★SUMMARY: You and James have two shared obsessions: each other and sugar. So what’s better than mixing both ??
★CONTAIN: MDNI, foodplay, making out, fingering, spit, nipples play, gentle!james, usage of whipped cream, oral, handjob. NOT PROOFREAD (I pulled my whole ovulation into this)
★A/N: I have nothing appropriate to say about James’s performance at lolla, he looks so sexy I fear im addicted to him. Anyway enjoy this little one shot bbgs!!
⚠︎ this is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only
Masterlist
After a long week of work, your boyfriend finally made it to your apartment completely exhausted. And like every time he came over, the two of you ended up watching Spiderman for what had to be the hundredth time.
You were comfortably cuddled up on the couch, your head resting against him, when James pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
“Wanna order yogurtland?” He asked quietly.
“Yesss. Get me the mango one with the boba toppings like always please” you replied, nuzzling into his neck while your hand rested on his chest.
“Got it” he kept looking through the menu before smiling. “Oh they’re doing a discount on whipped cream, we should get one”
You laughed “alright, go for it”
After placing the order, the two of you went back to watching the movie while waiting for the food to arrive. James gently rubbed your sides with his thumb, making you smile as the minutes slowly passed.
About half an hour later, the doorbell finally rang. “I’ll get it” he said, quickly getting up and a few seconds later, he came back with the paper bag in his hands.
“Ohhhh that’s the good stuff” you grinned as you opened your frozen yogurt.
“Thanks babe” you said before taking your first spoonful.
“My pleasure” he smiled, taking a bite of his own pineapple yogurt.
The two of you ate in comfortable silence until James suddenly held his spoon in front of your mouth.
“Taste this, it’s really good”
You leaned forward and took the bite, and your eyes immediately widened.
“Okay that’s actually better than mine”
“I told you” he laughed before quickly realizing. “Oh shit the whipped cream, I almost forgot ! “
He reached into the bag, grabbed the can and sprayed a little into his mouth before nodding to himself.
“Yeahhh that’s good”
You laughed before opening your mouth, silently asking for some too.
And without saying a word, James smiled and sprayed a little whipped cream into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. You swallowed but a small bit stayed in the corner of your lips.
He leaned a little closer.
“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve got some here” his thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth, wiping it away before he gently licked the cream off his thumb.
You looked at him for a second
Okayyy that was lowkey hot.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The movie kept playing in the background, it was completely forgotten. James’s hand found your waist again, gently pulling you closer until your forehead almost touched.
You smiled at him before closing the tiny distance between you, pressing a slow kiss against his lips.
He smiled into it, one hand cupping your cheek while the other staying around your waist.
James gently pulled back from the kiss, looking at you softly. “Lemme try something” he said, before taking the can again. “Open your mouth for me” he asked, cupping your chin as you obeyed.
He sprayed some cream into your tongue. “Don’t swallow it just yet” he said before spraying some in his own mouth.
You already knew where this was going, and you were excited to see how things will go…that’s until James’s mouth found yours, sharing the sweetness between your tongues. His mouth moved with yours feverishly, wanting to feel you completely, when he suddenly started sucking on your tongue.
You let a little whine when he did that, it was fucking hot to have him licking your tongue, letting the kiss becoming messier.
When he pulled away from you a long, white, thick string of saliva mixed with the residues of whipped cream formed between your mouths, fuck that was a sigh to see.
“Lie down baby” he ordered, before getting on top of you. His fingers reached to the fabric of your shirt, taking it off, leaving you bare chested. The cold air made you shiver, causing your nipples to harden.
James’s mouth was now on your neck, sucking at the skin there, he was completely mesmerized by you. The poor frozen yogurts were completely forgotten but all you could think about is the feeling of James bitting the sweet spot of your neck. Slowly his eyes drop down your nipples, the tip of his finger gently toying with the bud as his other hand reached for the can once again.
He slowly sprayed cream over your nipple, licking it off greedily until his mouth closed completely around it, sucking it and pulling it with his tongue.
You couldn’t hold back, you moaned softly as he latched onto your other nipple. Your hand tangled in his dirty blonde hairs, pressing him over you even more as he sprayed some cream all over your body just to lick it off.
“Such a beautiful girl” he whispered, spreading cream all over your breast and belly, licking every single inch of skin he could find.
