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djovulating

⤷ 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𑣲. welcome to my masterlist!

fluff=𝜗ৎ angst=಄ smut=☆ suggestive=⟡

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 jude bellingham

༉‧₊˚. OFFSIDE 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚.CURRENT BF 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. KEEP THEM 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. AFTER THE FINAL WHISTLE 𝜗ৎ ಄

༉‧₊˚. WISDOM TEETH 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. LOST IN TRANSLATION 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. TRACK TWELVE 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. WRONG NAME ಄, ༉‧₊˚. p2: FINDING HOME AGAIN ಄ 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. TRUTH AT ONE IN THE MORNING 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. TWENTY FOUR MISSED CALLS ಄ 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. SHOPPING LIST 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. I NEED YOU ☆𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. US AND THE GIRAFFES 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. LOOPY LITTLE LOVE LETTERS 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. SO ANNOYING 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. FRONT ROW 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. PLAYING IT COOL 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. HIT ON ME 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. VICTORY 𝜗ৎ☆

༉‧₊˚. APPROVED... EVENTUALLY + jobe 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. CURLS 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. PREGNANT? 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. GIRL FROM THE CAFÉ 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. JUDE BELLINGHAM TEXTS! 𝜗ৎ⟡, 2 ಄ 𝜗ৎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 jobe bellingham

༉‧₊˚. READ AT 11:42 ಄ 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. APPROVED... EVENTUALLY + jude 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. SPACE BETWEEN US ಄

༉‧₊˚. JOBE BELLINGHAM TEXTS! 𝜗ৎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 drew starkey

༉‧₊˚. SANDY FEET 𝜗ৎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 steve harrington

༉‧₊˚. ATTENTION 𝜗ৎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 draco malfoy

༉‧₊˚. DRACO MALFOY TEXTS! 𝜗ৎ

rosierecs13

𝜗𝜚 Jude Bellingham Recs

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 08/02/2026

⭒ Football Masterlist

hunnibunny303

JOBE BELLINGHAM- DIGI CAM PT.2 ⋆˙⟡

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Synopsis .☘︎ ݁˖-you just wanted one picture with Jobe Bellingham during your family vacation. No big deal. Just a cute memory to look back on. One viral post later, and your life is turned upside down you definitely didn't expect the entire internet to think you're a couple. Now the picture is everywhere,and a certain Birmingham boy found it and from that moment led to another unforgettable memory.

Genre .☘︎ ݁˖- Fluff/ family fluff, and a bit of rom com vibes, Fem!reader

Warnings .☘︎ ݁˖- none..at-least not yet

Wc.☘︎ ݁˖- 7.6k

Twenty-four hours. That's how long it had been since you were officially sure that Jobe had found your account. That he'd most likely even gone through your highlights. That he'd most likely even seen your cringe pictures from two years ago, the ones with the dodgy filters to be exact, and the embarrassing captions that made you physically recoil now. If you'd only known this was going to happen, you would've redone your whole account and make it more professional. More alluring. Giving him a first impression that screamed "mysterious and cool" instead of "average girl who went through a phase in 2024." But maybe the unexpected authenticity made this whole story even better between you both. Maybe the fact that he'd seen the real you—unfiltered, unpolished, just existing was what made this feel so different. So genuine.

You were scrolling through your own account, trying to imagine what his perspective would've been like viewing you. What did he see? What did he think? Was he laughing at your old posts? Did he find them endearing? You were so deep in your own head that you almost missed it. A message popped up over your screen.

"I'm seeing this picture everywhere, even mom sent it lol"

You rubbed your eyes, assuming you were seeing things. You blinked hard, then blinked again. You spelled out the letters of the username slowly, your lips moving silently as you read them.

J... O... B... E.

"This has to be a joke," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You stared at the screen, your heart starting doing that stupid thing again when you saw him at the beach. And then you saw it.

The blue verification sign next to his username.

"THIS IS NO WAY THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING TO ME," you shrieked, your voice pitching into a register you didn't even know you could reach. "THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO WAY." Your hands started to tremble immediately. Your phone almost slipped from your grip as you scrambled to sit up straighter, your eyes glued to the message.

He messaged me. JOBE BELLINGHAM messaged ME??.

You spent the first five minutes before answering his message hyperventilating, your thoughts spiralling into an absolute frenzy:

" Wait, I can't mess this up.""Absolutely nobody can know about him messaging me.""Is this a test?""I wonder if he's testing me to see if I'll screenshot and post that he DM'd me?""What if this is some elaborate prank?""What if he's just being polite?""What if—"

Your head was basically spinning with too many thoughts. It could explode any moment now.

ANSWER HIM!

You shouted at yourself internally, pausing mid-pace around your room. You'd been pacing back and forth like a caged animal, your carpet probably worn down from the sheer nervous energy radiating off you. "Okay, okay, I will," you replied to yourself, almost as if someone else was in the room. Anyone who'd overheard your little crash-out session would've thought you'd lost your mind completely. You sat down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched in both hands, staring at his message like it held the secrets to the universe. What do I even say to that? you wondered, your brain scrambling for options.

"Haha yes, the internet is so obsessed with us!"

Ew. That sounds too fame-crazy. Like you're desperate for attention.

"What did your mom say?"

Uhh, maybe that's a bit too soon? But you actually would love to know though. The curiosity was eating you alive.

"I know right? I'm still trying to process everything."

That one felt right. Honest. Relatable.

You pressed send immediately before your brain had the chance to overanalyse it for another five minutes.

There. You did it. You replied back to him.

You flopped yourself backward onto your bed, letting out a long, shaky sigh. Your phone lay on your chest, screen facing up, just waiting to see what he would say. Would he even reply? a nagging voice whispered. What if that's it? What if that's all he wanted to say and now he's done? You pushed the thought away, refusing to let it dampen your mood.

"It would be so cool if this ends up being the start of us becoming friends," you said aloud, your voice honest and soft. "At least."

You meant it. You'd settle for anything between you and Jobe, knowing deep down your heart obviously desired more. You'd always had a lot of interest in him, not just as a footballer, but as a person. You admired his profession, sure, but it was him that drew you in. The way he carried himself with such quiet confidence. The way he handled being in the shadow of his older brother, knowing the strain it could cause on his mental health. The way he had the courage to pursue the same career as Jude, even knowing he'd constantly be compared. Even knowing the media would have a field day with it. Yet he was always so positive. So bubbly. So unfazed by all the noise. You admired that the most about him. That resilience. That refusal to let anyone dim his light.

*Ding*.

Your phone went off. You snatched it up so fast you almost dropped it again.

It was him.

"it came out really nicely, I liked how I looked in it" he said. Definitely trying to be cocky.

You couldn't help the playful grin that spread across your face. You typed back quickly, your fingers flying across the screen:

"You weren't the only one in the picture though"

You watched the screen, your heart pounding. Three dots appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.

He was typing. Then stopping. Then typing again.

Almost like he was contemplating something. Almost like he was choosing his words carefully.

Then the message came through.

"ain't say you didn't look good too, y/n"

You read it once. Twice. Three times.

"He said MY name," you squeaked, your voice cracking. "AND HE BASICALLY SAID I LOOKED GOOD."

"IS THIS FLIRTING?!" you screamed into your pillow, your legs kicking wildly beneath you. You were blushing like crazy, your cheeks flaming red, your heart doing backflips in your chest. Even if this was just a one-time thing, you were making sure to enjoy every moment of it. Every second. Every word.

"Much better 😌" you replied back, trying to play it cool despite the fact that you were literally kicking your feet like a lovesick teenager.

Shortly after, you added, "oh also did Momma Bellingham say anything about it? I'm curious "

You held your breath, waiting for his response. The three dots appeared again, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

The three dots disappeared. Then it appeared again. Then disappeared once more.

It took nearly two minutes for his reply to come through, and you spent every second of it chewing on your bottom lip, your nerves stretched thin. Finally, a message arrived.

It was an attachment. A screenshot, at that.

You tapped on it, your heart in your throat. The image loaded slowly, and then you found yourself staring at a conversation between Jobe and Denise. It felt so surreal and personal that this whole moment was even happening. You were casually about to read a conversation between Jobe and his mum as you texted. No big deal. Just something casual, right? Two days ago, you wouldn't even believe yourself if you'd heard this had happened to you.

Reading the messages, you saw Denise had sent him the picture of you and Jobe. Right below it, she'd written:

"I had a feeling this was going to happen with this picture "

Below that, Jobe had replied:

"yeah I saw it""but I don't think it's a big deal""as long as people aren't saying bad things about it, it's fine"

Then Denise's final message:

"She seems nice from what I remembered. But you know how I feel about these things being attached to your name in the media.""Just be careful, Jobe."

You came out of the screenshot. Your smile faltered slightly after reading that last line.

"Just be careful, Jobe."

You had a moment of silence with yourself but not for a bad reason. It was more like reality crashing down on you. It was only right that Denise was very protective. Of course she was cautious. Jobe wasn't just some random footballer; he was her son. And with fame came vultures. People who wanted his money. Girls who wanted to be attached to his name. Girls who wanted to use him for clout.

You could see it clearly now. The wall he probably had built around himself. The constant questioning of people's true intentions towards him. The wariness that came with being in the public eye. You weren't offended. If anything, you respected it. Denise was looking out for her boy, and that was exactly what a good mother should do.You typed out your response carefully, trying to acknowledge what you'd seen without making it weird:

"I saw what your mom said at the end there 😅 She's just looking out for you though. That's really sweet."

His reply came faster than you expected:

"yeah she's proper strict about that kinda stuff tbh"

You could almost hear the hesitation in his typed words. Like he was testing you. Seeing how you'd react.

"I get it honestly, you know. You can't be too careful with all the attention you get. It must be exhausting having to second-guess everyone's intentions."

You sent it before you could overthink it because you knew you'd spend ten minutes pacing around your room before you'd reply otherwise. Your response was honest and genuine. It was exactly how you felt.

The three dots appeared. Then:

"you get it?" he replied.

"Yeah... well, I mean I'm not famous or anything lol, but I get that people probably approach you for all the wrong reasons at times. So it must make it hard to trust anyone new."

A long pause. Then he finally responded:

"it does actually"

It was very few words, but you could feel the weight behind it. How many times had he been let down? How many times had someone pretended to care just to get close to his lifestyle?

You responded:

"Well, for what it's worth... I just think you're a cool person. The footballer thing is a bonus 😌"

You sent it, then immediately felt your cheeks heating up. The conversation was flowing so effortlessly that it almost slipped your mind that it was Jobe you were talking to.

"proper buzzing now innit" he replied, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.

You laughed out loud. Buzzing? He said buzzing. Gosh, you loved the way he typed.

"So you're out here just normally sharing screenshots of your mum's messages with strangers?"you teased, just wanting to be playful.

"Nah, just the ones who watch all my games apparently" he replied.

Your heart did a flip. He remembered you saying that on the beach.

"Look who's got a good memory" you teased back.

"I can't forget that day" he said.

And it genuinely felt serious. Like he meant what he said, and he wasn't just trying to be nice.

After spending almost the whole night texting one another, the conversation eventually came to an end naturally. He hearted your last message, saying nothing else after, and you immediately knew it was best to end here.

Tonight was already enough. Already special.

Getting to talk to him like a friend felt amazing. It felt great going to sleep knowing that you'd made him laugh a couple of times. That you'd been genuine. That you hadn't messed it up.

You placed your phone on your nightstand, a soft smile lingering on your face as you drifted off.

Back at Jobe's place, he was in his kitchen alone this whole time texting you. He'd originally come downstairs to grab a snack and had somehow ended up spending a whole two hours leaning against the kitchen counter, entertained through every moment, not wanting it to end.

"Been a while since I've had such a fun conversation like this," he thought to himself. "Much less meeting someone new that felt so genuine."

He'd had to cut the conversation short with you because he knew he'd spend the whole night texting you, and he couldn't afford to mess up his perfect routine—the one he'd gotten so used to.

He sat for a moment in silence, eating at the kitchen table. Soaking in everything about his current life.

Mum's back with Jude away in Spain. Dad's gone for yet another "business-related trip." And I'm just here in Germany. All alone. As usual.

Jobe thought about it more. The only time he really met new people was at work. On the field. He didn't party, spend his money badly, or hang out every weekend with random girls. He was just either home or on the field.

It felt kinda isolated now that he thought about it.

He thought back on your words again: "Must be exhausting having to second-guess everyone's intentions."

He laughed at himself in pity.

"Huh. If that wasn't the case, maybe I wouldn't be all alone right about now."

"I'd probably be out, innit."

"Enjoying my youth."

The atmosphere shifted. This wasn't the first time Jobe had a moment like this with himself while all of his family was away. It tended to hit him harder. But he always woke up the next day trying to be the best version of himself. "I'm not even hungry anymore," Jobe said aloud to the empty kitchen, getting up from the kitchen chair to head to bed.

Ending the night quietly, but with a lot of thoughts on his mind.

It had been a while since you'd last talked to Jobe. The conversation you'd shared that night was potentially the first and last. Sure, you wanted more from this. You'd thought it was going to lead to something more. But you had to remember after all, you were still just a stranger to him. And he kinda was to you too. Even though you knew a lot about him, it was just what the media shared. Not personally him.

Not really.

But something kept you curious.

He never seemed to stop viewing your stories. Ever since you'd both texted each other, he always watched whatever you would post. He didn't follow you back,obviously, to not cause any more controversy or dating rumours, especially since that picture had stirred up enough already. But he was always stalking. Always the first name to pop up in your views.

Every. Single. Time.

You'd test it sometimes. Post something random at odd hours like a picture of your breakfast, a mirror selfie, a snippet of a song you were listening to. And without fail, within minutes, his name would appear in the views.

Jobe Bellingham viewed your story.

He didn't even try to hide it anymore.

There was no reason for him to do such a thing. Yet he always did. You weren't sure if it was supposed to be a signal of some sort. A way of saying "I'm still thinking about you." Or maybe it meant nothing at all. Maybe he just scrolled through his feed mindlessly like everyone else, and your stories happened to pop up. But every time you saw his name, your heart would do that stupid little flip. And you'd spend the next ten minutes overanalysing what it could possibly mean. Whatever it was, it was confusing.

And what was even more nerve-wracking? The game.

The match was coming up in just a week from now.

You'd started worrying about everything. Getting your hair done. Finding the perfect outfit. Getting a jersey with Jobe's name and player number on it, literally anything to go all out. After all, it was your first football match in person. And your second time getting to see Jobe again. And to be honest? You kinda cared about that more than the match itself.

You'd spent the last few days obsessing over the smallest details. What if he saw you in the crowd? What if he waved? What if he didn't even notice you were there? What if you embarrassed yourself somehow?

Your cousins had been no help at all.

"You're going to look so cute, he won't be able to keep his eyes off you," Mia had said, practically shaking with excitement.

"Just don't trip walking up the stairs to your seat, and you'll be fine," Leah had added with a wicked grin.

"Very helpful, thank you... Leah," you'd replied dryly, shooting her a look.

But the truth was, you were terrified. And excited. And nervous. And hopeful. All at once.

You'd even bought the jersey online, specifically with his name and number on the back. When it arrived, you'd held it up, staring at the letters printed across the fabric.

JOBE. 7.

It felt so real now You were really going to see him again.

Back in Germany, Jobe was trying his hardest not to think about you.

Emphasis on trying.

He'd found himself checking your story more times than he'd like to admit. It had become a habit at this point,one he wasn't sure how to break. Or if he even wanted to break it. You posted something? He watched it. You posted nothing? He checked anyway, just in case. It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. He was a professional footballer with a rigorous training schedule, and here he was, refreshing your profile like a yearning boy.

But he couldn't help it.

There was something about you that he couldn't quite forget. The way you'd spoken to him on the beach. The way you'd said you watched all his games like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way you'd understood—like genuinely understood—why he was so cautious with people. he'd even thought you were going to post your conversation with him everywhere. That's what most people would've done, right? Screenshot the messages, post them online, brag about getting his attention. But you hadn't pushed. You hadn't asked for anything. You'd done nothing after.

And he hadn't stopped thinking about you since. You treated him like a normal person.

While Jobe was hanging out with his friends playing FIFA at home, his phone was beside him on the sofa. It buzzed, and he glanced at it instinctively. A notification. You'd just added a story to your account.

He stared at the screen for a moment, not wanting to put down the controller so suddenly in the middle of the game.

Don't watch it. Don't be weird. Give it a rest.

But not too long after, he placed the controller aside, picked his phone up, turned the brightness down, and watched it.

