened when he needed to vent, and brought a light into his life that felt irreplaceable.

And now, without you here, that light felt dimmer. He was counting the hours, the minutes, until he could have you back in his arms.

After working out for a while, Jude decided to take a break. He grabbed his phone again, and this time, relief washed over him as he saw your name lighting up his screen with a new message. His face lit up instantly, the weight of his frustration and sadness dissolving in an instant. A humongous smile spread across his face as he eagerly opened the message and began typing a reply.

For those few minutes, he felt like himself again. Chatting with you, even briefly, was enough to lift his spirits and give him the boost he desperately needed. But all too soon, he had to return to training. Reluctantly, he said goodbye, promising to talk later.

As Jude put his phone back and glanced up, he caught a reflection in the mirror that made him pause. Rodrygo was mimicking him with an exaggerated, love-struck grin, pretending to text on an invisible phone. Vini, standing beside him, was silently cracking up, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Jude grabbed his towel and tossed it at the pair, hitting Rodrygo square in the chest. “Idiots,” he muttered with a half-smile, shaking his head. Their laughter only grew louder, echoing through the training area.

The rest of the session passed uneventfully, but Jude’s mood was noticeably lighter after talking to you. Once training wrapped up, he showered and headed back to his room at Valdebebas. The exhaustion from the day caught up with him, and he longed to be home in his own bed. But more than that, he wished you were there beside him.

Lying in bed, Jude grabbed his phone to FaceTime you, a nightly ritual whenever the two of you were apart. Truthfully, he missed home more when you weren’t there, mainly because when you weren’t around, he found himself hugging your pillow as he slept. It was a habit he wouldn’t dare admit to anyone, not even you.

When your face appeared on his screen, it was as if the entire world shifted back into focus. “Hi, baby,” you greeted him with your sweet voice, and the stress that had been weighing on his chest dissipated instantly.

“Hey, my love. How was your day?” he asked, propping himself up against the pillows.

You started talking about your day, how busy and tiring it had been, but also how much you missed him. Jude sighed as he listened, nodding along with a soft smile, though the longing in his heart grew with every word.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow’s game?” you asked, noticing the subtle tension in his expression as he rubbed his face, clearly trying to shake off his frustration.

“Fine, I guess,” he replied, his voice low and filled with fatigue. “We should do well. I just wish you were here.”

Your heart ached at the way his voice softened when he said that. “Aww, Jude. I miss you so much. I wish I could be there too,” you admitted, your voice laden with emotion. You missed everything about him — his scent, his warm hugs, the way he’d kiss your forehead, the silly songs he’d hum, even the soft snoring you used to tease him about.

“I always play better when you’re here supporting me,” he said, his words carrying the weight of truth. It was something he’d told you many times before, and he meant every word. When you were in the stands, cheering him on, he felt like he could conquer anything.

“You will be watching, though, right?” he asked, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. He knew you never missed his games, even when you were busy, and the thought of you not being there, even virtually, dampened his spirits.

You hesitated, biting your lip. You didn’t want to lie to him, but you had to for the sake of the surprise. “I’ll try my best to watch, baby. I have a meeting at the same time as the match, but I’ll do everything I can to catch some of it,” you said apologetically.

Jude’s face fell slightly, and the sight of his disappointment tugged at your heartstrings. “Okay,” he said quietly, trying to mask his sadness.

“I’ll be supporting you from afar, love. You know I love you so much,” you said, hoping to cheer him up.

“I love you too. More than anything,” he replied, his voice firm despite his obvious exhaustion.

“Get some rest now, okay? You need to be ready for tomorrow,” you reminded him gently. You could see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you knew he’d never be the one to end the call first. Jude loved hearing your voice so much that he’d rather fall asleep mid-conversation than hang up.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Goodnight, Jude. Sweet dreams,” you whispered, watching as he slowly drifted off, still clutching the phone.

Match days for Jude had always been a rollercoaster of emotions, but not in the way most people might think. While he naturally felt a bit of anxiety before stepping onto the pitch, the dominant emotions coursing through him were always motivation and determination. Jude was fiercely dedicated, a player who thrived on focus and precision, never allowing his nerves to get the better of him.

As part of his pre-match ritual, Jude strolled onto the pitch long before the stadium filled with roaring fans. With his headphones on, he stepped onto the pristine grass, taking a slow walk around the grounds. It was his way of grounding himself, visualizing the game ahead, and soaking in the calm before the storm. The music in his ears created a protective bubble, letting him zone in on the task at hand.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen and saw your name flashing with an incoming FaceTime call. A small frown formed on his face as he answered — it wasn’t like you to call so close to your big meeting.

“Hey, gorgeous,” your voice greeted him, warm and teasing, immediately cutting through the hum of pre-match nerves.

“Hey,” he replied, slipping one hand into his pocket as he cradled the phone in the other. “How’s it going halfway across the world?”

You smirked, tilting the camera just enough to give him a better view of your face. “Work’s been good, but I wouldn’t say I’m quite halfway across the world anymore.”

Jude squinted at the screen, his brows furrowing. Something about the background behind you seemed… familiar. He also noticed the collar of the shirt you were wearing, it looked suspiciously like a Real Madrid jersey.

“Wait… where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“What do you mean?” you replied with an innocent tone, though the twitch of your lips betrayed your amusement.

“That—” He leaned closer to the screen, narrowing his eyes. “That looks like a stadium behind you.”

Feigning confusion, you turned the camera slightly, revealing a glimpse of the unmistakable seats of the Bernabéu. “Oh, this place? Yeah, it’s kinda cool. Thought I’d check it out.”

Jude froze, his jaw going slack as the realization hit him. “No way. Are you—? You’re here?!”

“Surprise!” you exclaimed, flipping the camera to fully reveal yourself standing by the edge of the pitch, already decked out in his jersey.

He ran a hand on his face, his heart skipping a beat. Quickly, he glanced around the stadium, which was still mostly empty since the game was hours away. When his eyes found you, waving at him from the sidelines and blowing him a kiss, his entire face lit up. If it weren’t for the cameras and a few teammates milling around, he might have jumped up and down like an overexcited kid. Instead, he settled for a wide, uncontrollable grin.

“Are you serious? You didn’t tell me? When did you get here?” His gaze flicked back to his phone, needing to see your face up close.

“This morning,” you replied with a playful shrug. “I wanted to see that priceless look on your face.”