“Oh James…” you whimpered at the feeling of his tongue tasting you, “I need you” your head tilted back, you needed more, you craved him.
James’s fingers toyed with your underwear asking for your permission, when you nodded he pulled it off with a small smirk on the corner of his mouth.
“Get on all four baby” he ordered softly.
You didn’t waste time and obliged, your ass now in the air as you buried your face in the cushion’s pillow.
“Good girl, oh look at you” he murmured. He gently parted your legs, his fingers teasing your pussy, he felt the wetness on his fingers. “Oh baby, you’re completely soaked…” he whispered, leaving little kisses on your right cheek.
“Please James—I need you” you moaned; the simple contact of his fingers wasn’t enough, you needed them inside of you.
“You need what? Say it or you’ll get nothing” his voice was so soft, it didn’t matches the words he was using.
“Finger me, fuck me, I just wanna feel you” you said pathetically, feeling your cunt throbbing, aching for him.
Suddenly he gently slide the tip of his index along your wet pussy, teasing your pearl in the most delicious way. You couldn’t hold back the loud moan that came out of you as he started drawing circle on it.
“Fuck look at you” he breathed out before giving your ass a little kiss, his middle finger joined too, rubbing every sensitive nerves till he slides them in you, the squelching sounds were the only audible thing beside your pants and moans.
“Oh James—it’s so good !” You whimpered, drooling on the pillow as he kept his atrocious ministration.
“Such a good girl, fuck look at you taking my fingers just perfectly” he praised before taking the whipped can and spraying some on your cheek and lower back. All this just to lick it off again while his fingers kept moving faster inside of you.
“Oh I’m gonna come—faster” your pussy pulsed against his digits, squeezing them softly, while he kept kissing and worshipping the back of your body.
“Go on, lemme hear you” he suddenly took off his fingers just to turn you on your back again, spreading your legs. He saw the complete wet mess on your cunt and without hesitation he ate you.
His warm tongue tasting every corner of your pussy, playing with your clit with the tip of his tongue, and the worse was feeling him smirking while eating you. Every time he dived it deeper you pulled him against you even more, wanting him to devour the shit out of you. And the noises he made, made it worse.
“Taste so good, fuck I could die between your legs” he murmured between licks, as he looked up at you, eyes on fire, that damn smirk on the corner of his mouth still present as he munched on you.
It didn’t last long till the bundle of heat ached to be released, you felt that familiar knot, twisting your insides. The feeling of his tongue, the view of him appreciating the taste of you was all you needed.
You came with a loud cry, your hand still clinging to the back of his hair as your legs trembled gently. James pulled back from you, his chin coated in your essence, lips shiny and moisturized, begging to be kissed.
He always had those red, puffy lips after eating you and that was a sigh to die for.
You quickly brought his chin up, parting your lips to welcome his. You tasted yourself on his tongue as it melted on yours.
Your hands rested on his shoulders, you pulled him back just enough to get on top of him, never leaving his lips. You kissed his neck, looking for that soft spot that would make him shiver every time, the soft pants that came out of him were like music to your ears.
“Lemme take care of you now” you whispered, before taking off his tank top. His eyes closed for a minute when your fingers gently traced his skin.
You looked around and found the can again, you sprayed some on his chest and abs, licking at the sweet cream off him.
“So beautiful” he whispered, his hand cupping your jaw as you went lower till you reached the waistband of his shorts.
You bit your lips as you took it off, rubbing your hands all over his boxer, your eyes saw the wet spot of precum on it. You looked up at him with a smirk.
“All that?” You chuckled, but he wasn’t laughing at all, his eyes were half lidded, head titled back, the state he was in just screamed ‘do me’
And that’s what you did.
The boxer quickly flew away, replacing the fabric by your hand, wrapping around the base of it. James let out a little gasp as you did so. Your hand working on him gently, you cupped his cheek and kissed him, your hand still stroking his length altering between fast and slow.
“Love you—love you so much baby” he whimpered between kisses, his body started overheating, some sweat started forming on his forehead, neck and chest. He looked absolutely wrecked and fucking hot.
You went down once again, your hand never leaving him till you slowly licked his tip, his hips jerked off, his head was completely titled back, as he whimpered pathetically.