It was a picture of you holding up a jersey. His jersey. With his name and number on the back. Your face was partially hidden behind the fabric, but he could see your smile just from your eyes. That bright, pretty smile that had been burned into his memory since the

day at the beach. His heart did something strange. A feeling he almost rarely got. You were coming to his game. And it finally clicked to him again. You were going to be in the crowd. Wearing his name. He quickly exited the app, locking his phone and side-eyeing his surroundings immediately. His ears were red. And of course, Carney caught it once again.

"You aite?" Carney asked, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"Fine," Jobe said quickly. "Just fine."

Carney didn't look convinced this time. "You did that same thing before, man."

"What thing?" Jobe scoffed, but the heat in his ears only intensified.

"Is there something you're not telling me, mate?" Carney said, grinning now. "You've been on your phone so much recently. It's weird... like you barely use that thing."

Jobe's body language shifted to an awkward, tense position. He tried laughing it off. "You taking a piss? Bro, I always use my phone. What you mean?"

Carney just looked at him for a while and shook his head with a little sigh. "Hiding things from me now?"

Jobe sucked his teeth before picking up his controller. "I swear, I swear I'm really not."

He then added once again, trying to redirect the conversation. "The game's been passed for too long now."

A while after, Jobe went upstairs to use the bathroom.

He washed his face and stared at himself in the mirror for a while, running his hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"What is wrong with me?"

He'd met hundreds of people outside his close friends and family. Thousands, probably. Fans, teammates, acquaintances. But yet, none of them had made him feel this way. None of them made him overthink this much. Why were you making him feel nervous all of a sudden, knowing that you were coming to his game? Wearing his name on your back as well. And why was a part of him so excited to finally see you again

The day before the match, you took your flight, leaving your hometown to fly to Germany to meet with your aunt. You'd be staying at her place for one week before heading back home after the match to spend time with her as well. Her house was twenty minutes away from where the game would be played and about a good ten minutes from Borussia Dortmund's training ground. Everything was pretty convenient.

Arriving at your Aunt Ida's place at the late hours of the night from the airport, you settled in quickly and caught up with her, reminiscing about all the old memories you'd shared with each other. She’s Mia's mother, but Mia had moved out last year to attend one of her dream colleges away from home. Since then, Aunt Ida had been in this house here alone. After chatting, she showed you to Mia's old room—the one you'd be staying in for the next week.

"I haven't came in here since Mia left," Aunt Ida admitted when you both walked in with your suitcases.

"I can tell. It feels untouched," you said softly, looking around at the room frozen in time.

Aunt Ida watched around for a moment, like she was reliving all her moments in here with Mia. You could tell she missed Mia's company around a lot. That's probably why she'd rarely ever been at home, to avoid herself from thinking about her.

"Well... here it is!" she said, her voice brightening again. "I hope you make yourself comfy. I'll be upstairs if you need anything."

"Thanks, Aunty," you said, giving her a warm hug.

After she departed, you finished unpacking, showered, and put on your comfy sleeping clothes. Standing in front of Mia's full-body length mirror, you snapped a picture to share on your social media. You added a simple caption—just a little heart—and tagged the location.

You weren't really thinking much of it. Just wanted to document your arrival.

But after that picture with Jobe, you'd gained a lot of followers that were fans of his. Some followed because of how pretty you were. And some followed because they were convinced you were his secret girlfriend. What you didn't realise was that you were just so happened to be close to the alleged residential area Jobe was speculated to have an apartment at. Everything was starting to feel like it was written in the stars at this point. You didn't even know you were adding more fuel to the dating theories between you both. Much less known about him living so close.

That night, alone in his apartment, Jobe like always, once again found himself scrolling through your profile. He'd basically memorised it by now. He memorized that outfit you wore at that one family gathering you had. He knew your favourite aesthetic. He had a solid idea of what your humour was now. And he still didn't know you. Not really.

But he wanted to.

He viewed your story. First, admiring the picture of you—your figure, your smile, the way you looked so comfortable and at ease. You were so effortlessly pretty, and it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to. And then he saw the location tag in the corner.

His eyes widened. His stomach dropped.

She's literally five minutes away from me right now.

It hit him again, but harder this time. He was seeing you tomorrow.

His nerves got the best of him. He opened the chat. The last message was from that night—the one he'd hearted, the one he'd left on read because he knew if he kept talking, he would never stop. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

"Maybe I should just..."

"No. Don't be a prat."

He closed the app, tossing his phone onto the bed.

He smiled despite himself. A soft, genuine smile that he couldn't quite hide.

"It’s getting serious now," he whispered to the empty room.

"I gotta give it my all tomorrow."

It was match day.

And you felt constant butterflies in your stomach as you thought about seeing Jobe in person again. You stood in front of the mirror, the jersey perfectly fitted, your hair exactly how you wanted it, and your nerves absolutely through the roof. You looked good. You knew you looked good.

You took a deep breath, grabbing your bag as you headed out the door, your aunt being the driver. The car ride was a blur of nervous chatter and Aunty Ida's reassuring smiles. She'd been to plenty of matches before—she knew the drill. "You'll have a wonderful time, schatz," she said in her soft German-accented English. "Just enjoy the moment."

Easier said than done, you thought, your leg bouncing with nervous energy.

Arriving at the stadium, you found your assigned seat and walked through the crowd. The stadium was electric and loud today for the match against Borussia Dortmund and FC Bayern. You saw the banners and the big gathering of fans in red and yellow in front of your eyes and not over a screen this time. Everything felt so surreal. You couldn't believe you were actually here, witnessing your first match.

Your seat was about four rows behind the front row seats. Not too bad—the view was still pretty nice. But oh, how you wished you were in the front so maybe, just maybe, he would look in your section and see you cheering him on. You weren't sure how he was going to see you, but you hoped maybe he would.

It was still special to see him play, at least.

You recorded moments on your phone to send to your friends and family back home before the match started. The atmosphere was building, the chants growing louder, the anticipation palpable in the air. Finally, the stadium commentator announced that the match was about to start.

"Get ready for your players!"

They all came out one by one, holding the hands of the children alongside them. Your eyes scanned the line, searching for that familiar face. And then—

There he was.

Jobe walked out with a young boy holding his hand, his expression focused but soft. He looked so different from the guy you'd met on the beach. Here, he was in his element. Professional. Commanding. handsome.

The camera panned to each player, and you tried to hide your smile as you watched Jobe on the big screen.

"Ugh, I missed that face," you admitted under your breath, trying not to let the couple beside you hear your words.

And then, kick off.

The match started, and the crowd which was already cheering prior to that—got louder now. Your eyes were all over the pitch, tracking the ball. You shouted along with others:

"How is that not a foul?" you yelled, pulling onto the shirts of random strangers beside you who did the same. "Did you see that? He's trying to get a free kick!"

"Yess, that little—"

The atmosphere was like no other. You could get used to this, you thought to yourself as you watched along, completely immersed in the action. There was a moment when the camera that showed fans on the big screen panned to you. It stayed for a while. Your visuals were pretty and distracting, the jersey, your hair, the way your eyes were fixed on the pitch with such intensity.

You were too busy looking at the players on the field—that being Jobe—that you missed it entirely.

A guy beside you tapped your shoulder right as the camera went off you. "YOU'RE ON THE SCREEN!" he shouted over the noise. You leaned into him, frowning. "Huh?". "You missed it already! But I said the camera was on you!" he shouted down your ear once more.

"Oh? What the heck, really?" It caught you by complete surprise.

Your cheeks flushed as you realised thousands of people had just seen your face on that massive screen. You glanced around self-consciously, but the crowd was already moving on, their attention back on the pitch. While being on the pitch, waiting for the ball to come his way, Jobe looked up momentarily. And he caught it.

Your face. Just as it left the screen.

His adrenaline grew even more. Just by seeing your pretty face for a second made him look down on the grass, swishing it with his shoes all of a sudden. No way he got nervous from just that.

He saw where the cameraman had panned to, so now he had an idea of the section you were at. Even if he didn't see your face himself anymore, he knew you were there. Watching him. The ball got passed to him, and he was back in focus mode.

Running to the penalty area, about to take the ball from his opponent, Jobe got smacked by a foot, causing him to fall. The referee blew his whistle immediately.

The crowd went wild. If they potentially got this penalty, the score would be 2-1 and they could potentially win. The referee viewed the VAR and came back onto the field. "After review, number 12 tripped number 7. The final decision is a penalty."

The Borussia Dortmund fans cheered in excitement including you.

And to your surprise, Jobe was taking the penalty. At that time, a photographer was passing around, taking shots of fans in the crowd. Once again, you weren't really paying him much mind since it looked like he was just passing by. You held your hands together against your face, creating a praying sign with watery eyes as you looked on.like that one Bella Hadid picture.

"Please make this shot. Please make it," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. It caught the photographer's attention. It looked so captivating, so cinematic to him. He stood up, angling his lens to focus on you solely.

Click.

He took the shot and passed along, saying under his breath: "Beautiful." Jobe took a deep breath and prepared himself to strike, analysing the goalkeeper's movements, hoping his prediction would be right.

"One... two... three," he mentally counted.

And struck.

The stadium went dead silent for a moment. All watching, some hoping for it to go in. Some hoped for it to not.

He scored. He actually did it.

You screamed and cheered, hugging those close by you. The energy was infectious, the joy overwhelming. Your eyes were watery for a completely different reason now. Jobe ran off from the area where he'd scored his goal and towards the section he'd seen the camera man pan to earlier—where your face had appeared on the big screen.

He did a heart shape sign with his fingers as he watched the fans. Your view was being blocked by the people in front of you. You were sure he probably didn't see you. That heart was probably for those girls in the front. You frowned at the thought. "This was the perfect moment for him to see me, and he didn't," you muttered. "Why did I have to be so far behind?" Jobe went back to the field, celebrating with his teammates before going back to play again.

Then, soon after, before you knew it, the final whistle blew. The match was up. Borussia Dortmund vs FC Bayern: 2-1. The stadium slowly started to empty while the players and players soon left. Some stars were doing interviews, others were in the locker room packing things up and celebrating. You lingered around, walking slower than usual as you left the stadium, hoping that you would somehow see him somewhere. Probably interacting with fans. But nothing. Not a single sight of him anywhere. Your heart sank a little. Maybe this was it. Maybe that was all it was ever going to be. As you were about to make a call for your aunt to come get you, your phone buzzed.

A message came in.

And finally, after all this time, it was him:

"Are you still here?"

You'd never answered a message so quickly in your life.

"Yes I am, I was just planning to leave."

He responded back even faster:

"you got 5 minutes to spare, yeah?"

You smiled at the message like it was a dream come through. At last, you were finally getting to see him up close before you headed home.

"Where the interviews are taking place, can you walk there? And keep going straight down the corridor. I'm outside standing."

Your heart beating fast in your chest as you read his next message:

"I've got something for ya ;)"

You frowned your face in suspicion. Part of you was excited right now, and part of you was curious.

"I'm walking right now," you typed, moving on over to the area he'd directed you towards.

You walked slowly, passing players doing interviews that also watched you with wandering eyes as you made your way through the corridor. Some security even watched you with suspicion but didn't approach you or say anything. You clearly looked like you weren't supposed to be there, yet they let you pass by. You weren't sure why, though. As you kept walking, you saw him.

That familiar build. That height. That face.

He was standing near a door, wearing a black long-sleeved compressed shirt, shorts, slides, and his jersey,the one he'd played with today,in his hand. His hair was slightly damp from the match, a few curls falling across his forehead.

He looked beyond handsome.

You tried your best to hold back your smile.

And he wasn't afraid of hiding his, in that moment. It was bright and charming, reaching his eyes in a way that made your stomach flip completely.

"Y/N!!" he dragged in an excited tone. Your name sounded quite familiar to his tongue. "Jobeee," you did in return, your voice coming out softer than you'd intended. And for a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, looking at each other, both smiling like idiots. The tension was thick. Electric. Perfect. He handed you his shirt before he could even say anything.

"Since it's your first match, I wanted to make it special."

You took it, your hands shaking a little as you held it up, watching it from side to side. And then you noticed his signature on it as well—scrawled across the fabric in permanent marker. "I hate to be cheesy, but..." you admitted, looking up at him. "I don't think I'll ever forget this moment." Your genuine smile made him smile even more. His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you'd memorised from the beach.

"Glad you liked it."

It was pure silence for a moment, mostly of him admiring you admiring his shirt. You finally broke it.

"How'd you feel scoring that goal out there?" Your tone was soft as you asked.

He chuckled first before he answered. "Don't even get me started, mate. I think that might've been my favourite goal this season. It's a miracle how that went in, honestly—"

He started going on and on, just like that moment at the beach. You watched his whole outburst in amazement, even laughing at some moments. And just like that, the 'just a fan and celebrity' status started to drift away between you both. You had him laughing, and he had you laughing. You both leaned against the wall, talking about everything that took place on the field today. He even admitted:

"You know I did my little victory dance by your section because I saw that you were there. Well... not saw you exactly, but the camera man that put you on the big screen—I watched the section he did it at."

You pushed his shoulder with a little teasing smile. "Bro, some guy told me about that big screen thing. I can't believe I missed that!" You sighed dramatically. "I was too busy worrying about you, mate."

He laughed. "Me? What did I do?"

This. A moment like this was something Jobe had always been longing for. And him finally experiencing it had his emotions all over the place.

"I don't want this moment to come to an end," he thought, his smile soft as he looked down at you ranting away. "When will I see her again?" "How long will I have to wait for something like this again?" Thoughts flooded through his mind as he watched you, completely captivated. Your phone rang off.

"Oop, sorry—um my aunt's calling," you said, stepping aside to take it.

He listened silently as you spoke back to her.

"Mhmm, yep, okay... yeah, I'll be out there... yes, I swear I'm on my way."

He knew you were about to leave. And he didn't want to admit it, neither to you nor to himself that he didn't want you to go. You pushed your phone back into your pocket slowly.

"Well..." you said, your tone nervous and sad all at once. "I've got to go now."

He knew it.

"What a bummer," he said, stretching his arms out to pull you in for a hug. You went in for it before your brain could even analyse what was happening fully."Yeah….I know," you sighed, sinking into his buff arms. His biceps covered half your face. Mid-way into the hug, it clicked to you. Your eyes widened, and you naturally gripped onto him tighter.

"Holy crap, I'm hugging him," your brain malfunctioned at that moment.

But you didn't let go. Neither did he. And it was like he didn't want to. Your body heat against his was warm. You felt so soft around him he thought. It was only silence for a moment between you both just savouring the last few seconds. Your phone dinged off, ruining the moment.

"That's probably my aunt again," you said, your mouth slightly muffled by his arms covering you. He laughed before hesitantly pulling away. "Let's not get you in any more trouble now." You let go, holding his shirt close as you waved him goodbye before walking off.He watched you all the way until you weren't in sight anymore.

On your way back home, you ranted to your aunt about everything that happened today and the game...well almost everything. You made sure not to mention going to meet him. She was fully convinced you got the shirt from him by throwing it into the crowd. It would've been harder to explain how you got it the real way anyway—since you didn't want anyone to know he'd texted you.You got back home in Mia's room, telling your cousins about the game today and sending them the pictures and videos you took.

It was getting late.

And Jobe was getting frustrated.

He was so eager to see you again that he thought of the most dumbest idea he could possibly think of. One where if his parents only found out about even the thought of this—it would be 100% be over for him. He needed to not get caught at all if this plan was to unfold.

That plan was bringing you over to his place.

No secret cameras. No people around. Just you two.

It was dumb, and he knew it. Not dumb because of you, but because he barely knew you truly and it was such a risky move to make. This was one thing his parents, his mother especially, would be against. But his feelings—he wasn't even sure what to call this feeling whatever it was, it was getting the best of him. All he knew was that he wanted to see you again. Even for just five minutes.

In the middle of an ongoing call with your cousins as you brushed your teeth, a message came in.

It was Jobe. In the middle of you explaining how the penalty goal went down, you went dead silent.

"Y/N?"

"The call is breaking up, girl."

"I didn't hear the last part," said Leah. Mia agreed: "Yeah, it went silent."

You stared at the screen.

"Y/N, are you awake?"

You didn't know what to say at that moment because you wanted to scream in excitement and tell them Jobe had just asked if you were awake. But they didn't even know you guys had continued to talk after the picture with him to begin with, and you usually told each other everything.

"Guys..." you started. "I'll have to call you back. Uh... mum's trying to get onto me. Hold on."

You hung up before they could respond. You were fully convinced Jobe was about to ask to call you, so you did up your hair quickly and put on cuter sleeping wear than usual. Sitting on the chair at Mia's study table near her lamp, you responded:

"Hey, yeah I am. What's up?"