Jude shook his head, his grin so wide it almost hurt. His chest felt impossibly full, his heart pounding in a way no pre-match ritual could replicate. “You’re unreal,” he murmured, his voice brimming with disbelief and affection.

“You’re welcome,” you teased, leaning casually against the railing. “Now go out there and show me why I flew all this way.”

He chuckled, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You scored a few goals, I guess,” you replied with a wink, making him laugh.

“I’ll score ten tonight if it means you’ll keep surprising me like this.” His tone softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “Thank you for being here. It means everything.”

“Always,” you said, your voice tender and sincere. “Now go win us that game.”

With one last look, he ended the call, his chest swelling with newfound energy. He felt unstoppable.

The game began with Real Madrid dominating right from the first whistle. The team controlled the pace effortlessly, holding possession, creating chances, and putting pressure on the opposition. Jude was a maestro on the pitch, gliding with the ball as if it were an extension of himself. His mind occasionally flickered to you, sitting somewhere in the stands, watching him. The thought of you there, cheering for him, filled him with an unmatched drive.

The match was electric. Vinícius scored the opening goal with a stunning strike, followed by Rodrygo slotting one in with finesse. Jude orchestrated the midfield, dictating the flow of the game, and his every move seemed to hum with purpose. Victory felt inevitable, and the energy in the stadium was palpable.

In moments of brief stillness on the pitch, Jude would glance toward the stands, knowing you were there, proud and beaming. It pushed him to play harder, better, with every passing minute.

The atmosphere at the Bernabéu was electric, as always. The fans roared with passion, their energy pulsating through the stadium. The game had been going spectacularly well, but Jude had one thing on his mind — a goal. His performance had been stellar, commanding the midfield with his usual elegance and precision. But scoring in front of you after so long felt essential. You hadn’t watched him play in person in what felt like forever, and he wanted this goal to be just for you.

As the minutes ticked down, Jude's focus sharpened. While directing the game from midfield, he kept scanning for spaces to exploit, calculating every opportunity to find the net. And then, as if fate had aligned perfectly, the ball came flying toward him off a cross. He surged forward, meeting it with a powerful header that sailed past the keeper and into the back of the net.

The stadium erupted. The cheers were deafening, a symphony of celebration as his teammates rushed to embrace him. Jude stood there, soaking it all in, arms wide open in his iconic celebration. Yet, despite the roaring applause and the love from tens of thousands of fans, all he could think about was you. He imagined your radiant smile, your eyes shining with pride. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

He kissed the badge on his chest, but as he waved to the crowd, his gaze flickered up toward the VIP section. He knew you were watching, and the thought filled him with an unmatched sense of accomplishment. Taking a deep breath, he let the adrenaline rush through him, knowing the game, and his night, couldn’t have gone any better.

The final whistle blew, sealing the victory. The Bernabéu buzzed with excitement, the fans still chanting his name long after the match ended. But Jude’s thoughts weren’t on the post-match celebrations or the cameras following his every move. His focus was singular: you.

In the tunnel, his teammates teased him mercilessly. “In a rush, mate?” one of them quipped. “Someone special waiting for you?”

Jude only laughed, brushing off the comments as he hurried through his post-match routine. A quick change, a few celebratory high fives with his teammates, and a rapid cleanup later, he was finally free. Emerging near the VIP area, his eyes scanned the space eagerly until they landed on you.

You stood by the railing, his jersey hanging slightly oversized on your frame, a grin lighting up your face as your eyes met his. Jude didn’t think — he moved. Jogging straight toward you, he ignored the curious glances from onlookers, his entire world narrowing down to the sight of you.

“You,” he murmured as he reached you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His hands slid around your waist, lifting you off the ground slightly as he buried his face in your neck. The familiar scent of your perfume washed over him, and in that moment, it felt like coming home. Holding you after so long filled the emptiness that had grown inside him.

“You were incredible,” you whispered, your arms tightening around his shoulders. “Man of the match, Mr. Bellingham.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks flushed from the game and the overwhelming joy of having you there. “You don’t know how much it meant to see you up there tonight,” he said, his voice soft. His eyes held that familiar twinkle you adored, a warmth that only appeared when he looked at you.

“Seeing you score was worth every minute of the flight,” you teased, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek. “Not bad for someone who’s been pouting over FaceTime all month.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you replied with a grin, your fingers playing with the hem of his jersey.

Jude leaned closer, his voice dropping low so only you could hear. “You know, I was planning to dedicate that goal to you. But I figured kissing the badge was slightly less obvious than blowing a kiss to the VIP box.”

“Smooth,” you quipped, your eyes sparkling. “Guess I’ll take it.”

“Take this too,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. Though quick, it was impossibly tender, a moment that conveyed everything he felt for you. Jude had a way of making even the simplest gestures feel like declarations of love, and this was no exception.

The world around you blurred. Despite the residual chaos of the stadium, the two of you stood in a little bubble of intimacy, your connection shutting out everything else.

“You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

“Where else would I go?” you replied, taking his hand in yours.

“Good,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his. “Because after tonight, you’re not allowed to leave again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the smile on your lips betrayed your amusement. “We’ll see about that, superstar.”

“Oh, it’s not up for debate,” Jude replied confidently, squeezing your hand as he led you toward the exit.

And with that, the night belonged to the two of you — a perfect ending to a perfect day.

[headphonegrl]

“You smell.” Voices lowered, and whispering like two kids keeping a secret, you finally walk down the hallway to the lift; fingers skimming together, with each stride, threatening to interlock together and show public affection in front of the row of reporters he’d just talked to. Hovering in the background, chewing on the end of your nails to stop yourself from smiling too much, you’d watched him glow with pride as he spoke into the microphone, a sheen of sweat glittering handsomely on his forehead in that way which always makes your stomach do somersalts. 

“You love it.” Dipping his head down slightly to talk to you, Jude laughs at your mock disgust, smug with the knowledge that you actually enjoy it; that far-off sweaty look of exhaustion that appears both on his face after a match and in bed with his head against the pillows after you’d slept together, watching his eyes roll into the back of his head and his face scrunch up when you do that thing with your hips or your tongue, making him pant breathlessly as if he’d just ran a mile. “Shut up.” Approaching the lift, you give his shoulder a nudge. It finally felt like your nervous system was relaxing after the past couple of hours of being on edge, your breath getting caught in your throat every time he’d appeared on the big screen, with his brown eyes aglow with ambition. While waiting, you press your foot atop his; the red ballet flats you’d worn to match your England top making him smile, just as he does when he sees all your pink toiletries next to his on the bathroom countertop. 