“More please—baby please—fuck I’m coming” he whined out, as you took his tip into your mouth, sucking on it like the best lolipop you’ve ever had.
You softly spat onto his skin, just to deepthroat it all this time, the sweat was clinging to his body, his mouth open, like he was trying to mumble something but all he could do was pants and whimper.
“Fuck I’m—I’m coming” that’s all he said before he came into your mouth, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, you pulled away from him, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was slow, extremely slow, he moved his lips lazily against yours, wanting to make the moment last as much as he could. His nose brushing against yours sensually.
It felt intimate, just you two, bodies tangled in sweat, and some leftover of sugary cream, kissing in the most sloppily but slowly way, his warm hand rubbed your back gently, giving you a sort of comfort.
Finally you pulled back a little, he looked at you with those admirative eyes, and shit you felt your legs mushy and about to pass out.
“I love you” he whispered in your ear, before pecking your cheek.
“I love you more” you replied, nuzzling yourself against him, his body warm against yours, the scent of him enveloping you into a sweet bubble of love and tenderness.
⊹₊⟡⋆. distant lover, marvin gaye︱seonghyeon is lovesick over kiiikiii’s sweetheart, y/n.
CONTENT! fluff kisses skinship light angst ⊹ ࣪ ˖
yn was supposed to meet the other members of kiiikiii two minutes ago, but instead of stressing over being a little late, she scrolled through her phone as she stepped into the building.
her hair messily tied up, curls brushing her cheeks as she walked, pink baby tee soft against her skin.
the plan was pretty simple, film content and check in with the manager. except it was never simple when he was in the building.
she felt a light hand on her wrist, she slowly turned around and blinked, definitely not surprised to see him.
“come here,” seonghyeon mumbled, pulling her behind him.
yn rolled her eyes but let him, she always did. she took a sip from her matcha like getting dragged into an empty practice room by a boy was a daily thing or something.
the door shut behind them.
“it’s been three days,” he said lowly as he stared at her like he’d forgotten what she looked like.
yn took out her headphones. “hi to you too.”
she purposely took another sip of her matcha, not breaking eye contact. he looked tired, his hoodie sleeves were kinda pushed up and his hair was falling in front of his eyes. she almost snorted because of how much he looked like a sad puppy.
“you didn’t text back last night,” he added.
yn shrugged. “i was busy.”
“yeah, busy ignoring me.” his jaw tightened.
“also,” she reached up and flicked his hair away from his eyes. “we’re not dating. remember?”
he responded with no hesitation, “i don’t care.”
yn sighed and took a step back, but seonghyeon immediately stepped closer. her back hit the cold mirror, they were close enough so she could smell his shampoo and see the bags under his eyes.
“you know the rules,” she said. “i don’t wanna risk anything, seonghyeon.”
he quickly looked away and ran a hand through his hair. when he looked back down at her there was something needy in his expression.
“i missed you,” he admitted.
yn’s chest tightened, but she just scoffed. “you saw me last week.”
“that’s not enough, yn!”
he stepped closer before she could respond and kissed her. their noses slightly bumped and she felt him smiling against her lips, his thumb circling just above where her gray sweatpants sat low on her hips.
she breathlessly pulled back once she remembered where they were and pressed a finger to his lips.
“you look good,” he said against her finger, brushing away a curl by her cheek.
she swallowed, the more he flirted the weaker she got. her finger fell from his lips which curved into a small smile.
“can we hang out tonight,” he begged. “please.”
she snorted. “you’re desperate.”
“for you.”
yn looked away, biting her bottom lip. she was good at keeping her guard up and pretending she didn’t care, but seonghyeon always got to her.
“we shouldn’t,” she said. “you know that.”
“hasn’t stopped us before.”
yn sighed. she really did care about the company’s rules and her worst nightmare would be to get in any sort of trouble, the media had always terrified her.
she softly pushed him back, but his hands just found their place on her waist again.
“hands,” she warned.
“sorry.” he grinned and didn’t move them. “i just want to see you, yn.”
she stared at him. at the way his eyes were soft as he stared back at her and the way he looked like he needed her.
yn exhaled a shaky breath.
“fine,” she said. “but you’re buying food.”
his face lit up as a boyish smile took over all of his features.
“really?”