"Can I ask you something stupid?"

You laughed at yourself. "Ha, I was right—he is about to call me."

"Can you leave your house?"

The air went thin. Your face felt hollow.

"What?" you responded back, extremely confused.

He turned disappearing messages on, saying:

"I want to see you. But you've got to promise you won't try to record or take pictures of anything. You can't... like seriously."

"I'll come get you."

"I believe you're staying 5 minutes away from where I stay."

"All I need to know is if you can leave your house this late?"

He said one after the other.

You read everything with fear and excitement building up in your system. It was 10:45pm. Aunt Ida was in bed, but you needed to leave the house quietly and most definitely be back before sunrise heck, before 12 if you were being honest. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The minute you got back home, this wasn't going to happen again. And his next game wouldn't be in Germany.

"Do it.""No, don't do it."

Your mind was spiralling.

You sent him your location not giving it a second thought.

"Tell me when you're close, and please be quiet when you're pulling up."

He hearted your message immediately. You could tell he was just as nervous as you were, waiting for the final message:

"I'm coming."

"And here I thought him giving me his shirt today couldn't be topped," you whispered to yourself, scrambling around your room. "What did I do in my past to be this lucky?" "What do you mean I'm now about to HANGOUT with JOBE?" You scrambled around your room, looking for the perfect outfit. Tonight had to be a special one. You threw open Mia's wardrobe, pulling out options. Too fancy? Too casual? What do you even wear when a footballer is picking you up in the middle of the night?

Finally you found the perfect outfit after rambling through anything you could wear. You checked your reflection in the mirror, heart pounding.

Your phone buzzed.

"I'm outside."

Your stomach dropped. Your hands trembled as you grabbed the house keys, your phone, and your jacket. You tiptoed through the dark house, every creak of the floorboards making you freeze. The front door clicked open, and you slipped out into the cool night air.

And there he was.

Jobe was leaning against a sleek black luxurious car, his hands in his pockets, a nervous but excited smile on his face. He'd changed into something more casual, a full all black hoodie and sweats combo with his hood over his head yet he still looked like he'd just stepped off a magazine cover.

"You actually came outside," he said, his voice soft with disbelief.

"You actually asked to see me," you replied, equally in disbelief.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid in, the leather seat cool against your skin. He got in on the driver's side, turning to look at you with those dark eyes that made your heart flutter.

"So..." he started, his accent thick with nerves. "What do you wanna do?"

You laughed, the tension breaking. "You're the one who asked me to come out here. You tell me." He grinned, that charming, boyish grin that gave you instant butterflies. "Alright then. Let's just... drive for a bit? Talk?"

"Perfect," you said softly.

And as the car pulled away from the curb, you couldn't help but think that this right here, right now was the beginning of something you never saw coming.

What have I gotten myself into?

But for the first time, you didn't care. You were just excited to find out

Taglist☘︎ ݁˖- @chaestwbryz @bellinghambabe @minaflowerss @graygracee @chelseaxjay @fluffybnuny @googieluv @luckycharmzzz @4ngelest @kurumitt @viberator111 @blingblingseal @ikeuusstuff @bellinghammmily @corydorrys @bellinghamslutt @smzyyx @rubleoy @crazy4lyricb

Author note.☘︎ ݁˖- thank you so much for the overwhelming support and love i’ve received for my first ever fanfic on here it still feels surreal to me, I hope you enjoyed this one just as much as the first and I’m planning on making this story a series🤍

hunnibunny303

JOBE BELLINGHAM- DIGI CAM ⋆˙⟡

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Genre .☘︎ ݁˖- Fluff/ family fluff, and a bit of rom com vibes, Fem!reader

Warnings .☘︎ ݁˖- none

Wc.☘︎ ݁˖- 4.8k

You gave your reflection one final, critical in the full-length mirror. The soft, flowy skirt you’d thrown over your bikini swished around your thighs, and the top caught the light in just the right way. It was perfect. You grabbed your trusty digital camera, the one that had documented every family holiday for the past five years and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“Y/N! We’re leaving without you!” your cousin’s muffled voice echoed from the hallway outside your hotel room.

“Coming!” you yelled back, but by the time you’d slipped on your sandals and opened the door, you heard the distant ding of the elevator doors closing. Classic. You were always the last one ready.

You sighed, a small smile on your lips. It was fine. You’d been to this resort twice before with your family; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. The walk to the fire-pit near the beach was only two minutes, a path lit by tiki torches and the fading glow of the setting sun.

As you stepped out of the elevator and into the open-air lobby, you felt eyes on you immediately. A few resort staff members and guests glanced your way, and one of the female staff, holding a tray of welcome cocktails, gave you a warm smile. “You look very lovely this evening, miss!” she said as you passed.

“Thank you,” you replied, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

The moment you stepped onto the sandy path leading to the beach, you noticed it: a commotion. A large crowd of people had gathered near the resort’s beachfront bar, phones held high, a chorus of excited shouts and camera clicks filling the calm evening air. You couldn’t quite make out the who or what was causing the storm

And then, a figure detached himself from the chaos.

He was tall, with a familiar build and a head of dark curls that you’d recognise anywhere. He backed away from the crowd, his mother,Denise, laughing softly at his side as he watched the scene unfold. It was a scene you’d only ever seen on social media: Jude Bellingham, engulfed by fans, and his girlfriend caught in the whirlwind. But your eyes weren’t on Jude.

They were fixed on his younger brother.

Jobe.

Your stomach dropped, a strange mix of nerves and excitement flooding your system. Your feet felt like they were glued to the sand. “Should I ask for a picture? “a frantic voice screamed in your head. “Or should I just walk past him like I haven’t just memorised every goal he’s scored this season?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This wasn't a scenario you'd ever rehearsed. You were on a family holiday, in a flowy skirt and a bikini top, clutching a digital camera like a tourist. And he was Jobe Bellingham, looking effortlessly cool in a simple t-shirt and shorts, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched his brother’s fame unfold from a safe distance.

It was now or never.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You walked towards him, your steps feeling both too loud and too quiet on the soft sand. He turned his head, his gaze shifting from the crowd to you. He looked at you, his expression momentarily stunned, as if he wasn’t used to people approaching him first.

Say something, you idiot!

“Um, hey, Jobe?” you managed, your voice a little higher than you’d intended. You forced a pleasant smile, hoping it looked more confident than you felt. “Is it okay if I ask for a picture?”

For a split second, he didn't say a word. He just blinked, his dark eyes scanning your face with an unreadable intensity. Then, a small, surprised smile tugged at his lips. He glanced at his mom, Denise, who was watching the interaction with a curious, knowing glint in her eyes. He looked back at you, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.

“Uh… yeah, sure, sure, of course,” he said, his voice laced with that soft, melodic Brummie accent that made your insides flutter. It was deeper in person, more real.

You were half-expecting a polite ‘no’ or a ‘sorry, I’m busy’. The fact that he’d agreed so readily, so genuinely, made a wave of pure joy crash over you. “Oh!? Oh my god, yes!” you squeaked, your tense expression dissolving into a wide, beaming smile.

You fumbled with your phone, unlocking it and opening the camera app. You angled it up, trying to find a good shot, but you could see in the viewfinder that the lighting was off, and the angle was awkward. You were just about to settle for it when Jobe noticed your struggle.

“Here, lemme take it for you,” he offered, holding out his large, tanned hand. You placed your phone in his palm, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second. A jolt of electricity shot up your arm, and you were certain he felt it too.

He stretched his arm up high, and you shuffled to stand beside him, very aware of the significant height difference. You looked up at the camera, feeling like a total dwarf next to him. Denise watched with a soft, maternal smile, her gaze flickering between you both.

Just as Jobe was about to lower the phone, you caught a glimpse of the sky behind him. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of orange, pink, and purple. It was a perfect, impossibly romantic backdrop.

“NO, JOBE, WAIT!” you burst out, your hand instinctively flying to his shoulder to stop him. Your fingers gripped the soft fabric of his t-shirt, your excitement getting the better of you. You were talking to him like he was an old friend, the celebrity status completely forgotten in the face of the stunning sunset. “I need one on my digi camera! This sunset is amazing! I need this.” You gestured wildly with your other hand towards the sky, your eyes wide and pleading. He looked down at you, your hand still resting on his shoulder, your face lit up with the golden hues of the sun, and let out a low, amused chuckle. His expression softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t look away from you, not even for a second. He was captivated.

“Oh, yeah, that would be sick, mate,” he said, his accent thickening slightly. “Let’s do it.”

He turned to his mother. “Mom, can you take these for us?” He asked, holding out your digital camera.

Denise walked over, a knowing smile on her lips. She took the camera from you, her fingers brushing yours. She looked between you and her son, a silent understanding passing between them.

You and Jobe stood side-by-side, facing Denise. You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even realise what was happening. His arm naturally found its way around your waist, his large hand resting on the curve of your hip. You instinctively leaned into him, your head falling gently against his shoulder, your hand coming to rest on his solid waist. You felt the warmth of his hand through your thin skirt, his fingers caressing the fabric gently, almost absentmindedly. It felt so natural, so right.

Denise raised the camera. “1… 2… 3…”

The flash went off, and you both blinked rapidly, the bright light leaving spots in your vision. You pulled away slightly, still rubbing your eyes, and walked over to Denise.

“Thank you so much, Momma Bellingham!” you exclaimed, grinning as you reached for your camera.

Denise chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. “I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, amused by the unexpected nickname.

You and Jobe continued to chat for a few minutes as Jude started to wrap things up with the last few fans. He seemed in no rush to leave your company.

“So… um, I hope you’re doing better after that injury you got last game,” you said, looking up at him.

He tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. “Ay, how’d you know about that?” he asked, his tone genuinely intrigued.

“I watch all of your games, silly,” you said, a soft smile on your lips. Great, now I sound like a stalker (you thought to yourself after your remark).

His expression melted. The playful curiosity was replaced by something deeper, something softer. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. “Is that so, huh?” he breathed, his voice low. “Well… I really appreciate that, mate. I don’t think you truly know how much that means.”

You knew your face was flaming now, but you didn’t care. The sincerity in his voice hit

you right in the chest. “I even got tickets for the next upcoming game next month,” you quickly added. “It’ll be my first match I’ll watch in person. Hopefully, you’ll be playing.”

“C’mon, you know I’ll be there!” he said, grinning. He started to tell you about the new training drills he’d been working on, and his excitement was palpable. But you were lost. You couldn't concentrate on a single word he was saying.

He was even more handsome in person., the straight, white flash of his smile, the sheer breadth of his shoulders… he was even taller than you’d expected. Your gaze traced the line of his jaw, the small mole near his eyebrow, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about football.

You were so obviously checking him out that you didn’t even realise you’d started looking down, a shy smile playing on your lips, trying to avoid his gaze. The air between you both crackled with unspoken electricity.

Denise watched everything, her eyes sharp and analytical. She’d seen that look before, in her husband’s eyes, in Jude’s eyes. She saw the way her son’s hand had lingered on your waist, the way his voice had softened, the way he was hanging on your every word. She knew. And the knowing smile that touched her lips was undeniable.

A few moments later, Jude and Ashlyn finally made their way over. The reality of the situation crashed back down around you.

“I better get going now,” you said, a little abruptly, cutting off Jobe mid-sentence. You hadn’t even heard his last question.

You turned to leave, but Jobe’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. His touch was warm, sending another shockwave through your system. Your heart hammered as you turned back, your eyes wide.

“Hey, wait,” he said, a soft, almost hopeful smile on his lips. “You didn’t give me your name?”

It was once again another shocker. You blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up with reality. You hadn't even registered he'd asked such a question during his rant about training drills and upcoming fixtures.

"Oh, sorry," you said, letting out a breathy laugh. "I didn't even know you asked that, Jobe."

You gave him your name, your voice barely above a whisper. Part of you wondered why the hell he would even need to know it. You were just another fan, another face in the crowd. Tomorrow, he'd probably have a hundred more people asking for pictures, and your name would slip from his memory like water through fingers. You'd probably never see each other in such a moment again. Before parting ways, you couldn't help yourself. A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you looked him up and down, taking in his tall frame one last time.

"Not like you'll remember my name by next month anyway," you teased, your tone light and airy. Jobe's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock offense crossing his handsome face. "Watch!" he called after you as you started to walk away, his voice carrying that warm Brummie lilt. "I wouldn't... hopefully I will see you at the game, yeah?"

You glanced back over your shoulder, catching his eye one last time. He was still watching you, a small, lingering smile on his face. Denise was beside him, whispering something in his ear that made him duck his head and laugh.

You forced yourself to turn around and keep walking.

Don't look back again. Don't look back again.

You didn't.

The night went back to normal after you both parted ways. The festival music pulsed through the warm beach air, the fire crackled, and your family's laughter filled your ears. But yet, every single interaction you'd had with him kept replaying in your head on an endless loop.

The way his hand had felt on your waist.

The way his eyes had softened when you said you watched his games.

The way he'd said your name back to you, testing it on his tongue like he was committing it to memory.

You found your cousins near the fire-pit, huddled around the warm glow of the flames. They were all laughing, drinks in hand, clearly having the time of their lives without you. "Finally!" your cousin Mia shouted as you approached. "We thought you got lost!"You flopped down onto the log next to them, pulling out your phone. "You're never going to believe what happened to me." "Did you get hit on by the pool boy again?" your cousin Leah teased. "No," you said, a giddy smile spreading across your face. "Worse. Better. I don't even know." You opened your camera roll and shoved your phone in their faces. There it was. The picture Jobe had taken of you both. The one where the obvious height differences showed as you leaned up looking at the camera. The reaction was immediate.

"OH MY GOD!" Mia shrieked, grabbing the phone from your hands. "IS THAT JOBE BELLINGHAM?!"

"Wait, wait, wait—" Leah leaned in closer, her eyes wide. "You met JOBE? Like, the Jobe Bellingham?!"

"And Jude," you added nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "He was there too. But Jobe was the one I talked to."

"Great!" Mia threw her hands up. "The ONE moment I leave you behind, you meet freaking Jobe Bellingham... heck, even Jude!"

"I'm so jealous right now," Leah groaned, dramatically clutching her chest. "This is actually so unfair."

Your oldest cousin, Melanie, had been quiet, studying the picture with an analytical eye. She zoomed in, tilting her head, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"You both would look so cute as a couple," she said finally, her voice dripping with teasing. "Now that I'm looking at the picture properly... I mean, look at the way he's holding you. That's not just a picture, Y/N. That's literally a moment."

Your cheeks immediately flushed. The thought of it, of you and Jobe Bellingham, together—made your stomach do a full somersault. You snatched your phone back, staring at the picture again.

"Ugh, I wish," you said, flopping yourself backward onto the sand, staring up at the starry sky. You felt utterly defeated. "You guys think he's still thinking about everything right now? Like... I can't just be ME, right? I'm just some random girl."

You sat up abruptly, your eyes wide. "I mean, I know he's famous and all," you continued, your voice gaining momentum. "But I swear, it felt like he was a little interested. If only you’d see the way he looked at me? That wasn't just a fan picture. That was—"

"You're a beautiful girl," Melanie interrupted, her voice firm and reassuring. "Even I wouldn't pass up a face like yours."

"Exactly!" Mia chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh, he's probably trying to find your social media as we speak. Like, why else would he want to know your name? If you were just another fan, he would've taken the picture and moved on. But he ASKED. That means something."

"Maybe he's already googling you," Leah added with a mischievous grin. "He's probably scrolling through your Instagram right now, trying to figure out how to slide into your DMs."

All these back-to-back remarks made you laugh. Hard. Your cousins sure knew how to support your delusions. They had you believing that maybe, just maybe, something had actually happened between you and Jobe Bellingham.

But you didn't want to spend the whole night talking about a boy. You were on holiday with your family, surrounded by warmth and love and the sound of the ocean. You decided to forget that whole thing had happened for a moment.

"Alright, enough about Jobe," you announced, standing up and brushing the sand off your skirt. "Who's ready for some more pictures?"

You pulled out your digital camera, the one that had started this whole mess, and spent the rest of the night capturing moments. Your cousins goofing off. The sunset finally disappeared into the dark ocean. The fire crackled. Your aunt attempting to dance and almost tripping over a log.

You laughed until your stomach hurt. You sang along to the festival music. You ate too much s'mores and got sand absolutely everywhere.

But in the back of your mind, one thought lingered.

Jobe Bellingham asked for my name.

It was stupid. It was delusional. It was absolutely, positively nothing.

But still.

He asked.

Coming back to your hotel room, you could hear the muffled sounds of your family getting ready for bed in the adjoining rooms. The festival had worn everyone out, and the distant crash of waves was already sending the resort into a peaceful silence.