“Go have a sniff.” He jokes, about to lift his arm up before you shove it back down, turning around to see if anyone was looking. In the eyes of everyone else, you were still a mystery: the nameless girl Jude Bellingham was dating, with a private Instagram account she would never dare put on public. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to show him off, because you did, almost every single day, but you didn’t want to open yourself up for public ridicule or debate; you’d rather live in your own little bubble of domestic bliss, with lectures in the mornings and brushing your teeth with Jude in the evenings.

“Stop it.” You laugh, making him grin further. The lift finally dings, and you both step aside to let the other people out; Jude smiles, ever the gentleman, your lovely boy. Once it's empty and you walk in, he’s already manically pressing the close button, finger jamming against the ‘G’ for ground floor like he’ll die if the doors don’t slide shut in the next couple of seconds. Laughing again, your fingers wrap around his forearm. “Chill out.”

“I wanna kiss you.” Whispering through gritted teeth, he gives it one last push before the stoic voice comes over the speakers to say that the doors are closing. The voices fade, and the metal clunks, and you’re both left alone for only half a second before he grabs at your face to plant your lips onto his; tongue already desperately in your mouth, you can taste the mint gum he’d been chewing on for most of the match. “Missed you.” “I was right there.” It’s hard to talk in between all the kisses, the feverish pecks on your face and down the remainder of your neck as if he was making up for lost time. Teasingly, just to hear you squeak with surprise, he darts his tongue out under your jaw, right where you spray that expensive perfume he’d bought you for Christmas.

“Still.” He presses another sloppy kiss atop your cheekbone, only pulling himself away when the voice announces ‘ground floor’ and he has to step away from you; be a good boyfriend, respect your wishes. He’ll wait until you’re both in the car, or in the hotel room, where he’ll press another dozen kisses to your face and your neck and your arms, and even then it won’t be enough. 

[stelllaforstar]

talking to you

masterlist

fluff

michael olise x female reader

plot summary: in which michael olise refuses to do a post match interview unless it’s with you.

note: pls lmk if you would like this to have a part two because i think it could work, also reminder that my requests are open and very dry currently so feel free to send any requests u like.

nobody noticed it the first time, after all michael olise was infamous for his post-match interviews, or therefore lack of. he kept things short, answering politely, praising teammates, thanking fans and disappearing before anyone could dare ask him another question.

so when he declined one broadcaster after a 2-1 win at the allianz arena and instead walked directly towards you, nobody thought much of it, everyone assumed it had been arranged beforehand. you too had assumed the same and it wasn’t until it happened again and again and again that people started to talk.

 

after almost every match, the routine was identical.

“michael! over here!”

“michael, just one question please?”

“michael, i’m with sky sports can we please have a minute?!”

the voices and desperate yells of journalists from all over the world overlapped each other, with microphones being shoved into faces, everyone wanting to talk to michael.

bayern’s media officer barely looked up from his clipboard anymore.

“…waiting for her?” he asked.

michael simply nodded, watching you from across the media zone as you finished up an interview with one of his teammates. he never complained, instead he’d lean against the wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, quietly waiting until you were free. sometimes it was five minutes, sometimes ten, once, nearly twenty.

“you know you don’t have to wait.” you laughed one evening as you hurried over after a particularly long interview, “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s alright.” michael replied, standing up straighter.

“you’ve been standing here this whole time?”

“you were busy.”

“you could’ve gone home.”

“i could have.”

“…but you didn’t.”

michael gave a small shrug.

“i wanted to talk to you.”

 

as the months passed, interviewing michael became easy. whilst at first every answer had been short, snippy and careful, now he actually smiled, giving detail in his answers, and occasionally he even laughed.

“you looked frustrated after that missed chance.”

“i was.”

“i was wondering if you’d admit that.”

“well, i knew you’d ask.”

another evening, after a late winner, you teased him about his celebration.

“you smiled.”

“did i?” michael replied, feigning confusion.

“you did.”

“hmm.”

“you know there are photos.” you told him coyishly causing him to break out into a reserved grin.

“that’s unfortunate.”

 

then came the first match you missed. you’d come down with a bad flu, and despite insisting you were well enough to travel, your producer refused to let you work.

“rest,” he had told you. “we’ll send someone else.”

after the match, as usual michael made his way into the media area, looking around the room, his eyes darting from camera crew to camera crew before stopping as the media officer droned on in his ear.

“…where is she?” he asked, completely ignoring any previous conversation.

the media officer looked up in recognition.

“oh… she’s off today.”

michael frowned.

“…off?”

“she’s ill.” the media officer clarified.

michael glanced back towards the tunnel, almost expecting you to appear anyway. you didn’t.

“they’ve sent someone else,” the media officer added, directing him towards a disturbingly striking blonde with a wide smile.

“i’ll be interviewing you tonight.” she spoke, her voice grating in his ears.

michael shook his head.

“no.”

the reporter blinked.

“…no?”

“no you won’t. i’m not doing interviews.”

“michael…”

“i’ll wait.”

bayern’s media officer couldn’t help but smile.

“she’s not running late.”

“…oh.”

and for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely disappointed.

 

when you missed the following midweek fixture as well, everyone already knew how it would go down as they watched the replacement reporter approach him.

“ready?” she asked.

“…is she back?”

“not yet.”

michael sighed quietly.

“i’ll pass.”

the reporter laughed sourly.

“you know, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“sorry.” he replied dryly, walking off, not sorry at all.

 

by the weekend, you were finally back and the moment you stepped into the tunnel, several reporters grinned.

“look who’s here.” one jeered.

“he’s been unbearable.” another nudged you.

but before you could ask what they meant, michael walked out, his eyes immediately finding yours, the tiny crease between his brows disappearing, as his body visibly relaxed.

“you came back.”

“i did.”

“you look better.”

“i feel better.”

you both smiled shyly.

“i heard you refused to speak to my replacement.” you joked.

“i did.” michael confirmed.

“…michael.”

“what?” he asked, dead serious.

“you could’ve just done the interview.”

he looked at you as though the answer was obvious.

“they weren’t you.”

heat crept up your cheeks.

“come on, that’s not exactly fair on them.”