“it’s not a big deal.”
and for a girl who swore they weren’t anything, she still let him pull her back into a kiss, just to shut him up though. she was a confused mess and if she wasn’t late before, she definitely was now.
☆.ㅤ SYN. ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ your usually shy boyfriend gets drunk for the first time and becomes way too clingy.
ᯓ ࣪ ˖ ִ ★ pairing ── eom seonghyeon , f reader.
needy seonghyeon (?) ⋆.˚
wc: 1,5k
a/n : heyyy guys, this was in my drafts for a while but whatever <𝟑 .ᐟ also keep in mind that i do not support or encourage underage drinking, it may reflect situations that many teenagers are familiar with in real life, but here they are only used for storytelling purposes and should not be taken as encouragement or promotion. thanks. kisses >⩊<
Your room was warm and quiet, lit only by the small lamp beside your bed while the rest of the apartment stayed dark and still around you. You had been half asleep for almost twenty minutes already, curled comfortably under your blanket with your phone abandoned somewhere near your pillow, your eyes barely able to stay open anymore.
Then suddenly, loud knocking echoed through the apartment.
You flinched awake immediately, heart jumping as the sound repeated again, louder this time. For a second you just stared at the ceiling in confusion before slowly pushing the blanket off yourself and getting out of bed.
Who even knocks like that this late at night?
You dragged your feet toward the door sleepily, fixing your oversized shirt a little before unlocking it.
The moment the door opened, Martin almost stumbled inside first.
“Oh thank god,” he sighed dramatically.
Then you saw Seonghyeon beside him.
And immediately froze.
His hair was completely messy, falling over his eyes unevenly like someone had been running their hands through it all night, and his hoodie hung off one shoulder slightly while he stood there swaying just enough for you to notice. His cheeks were flushed pink, eyes half lidded and unfocused, and the second he looked at you, his entire expression softened instantly.
You blinked in surprise. “Is he drunk?”
“Very,” Martin answered instantly.
Seonghyeon frowned slightly beside him. “I’m not that drunk.”
“You almost cried because they changed the music,” Martin deadpanned.
“I liked that song.”
Martin rolled his eyes before looking back at you.
“He would not shut up about wanting to come see you.” He pointed toward Seonghyeon with complete exhaustion. “Like genuinely. Every five seconds it was your name over and over again.”
Your eyes moved back to Seonghyeon automatically and he just stared at you quietly, blinking slowly.
“He missed you,” Martin added teasingly.
Seonghyeon immediately hid part of his face inside his sleeve and you could not help smiling a little.
Martin sighed dramatically again before carefully grabbing Seonghyeon by the shoulders and moving him toward you.
“Here. He’s your problem now.”
The second Seonghyeon reached you, he leaned against you almost instantly, his weight warm and heavy against your shoulder.
Martin pointed at him seriously.
“Do not let him drink again because he’s either gonna ruin the party or start confessing his feelings to random furniture.”
“I was not talking to furniture,” Seonghyeon mumbled.
“You thanked a lamp.”
“That’s because it looked nice.”
You laughed quietly before Martin started walking backward toward the elevator again.
“Good luck,” he called out. “And seriously, keep him alive.”
Then he disappeared.
Leaving you alone with your extremely drunk boyfriend clinging to your shoulder.
For a moment Seonghyeon just stayed there quietly, arms loosely around your waist while his forehead rested against the side of your head.
“You smell nice,” he murmured suddenly.
You smiled despite yourself. “Thank you.”
His grip tightened slightly like he was making sure you were real.
“Missed you.”
The words came out so soft and honest that your chest hurt a little.
“You saw me this morning,” you whispered.
“Still missed you.”
God.
You carefully guided him inside before closing the door behind you, and the second you did, he immediately followed you around the apartment like a lost puppy while you prepared things for him.
You grabbed comfortable clothes from your drawer, placing them neatly inside the bathroom before turning the shower on slightly so the water could warm up.
“You need to shower first,” you told him gently.
Seonghyeon stood beside the sink watching you quietly, looking impossibly tired and clingy at the same time.
Then suddenly he moved closer.
Enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him properly because of the obvious height difference between you two. Even drunk, he somehow still carried that naturally soft presence around you, except now it felt less controlled.
Needier.
His arms slid around your waist slowly before he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder, practically folding himself against you.
You immediately wrapped your arms around the back of his neck carefully, fingers brushing softly through the messy hair at the nape of it.