You showered quickly, the warm water washing away the salt and sand from the evening. Wrapped in your comfiest pajamas, you pulled your laptop out and sat cross-legged on the plush hotel bed. Your digital camera was still heavy with memories from the night, and you couldn't wait to see how they'd turned out.

You transferred the pictures from your camera to your laptop, then from your laptop to your phone. The familiar process was almost meditative. Once everything was transferred, you opened your camera roll and began going through the moments you'd captured at the fire pit on the beach. You slid through each picture, critiquing every angle and lighting. Your cousin's mid-laugh. The fire crackling. Your aunt's disastrous dance moves. Each one brought a smile to your face.

You slid right once more.

And then you landed on it.

The one Denise had taken of you and Jobe.

Your hands flew to your mouth immediately, muffling the scream that threatened to escape. Your eyes went wide, practically bulging out of your head.

"This is THEE vacation picture," you whispered, your voice trembling with immense excitement.

You stared at the screen, unable to look away. The sunset behind you both was absolutely breathtaking—swirls of orange, pink, and purple bleeding into the darkening sky. But that wasn't what had you frozen.

It was you and Jobe.

You were both smiling, looking so natural and comfortable with each other. Your head was resting against his shoulder, your hand placed casually on his waist. And his arm was wrapped around you, his large hand resting firmly on your hip.

You zoomed in, your breath catching in your throat.

"WHAT THE HECK?" you whispered, your voice pitching higher. "How did I not blow up in the moment when that happened?"

You zoomed in further, examining the way his fingers curved around your waist. His hand was massive—one hand was literally covering most of your waist. Only ONE hand. The warmth you'd felt in that moment came flooding back, and you could practically feel his touch again.

"His hand is literally covering most of my waist," you repeated, your cheeks burning. "We literally look like a couple."

You stared at the picture for what felt like hours, zooming in and out, examining every detail. The soft smile on his lips. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners. The way you looked so safe in his arms.

You couldn't wait to go home and post these pictures after your vacation. You already knew which one would be first.

1 Week Time Skip

It had been two days since you'd come home from vacation. The post-holiday blues had hit hard, but you'd finally unpacked, done your laundry, and settled back into your normal routine. And now, sitting in your childhood bedroom surrounded by the familiar comfort of your things, you felt like this was the best time to post your vacation dump to Instagram.

You opened the app, your thumb hovering over the upload button. You'd carefully curated the perfect slideshow, making sure to put the picture of you and Jobe first. It was the crown jewel of your entire trip—the moment that had replayed in your head a thousand times since that night.

Like last time, you were freshly showered, sitting in bed in the dead of night. The soft glow of your phone screen illuminated your face as you gave your pictures in the slideshow one last look through, seeing if you needed to add or remove anything before posting.

“Should I post it?” a nervous voice whispered in your head.” What if people think it's weird?” “ What if it comes off as obsessive?”

But then you looked at the picture again. By the way Jobe was holding you. At the genuine smiles on both your faces. It wasn't obsessive. It was a beautiful moment captured on camera.

"AND POST," you announced to no one, pressing the button immediately and placing your phone face down on your nightstand to avoid seeing any notifications.

You didn't want to obsess. You didn't want to refresh the page every five seconds waiting for likes.

Slowly, you dozed off to sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the surprise of your life.

Your eyes fluttered open, the morning sun streaming through your curtains. You reached for your phone, still half-asleep, and your thumb pressed the home button.

Your Lock Screen was filled with notifications. They were never-ending—every time you scrolled, more appeared at the bottom. Your heart started pounding as you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram.

Your jaw dropped.

The picture had gone viral overnight. Slightly viral, at least. You'd gained 130k likes—the most you'd ever gotten in your entire life. Your notifications were flooded, your DMs were overflowing, and your comments section was an absolute frenzy.

You scrolled through the comments, your eyes growing wider with each one:

"Are you two a couple?" "Very beautiful couple 😍"

"I'm a new fan of his,is this Jobe's girlfriend?!" "This picture is so Pinterest coded omg" "The way he's holding her... I'm crying" "Wait, is this real???"

And then you saw one from your cousin, mia:

"YOU NEVER SHOWED ME THIS PICTURE OMG SO GORGEOUS YOU BOTH ARE!" "You're famous now :)"

This was all so much to process. You felt a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention brought to your account. You'd posted vacation photos before—you'd never gotten more than a hundred likes. And now, hundreds of thousands of people were looking at you.

Soon after, you saw messages from your family members coming in. You clicked on the one from your older uncle, who was a crazy football fan:

"Scrolling on Facebook and I saw this picture of you and the Bellingham brother. Is this real or AI?"

Then from your cousin chat:

"GIRL, you're currently trending on Twitter with that damn picture. It's literally everywhere."

You placed your phone down, just staring out the window for a while. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning.

"This feels so weird," you said aloud, your voice barely above a whisper. "So this is how it feels to go viral overnight, huh?"

But despite the overwhelm, you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face. You'd been bubbly the whole morning since that moment. Every time you checked your phone, the likes and followers kept climbing on your picture. It was surreal. And as the hours went by, as you did your daily routine, the numbers just kept growing. It was a matter of time until it stumbled upon Jobe's feed.

Across the country, the final whistle for training blew, and Coach called today's session to an end.

Jobe walked over to the locker room, his shirt drenched in sweat, talking to one of his teammates and good friend off the pitch, Carney.

"Finished earlier than expected today, huh?" Carney laughed, tossing his towel over his shoulder.

"Coach probably has a babe to meet at 6pm sharp," Jobe replied with a grin.

Both Jobe and Carney let out obnoxious snorts of laughter, causing the other mates to look their way. They weren't surprised—it was always them making the noise.

The atmosphere simmered down as they reached the locker room, and Jobe sat down on the bench, peeling his shirt off. He pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly at first, just doom-scrolling through his feed.

And then it happened.

Your picture appeared on his feed.

His thumb froze over the screen. His heart gave an unexpected lurch in his chest.

It was the picture. The one his mom had taken of you both at the resort. The one where his hand was resting on your waist. The one where you were both smiling like you'd known each other for years.

He read the caption, then scrolled to the comments. His ears grew redder by the moment as he read what was being said about you both:

"He would look amazing with you" "Are you his girlfriend?" "Beautiful couple 😍" "How does it feel to live my dream?" "Jobe needs to wife her up immediately"

He zoned out mid-way, his mind drifting back to that night on the beach. The way you'd walked up to him so confidently. The way your eyes had lit up when you talked about the sunset. The way you'd said you watched all his games. That kind of support you showed, that's the kind of support he wanted from someone dear to him. Someone who saw him for more than just a Jude Bellingham's little brother. Someone who genuinely cared.

And your eyes. Your smile. The way you'd looked at him like he was just a normal guy.

He wished he could go back to that moment again. He wished he could relive it.

"Jobe?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to find Carney staring at him with a suspicious expression.

"Dude, I'm talking to you," Carney said, tilting his head. "What has you so down in that damn phone, man?"

Jobe turned his phone off quickly, adjusting his voice, trying to sound casual. "What'd you ask,mate?"

Carney gave him a slow, side-eyed look. He knew Jobe was suddenly acting a bit funny, his face visibly super flustered all of a sudden. But he tried not to question it too much.

"...I said if we're still on for the game with the boys later?" Carney repeated slowly.

"Yeah, yeah, course we are," Jobe replied, his voice a little too quick. "Wouldn't miss it, lad."

Carney just nodded, still side-eyeing him, but let it drop.

Later that night, back at home away from the world, Jobe finally settled into his bed. The house was quiet, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic outside.

He pulled his phone back out.

He opened Instagram.

He went back to your account.

Just to watch it once more. Just to reminisce on the moment with you again. He scrolled through the pictures you'd posted. You with your family. You laughing at the fire pit. You looking beautiful in the golden hour light. And then the picture of you both, staring back at him like a reminder of something he couldn't quite let go of.

Finally, his thumb hovered over the like button.

He pressed it.

*Jobe Bellingham liked your post*.

Little did he know, something so small was about to add even more fuel to the raging fire over this picture that was already sending the football world into a frenzy.

Soon after, he went through your previous highlights, looking at pictures of you and the other moments you'd shared on social media. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you seemed so genuine and real.

It was taking everything in him in that moment to not DM you.

To not type out a message and send it into the void.

To not tell you how much that moment had meant to him.

But he held back. For now.

Back on your side, the moment THAT like came in, your phone buzzed with a notification.

"user Jobe Bellingham liked your post."

Your heart stopped.

You stared at the screen, your mouth falling open.

He found your account at last.

This was the night everything changed for your life. And subsequently, Jobe's own too.

author's note .☘︎ ݁˖- first story on Tumblr kinda nervous 😬

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

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ When you enter the Love Island villa as a bombshell, you spark an instant, high-stakes connection with the intense and complicated Rafe Cameron. As you navigate each others web of secrets, messy betrayals, and jealous rivals, you must decide if your undeniable chemistry is a genuine match or just a casualty of the game...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, smut, mentions of past relationships, suggestive content, mentions of addiction, circumstantial cheating/infidelity, general LI drama, arguments, mentions of mental health, drinking, more detailed warnings for each individual chapter

SERIES TAG NAV‧₊˚ #fic analysis☀️ | #sotb | #mailbox:sotb | #the bombshell files

some quick (kinda important) notes

EPISODES

The Deep End (Day 1+2) | tweets

2. Muggy Mornings and Moonlit Pasts (Day 3+4) | tweets

3. Receipts and Recouplings (Day 5+6) | tweets

4. Do For Love (Day 7+8) | tweets

5. Va Va Voom (Day 9+10) | tweets

6. Is There Someone Else? (Day 11+12) | tweets

7. My Moon My Man (Day 12 cont.) | tweets

8. Fire In My Heart (Day 13+14) | tweets

9. Ex's & Oh's (Day 15+16) | tweets

10. We Never Dated (Day 17+18) | tweets

11. Do I Wanna Know? (Day 19+20) | tweets

12. I Need Your Love (Day 21+22) | tweets

13. Misery Business (Day 23) | tweets

14. Your New Home (Day 24) | tweets

15. Here [Instrumental] (Day 25+26) | tweets

16. Bleed (Day 27+28) | tweets

17. Untitled (Day 29+30)

18. Untitled (Day 31+32)

19. Untitled (Day 33)

20. Die On This Hill (Day 34)

21. Letter Home (Day 35)

22. Mirrors (Day 36)

23. Welcome Back, Islanders (The Reunion)

WHERE ARE THEY NOW? >>

EXTRAS

TR's Style Board

The (OG) Girls

The (OG) Guys

AFTERSUN : Ruthie

💣Meet Rima

💣Meet Miles

AFTERSUN : Topper

The Casa Girls

The Casa Guys

AFTERSUN : The Unchosen (Delaney, Winnie, Thomas, Brandon, and Mattheo)

AFTERSUN : Kiara

AFTERSUN : Miles

💣Meet Talia

AFTERSUN : Sofia & John B

AFTERSUN : Kaitlyn & Haja

nemolfc

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 ( 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢 )

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐰

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

𝐢'𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐬

𝐥𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚

𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐧

𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞

𝐛𝐞𝐛𝐞́ 𝐬𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐲𝐨

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝?

𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨?

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐫

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐢́𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

nourchalant

SEE YOU WHEN I DIE, j.bellingham.

— pairing : jude bellingham x f!reader.

— summary : distance and silence settle between you and your boyfriend, and it seems you're the only one affected.

— warnings : angst no resolution, asshole jude, drifting apart, arguing & yelling, vague mention of cheating, pet names.

— word count : 1.5k.

— nour's radio : my first ever post on tumblr im scared af. english isn't my first language so you know the drill (if there are any grammatical errors please point them out lol). enjoy x.

It wasn't always like this at first. He used to dread leaving in the mornings to go to training, blow up your phone with sweet i love you's and pictures of his day whenever he caught whiff of your perfume lingering on his clothes, buy you your favourite dessert on his way home and welcoming you with kisses as you stepped into the apartment after a long day of studying. You'd then make dinner together and spend the rest of the night cuddling on your sofa, sharing kisses between bites. Back then, you'd never doubted where his heart was.

Silence doesn't give you a warning; it creeps up on you when you're most comfortable, slithering between the tiny cracks that have started forming, and shrouds you in uncertainty, where love used to live. It fills you with contempt, poisons every single one of your interactions and leaves you scornful in the face of your boyfriend's dismissiveness.

It started with an unread message, then, an unanswered call, which then led to you coming home to an empty house with your boyfriend and your daily delicacy nowhere in sight. When he opened the front door a couple of hours later, empty handed, he mumbled something about the coach keeping the team after hours and went straight to bed.

It only got worse after that. You'd consider yourself lucky if he even came back before midnight (you always went to bed at eleven and a half), and even luckier if he picked up one of your phone calls once a week. He even stopped inviting you to his games— not that you didn't have a seat always available for you— but he stopped expressing wanting you there, watching his every move from the heights of the v.i.p. suit. And then to add insult to injury, whether his team won or lost, he'd make a detour by the club or by one of his teammates' house before dragging his feet back home.

Waiting, waiting and waiting. It seemed all you did these days was wait. It was another match-day and you couldn't bring yourself to get ready and play the perfect girlfriend of the golden boy under the scrutinizing gaze of the cameras after he flat-out dodged your kisses and went out the door without looking back.

You were sat at the kitchen island, watching as the minutes slipped by and you didn't hear the familiar sound of him turning his keys in the lock and pushing the door open. After a while, you accepted your faith and slid down from the stool and went to grab your phone from the coffee table when he finally deigned to show his face.

He avoided your gaze as he closed the door behind him and started taking off his shoes. You kept your gaze strained on him, heaving a sigh and crossing your arms over your chest. The seconds passing by without him acknowledging your presence felt like hours and only worsened the anxious feeling in your gut. You took a deep breath, and only then did he deign to look at you.

"Hi, baby," he muttered, closing the distance between you two and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, his hand landing on your waist. His barely-there touch felt foreign, almost made you recoil in disgust. You stayed in place as he moved towards the fridge and looked inside, closing it with a defeated sigh when he didn't find what he was looking for. "Did you like my goal? I dedicated it to you."

That made your heart flutter for a second before it ignited a flame of anger in your chest. He dared dedicate a goal to you and act like the perfect boyfriend in front of the camera lenses, all while actively ignoring you and treating you like an afterthought? "I didn't watch the game actually."

"Why not?" Your bitter tone was not lost on him and he mentally prepared for what was to come.

"Why not? Are you kidding me?" You chuckled in disbelief, your hands coming up to rub your temples, trying to soothe the upcoming headache that he was causing. "Do you get off on torturing me, Jude?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you ignoring me for god knows how long! Seriously when's the last time you talked to me, or kissed me, or even looked at me? I wake up; you're already gone! I go to sleep, and you're still nowhere to be found!"

"I'm an athlete; I'm busy," the brunette scoffed, leaning against the countertop. "And I literally kissed you two minutes ago."

"You were never that busy before!"

"Yeah, well, I am now! Jesus, you're so clingy."

You choked on a laugh. "Clingy? I'm clingy?"

"Yes, you are! All of my friends go out every night and don't spend every second with their girlfriends, and guess what? They don't care! Why can't you be like them?"

"Do you wanna go out and drink yourself to death with your mates, Jude? Be my guest! Just do me a favour, leave and don't fucking come back," you glared at him, both of you on opposite sides of the kitchen counter.

A few seconds slipped by. He shook his head in disbelief, a scoff leaving his throat as he realised you weren't going to retract your statement.

"You're crazy. You do realise I could have anyone I ever want, yeah? Girls— Literal models are lining up to have a chat with me, and here I am, stuck with you arguing about nonsense!" He said, walking away and grabbing the TV remote. "Let's forget about all this, please? You know I hate fighting with you."

Baffled, you stayed rooted behind the counter as he switched the channel to some football match, like nothing ever happened.

This was the final nail in the coffin. You could've looked past his behaviour if he had been understanding and a little bit apologetic, but his display of arrogance and dismissiveness hit a little close to home. You always had this fear of him being able to get whoever he wanted whenever he wanted at the back of your mind since you've started seeing each other. You knew what they said about footballers, only you thought he'd be the exception. You thought you'd be spared the humiliation and heartbreak. And you were deadly wrong.

The only thought on your mind now was to get away from him. He wasn't going to leave, and the bedroom wasn't far away enough from him for you. So you took your coat, keys and phone in hand, and walked out the door without sparing him a glance.

blueheadsonicc

MORNING DEW

● Jude Bellingham x Top! Male! Reader

● missionary, fingering, protected sex, fluff, overstimulation, cum-swallowing, tooth-rotting stuff, blowjob, morning sex, meeting parents, come out.