“i know.”

“…then why?”

michael thought for a moment before answering.

“i like talking to you.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them but before you could respond one of the camera operators called from behind you.

“mate, i don’t think you’re exactly fooling anyone anymore.”

laughter echoed through the tunnel as michael looked around in confusion.

“what?”

you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

“nothing.”

“i’m fairly certain it wasn’t ‘nothing’.”

your producer shook his head, trying to hide a smile, and failing, as you looked back at michael.

“so…”

you clipped the microphone onto your jacket and passed him the handheld microphone, his fingers brushing yours in the intimacy of the moment.

“interview?” you asked.

a small, genuine smile appeared on his face, the kind that only seemed to surface around you.

“yeah, i’ve been waiting.”

[tvmusiclife]

Idc who wins the men's World Cup, Cabo Verde are the winners. Small island nation. First Word Cup appearance. Stun Spain and hold them 0-0. Beat Saudi Arabia and Uruguay. Gave Arg a run for their money 'til the very last second. Cabo Verde - the people's winner.

[47foden]

Can you please write fluff on the “i forgot to pay the rent” trend on Jude Bellingham?

RENT DUE - ju. bellingham

inwhich! you try the “i forgot to pay the rent” trend on jude, knowing that you’ve never paid rent, touched any bills, or paid for outings whenever you’re with jude.

frannytalks! jude was kind of annoying me during vs. dr congo just now 😪😪 but i hope you like thisss, i tried my best, i think this is the trend you were talking about? i’m sorry if it’s not, i couldn’t find any in my native language for reference! don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!

jude was sitting at the kitchen island answering messages when you saw the trend on your phone. you curled your legs beneath yourself on the couch as a grin slowly spread across your face.

immediately, you knew he was the perfect victim. you looked over toward him mischievously, you already knew exactly how this would end, because despite living together, jude had never once let you pay for anything.

the first time you’d offered, jude had looked genuinely offended. he stood in the living room holding his wallet while staring at you in disbelief.

“why would you pay rent?” he asked as though you’d suggested selling the furniture.

the second time, he transferred the money back into your account before you’d even finished talking. he sat beside you with the most stubborn expression imaginable.

the third time, he’d kissed your forehead and said, “absolutely not, sweetheart, nice try though.”

you casually propped your phone against the fruit bowl. you adjusted the angle to make sure jude wasn’t suspicious.

he remained completely unaware. he hummed softly while pouring coffee into two mugs.

“jude?” you spoke carefully, trying not to laugh.

he turned around immediately. his expression softened the second he heard your voice, “yeah, love?” he carried the mugs toward the island.

you swallowed and forced yourself to stay serious, “i need to tell you something.” you folded your hands together dramatically.

jude put both mugs down, his smile disappeared immediately, “what happened?” he asked quietly.

“i forgot to pay the rent this month.” you looked down at the counter.

his eyebrows knitted together, he stared at you, “what rent?” he asked slowly.

you kept your expression serious, your fingernails dug into your palm to stop yourself from laughing, “our rent.” you answered back softly.

jude looked at the ceiling, he seemed to be replaying several years of memories of you not paying the rent, or anything at all.

“baby.” he spoke with patience in his voice.

you nodded slowly, giving him puppy eyes.

“you don’t pay rent.” he said carefully.

you shrugged, “i know, but i forgot this month.” you replied.

the coffee in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. his lips parted slightly, “forgot?” he repeated.

you nodded again, “to pay?” he continued.

then, it finally hit jude and he let out a loud laugh, “what are you talking about?” he managed between laughs.

you tried maintaining character, “i’ll make it up next month.” you said seriously.

jude bent forward, he covered his face with one hand,“next month?” he repeated.

you nodded and he looked at you like you were the most ridiculous person alive. his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“with whose money?” he asked.

you opened your mouth, then stopped midway, nothing coming out.

jude laughed again, he shook his head in disbelief, “you have lived with me for over a year.” he pointed at you.

you remained silent, still trying your hardest not to laugh or even smile.

“you’ve contributed exactly zero pounds toward rent.” he smiled.

you gasped dramatically, “that’s not true.” you defended yourself.

jude folded his arms, a growing smirk spreading across his face, “oh?” he challenged.

“i bring emotional support.” you answered immediately, “a lot.”

“yeah, that’s true.” he nodded thoughtfully, “and apparently financial stress too.” he added, joking.

you burst into laughter at the last comment, jude squinted his eyes immediately, curious about your odd behavior.

“wait.” he glanced around the kitchen, then his gaze landed on the phone.

“are you recording me?” he pointed accusingly.

you couldn’t breathe from laughing, trying to grab the phone before he did. jude walked over and grabbed the it before you could.

“you’re evil.” he shook his head dramatically.

“it’s a trend!” you defended yourself, throwing your hands up, “you looked so concerned.” you giggled.

“because you said you needed to tell me something!” he protested, crossing his arms.

his expression softened almost immediately. the annoyance lasted two seconds. then, a he stepped between your knees and wrapped both arms around your waist, his forehead rested against yours.

“for the record,” he spoke quietly, “if you ever actually tried paying rent, i’d send the money straight back.”

you smiled, rolling your eyes slightly, “why?” you asked.

“because i take care of you.” he shrugged lightly, his hands squeezed your sides. “your responsibilities are being funny, stealing my clothes, and enjoying life with no worries.” he counted on his fingers.

you laughed softly, “that’s a full-time job.” you argued.

“exactly.” he kissed your forehead, “your money is your money, my money is our money.”

your grin widened, “fine, fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “can i have a kiss?” you asked, looking up, pouting.

he immediately placed a kiss on your lips, “how could i say no to you, princess?” jude said, holding your head in his hands.

-

ju. bellingham taglist: @luvrgrl-222 , @soobieewoobiee , @laneyrainy0 , @mmonkeh3000 , @mariaaaalm , @dianazyb , @brune77e , @strwayberrymilktea , @kylianaegyouwww , @seceretstvrn , @ceziaa <3

perm. taglist: @pinkfashionkilla , @iovhrts , @random34674 , @mumisntproudofme <33

[blueaetherr]

long day being an african football supporter today

[blueaetherr]

yeah i need mexico to obliterate england in the round of 16

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER THREE

“i want something that i know is real”

pairings — judexblack!girl

genres — fluff, slow burn, workplace romance (she’s a pt)

warnings — sexual themes (minors dni)

word count — 6k

summary — y/n, a rising physiotherapist, has just been promoted to work with real madrid's men's team. after a difficult breakup, she's determined to keep things professional. but when jude bellingham, the club's charming new star, sets his sights on her, maintaining boundaries becomes harder than ever. can she resist the pull, or will she risk everything for a love she swore she’d never fall for again?

an — slowly but surely we are getting there <3

masterlist

the rejection gnawed at jude like a splinter lodged deep beneath the skin, a constant, aching reminder of a moment that hadn’t gone the way he had imagined. he had never been the type to dwell on things—he wasn’t the guy picked last in phys ed or the one left standing awkwardly while others paired off. no, jude was used to things going his way, especially when it came to women. he knew how to navigate the attention, how to flash that easy smile, how to charm his way into someone's good graces. so why, then, did y/n’s soft refusal echo louder in his mind than any cheer from the crowd?

it had been a whole day since that conversation, but the memory clung to him, replaying over and over like a broken record. the way she had looked at him, the apology in her eyes that didn’t quite soothe the sting of her words—“i’m sorry. i can’t. i’m not ready for… this.” he could still hear it, the soft tremble in her voice, the way she had hesitated before speaking, and how it had felt like the ground shifting beneath his feet.

thankfully, it was an off day. the idea of returning to training, of facing y/n with that memory still fresh, was something he didn’t know if he could manage without feeling the weight of embarrassment pressing down on him. it wasn’t just the rejection that hurt—it was the realization that he had misread their entire dynamic. he had mistaken friendly chats and shared laughter for something more, and now the prospect of seeing her again filled him with a gnawing dread.

so he had sought refuge at eduardo’s place, hoping that the familiar comfort of playing fifa might distract him from the mess in his head. but even the flashing screen and the frantic button mashing couldn’t pull him out of his thoughts. he was sulking, and it didn’t take long for his teammates to pick up on it.

as the fifa match continued on the screen, jude’s mind wandered far from the game. his hands moved almost automatically, pressing buttons with little thought, as his mind replayed the events of the previous evening. y/n’s hesitant smile, the way her voice wavered when she told him she wasn’t ready—it all felt so vivid, so painfully clear in his memory. he had been so sure that there was something between them, something real and worth exploring. but now, all he could think about was how wrong he had been.

he kept thinking about all the moments they had shared, the lunches where they talked about everything and nothing, the way she would sometimes glance at him with a softness in her eyes that made his heart race. jude had convinced himself that those looks meant something more, that she felt the same pull he did. but now, he wasn’t so sure.

“it’s just… i thought we had something,” jude muttered, more to himself than to eduardo or aurélien. the words tasted bitter on his tongue, the reality of the situation sinking in deeper with each passing second.

aurélien paused the game, turning to look at jude with a serious expression. “you did, man. and i bet she felt it too. but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to jump into something.”

eduardo nodded in agreement. “exactly. y/n’s a complicated girl, jude. she’s not like most people, you know? she’s got walls up, and it’s not going to be easy to break them down.”

jude ran a hand through his hair, frustration building up inside him. “but why? i mean, i get that she’s got her job to think about, but… i don’t know, i thought we were past that.”

aurélien sighed, leaning back on the couch. “you can’t force these things, mate. sometimes, it’s not about you or what you did—it’s about what’s going on in her head. maybe she’s had bad experiences before, or maybe she’s just scared of what could happen if things don’t work out.”

jude’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each one more confusing than the last. he had always been confident, always knew what he wanted and how to get it. but this? this was different. y/n was different. he couldn’t just charm his way through this like he had with other girls. with y/n, it felt deeper, more real, and that scared him as much as it excited him.

“she’s worth it, though,” jude finally said, his voice quiet but firm. “i’ve never felt this way about anyone before. she makes me feel… i don’t know, like i can be myself, like she sees me for who i am, not just the footballer.”

eduardo smiled, clapping jude on the shoulder. “then fight for her, mate. don’t let one rejection stop you. if she’s really worth it, you’ll find a way to get through to her.”

aurélien nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “just be patient, jude. y/n’s got her reasons, and if she’s anything like we think she is, she’s probably battling with them right now. just keep being there for her. she’ll see that you’re not going anywhere.”

jude leaned back on the couch, their words sinking in. they were right, of course. he couldn’t just give up after one setback, no matter how much it stung. y/n was worth the effort, worth the uncertainty and the waiting. but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with the ache in his chest or the embarrassment that still lingered.

“i just don’t know how to face her,” jude admitted after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “i feel like an idiot for thinking she liked me.”

eduardo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “you’re not an idiot, jude. you took a chance, and that’s more than a lot of people would do. if anything, that makes you brave.”

aurélien added, “besides, it’s not like she rejected you, jude. she probably just rejected the idea of a relationship right now. there’s a big difference.”

jude nodded, trying to take comfort in their words. it wasn’t easy, but it helped, even if just a little. “yeah, i guess you’re right.”

eduardo grinned, his usual playful demeanor returning. “of course, we’re right. now, let’s finish this game, and then you can plan your next move. just don’t let me beat you too badly, or you’ll have more than just y/n to worry about.”

jude managed a small smile, feeling a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep going, to keep trying. y/n was worth it, and no matter how hard it might be, he wasn’t going to give up on her. not yet.

the morning after jude’s confession felt like an anchor dragging y/n down into a pit of regret. she sat at her desk, staring blankly at the treatment schedule in front of her, unable to focus on the list of athletes she was supposed to see today. jude’s voice, thick with disappointment, echoed in her mind, replaying the moment she had let him down over and over again. she had spent the entire night tossing and turning, her mind plagued by what-ifs and maybes, each one weighing heavier on her chest.

the physio room, usually a sanctuary of focused work, felt suffocating today. the familiar hum of the equipment, the faint scent of antiseptic—everything reminded her of him. how he would sometimes lean against the doorframe with that boyish grin, teasing her about how serious she looked while doing her job. how his laughter would fill the room, warm and genuine, chasing away the tension of a long day.

she was attracted to him—there was no point in denying that now. his easy charm, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about football, the way he made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. and as much as she hated to admit it, he was becoming one of her closest friends. in the whirlwind of her work, where professionalism was her armor, jude had managed to slip through the cracks, and now he was woven into the fabric of her daily life. his absence today felt like a gaping hole she didn’t know how to fill.

she hated herself for hurting him. she hated that she’d let her fear and her past dictate her actions. jude didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve to be rejected after all the effort he’d made to understand her, to make her feel comfortable around him. the guilt gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting.

meanwhile, jude was doing everything he could to avoid her. he hadn’t shown up at the physio room for his usual post-training treatment, and when lunchtime came around, he was conspicuously absent from the cafeteria. the easy-going banter and camaraderie of the team felt off without his presence, and it didn’t take long for people to start noticing.