● word count: 7.856 words

■ check out part 1 Part 2

The England vs France match had been something—6-4. By the final whistle, he was satisfied and sweaty… victorious. The locker room erupted in cheers. After the match, Jude made a quick decision—Spain first. You had mentioned you were there on a vacation, and Jude hadn’t seen you in weeks. The distance between them during tournaments was always hard. So instead of heading straight back to England or staying with the team for recovery… he booked a flight to Spain. No announcement, just pure impulse. A surprise reunion was coming.

kissmeuntil

⎯⎯⎯; 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟.

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: older bf!rafe x angel!reader

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: age gap relationship (rafe is late 30s, reader is early 20s), secret relationship, making out, heavy petting, praise, soft dom dynamics, emotional intimacy, yearning, reader lives with her parents, sneaking around, angst if you squint, 18+ only, mdni

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: after another late-night date, neither of you is ready to say goodbye. parked a block away from your parents' house, you steal just a few more minutes together before reality finds you again.

𝑎/𝑛: welcome to my little older!bf!rafe universe ♡ i've been sitting on this idea for a while, and i finally gave in. this is just a little glimpse into their relationship—hope you love them as much as i do!

2.4k word count

kazrz

CLINGY RAFE WAKES UP WITHOUT YOU

🐦‍⬛ — i’m obsessed with clinginess. please throw me a man who’s obsessed with me PLEASE 🙏🏻

The curtains in Rafe’s room need to be fixed as soon as humanly possible. How he hasn’t gotten them replaced yet is beyond his own comprehension, but right now, he can barely give more than two fucks about the extra sunlight filtering through his shitty ass curtains.

Rafe groans softly, muscles aching with misuse, skin warm beneath the thick covers. The moment his mind registers his surroundings fully, he freezes.

Something’s missing.

Is it his shirt? No, he took that off yesterday. He remembers chucking it into the laundry basket right before he went to sleep with—

You.

You were right beside him when he fell asleep last night. You were in his arms when he woke up at the ungodly hour of five AM at a sudden loud noise he never found the source of.

But you’re not here now. That’s weird. You’re always here when he wakes up.

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Misery Business (Day 23)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ The second Movie Night shatters multiple couples and causes production-halting arguments, making room for reconciliation between you and Rafe as a secret about your shared past is brought to light

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ heavy swearing, verbal arguments, slut shaming, classism, light smut, if you can't acccess this chapter because of the content label i have uploaded this series to ao3 for you all as well (my account link is in my pinned post)

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

YOU sat at the edge of your vanity, staring at your reflection as you applied a layer of lipgloss. More than three weeks in a sun-soaked fishbowl, and somehow, the drama only managed to feel more suffocating with each passing day.

Usually, the morning routine was the same. The boys would trudge downstairs in the kitchen and assemble a line of iced coffees, slightly burnt avocado toasts, and fruit bowls to bring up to the girls. When you had woken up wrapped in the sheets next to Theo, everything had felt alright. Not normal, but alright.

He’d given you that sleepy, half-smirk smile of his and whispered that he was going to head down to whip up some breakfast for you.

But that was forty-five minutes ago.

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Misery Business (Day 23)

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

He’d given you that sleepy, half-smirk smile of his and whispered that he was going to head down to whip up some breakfast for you.

But that was forty-five minutes ago.

saintlaurentcowboyyy

Stars, Stripes & Three Lions

Summary: As England’s National Football Team's social media manager, the last thing you need during the 2026 FIFA World Cup is another distraction - especially one wearing a USA football shirt. But when your childhood best friend Sarah, reunites her worlds and introduces you to star midfielder Rafe Cameron, keeping things professional becomes harder than either of you expected. As fan theories spread and rivalries intensify, you’ll have to decide whether some lines are worth crossing - even if the whole internet is watching.

Warnings: swearing, angst, suggestive jokes (i'll add on as the series goes!)

Series Tag Nav: #ssatl |

Minor notes

Chapers:

01. london calling

02. empire state of mind

03. like a tattoo

ongoing...

Taglist: @defnotayonna @midnights-with-him

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Ex's & Oh's (Day 15+16)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ After the boys are whisked away to Casa Amor, the villa is upended by the shocking arrival of the "new" guys

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of past verbal abuse/infidelity, mild sexual themes, slight toxic/possessive behavior

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE sun filters through the windows of the villa as you stir, blinking against the sharp light, your arm instinctively reaching out to the space beside you, searching for the familiar warmth of Rafe's presence, his body pushed up against your own.

But you find nothing.

It’s cold. Empty.

rafesteddy

18 Holes Too Many… 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓰𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓹 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓱𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

𝒟𝒶𝒹!𝑅𝒶𝒻𝑒 𝓍 𝒲𝒾𝒻𝑒!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

3.2K words

c/w ᝰ.ᐟ backward hat!rafe + your anklet on his shoulder™️, unprotected p in v, poolside sex, w.a.m., language, pet names (baby, pretty, my girl + no y/n), obsessed husband!rafe, kelce + top catching strays, rafe’s grumpy as hell + rafe is down catastrophically bad per usual ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“Hell no.”

Topper pauses halfway through reaching for his ball marker and looks over. “What?”

Rafe points at him fast. “I know what you’re gonna ask. Fuck off.”

Topper stares at him for a second before a laugh escapes. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

Beside him, Kelce just shakes his head, snickering under his breath while he crouches to line up his putt. The ball sits a few feet from the hole and he’s still smiling when he lines up his putter behind it.

“We haven’t even said anything yet.”

“Don’t need you to.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

“Yes I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You were gonna ask if I wanted to grab a drink after this.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Topper asks, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe like he’s officially lost his mind.

“You don’t want an answer to that, Top.”

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Do For Love (Day 7+8)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [12.1k, my god] After a backyard party forces Rafe to confront his struggles, an argument between you both breaks out, and the villa faces it's first elimination

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal altercations, slight peer pressure, anticipated smut,

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE morning sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the villa, casting shadows across the floors. It’s quiet, unusually so. After the exhausting fallout of the first official recoupling ceremony, the house feels like one big hangover.

You stir awake, the heavy weight of a plush duvet draped over your legs. For the first time in a week, you aren’t waking up on a cramped outdoor daybed. You turn your head, your eyes adjusting to the bright light to find Rafe already awake, propped up on one elbow, his eyes fixed on you—a relaxed smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Fortunately, there’s no sign of Topper or Ruthie. Their bed is completely undisturbed, a reminder of the date that pulled them away from the main house the previous evening.

“Morning, creep,” You yawn, playfully brushing a hand against Rafe’s face.

He chuckles, catching your wrist and kissing it. “Morning to you, angel,” He mutters, eyes still fixed on you. Downstairs, the faint clatter of pots and pans breaks the moment and Rafe groans. “That’s Kie. She wanted to make everyone breakfast. I think she feels guilty.” Rafe tells you.

“Sounds like she needs help.” You laughed through a yawn as you slipped out of bed, tugging on a loose linen shirt.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Rafe pouted, falling back onto the mattress. You shot him a look before going to pad down the staircase, Rafe trailing begrudgingly just a step behind you.

In the kitchen, Kiara is already moving—the scent of sizzling bacon, garlic, and butter fills the air, making your stomach growl. Cleo is leaning against the counter, nursing a mug of coffee, while John B and Sarah sit close together at the island, their shoulders touching as they whisper quietly.

"Morning, people!" Kiara calls out, lifting a spatula in greeting. “I figured we all needed a little something after last night."

"You are an absolute lifesaver, Kie," John B groans, rubbing his eyes, though his other hand remains firmly wrapped around Sarah’s waist.

You slide onto one of the barstools, leaning your chin in your hand as you look over at Rafe, who has taken the seat right next to you. “What's your excuse for not making me breakfast this morning, big guy?"

Rafe lets out a low chuckle, his arm sliding over the back of your stool, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder. The casual intimacy of the gesture sends a chill down your spine. "My excuse is that I was too busy enjoying sleeping in an actual, real bed with you for once.” He told you, nudging his nose against your temple as his voice dropped into a hushed whisper. “I wasn't exactly in a rush to leave."

Sarah lets out a dramatic fake gag across the counter, though she’s smiling as you blush, turning away to hide your face. "Ugh, please, it is way too early for you two."

Before you can fire back, the glass doors leading to the front entrance slide open and the chatter in the kitchen drops to nothing.

Ruthie and Topper walk into the villa and they don't look the least bit tired or disheveled from their night away. They carry themselves with their usual smugness—Ruthie with a smug, satisfied smirk plastered across her face, her chin tilted upward as her eyes sweep over the room. Topper follows right on her heels, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked into an icy glare directed straight at John B.

"Ugh," Cleo murmurs into her coffee mug.

But Ruthie doesn't acknowledge Cleo. Instead, she walks past the kitchen island, her gaze landing on Sarah as she stops, lets out a dramatic sigh, and rolls her eyes so hard it looks physically taxing.

Sarah’s posture stiffens and she sets her glass of orange juice down on the marble counter. "Do you have something you want to say to me, Ruthie?” Sarah snapped. “If you've got a problem, you can say it."

Ruthie pauses, flipping her hair over her shoulder, her smirk widening. "Oh, I don't have a problem at all. In fact, I had an absolutely amazing night.” She shrugs cockily. “I'm just checking out the vibe in here. It feels a little... tense."

Topper steps up beside Ruthie, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still burning a hole into John B’s head. "Yeah, well, that’s what happens when some people don't know how to mind their own business."

John B starts to shift in his seat, his jaw tightening as he prepares to stand up, but Sarah immediately plants a hand on his forearm, holding him back. "They're just trying to get a reaction."

The air in the kitchen is vile and awkward, causing Kiara to clear her throat loudly from the stove, trying to break the gridlock. "Okay, look, breakfast is going to be another ten minutes. Maybe... it's best if everyone just goes upstairs, gets changed, and starts getting ready for the day?" Sh threw out. "Let's just breathe, please."

"Good idea," Cleo agrees, standing up and stretching.

The tension breaks into movement as everyone begins to disperse. You catch Rafe's eye, and he gives you a subtle, reassuring nod as you turn to follow the girls up to the main dressing room.

THE makeup room is a pool of LED mirrors, scattered eyeshadow palettes, curling irons, and half-empty water bottles. With Ruthie, who was with Topper still somewhere, and Kiara, who was still cooking, absent, the room belonged entirely to you, Sarah, and Cleo.

Sarah was sitting in front of the center mirror, brush-stroking bronzer onto her cheekbones, her reflection wearing a look of pure frustration.

"I am just so over it," Sarah bursts out, slamming the bronzer compact down on the vanity table. "Seriously. I came into this house wanting to just...see what happens, and Topper ruins it for me. And now Ruthie? She acts like she won some kind of prize. Like, congratulations, girl, you got a guy who spends half his time checking to see if I'm watching him flirt with you.” She rolled her eyes. “Have fun with that."

Cleo scoffs, leaning forward as she applies her lip gloss. "She's just trying to push your buttons, wants to feel like she's on top. Don't give her the satisfaction."

"I'm trying not to!" Sarah sighs, throwing her hands up. "But she keeps pushing and pushing. It’s the fake little looks, the passive-aggressive comments. Like, just let me live."

You lean against the vanity next to her, offering a supportive smile. "You and John B looked cute this morning, Sarah." You started. "She’s just upset because you got a better guy and she got your leftovers. Don't let her ruin that for you.” You shrugged. “She's just trying to get her screen time, honestly. Probably trying to get an edit or something." You joked, causing the other girls to laugh.

Before Sarah can reply, the door to the dressing room swings open.

And speak of the devil.

Ruthie walks in, her expression perfectly fixed into one of sweet innocence. She doesn't look at you or Cleo. Her eyes fix immediately on Sarah's reflection in the mirror.

"Sarah?" Ruthie says, her voice oddly pitched high. "Do you think we could have a quick chat outside? Just five minutes.” She pleads with faux desperation. “I really feel like we should clear the air..."

The room goes dead silent and you exchange a sharp, confused glance with Cleo. Sarah hesitates for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening, before she slowly sets her makeup brush down.

"Yeah," Sarah says, her voice dropping into a cool yet guarded register. "Yeah, fine. Let's talk."

Sarah stands up, pulling her denim shorts down slightly, and follows Ruthie out of the dressing room, the door clicking shut behind them.

"Oh, I need to see this," Cleo mutters, immediately moving toward the balcony window that overlooks the lower terrace where the two girls are heading. You follow right at her heels, peering through the tinted glass. “Help me crack the window,”

In a quick thought moment, your grab the edges of the window with both hands, spreading your legs wide. Cleo watches as you air-hump the window, looking at her over your shoulder.

"Like this?" You ask, trying to hold back a laugh.

Cleo bursts out laughing, doubling over before waving you down. "Girl, get your silly ass down." She breathes as you get down with a smile.

You and Cleo push the window open just enough to hear. Down on the daybeds, Ruthie settles herself onto the cushions, crossing her legs elegantly. Sarah remains standing for a moment before sitting on the opposite edge, keeping her distance. Even with the window cracked, you can’t hear everything, but their body language speaks volumes.

Ruthie is talking with her hands, a patronizing smile stuck to her face. She leans forward, tapping Sarah’s knee in a way that looks overwhelmingly condescending, and Sarah’s posture is as stiff as a board, her arms locked across her chest.

What you can't hear through the glass is the venomous undertone of Ruthie’s words…

"I just want to make sure there are no hard feelings, Sarah. Because, you know, when Topper and I were out last night, we talked about everything. And it’s just so clear that he felt really held back before. He told me he finally feels like he’s with someone who matches his energy. I just think he picked the better option... for his life, you know? And I really think it’s time for you to just…accept that and move on."

Luckily, Sarah doesn't react how Ruthie wants her to. Instead, she lets out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning back into the cushions. She tilts her head, replicating Ruthie's exact fake-nice expression.

"Ruthie, I am so incredibly happy for you. Truly. If you think Topper changing his entire personality every three days to please a new girl is 'matching your energy,' then you two deserve each other. Look, I've moved on completely. But thank you so much for the sisterly advice. It’s adorable."

And before Ruthie can even process the insult hidden beneath her speech, Sarah stands up, flashing a dazzling smile, and walks away, leaving Ruthie sitting alone with her mouth slightly open.

When the dressing room door flies open again, and Sarah walks back in, her cheeks are flushed.

You and Cleo immediately step back from the window. "What happened?" you ask, prying. "What did she want?"

Sarah scoffs, tossing her hair back as she grabs her water bottle from the counter. She brushes past you both, waving her hand dismissively, though a smirk plays on her lips. "Oh, nothing. Just the usual." She scoffs. "She wanted to let me know that Topper apparently thinks he upgraded.” She explained casually. “I just told her they deserve each other and left it at that. I'm literally not even going to waste my breath."

Before you can press her for details, the door cracks open a few inches, and Pope’s head pops into the room. He looks slightly awkward, his eyes darting around the makeup-strewn space. "Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt.” He starts, eyes lingering on Cleo. “Uh, K-Kiara told me to tell everyone that breakfast is ready downstairs."

"Perfect," Cleo says, slapping her hands on her thighs, painfully ignoring the boy’s gaze as you all follow her out of the room.

THE kitchen is buzzing when you all walk back down. The island is piled high with platters of food and you slide into a seat, naturally finding yourself sandwiched directly between Rafe and Sarah.

As you pull a plate toward yourself, you turn to look at Rafe. The bright morning light hits his face directly, and you notice a tiny red line right along his jawline—a fresh, small nick.

"What happened here?" you ask softly, reaching up. Without thinking, your fingers gently brush against his jaw, your thumb lightly tracing the skin just below the cut.

Rafe flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his gaze drops to your lips before rising back to your eyes, a boyish and slightly embarrassed grin breaking across his face. "Oh. That. Yeah, I had a little fight with the razor this morning." He shrugged. "Turns out trying to shave while thinking about how much I wanted to get back into bed with you doesn't lead to a very steady hand." He flirted, pecking your cheek.

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers lingering on his warm skin for a moment before you drop your hand. "Right, blame it on me. Classic." You tease back, narrowing your eyes at him. "Just…try not to slice your face off before our next date, okay? I quite like your face." You flirted back, winking at him as you took a bite of your pancakes.

"I'll do my best," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a deep register that made your heart skip a few beats. He leans in closer, his shoulder pressed firmly against yours as he loads up his plate with eggs.

As your own banter dies down, the noise of the kitchen shifts, and both you and Rafe naturally tune into the conversation happening directly to your right.

John B and Sarah are practically in their own world—hunched over their plates, talking with entirely too much enthusiasm.

"Wait, so you're telling me the entire wing was built during the late 1800s?" John B asks, his eyes wide, a piece of bacon suspended halfway to his mouth.

"Yes!" Sarah says, laughing at his nerdiness. "My great-grandfather bought the land back when it was mostly just coastal wilderness. The main house has all this original woodwork, and there's this massive old library that used to scare me. It’s got a full historical landmark status in California."

"That is insane," John B says, shaking his head in absolute awe. "Sarah, you don't understand. When I was doing research on historic coastal estates last year, that exact property came up like three different times. I spent hours reading about the foundation layout. I can't believe you actually live there."

"Well, next time you're in California, I guess I'll have to give you the grand tour," Sarah teases, bumping her shoulder against his.

Confessional : You "Seeing Sarah and John B together at breakfast was honestly just so refreshing. After all the negativity Topper was throwing her way, seeing her actually smile and connect with someone over something as random as her family's house history? It’s too cute. I’m really, really glad they hit it off."

Confessional : Rafe "Look, I know I lost my temper a bit the other night with the whole Topper situation. I don't usually like seeing people get pushed around. People I care about, anyway." He corrected. "But honestly? Seeing John B and Sarah completely ignoring him today and just clicking... I'd like to think my temper actually did some good.” He shrugged, leaning back.

Confessional : Sarah "Everything with John B just feels so... natural. I don't feel like I have to put on a show or say the perfect thing.” She smiled, her cheeks taking on an adorable shade of pink. “With Topper, I always felt like I was walking on eggshells, constantly staying on top of myself just to keep his head from turning. With John B, we're literally geeking out over how old my house is over scrambled eggs, and…I don’t think I've ever felt happier."

Across the kitchen, however, the vibe is entirely different.

JJ and Cleo have finished eating and cleared a small space on the counter to play a game of cards. Cleo is throwing her cards down with dramatic flair—her loud laughter echoing throughout the room every time she wins a round. She looked genuinely happy, completely unbothered by the drama of the last few days.

But as you look past them, your eyes land on the other end of the kitchen.

Kiara and Pope are sitting next to each other, eating in near-total silence. Pope is picking at his food with his fork, his expression heavy and solemn. Every few seconds, his eyes drift away from his plate, sliding across the kitchen to lock onto Cleo. He watches her laugh with JJ, his gaze lingering with a profound, quiet sadness that is truly painful to witness.

It doesn't take long for you to notice that Kiara is also watching him.

Her eyes dart from Pope’s face to Cleo, and then back to Pope. You watch as her face completely falls, the color draining from her expression as a look of pain takes over. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't call him out. Instead, she sets her fork down, the clatter loud enough to draw Pope’s attention back to her.

"Think I'm done eating," Kiara says, her voice completely flat. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

Pope blinks, looking startled. "Oh. Already? Do you want me to—"

"No, stay here. Finish your food," she interrupts quickly, not looking him in the eye as she slides off her barstool and walks out of the kitchen, her head down.

Pope watches her go, letting out a long, heavy sigh that sags his entire posture as he slumps in his chair.

Confessional : Pope He’s rubbing his forehead, a look of guilt on his face. "I feel... I feel terrible. I chose Kiara because I wanted to see if there was something real there, and I do care about her. I really do. But...seeing Cleo over there, laughing with JJ... it hurts.” He admitted. “It shouldn't, but it does. And the worst part is knowing that Kiara can see it all over my face." He cursed himself. "I'm still hurting two people at once right now, and it sucks."

Confessional : Kiara "...Pope chose me. He picked me at the recoupling. That means he wants to be with me, right? I just... I think he’s just feeling awkward because Cleo is right there in the same room hitting it off with JJ...” She shook off her own emotions, though the way her face fell was evident. “It’s a small house. It’s a weird situation for everyone. He doesn't still have feelings for her. He can't." She laughed nervously, straightening her posture. "He made his choice, and we're moving forward. I'm just overthinking it.”

But what Kiara was unwilling to admit…was that she was looking at JJ.

BY midday, the entire mood of the villa shifted when the show decided to throw a massive yard party in celebration of the first recoupling.

They had outdoor speakers that were booming with house music, and a fully stocked bar had been set up near the edge of the infinity pool, complete with a snow cone machine. Brightly colored pool floaties drifted across the water, and neon containers of silly string are stacked on the tables with glow sticks and neon sunglasses.

The production crew had supplied an endless flow of alcohol, and within an hour, the lighthearted atmosphere you came here for takes over.

JJ had completely overtaken the snow cone machine, wearing a backwards cap and a tipsy grin. "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! JJ's World-Famous Spiked Shaved Ice!” He joked. “We got rum, we got vodka, we got tequila—pick your poison!"

Cleo is already in the middle of the grass, her hips moving perfectly to the heavy bass of the music, a drink raised high in her hand as she laughs, completely giving herself over to the music.

Near the sun loungers, a full-blown silly string war has broken out. Sarah and John B are sprinting around the pool, screaming with laughter as they blast each other with neon pink and green silly string. John B takes a direct hit to the face, his hair completely covered as he ducks his head, making Sarah double over in hysterical giggles as she continues spraying him.

Topper and Ruthie as secluded to themselves, whispering. Kiara's floating mindlessly in the pool with a pair of neon yellow sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and you watch from near the bar as Pope slowly approaches Cleo on the grass. He looks nervous, his hands shoved into his pockets, but he stops right in front of her. The music is loud, but you can see them talking.

Cleo stops dancing to look at him. She has a relaxed, slightly tipsy smile on her face as she takes a sip of her drink, nods, and pats his shoulder. Her body language is open, completely forgiving and you can catch fragments of her voice over the music—"Pope, it's fine... I was hurt, yeah, but I get it... all we can do is move on."

Because Cleo is a bit drunk, her inhibitions are lowered, and she misses the devastating flash of hurt that crosses Pope’s face at her words. She thinks she’s giving him closure. But he feels the finality of it like a punch to the gut.

Pope forces a polite, tight smile onto his face, nods slowly, and walks away. As soon as his back is turned to her, his smile vanishes. He walks straight to the bar, grabs a full cup of whatever liquor is closest, and downs the entire thing in one long gulp.

The drinks are flowing, the sun is hot, and the energy is contagious.

Everyone in the villa is at least tipsy. Everyone... except Rafe.

As the minutes tick by, the party changes from a fun distraction into a minefield. The smell of cheap rum, the loud, slurred laughter, the constant pushing of cups into people's hands. He’s standing near the edge of the yard, his back against a pillar, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles are pulsing, and his eyes are darting around the yard, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his swim shorts.

You, completely oblivious to the deep look on his face, saddle up next to him. You’ve had three of JJ’s ‘special snow cones’, and the alcohol has clearly hit you. You feel loose, happy, and incredibly clingy.

You slide your arms around Rafe’s waist, leaning your entire body weight against his side, looking up at him with a wide, bright smile. "Rafe! Why are you just standing here like a statue?” You poked. “Everyone is having fun. Come dance with me!"

Rafe doesn't look down at you. His eyes are still fixed on the pool, his body is completely rigid under your arms. "I'm fine right here, angel," he says, his voice clipped and gruff.

"Oh, come on, don't be that guy," you whine playfully, tugging on his arm. You lean in, your breath smelling of sweet cherry syrup and alcohol. "Do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. Or I can ask JJ to make you one of those snow cones? They are so good, seriously, I don’t know what ratio he’s using—"

"Didn’t I just say I'm fine?" Rafe suddenly snaps, his voice cutting through your brain fog. “What, you don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer?”

He aggressively pulls his arm away from your grip, turning his head to glare down at you. His eyes are wild, a vein throbbing in his forehead. "Stop pressing me about it."

The sudden aggression of his tone shocks you into absolute silence and the smile vanishes from your face.

A no one nearby catches the sudden outburst except for JJ, who was in the middle of laughing at the snow cone machine. He freezes, his eyes instantly darting over to where you and Rafe are standing.

Your vision blurs slightly with a stinging rush of embarrassed tears. You step back from him, your hands dropping to your sides. Without saying another word, you turn on your heel and walk quickly away from him, heading straight into the house.

Rafe lets out a long, ragged sigh, dragging his hands down his face. He looks down at the ground, his chest heaving as the guilt of his reaction immediately mixes with his own anxiety.

JJ watches you disappear inside, his expression shifting from shocked to serious. He sets his ice scoop down, walks out from behind the cart, and marches straight up to Rafe.

"Hey," JJ says, his voice unusually grounded, devoid of his usual playful banter. He catches Rafe’s eye and jerks his chin toward the side path of the villa, away from the loud music and the cameras near the pool. "Wanna walk with me for a second?"

Rafe looks like he wants to hit something, but the exhaustion wins out. He follows JJ down the narrow, shaded stone walkway along the side of the house, away from the main party.

JJ stops, turning around to face him, crossing his arms. "What the hell was that, man? She was just trying to get you to have a good time." JJ presses. You and JJ weren't the closest in the villa, but you came in together and that fact alone made him feel like he had an obligation to at least to stand up for you.

Rafe scoffs, looking away, his hands back in his pockets.

"C’mon, man, for real." JJ presses, stepping closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're either losing interest in her, or you're just being a massive dick because her being a little tipsy is annoying you. Which one is it? Because she’s inside right now crying, and—"

"It’s not any of that." Rafe cuts him off mid-sentence, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that makes JJ pause.

Rafe looks around the side path, checking to make sure no other islanders are within earshot. When he looks back at JJ, the anger is entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, deadly serious intensity.

"Look at me," Rafe whispers, his voice shaking slightly. "You cannot tell anyone this. I am dead serious, JJ. Do not say a word to a single person in this house."

“Okay…” JJ blinks, his defensive posture dropping slightly. "Okay. What is it?"

Rafe swallows hard, his jaw working as he forces the words out of his throat. "I... I struggled with alcohol for a really long time, man. Like, really bad.” He admitted, the weight semi-lifting. “...I'm recovering. I’ve been sober for a long while now. But it's still..."

JJ’s eyes widen in immediate understanding as Rafe's words trail off, the pieces of the puzzle instantly clicking into place in his mind—why Rafe never had a drink at the villa, why he always stuck to water or soda, and why he looked so tense all afternoon.

"I just planned to hang around today, chill out, and just get through the party," Rafe continues, his hands shaking slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. "But everyone is fuckin’ drunk. The smell is everywhere. And she just... she kept pressing me about it. Over and over. 'Take a drink, let me get you a drink.' I just... I panicked, man. I lost it. I snapped at her, but I didn’t mean to."

JJ lets out a low whistle, rubbing his lower lip as he processes the information. "Shit, Rafe. I didn't know, man. I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry, just…don’t say anything, alright?" Rafe mutters, looking down at his feet.

"Hey, look," JJ says, stepping in closer, his voice soft. "I think you should just tell her, man. Go inside right now and tell her why you reacted like that."

Rafe is quick to shake his head, a look of pure terror crossing his face. "No. No way. I'm not telling her that shit—"

"Why not?"

"Because—" Rafe bursts out, his voice a harsh, desperate whisper. "Because, right now, she looks at me and thinks I’m this normal, put-together guy. If I tell her I’m some fucked up guy who can’t even handle a party without losing his mind, she’s gonna look at me differently."

JJ stares at him for a long beat, a sad, knowing smile touching his lips. "You're overthinking it, man. Let me ask you somethin',” he started, stepping closer. “Has she told you anything personal since you guys got paired up? Like, anything she might've been embarrassed about or scared to tell you but she told you anyway?"

Rafe pauses. His mind immediately flashes back to your beach date—the quiet sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean and your perfume, and the way you had opened up about your past, your complicated work history, and the things you were deeply insecure about. You had been completely raw and honest with him, even though you didn't have to. Even though, most people wouldn't have been.

"...Yeah," Rafe says quietly. "Yeah, she did."

"And did you judge her for it?" JJ asks.

"No," Rafe says instantly. "Of course not."

"Then why do you think she’d do that to you?" JJ challenges.

Rafe closes his eyes, shaking his head as the defensive walls pull right back up. "It’s different, man. I’m just... I’m not ready. I can't do it, alright?"

JJ looks at him for another moment, realizing he can't force the guy to break his own boundaries. He lets out a slow breath, accepting it for now, but he steps up and places a supportive hand on Rafe’s shoulder.

"Alright. Alright, I won't push you," JJ says softly. "But listen to me, and I need you to actually hear me on this.” JJ got serious, more serious than any of you had ever seen him. “My dad... he was a…mean drunk. A really, really mean drunk. I grew up around it every single day of my life. And looking back at him now... I think sometimes, all guys like that need is just for someone to actually be there. Someone to be on their side, to understand what’s going on inside their head without them having to constantly scream about it."

Rafe stays silent, his eyes fixed on JJ.

"My old man was too far gone to be helped," JJ says, his voice dropping into a more solemn register. "We don't talk anymore. Haven't in years. But I think... I think if he had found someone sooner, someone who actually cared enough to understand him, he wouldn't have needed the alcohol to fill that void inside him. He had nothing to live for, Rafe. Not even me."

JJ fixes Rafe with a piercing, steady look. "But you? I don't think you're that guy. I think you actually have something to live for here. And I, for one, am highly against you throwing it away because you're scared."

JJ pats his shoulder one last time, moving to leave Rafe standing alone in the shade, completely stunned.

"I'm gonna, uh, rejoin the party," JJ says, turning around. "Give yourself a minute. Just chill, alright?"

JJ walks back up the path, but he doesn't head toward the music. Instead, his jaw sets with a certain determination as he slips through the back glass doors and heads straight into the house, completely disregarding Rafe’s wishes because, in his heart, he truly believes he’s helping you both out.

THE main living room of the villa is quiet, the heavy bass of the outdoor music muffled by the thick glass doors.

You're sitting on the edge of the sofa, using the back of your hand to quickly wipe away a stray tear from your eye. One minute you were laughing, and the next, you were being yelled at by the person you were closest to. You'd been trying to stop crying for the past ten minutes when the sound of footsteps makes you look up.

JJ walks into the room. He doesn't have his usual playful energy—he looks grounded, his expression incredibly soft as he walks over and slides onto the sofa right next to you.

"Hey," he says gently, leaning his elbows on his knees. "...You okay?"

You sniffle, looking away as you wipe your cheek again, trying to play it cool. "Yeah. Fine. Just... had too much to drink, I guess." You tried to play off, shooting him a quick smile that didn't reach your eyes. “I’m a sad drunk.”

"I'm sure getting yelled at doesn’t help." JJ says bluntly.

You let out a shaky breath, looking down at your hands. "You saw that?” You asked softly, JJ nodding silently as you took a deep breath. “I just don't get it, JJ. I just wanted him to have a drink with me and have fun. I didn't mean to annoy him. He just…went off on me." You sniffed. "It's whatever. It's probably a sign that we were just in some stupid honeymoon phase. He's probably getting bored..."

JJ looks back toward the glass doors, making sure Rafe isn't coming in, before he turns back to you, his face dead serious. "Listen,” He starts, nervous. “I'm gonna tell you something, and I'm completely going against his wishes right now, so you can't let him know I told you because I have a bad feeling that he will kill me. But I'm doing it because I think he's sabotaging himself, and you deserve to know the truth."

You blink, turning fully toward him. "What are you talking about?"

JJ leans in closer, his voice a low whisper. "Rafe didn't snap at you because of…you, alright? He snapped because…he's a recovering alcoholic.” He told you. “He's been sober for a long time, but being out there today with everyone completely wasted and pushing drinks in his face... he was panicking. He was overwhelmed, and when you kept pressing him to take a drink, he just lost control of his temper."

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Did…did he tell you that? Because that’s a big thing to assume, JJ—”

“He told me.” JJ interrupted. “I swear.”

The confusion vanishes, replaced by an overwhelming wave of guilt and realization. Oh my god, you think to yourself. I was literally forcing alcohol on a recovering addict.

"He's terrified of anyone knowing," JJ continues, watching your face. "And he thinks if people find out, if you find out, you’re gonna judge him or look at him like he's broken.”

"I would never," you whisper, your voice cracking as fresh tears prick your eyes. "I would never judge him for that."

"I know," JJ smiles softly, reaching over and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a brief, tight, comforting hug. "That's exactly what I told him. He's just stubborn.” He assured. “Go find him, alright? He’s out there. Just…go talk to him."

"Thank you, JJ," you say genuinely, squeezing his hand as he releases the hug.

"Anytime," JJ says, flashing you a brief, reassuring version of his signature grin before heading back out to the yard.