“y/n, have you seen jude?” gerard, the head physiotherapist, asked as he passed you usual table in the cafeteria. his tone was casual, but there was a knowing edge to his voice that made her stomach tighten. he knew how close they had become, how jude would often linger in the physio room even when he didn’t have a session, just to chat with her.

“um, no, i haven’t seen him today,” y/n replied, trying to keep her voice steady. the truth was, she had been hoping—maybe even dreading—that he would come in, that they could talk and she could try to explain herself better. but jude had been avoiding the physio room, and the lunchroom too, like they were toxic zones, places he couldn’t bear to be.

“that’s strange,” gerard commented, more to himself than to her. “he’s usually one of the first in here after training. wonder what’s going on.”

y/n forced a smile, nodding in agreement even as her heart sank further. jude wasn’t avoiding the physio room; he was avoiding her. the realization made her chest tighten with regret. she had pushed him away when all he had wanted was to take their friendship to the next level, and now she wasn’t sure if they could ever go back to the way things were.

she knew jude was avoiding her. she couldn’t blame him. after all, she was the one who had driven a wedge between them. the memory of his disappointed eyes, the way his voice had wavered as he tried to brush off her rejection—it all haunted her. she had wanted to reach out, to stop him as he walked away, but the words had died in her throat, swallowed by the same fear that had made her say no in the first place.

and now here she was, left to stew in the consequences of her decision, while jude was probably doing everything he could to pretend she didn’t exist. the thought made her chest tighten with a mix of sadness and frustration. she had ruined one of the best things in her life, and now she didn’t know how to fix it.

across the training complex, jude was keeping himself as far away from the physio rooms as possible. he buried himself in drills, pushing himself harder than usual, trying to drown out the memory of last night’s rejection with the physical exhaustion of training. but no matter how many times he ran the pitch, no matter how many shots he took at the goal, he couldn’t shake the image of y/n’s face when she had turned him down.

he had replayed the moment over and over in his mind, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. he had never been rejected like this before, not in football, not with girls. it stung more than he expected, cutting deeper because it was y/n. someone who had become so important to him, someone he thought felt the same way he did. every time he thought about the way she had looked at him, the regret in her eyes, it twisted the knife a little more.

he avoided the lunchroom, not wanting to face the inevitable questions from his teammates. he wasn’t ready to talk about it, wasn’t ready to admit that he had read the situation so wrong. instead, he stayed on the pitch, letting the burn of his muscles distract him from the ache in his chest. but even as he ran, he couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued him—what he could have done differently, what he should have said, if there was still a chance to make things right.

the day dragged on, each minute ticking by with excruciating slowness. jude pushed himself to the limit during training, his body protesting the punishing pace he set, but he refused to let up. the physical exertion was a welcome distraction from the tangled mess of thoughts and emotions that had consumed him since y/n’s rejection. he threw himself into every drill, every sprint, with a single-minded determination, hoping that sheer exhaustion might dull the ache in his chest.

by the time the session ended, jude’s muscles were screaming in protest, and he knew he’d pushed too far. the familiar twinge in his hamstring told him he needed to see a physio, but the thought of walking into that room, of possibly facing y/n, made his stomach churn. he considered skipping it altogether, but the rational part of his mind knew better. if he ignored the strain, it would only get worse, and he couldn’t afford an injury.

with a resigned sigh, jude made his way to the physio wing, each step feeling heavier than the last. when he arrived, he asked one of the assistants if gerard was available, hoping to avoid any chance encounter with y/n. but luck wasn’t on his side.

“gerard’s in a meeting,” the assistant said, glancing at the schedule on the wall. “but y/n is free. she can take a look at you.”

jude swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. there was no getting out of this. nodding curtly, he thanked the assistant and forced himself to walk toward the treatment room where he knew y/n would be.

the air felt thick with unspoken tension as he stepped inside. y/n looked up from her notes, her expression shifting from professional calm to something more uncertain as their eyes met. she offered a small, tentative smile, but there was a sadness in her gaze that made jude’s chest tighten.

“hi, jude,” y/n greeted him softly, her voice tinged with the same uncertainty he felt. “what’s bothering you?”

he hesitated, feeling the weight of the unresolved tension between them. “my hamstring,” he replied, his voice more curt than he intended. “i think i strained it.”

y/n nodded, her professionalism slipping back into place as she gestured for him to take a seat on the treatment table. but as she began to examine his leg, the silence between them grew heavy, filled with the things they weren’t saying. jude’s thoughts churned, the hurt and confusion from the day before still fresh in his mind, but now it was mixed with guilt for the way he’d been avoiding her.

after a few minutes, y/n finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “jude… are you mad at me?”

the sadness in her tone cut through him like a knife. jude looked up, meeting her eyes, and saw the worry etched in her features. he realized then how much his behavior had affected her, and the guilt twisted in his gut.

“no, y/n,” he said, his voice softening as he shook his head. “i’m not mad at you. i just… i didn’t know how to deal with everything. i’m sorry for avoiding you.”

y/n’s hands stilled on his leg, and she looked down, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. “i’ve been trying to find you,” she admitted, her voice laced with regret. “i could tell you were avoiding me, and i' hate myself for how i treated you.”

jude’s heart clenched at her words, the pain in her voice echoing his own. “i didn’t want to make things worse,” he said quietly. “i thought… maybe you needed space.”

y/n shook her head, her braids swaying with the movement. “i didn’t need space, jude. i needed to talk to you, to explain… why i said no.”

he waited, sensing that she was on the verge of sharing something deeply personal. when she finally spoke again, her voice was laced with a sadness that made his chest ache.

“i had a long-term boyfriend before,” y/n began, her words slow and measured as if she were carefully choosing each one. “it ended badly. he… he hurt me, and it took me a long time to recover. i guess i’ve built up these walls because i’m scared of getting hurt again. it’s not that i don’t care about you, jude. it’s just… complicated.”

jude’s heart broke for her as he listened, understanding dawning on him. her reluctance wasn’t about him at all; it was about the scars she carried from her past. he could see how much it pained her to share this, and the last thing he wanted was to add to her hurt.