YOU walk out of the house, your footsteps heavy but purposeful as you navigate the side terrace. The party is still in full swing down by the pool—you can hear Cleo laughing and the sound of a beach ball splashing into the water—but the upper terrace is completely deserted.

Except for Rafe.

He’s leaning against the railing, his back to you, staring out at the horizon. His shoulders are tense, his head hung low.

You walk up slowly, the sound of your sandals on the stone alerting him. He turns his head sharply, and when he sees it’s you, his expression softens into a look of regret.

"Hey," Rafe says quietly, turning his full body to face you. He rubs his palms against his shorts, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Look... I’m sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that out there. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to you. I just... I had a lot on my mind, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

You walk closer, stopping just a couple of feet away from him. "I appreciate your apology, Rafe," you say softly, your voice filled with a gentle, non-judgmental warmth. "And honestly... you don't have to carry all that pressure by yourself."

Rafe blinks, looking confused. "What?"

"Don't be mad, but...JJ told me," you say gently, taking a step closer and reaching out to touch his arm. "About the alcohol." you dropped, and Rafe froze. "And I just want you to know that I am so sorry for pressing you out there. I didn't know. Not that that makes it's okay but...Just, you know I'm here if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, you can tell me. I would never, ever judge you for—"

The moment the words leave your mouth, the vulnerability on Rafe’s face completely vanishes.

His eyes widen in a terrifying flash of fury and his jaw sets so hard you can hear his teeth grind. He sharply yanks his arm away from your hand, stepping back as his chest begins to heave with a dangerous, yet familiar, kind of rage.

"He did what?" Rafe roars, his voice trembling. "That son of a—” He catches himself. “I told him to keep his fucking mouth shut—"

"Rafe, calm down," you plead, your hands raised in a calming gesture, your heart racing steadily. "I’m sure he was just trying to help. He saw that I was upset, and he knew that you were struggling, and he just wanted to fix it—"

"I don't need his fucking help!" Rafe shouts, stepping right into your space, his face dark with anger as he glares down at you. "And I don't need your help either!"

"Why are you being like this? I'm not pitying you!" you argue back, your own anger flaring up through the fear.

"That's exactly what you're doing!"

"I'm trying to be your—" you stop yourself, not wanting to overplay your role. "I'm trying to be here for you!"

"Well, I don't want you here!" Rafe snaps.

His words feels like a slap to the face, and you just stare at him, your chest tight, realizing there is absolutely no reasoning with him right now. Without another word, you nod and turn around to walk away with your jaw clenched, leaving him to fume alone on the terrace.

FOR the rest of the afternoon, Rafe is on an absolute rampage. He’s like a dark cloud moving through the villa, his face twisted into a permanent, terrifying scowl. He doesn't talk to a single person. If someone walks into a room he’s in, he immediately storms out, slamming doors behind him. And the energy of the party completely dies down, replaced by an awkward tension whenever he’s nearby.

You rejoin the party after a while, but your mood is completely dampened as you sit on the edge of the sun loungers with Sarah, Cleo, and Kiara, holding a drink as you stare blankly at the pool.

"Okay," Sarah says softly, nudging your shoulder. "What's going on? You and Rafe have been acting weird for hours. Did you guys get into it?"

You let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. We kinda got into an argument..."

"About what?" Cleo asks, leaning forward, her brow furrowed.

You pause, remembering Rafe’s absolute terror of his secret being exposed. Despite how incredibly angry and hurt you are, you choose to respect his privacy. "I don't really want to say. It’s…complicated. But he just... he completely shut down and pushed me away. He doesn’t wanna talk to me, so…"

The girls all look at each other, genuinely shocked.

"Wow," Kiara murmurs, shaking her head. "You guys have been going so steady. I didn't think he’d turn on you like that."

"Yeah, I don't approve of that at all," Cleo says, her voice firm. "He has no right to be walking around this house, making everyone walk on eggshells because he’s mad."

Sarah wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Look, don't let him ruin your day.” She comforted. “Don't look at him, don't think about him." She kisses your cheek. "He’ll probably cool down by tonight."

"Yeah," you mutter, trying to force a smile. "Hopefully."

Suddenly, a loud shout echoes from the far side of the pool.

"You had no fucking right!"

You and the girls exchanged looks, immediately bolting upright. Across the lawn, Rafe is standing directly in JJ’s face, towering over him, his chest pressed right against his and his face red as he screams at him.

JJ doesn't even have his hands up to fight. He has both of his palms raised in a gesture of total surrender, stepping back slowly as Rafe continues to advance on him. "Whoa, bro, calm down! I was just trying to help you out, man! Seriously!"

"I told you to keep your mouth shut!" Rafe yells, his voice cracking with rage as he shoves JJ sharply in the chest.

"Hey! Chill!" John B shouts, sprinting across the lawn from the other side of the yard, with Pope and Topper running right behind him.

Everyone rushes over, creating a barrier of bodies between the two guys. John B and Pope grab Rafe by the shoulders, physically pulling him back, while Topper steps in front of JJ.

"Get off me!" Rafe snarls, ripping his shoulders away from John B’s grip. He fixes JJ with one last, murderous glare before turning around, his eyes catching your sad ones before storming into the house, slamming the glass door so hard the frame rattles.

The entire backyard goes dead silent, everyone—except you—looks completely and utterly confused.

"What the hell was that about?" John B asks, breathing heavily as he looks at JJ. "JJ, what did you do?"

JJ just shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, looking incredibly guilty but exhausted. He doesn't say a word.

Kiara looks over at you, her eyes wide. "Is that what your argument was about? Did JJ get involved?"

"Maybe you should go talk to him," Pope suggests, looking at you. "He looks like he’s about to blow a fuse."

You let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "No. Trust me, that is the absolute last thing he wants right now."

You walk past the group, stopping right in front of JJ. "Are you alright?" you ask softly.

JJ looks down at you, a heavy, apologetic look in his eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine.” He dismissed your worries. “And I'm sorry, I thought..."

"I know what you thought," you interrupt gently. "Thank you for trying."

With your mood entirely ruined, you turn away from the group and head inside to retire to the dressing room, needing to be alone.

Down by the pool, the remaining islanders try to piece the puzzle together. John B and Pope turn to JJ, pressing him for answers. "Dude, seriously, what did you say to Rafe to make him that mad?"

JJ just shakes his head, refusing to break his word any further. "Don't worry about it. It’s between them. It's my fault for gettin' involved." And with that, he turns and walks off, leaving them hanging.

Sarah and Cleo walk over to the rest of the guys—John B, Pope, and Topper. "Look," Sarah says, sighing. "They just had a disagreement, alright? They’re going to be fine.”

Topper lets out a loud, scoffing laugh, crossing his arms with a look of petty satisfaction. "Well, I gotta say, I am incredibly grateful that someone besides me has some drama in this house for once."

Ruthie steps up beside him, rolling her eyes as she chips in with a venomous smirk. "Honestly? She had it coming. She thought she was all that. Now she has to deal with his psycho issues. Good luck with that."

Cleo steps forward, her eyes flashing with a dangerous heat as she points a finger at both of them. "You two need to shut your mouths. Seriously. Or did you forget that none of us here really like you?"

Topper scoffs but backs off, walking away with Ruthie trailing behind him.

BY the time night falls, the villa has settled into an uncomfortable quiet. The party has long since ended, and everyone has showered and changed into their evening clothes.

When walk into the bathroom to wash your face before bed, the door is cracked, and when you step inside, you find Rafe standing over the sink. He’s staring at his reflection, his hands gripping the edges of the basin so tightly his knuckles are white.

You freeze in the doorway as he catches your eye in the mirror, his expression immediately hardening into that same scowl you've grown so accustomed to within the last few hours.

He sighs, dropping his gaze.

You close the bathroom door behind you, locking it so you can finally have some privacy and maybe get through to him. "...Rafe, we need to talk." You tried. "You've been on some kind of rampage all day, yelling at JJ, ignoring me—"

"I don't want to talk to you," Rafe snaps, turning around to face you fully, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You don't wanna talk to me?" You reiterate, eyebrows shooting up into your hairline.

"Not right now, I don't." Shrugging like a kid with a bad attitude.

You scoff. "That is so unfair," you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising in frustration. "You're seriously mad because JJ told me a secret? Rafe, I told you things about my life on our date that I have never told anyone, and on television for that matter. I shared my own shit with you purely because I wanted to be open and honest with you and you can’t even do the same."

Rafe just stares at you, his eyes completely unreceptive to your perspective. "I never wanted you to know," he says, his voice dropping into a flat, harsh whisper.

"Why?" You breathed, pleading, voice soft.

"Because it's my business. Not yours. And not JJ’s. Mine."

"...We're supposed to be partners," you whisper, your voice cracking.

It hurt him more than he’d care to show or admit in the moment, like being stabbed from all angles. Rafe wasn't giving you the cold shoulder to be mean, not necessarily. He just couldn't phathom the thought of someone knowing who he really was and still being able to see any good inside of him. To be able to still love him.

"Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake," Rafe mutters, the words creating a lump in his throat as he turned back to the sink, the words forcing themselves out—anything to make you leave.

And they cut deep. Deep enough.

"Yeah," you nod, trying hold back your own emotions. "Maybe it was." you hiss.

You turn around, unlock the door, and walk out.

AN hour later, you were both lying in your shared bed. There was no resolution and the silence in the room was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Rafe is lying on the absolute edge of his side of the bed, his back completely turned to you with his body as stiff as a board. You lie on your back, staring up at the dark ceiling, tears you'd been holding in since the party silently leaking from the corners of your eyes and soaking into your pillow.

You feel completely alone in a room with the guy you thought you were falling for.

Until you can't take it anymore. The air in the room feels unbreathable, and if you sit in it any longer, you’ll surely die.

So, quietly, you slide out from under the duvet, grabbing a small throw blanket from nearby. You don't make a sound as you slip out of the bedroom, walking down the quiet hallway and heading out to the dark backyard.

You walk over to one of the large outdoor daybeds near the pool, curling up into a tight ball on the cushions, pulling the thin blanket up to your chin as you stare out at the darkness, finding it to be more comforting than Rafe’s cold presence at the moment.

But inside the bedroom, twenty minutes pass and Rafe shifts in bed, stirring awake and mindlessly reaching his hand out across the mattress to find nothing but cold linen. He blinks his eyes open, turning around.

The bed is empty.

He frowns, sitting up and looking at the bathroom door thinking maybe you went to pee, but it’s wide open with the light off.

He checks the clock by the bed. It’s 2:00 AM.

A sudden knot of anxiety twists in his stomach, and slides out of bed, tossing the covers aside before walking out into the hallway. He checks the kitchen—empty. The dressing rooms—empty.

But when he walks to the glass back doors and looks out into the yard, through the darkness, he spots the small, curled-up shape of your body on the outdoor daybed.

A mix of irritation and guilt hits him. He opens the glass door and pads out into the cool night air, his bare feet thudding softly against the concrete.

He stops right in front of the daybed, looking down at you, his arms crossed as he sighs. "What are you doing out here?" He asks, voice raspy. "Come back to the room."

You don't move. You don't even look up at him. You just keep your eyes fixed on the night sky. "No," you say, your voice completely flat and exhausted as you shift under the blanket. "I'm staying out here."

"It’s two in the morning, and it’s freezing," Rafe presses, his tone sharp. "Get up. Come inside."

"Why?" you ask, finally turning your head to glare up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and angry. "So I can lie in bed next to a guy who suddenly despises me?” You spat, though your voice shook. “I’m not going back to that room if you're just going to keep giving me the cold shoulder for literally just trying to be there for you. I'd rather sleep out here."

Rafe stares at you for a long beat as the anger in his face slowly begins to fracture, the rigid posture dropping as he lets out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. He rubs his hand over his face, looking incredibly tired.

He slowly sits down on the edge of the daybed, his shoulders sagging.

"Look..." Rafe says softly, his voice completely devoid of the anger that had consumed him all day. "I'm sorry. I really am."

You sit up slowly, wrapping the blanket tightly around your shoulders, watching him warily.

"I'm still... I’m still recovering from a lot of things," Rafe whispers, his eyes fixed on his hands. "And it’s not just the alcohol. It’s... accepting my own flaws. It’s accepting...help from other people." He admits. "I’ve spent my entire life feeling like I had to be perfect, or else people would just throw me away." He shrugged. "I’m not good at being vulnerable. I hate it."

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that broke your heart.

"I just... I didn't want you to know because I didn't want you to see me the same way everyone else does," he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. "Everyone who really knows me looks at me and thinks I'm a mess, or that I'm dangerous, or just fucked up altogether.” He admitted. “I liked the way you looked at me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was terrified that if you knew the truth, that look would disappear."

Your chest fills with a wave of empathy, the anger almost completely melting away. You reach out from under the blanket, wrapping your hand around his warm palm, squeezing it tightly.

"Rafe," you say softly, ensuring he looks you in the eye. "That look is never going to disappear. Knowing that you fought through something that hard and came out the other side sober? That doesn't make you look broken to me." You told him honestly. "I don't want you to be perfect.” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his hand. “I just want you."

Rafe stares at you, a soft, incredibly relieved look washing over his face. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, letting out a long breath he feels like he’s been holding all day. "Thank you—"

“But don’t ever talk to me like that." You ordered, pinching his side.

“Ah—okay, alright,”

“And apologize to JJ."

Rafe’s face scrunches up. “Hell no—”

“He was trying to help.”

“I don’t give two shits—”

“Rafe.” You deadpanned.

"If I promise to apologize, will you come back to the bed?"

"Depends," you hummed. "Only if you promise and actually do it."

Rafe grumbled under his breath, groaning. His eyes locked with yours, squeezing your hand. “Fine.”

"Say it."

"I promise. " He caved. “...Will you come back to the bed now?”

"Yeah," you smile softly, bumping your nose against his.

"Okay," Rafe says, standing up and pulling you to your feet, wrapping his arm securely around your waist. "Go ahead back up to the room. I'll meet you up there in a second. I'm gonna make us some tea to get warm."

"Okay," you smile, kissing his cheek before turning and walking back into the warm house.

The moment you disappear through the glass doors and slide them shut, the soft expression vanishes from Rafe’s face.

He stands alone in the dark, his hands dropping to his sides. Suddenly, he lets out a quiet curse, pacing back and forth as he violently rubs the back of his neck.

A heavy wave of guilt hits him as looks back toward the bedroom window, his chest tightening with guilt.

The truth, the full truth, was that alcohol wasn't the only addiction Rafe was recovering from. The truth was far darker involving things that he felt that could completely ruin his chances on this show—meaning also his chances with you. He had given you just enough truth to pacify you, and the weight of that lie felt like a ticking time bomb in his chest.

THE next morning, the villa is bright and buzzing. In the makeup room, the girls are gathered around the mirrors again, the atmosphere a mix of curiosity and residual tension from the party.

Sarah turns from her mirror, looking over at you as you walk in, yawning. "Morning, girlie,” She greets, hesitating with her next words. “Did...you and Rafe make up last night? Because the house wasn't on fire this morning."

You feel a sheepish smile grow on your face as you take a seat at the vanity. "Yeah. Yeah, we made up. We had a talk late last night, and we’re…better now."

"What was the fight even about?" Ruthie chimes in from the corner, her voice dripping with artificial curiosity. "Because he looked like he was about to murder JJ yesterday."

You catch her eye in the mirror, your expression hardening. You keep Rafe's business completely secret, refusing to give her an inch of ammunition. "It was just a misunderstanding, Ruthie. Nothing major. We sorted it out."

Sarah lets out a relieved sigh, smiling warmly at you. "Well, I’m genuinely happy for you guys. You look a lot better today."

Cleo, however, looks a bit on the fence. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms as she watches you. "I'm glad you're happy, girl. Truly. But honestly, that outburst against JJ yesterday? That was a lot." she throws out. "I just hope he knows how to keep that temper in check moving forward. A man with anger issues is good for no one."

“I agree, Cleo,” You added. “I told him he needs to apologize.”

"Atta girl," Cleo smiles. "You train them well."

However, as you and Sarah sit laughing at Cleo's words, Kiara sits in the corner, her expression openly skeptical, her arms locked tightly across her chest.

She doesn't say a word, but as your eyes catch hers, her face speaks volumes.

Confessional : Kiara "Honestly? I hate to say this, but,” She starts, a disapproving look on her face. “I think she has very little self-respect for letting a guy yell at her and make a huge, public scene like that in front of the entire house, and then just...forgiving him the next morning. Like, he was screaming in JJ’s face over nothing. If a guy treated me like that, he’d be out the door in a second."