“y/n,” he said gently, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “i’m sorry you went through that. i didn’t realize… i just thought maybe you didn’t feel the same way, and that’s why i backed off. but i get it now. i’m not going to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

y/n looked up at him then, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i’m sorry for hurting you, jude. i never wanted to do that.”

his chest tightened, a mix of relief and lingering sadness washing over him. seeing her like this, so vulnerable and sincere, made it impossible for him to hold onto any bitterness. all he wanted was to ease the pain he saw in her eyes.

“can i give you a hug?” he asked softly, his voice full of compassion. “you look like you need one. and honestly… i could use one too.”

for a moment, y/n hesitated, her expression torn between vulnerability and the desire for comfort. then, slowly, she nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

jude pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she rested her head against his chest. the warmth of the embrace seemed to melt away the tension that had been hanging between them, replaced by a quiet understanding. they stayed like that for a moment, the silence speaking volumes, until jude finally pulled back slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“we’ll figure this out, y/n,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet determination. “whatever it takes, we’ll figure it out.”

y/n nodded, her eyes full of gratitude and a newfound sense of hope. and for the first time since that fateful conversation, jude felt like they were on the same page, ready to face whatever came next—together.

as jude held y/n in his arms, the quiet warmth of their embrace seemed to settle the storm that had been raging inside him. for the first time since she’d turned him down, he felt a flicker of understanding—a sense that he was beginning to unravel the layers of the girl who had captured his interest from the moment they’d met. she was like a puzzle, each piece more complex than the last, but the glimpse she’d given him into her past made him more determined than ever to figure out how to make those pieces fit.

he could feel the tightness in her shoulders gradually easing, the tension melting away as she relaxed into his embrace. it wasn’t much, just a small step forward, but it felt monumental to jude. he wasn’t going to let her past define their future, and though he knew it wouldn’t be easy, he made a silent promise to himself in that moment: he was going to treat y/n the way she deserved to be treated, with patience, kindness, and unwavering support. he wanted to help her forget the pain her ex had caused, to show her that not all men were the same. she deserved better, and jude was determined to prove that he could be that for her.

as he gently released her, the resolve in his chest only grew stronger. y/n looked up at him, her eyes still carrying the remnants of her sadness, but there was also a hint of relief—a sign that maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to trust him again.

“thank you, jude,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

he offered her a reassuring smile, his heart swelling with affection. “you don’t have to thank me, y/n. i’m here for you, no matter what.”

the rest of the session passed in a comfortable silence, the tension between them slowly dissipating as they worked together. jude could feel the connection between them strengthening, the bond that had felt so fragile only moments before now solidifying with every passing minute. and though he didn’t say it out loud, he knew in his heart that this was only the beginning—he was going to do whatever it took to show her that she could trust him, that he would never hurt her the way her ex had.

the next day dawned with a sense of renewal for jude. the weight that had settled on his chest since y/n’s rejection had lifted slightly, replaced by a newfound resolve. as he went through his morning routine, he couldn’t help but replay the moment they had shared in the physio room the day before. holding her in his arms, feeling the softness of her surrender, had made something crystal clear to him: y/n was special, and whatever walls she had built around herself, he was determined to gently, patiently, help her take them down.

he knew he couldn’t rush her, couldn’t push her into something she wasn’t ready for. but jude was also certain of one thing—he wasn’t going to let her slip away without showing her how much she mattered. he wanted to be the one to make her smile again, to replace the shadows of her past with warmth and light. he couldn’t erase what her ex had done, but he could show her that she deserved better, that she deserved to be cherished.

as he arrived at the training facility, jude felt a nervous excitement bubbling up within him. today was another chance to see y/n, to maybe even share lunch with her like they used to before everything had become so complicated. just the thought of sitting across from her, their easy conversations flowing as they laughed and teased each other, filled him with anticipation.

training passed by in a blur, and as the clock ticked closer to lunchtime, jude found himself rushing through his post-session routine. his heart pounded with anticipation as he made his way to the lunchroom, eager to see y/n’s familiar face among the crowd. but when he stepped inside, scanning the room for her, a pang of disappointment settled in his chest—she wasn’t there.

his brows furrowed in confusion. where could she be? they had fallen into such a comfortable routine of eating together that her absence felt glaring. jude approached one of his teammates, brahim, curiosity getting the better of him.

“have you seen y/n?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual despite the worry gnawing at him.

brahim shrugged, offering a nonchalant reply. “i think she’s in the physio room. she didn’t come to lunch.”

jude’s heart sank slightly. why would she skip lunch? the question nagged at him as he made his way to the physio wing, his pace quickening with each step. the memory of their last encounter played in his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was avoiding him again. the thought stung more than he cared to admit.

when he reached the physio room, jude hesitated for a moment outside the door, gathering his thoughts. then, with a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside. the room was quiet, the familiar scent of antiseptic and clean linens filling the air. y/n was sitting at her desk, her attention focused on some paperwork, but the moment she sensed his presence, she looked up, her eyes widening in surprise.

“jude,” she greeted him softly, her voice a mix of uncertainty and warmth. “what are you doing here?”

he took a step closer, searching her expression for any sign of why she hadn’t joined him for lunch. “i came to find you,” he replied, his tone gentle but curious. “you weren’t at lunch… is everything okay?”

y/n glanced down at her papers, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “i… i wasn’t sure if you’d still want to sit with me,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “after everything that happened… i didn’t want to make things awkward.”

jude’s heart ached at her words, realizing how much she had been overthinking their situation, just like he had. but more than anything, he was struck by how much he wanted to reassure her, to make her see that she was still the best part of his day.

“y/n,” he said, his voice full of sincerity as he took another step closer, closing the distance between them. “of course, I still want to sit with you. you’re the best part of my day. why would that change?”

her eyes met his, a flicker of hope mingling with the lingering uncertainty. “really?” she asked, her voice tinged with both disbelief and a touch of vulnerability that made his chest tighten.

“really,” jude confirmed, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “whatever’s going on between us… it doesn’t change the fact that I enjoy spending time with you. a lot.”

y/n’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly at his words, and jude felt a surge of relief wash over him. he could see the tension easing from her frame, the shadows in her eyes lifting just a little.