Confessional : Cleo "Rafe is a wild card. He’s got that loverboy energy that every girl wants when things are good, but when things go bad? He’s kind of scary. I’m glad they made up, but I’m keeping my eyes on him.'"

Confessional : Ruthie "Oh, I am absolutely loving this. You can totally tell she’s hiding something. And he probably gaslighted the hell out of her.” She laughed. “They are cracking, and I am here for it."

Suddenly, a loud, synchronized ping echoes through the dressing room as every single girl's phone lights up at the exact same moment.

Sarah grabs her phone, her eyes widening as she gasps and reads the screen aloud.

"Islanders! Please gather immediately outside by the pool area. It’s time for a little surprise. #PublicExecution #NoFiltersAllowed."

"Oh shit," Cleo mutters, standing up. "That hashtag does not sound good."

THE entire group of islanders stands in a semi-circle near the edge of the infinity pool. The sun is hot, but the mood is enough to provide a chill.

Standing at the head of the pool is Ariana. She's wearing a stunning, sharp designer dress, holding a sleek tablet in her hands—a bright, unreadable smile on her face.

"Hello, islanders!" Ariana greets, her voice echoing across the terrace. "I hope you’ve all enjoyed your first week in the villa. But as you know, in this game, paradise comes with a price."

You all exchange nervous, shifty glances. Rafe stands right next to you, his hand securely wrapped around yours, his grip tight.

"Over the last twenty-four hours, the public has been voting in a series of internet polls," Ariana explains, tapping her tablet. "They have watched your every move, your fights, your romances, and your mistakes. And today, we are hosting a surprise Public Execution Vote."

A collective gasp ripples through the group.

"The public has ranked you all from favorite to least favorite islander," Ariana says, her voice dropping into a serious, dramatic register. "The islander who has been voted the absolute least favorite by the viewers will be dumped from the villa."

Topper’s jaw drops. Ruthie’s smile completely vanishes.

"And don’t worry about the ‘why’s’," Ariana smiles mischievously, "the public wants to make sure you know exactly what they think of you. As I call your name, you will step forward and stand next to me, and I will read aloud the most popular public opinion about you from the viewers."

Ariana taps the screen. "First up, the viewer's favorite islander... John B."

John B steps forward, looking nervous but holding his head up.

“The public says: 'John B is completely unproblematic. He’s a breath of fresh air compared to the other guys in the house, and he is 100% the better option for Sarah.' Congratulations, John B, you are safe."

Confessional : John B "Well, that was unexpected." He laughs, palming the back of his neck. "Thank you guys, though!" He points two fingers at the camera before turning them into two middle fingers. "And fuck you, Topper."

John B lets out a massive breath of relief, smirking slightly as he steps back to the line.

"Next... Cleo." Ariana smiles, motioning for the girl to step up.

Cleo steps forward, her chin tilted high, though you can tell she's shy.

"The public says: 'Cleo handled the messy Pope situation with absolute grace and maturity. She’s a queen, and we definitely want to see her stay in the house.' You are safe, Cleo."

Cleo nods proudly, returning to the line.

Confessional : Cleo "Perks of never cryin' on national TV." She winks. "I'm a gangsta."

"Next..." Ariana announces your name with a smile.

Your heart hammers inside of your chest as you step forward to stand next to Ariana, your hand slipping from Rafe’s, the cameras tracking your every movement.

“The public says: 'Some people are too judgmental about her complicated past. But overall, we’ve absolutely loved her high energy from the moment she walked into the villa.' You are safe."

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you step back next to Rafe, who immediately regrabs your hand, squeezing it supportively.

Confessional : You "I mean, it's to be expected." You shrugged. "I got judged for it while I was doing it, so. It's whatever to me." You brushed off. "Maybe I should ask the producers to bring in a pole-dancing challenge just to make them even more mad." You laughed at yourself. "Still top three, though!" you teased, sticking your tongue out.

"Next... Rafe."

Rafe’s grip releases from your hand as he steps forward, his face completely blank, his jaw clenched.

"The public says: 'Rafe is a certified loverboy when he’s with Y/N, but it definitely feels like he’s hiding something. We're captivated, but we're watching him.' You are safe, Rafe."

Rafe gives a tight nod, his eyes darting to you for a fraction of a second before he steps back.

Confessional : Rafe "Oh, you guys suck."

"Next... JJ."

JJ steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck with a bittersweet smile.

“The public says: 'JJ clearly has a massive, good heart, but he really needs to prove to us that he’s capable of changing for real. No one like a playboy.' You are safe, JJ."

JJ steps back with a sheepish, yet solemn, expression, his eyes darting to Kiara for a second.

"Next... Sarah."

Sarah steps forward, looking vulnerable.

“The public says: 'Sarah is a sweet girl, but she’s incredibly naive. We're lowkey scared she’s going to fall for Topper’s manipulation and go back to him. And if not Topper, them someone else.' You are safe, Sarah."

Sarah rolls her eyes slightly but looks relieved as she steps back next to John B.

Confessional : Sarah "Okay, seriously, I've learned my lesson, you guys," She falls back against the sofa. "Jeez."

"Next... Kiara."

Kiara steps forward, crossing her arms defensively.

"The public says: 'Kiara is one-hundred percent pretending to feel bad about the Cleo situation. It's obvious she's playing the victim card when she got exactly what she wanted.' You are safe, Kiara."

Kiara’s face turns bright red, annoyance crossing her features as she steps back.

Confessional : Kie "I do feel bad!" She shouted, hands in the air. "How does someone even pretend to feel bad? I apologized like ten-thousand times and I made an entire breakfast spread!"

"Next... Pope."

Pope steps forward, his eyes fixed on his feet.

"The public says: 'Pope is also pretending to feel bad. He was so eager to kiss Kiara the first chance he got, and now he’s realizing exactly what he lost out on with Cleo. Now, he has to take that L.' You are safe, Pope."

Pope swallows hard, looking thoroughly exposed.

Confessional : Pope He sighs, head dropping. "I can't say that I disagree." He immediately winces and drags two hands down his face, groaning. "I shouldn't have said that."

Ariana looks up from her tablet, her eyes landing on the final two islanders remaining: Topper and Ruthie, and the air is thick with anticipation.

"We are down to our final two," Ariana says, eyes locked on the pair. "Topper and Ruthie. One of you is safe. And the other will be going home."

She looks down at her screen.

"Between the two of you, the islander who was voted least favorite..." Ariana pauses, and the rest of you hold your breath. You didn't know who you wanted to leave more—Topper or Ruthie. But truthfully, either would suffice.

"...is Ruthie." Ariana says, turning her gaze to the girl. "Please, step forward."

Ruthie steps forward, her face pale with her lips parted in shock.

"The public says: 'Both Topper and Ruthie are liars, but Ruthie is by far the worse of the two. Several of her old peers from high school came out on Twitter this week, proving she still has the same mean-girl mentality and doesn't deserve to have a platform.'” Ariana read solemnly. "Topper, as the runner-up, please step forward."

Topper steps forward, his face completely flushed with embarrassment and anger.

"The public says: 'Topper is clearly a serial cheater. A statement from his ex-girlfriend actually got really popular online this week, where she explicitly said he hasn't changed one single bit since high school.' Topper... you are safe."

But Topper scoffs loudly, throwing his hands up in defense. "That is completely fake! That's a lie!"

Ariana shot the blonde a look that shut him up, lowering the tablet as everyone turned to Ruthie. “Ruthie... you have been voted the public's least favorite islander. As a result, your time in the villa is over, and it’s time to pack your bags."

Everyone is silent as Ruthie stands frozen, absolute shock twisting her features. Then, her jaw sets, and she lets out a bitter laugh. She doesn't look at any of the girls. She doesn't look at you, or even Sarah.

She walks straight over to Topper, gives him a quick, dramatic hug, and whispers, "Keep your head up."

Without saying a single word to anyone else, she turns on her heel and marches into the house to pack her bags.

Goodbye Confessional : Ruthie "It’s just... it’s so unfair, you know?” She whines, wiping away fake, theatrical tears with a tissue. “I came into this house completely genuine, just following my heart. And people just wanted to ruin this opportunity for me because they’re jealous. I wish Topper the best. He’s the only real person in that house." She sniffed. "I wish you guys could've seen through my tough exterior to see that I am such a good person at heart, but, I understand..." She nodded, patting under her eyes before completely gathering herself. "Follow me on Insta at ruthieluvsyou, get me to 11K, mwah, bye!"

Moments later, you all watch as Ruthie loads herself and her six suitcases in the sleek, back SUV, not sparing a glance as she shuts the door and the car leaves.

THE moment Ariana leaves, the tension reaches a head.

Topper stands in the middle of the yard, his face bright red, his chest heaving as he glares at the remainder of you. He looks like a spoiled child who just had his favorite toy taken away.

"This is complete bullshit!" Topper shouts, pacing back and forth. "This is all your fault! Every single one of you!"

John B scoffs, crossing his arms. "Dude, how is it our fault? It was a public vote—"

"Because you all targeted her from day one!" Topper yells, pointing a finger aggressively at Rafe and then at the group of girls. "You made her out to be the villain! You made the public hate her! And now she’s gone, and I’m sitting here completely single because of you!"

Rafe steps forward, his jaw clenched, but you quickly plant a hand on his chest, holding him back. "He’s just embarrassed. Let him be."

BUT with Ruthie officially gone, Topper kicked into an desperate overdrive. Within twenty minutes of her departure, he completely drops the grieving routine and targets the only safety option he knows—Sarah.

Later that afternoon, after the dust had settled, you were walking down the hallway toward the indoor lounge. As you approached the doorway, you stopped in your tracks, hearing hushed voices coming from inside.

You peer around the corner to see where Topper has Sarah cornered near the sofa, he’s leaning in close, his face twisted into a pleading expression with his hands raised.

"Sarah, please, just hear me out," He begs, his voice thick with superficial desperation. "They were wrong. M-my ex was lying. Please, you know who I really am.” He whined. “Look, Ruthie’s gone. Isn’t that what you wanted? I mean, c’mon, me and you are supposed to be together. I made a mistake, but I'm back now. I want you back—"

"Topper, shut up," Sarah says, her voice cold, steady. "Seriously, shut the hell up. You can’t beg your way back with me.” She explained. “I mean, the literal second your girl gets dumped, you come crawling back to me. I know you’re just playing the game, and I am not letting you manipulate me again.” Sarah scoffed, looking Topper up and down. “What your ex wrote about you? It’s 100% true. You haven't changed one bit. And you clearly never will."

Topper stares at her, his face falling into an angry scowl as he realizes that his leverage with Sarah is completely gone. He huffs, turning around and storming out the door.

Sarah lets out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping as you step into the lounge, a wide smile on your face.

"Hey," you say softly.

Sarah looks up, startled, but relaxes when she sees it’s you. "Hey. Did you hear that?"

"Every word," you say, walking over and wrapping her in a tight hug. "I am so proud of you. You handled his ass right back to him."

Sarah hugs you back, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across her face. "Thank you. I'm actually really proud of myself too." She told you. “...I think what the viewers said kind of opened my eyes.”

You offered a soft smile, squeezing her shoulder when suddenly, your phone goes off with a loud ping.

You pull it out, and Sarah leans over your shoulder to read the screen, the message starting with you and Rafe’s names.

"...Earlier today, there was one more vote we kept under wraps. In a poll for The Villa's Cutest Couple, the viewers have selected you both. As a reward, you two will be spending the night tonight in The Hideaway!"

"Aww," Sarah coos, jumping up and down, grabbing your hands. "I love this for you!"

You feel a shy grin break across your face as you hug yourself. "Wow…” You start. “I can't believe the public actually voted for us after everything that happened yesterday."

"They see the good," Sarah smiles warmly, but she notices the ghost of anxiety crossing your face. "What's wrong?"

You let out a soft sigh, looking down at the phone. "I'm just... I'm glad to know someone is happy for me,” you threw out. “...I could tell in the dressing room this morning that Kiara had a lot more to say about me and Rafe's argument than she let on. She’s been shooting me looks ever since, like I'm stupid for forgiving him."

Sarah grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. "Listen to me. Do not worry about her. Besides, this date is the perfect way for you and Rafe to get away—from everything.” She comforted. “And as long as you feel that you are with the right guy, and you know you're doing the right thing for yourself, then screw everyone else. Seriously.” She told you firmly. “Plus, Kie doesn't really have a place to judge anyway, considering the absolute train wreck of a situation she’s running with Pope and JJ right now.” Sarah dismissed, pushing you away from her softly, you nodding and walking away. “Now, go get ready. And have fun!"

THE Hideaway is bathed in a soft glow, the king-sized bed piled high with satin sheets and plush pillows. A private hot tub sits on the attached balcony, and a massive platter of chocolate-covered strawberries, your favorite snack, sits on the side table.

You walk into the room, wearing a stunning dress that shapes you perfectly.

And Rafe is already there, waiting for you. He’s changed into comfortable polo shirt and slacks. The moment he registers you walking in, his eyes darken with admiration—a soft, relaxed smile breaking out across his face.

You walk over to the table, your eyes lighting up when you spot the strawberries. "...Did you get these?” You ask, Rafe nods. “These are literally my favorite—wait, how?"

Rafe walks up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, pulling your back firmly against his chest. He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver. "I have connections everywhere, angel."

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning back into his warmth.

And for the first few hours, the world outside completely ceases to exist—you play card games on the bed, toss berries across the room and into each other's mouthes, laughing and teasing each other, cuddling close under the sheets while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

Eventually, the energy settles into something more quiet, more intimate. You’re lying with your head on Rafe’s bare chest, the calming thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear as your fingers casually trace the lines of the tattoo on his hip that's revealed by the way his shirt has ridden up.

"Y’know," you say softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your head.

"I was talking to Sarah right before this, about... getting heat from Kie this morning," you admit quietly, looking up at him. "She's not fond of me forgiving you so fast after what happened yesterday."

Rafe’s hand pauses in your hair. A look of quiet sadness crossing his face, his eyes clouding over. He lets out a slow breath, shifting slightly so he can look down into your eyes.

"That—I’m sorry," Rafe whispers, his voice thick with emotion, but he swallows it down. "I hate the thought of the girls or anyone else thinking that you're being naive or...stupid when it comes to me.” He admitted. “I don't ever want to be the guy who makes you look bad."

He reaches up, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek as his thumb gently traces your cheekbone tenderly.

"And I’m still so sorry for how I reacted yesterday," he says, his eyes locked onto yours with a serious expression. "I never, ever meant to talk to you like that. I panicked, I was being stupid, and I took my own issues out on the one person who didn't deserve it. But I promise you, right now... I will never talk to you like that ever again.” He sat up, looking down at you. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time."

At his apology, your heart swells, almost to the point of aching. You look up at him, seeing the honesty behind his blue eyes, and you feel a wave of that one thing, for him.

Rafe stares down at you, and for a split second, something heavier crosses his eyes. The weight of his other confession pressing down on his tongue. He opens his mouth, the words almost forming. He wants to tell you. He does.

But the words get physically stuck in his throat, the terror of losing the way you look at him still holding him hostage.

So, instead of speaking, Rafe lets out a shaky breath and leans down, burying his conflict in the only way he knows how.

He kisses you.

It's soft and tender, a silent reassurance of his words, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the energy in the room flips. The heat of the day, the apologies, and the chemistry between you flips itself into a burning passion.

Rafe shifts his weight, sliding over you, his heavy body pressing you down into the mattress. The kiss deepens, becoming hot, heavy, and breathless as his hands move with a urgency, sliding down the length of your body as his warm palms grip your waist, molding your body against his. You feel his bulge against the base of your stomach, your arms wounding around his neck to pull him down into you further as his tongue slips between your wet lips.

You let out a soft gasp into his mouth as his lips leave yours, trailing a path of burning kisses down your jawline, throat, and resting at your collarbone, where he sucks on the skin there, drawing a soft moan out of you.

His touch lights you on fire, his fingers tracing up your thigh, sending a wave of desire down your spine. Hands slide over bare skin, soft groans echo off of the walls, and for a long, passionate time—you're completely consumed by each other.

But despite the suffocating heat of the moment, Rafe keeps his promise to himself—about wanting to do everything right with you. So, he keeps it respectful, the touching slowing down, stopping just short of where it was clearly headed.

You both settle back into a warm, comforting silence as Rafe pulls away, tucking you under his arm and pulling the heavy duvet up over both of your shoulders, pulling your back flush against his chest.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin.

"I like you," he whispers into the dark, the words slipping out naturally. "I really fuckin' like you."

And you smile into the darkness, squeezing his hand tightly as you close your eyes as you shift against him. “I like you, too, Rafe.”

next chapter>

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