“i’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of regret and gratitude. “i didn’t mean to avoid you. i guess i just… overthought things.”

jude shook his head, his smile widening as he reached out to gently squeeze her hand. “no need to apologize. i get it. but from now on, no more skipping lunch, okay? i’d hate to have to eat alone.”

a soft laugh escaped her lips, and the sound was like music to his ears. “okay,” she agreed, her smile returning, brighter this time. “no more skipping lunch.”

jude’s heart soared at her response, and he couldn’t resist teasing her a little, hoping to lighten the mood even further. “besides,” he added, his tone playful, “who else am I supposed to impress with my amazing sandwich-making skills?”

y/n laughed again, the tension between them melting away as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “i’m sure your sandwiches are legendary,” she teased back, the warmth returning to her voice.

“oh, they are,” jude quipped, feeling a wave of affection for the girl in front of him. as they shared a moment of lighthearted banter, he felt the connection between them strengthening, the bond that had wavered now growing even more solid.

but beneath the surface, jude’s resolve only deepened. he was more determined than ever to show y/n how much she meant to him, to help her forget the pain of her past and embrace the happiness she deserved. he wouldn’t push her, wouldn’t rush her, but he would be there, every step of the way, proving that she was worth every bit of effort.

as they finally made their way to the lunchroom together, the easy conversation flowing between them, jude couldn’t help but steal glances at her, his heart swelling with a mix of affection and hope. y/n might still have her walls up, but jude was more than willing to put in the work to break them down, brick by brick.

because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that she was worth it. and he would do whatever it took to show her just how much.

the next day, the late afternoon light cast a soft glow over the lunchroom as y/n arrived. the usual hum of conversation filled the space, but her attention was immediately drawn to jude. he was sitting at their usual table, but there was an air of fatigue about him that struck her. he looked pale, his usual vibrant demeanor replaced by a subdued presence. 

y/n slid into the chair across from him, her eyes scanning his face with a concerned frown. "hey, jude," she said gently. "you look a bit off today. everything okay?"

jude forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "yeah, just feeling a bit under the weather," he replied, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. "my mom was here for a few days, but she left yesterday to be with my brother. so it’s just me now."

her heart ached at the thought of him being alone, especially when he was clearly not at his best. she had noticed how he had been shivering slightly even though the day was warm. it was clear that he wasn’t feeling well. 

“you should really take it easy,” y/n said, her voice laced with concern. “I know it’s not always easy to rest, especially with how busy things are. But you really need to look after yourself.”

jude nodded, though his smile was a bit weak. “I’ll rest at home and try to get better. I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“don’t be silly,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light but failing to hide the worry in her eyes. “I know you’re used to taking care of yourself, but sometimes it’s okay to let others help.”

“thanks, y/n,” jude said, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude. “I appreciate it. But really, it’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“promise me you’ll be careful,” she insisted. “And drink plenty of fluids. It’s important to stay hydrated, especially if you’re feeling this way.”

jude chuckled softly, the sound a bit strained. “I promise. I’ll try to do all the right things.”

as the conversation shifted to lighter topics, y/n couldn’t shake the knot of worry in her stomach. the thought of jude being sick and alone gnawed at her. she watched him closely, noting how he seemed to zone out occasionally, his eyes reflecting a weariness she hadn’t seen before. 

when lunch came to an end, jude made to stand up, but y/n was already feeling the weight of her decision. as he gathered his things, she reached out and touched his arm lightly. “if you need anything, really, just let me know,” she said softly. “I’m around and I’d be more than happy to help.”

jude looked at her with a hint of surprise but nodded appreciatively. “I will. Thanks forso kind.”

he left the lunchroom, and y/n watched him go with a sinking feeling. her mind was already racing through plans—checking in on him, maybe bringing him some supplies, making sure he wasn’t struggling alone. she was determined to help him, even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone. 

as the door closed behind him, y/n’s thoughts were consumed by her growing concern. she had seen him at his best, and seeing him now, so vulnerable and alone, made her want to be there for him more than ever. she resolved to do whatever she could to ensure he didn’t face this alone, her heart heavy with the desire to support him in any way possible.

as the days progressed, jude’s condition worsened. what had started as a minor cold had blossomed into a full-blown flu. he lay sprawled on the couch in his dimly lit apartment, the room dimmed and cozy, as the late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds. he had lost track of time, his body aching and his head pounding relentlessly. his only comfort was the familiar comfort of his old favorite show, breaking bad, which he watched in a haze of fever and fatigue, the episodes blending together into a monotonous blur.

the apartment was silent except for the occasional sound of his mom's concerned voice on the phone, checking in on him every few hours. her calls were a small, comforting reminder of the care he was missing from her physical presence. despite her reassurances, the loneliness of his situation was palpable.

jude's phone buzzed beside him, interrupting his half-conscious state. it was another call from his mom, her voice full of worry and maternal concern. he answered it with a groggy "hey, mum," trying to muster a semblance of cheerfulness despite the mounting misery he felt.

"how are you feeling, jude?" his mom’s voice crackled through the speaker.

"i’m hanging in there," he replied, his voice raspy. "just trying to rest and get better."

"i wish i could be there to help you," she said, her tone thick with concern. "please, make sure you're drinking fluids and resting."

"i will," he said. "thanks for checking in. i’ll be okay."

as he ended the call, he let out a long sigh, turning his gaze back to the television. the image of walter white's stoic face filled the screen, but jude couldn’t concentrate on the show. he was too preoccupied with the persistent ache in his body and the relentless throb in his head.

the buzz of the doorbell jolted him from his stupor. it was a sound he barely registered through his illness, and he groaned as he pushed himself off the couch, his movements slow and labored. the bell rang again, more insistently this time.

summoning the last bit of his energy, he staggered to the door, swaying slightly as he fumbled with the lock. when he finally managed to open it, he was met with the sight of y/n standing in the doorway, her figure outlined by the faint light of the hallway. she was carrying a couple of bags filled with what looked like groceries and medication.

her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, and she took in the disheveled state he was in with a mix of concern and determination.

"jude?" she said softly, her voice full of worry.

jude blinked, his vision a bit blurry. he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating due to his fever or if she was really standing there. "y/n?" he croaked, the confusion and surprise evident in his voice.

the last person he expected to see, but the girl who hadn’t left his mind since he laid eyes on her.

next

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