“It’s okay, babe,” you whispered. “You’re okay.”
He made a quiet sound against your shoulder, almost like a hum.
You smiled slightly. “Was this your first time drinking?”
After a small pause, he nodded.
That made your smile grow instantly.
Of course it was.
Everything suddenly made sense now. The clinginess. The nonstop honesty.
You gently rubbed circles against the back of his neck while he stayed there holding you silently.
Then after a few seconds, he spoke again.
“Babe.”
“Hm?”
He lifted his head slightly just enough to look at you properly, eyes heavy and unfocused but still impossibly soft.
“I love you so much.”
Your heart almost stopped.
Before you could even answer, he leaned down and kissed you.
Harder than usual.
Desperate in a way that completely caught you off guard because Seonghyeon was normally shy with affection, always hesitating before kisses, always getting embarrassed after holding your hand for too long.
But now he kissed you like he could not help himself.
Like every thought in his head had disappeared except you.
You could taste the alcohol faintly against his lips, sweet and bitter at the same time, but you barely noticed because of how tightly he held you.
One of his hands moved up your back slowly while he kissed you again, deeper this time, and your fingers tightened instinctively behind his neck as your breathing started getting uneven.
When he finally pulled back slightly for air, his forehead rested against yours for barely a second before he leaned in again immediately.
Another kiss.
Then another.
Your brain felt completely scrambled by the sudden affection.
“Babe,” you murmured breathlessly against his lips, barely managing to speak between kisses. “Calm down.”
The second the words left your mouth, he stopped immediately.
His eyes widened slightly like he just realized what he was doing.
“Sorry,” he whispered instantly.
You blinked up at him, still breathless.
He looked genuinely flustered now despite being drunk, his cheeks flushed deeper pink than before.
“You just…” He swallowed softly. “You drive me crazy.”
Your stomach flipped painfully.
A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it and you shook your head slightly, still holding onto him.
“I think you’re really drunk.”
“I know.”
But he clearly did not care.
Instead he just hugged you closer again, hiding his face against your shoulder like he suddenly got shy all over again after saying too much.
Which somehow made the whole thing even cuter.
Eventually, after a lot of convincing and helping him not trip over literally nothing, you managed to get him showered and into clean clothes.
By the time you both finally crawled into bed, the apartment had gone completely silent again.
Seonghyeon immediately moved toward you the second he laid down, arms wrapping around your waist while he pulled you close against his chest like he physically could not sleep otherwise.
His face buried itself into your neck comfortably, warm breaths brushing softly against your skin while one of his legs tangled lazily with yours under the blanket.
You smiled quietly in the darkness, fingers brushing gently through his damp hair.
“Better?” you whispered.
He nodded sleepily against your shoulder.
Then after a few seconds, his voice came out soft and tired.
“Still love you.”
Your chest hurt again in the best way possible.
You pressed a small kiss against his forehead before cuddling closer into him, listening to his breathing slowly even out as exhaustion finally took over both of you.
you only decide to bring it up because seonghyeon looks too comfortable.
he’s sitting at the edge of your couch like he owns it, one arm stretched along the backrest behind you, the other lazily through his phone, while his knee presses lightly against yours every time he shifts.
the apartment is quiet in that late afternoon way where everything feels softer than it should, the light filtering in through the curtains and turning the room golden at the edges, and you’re trying very hard to focus on literally anything else other than how close he is.
“so,” you start, way too casually, because you’ve been rehearsing this in your head for ten minutes and it still sounds suspicious no matter how well you say it.
seonghyeon hums without looking up, clearly only half listening, which would normally annoy you but now feels like the perfect opening.
“so there’s this trend going around,” you continue, watching his thumb pause mid scroll.
the pause is immediate.
slowly, he lifts his head, eyes narrowing in the exact way that tells you that he’s already decided he doesn’t trust you.
“that sentence is never followed by something normal,” he says carefully, setting his phone down like he’s preparing for impact.
you try not to smile, but obviously you fail.
“it’s not bad,” you insist, shifting closer to him on the couch until your shoulder bumps his. “it’s actually very simple. you just have to… participate.”
“i don’t like how confident you sound right now,” he replies, voice flat but amused. and you can already tell he’s fighting a smile.
“oh c’mon, you’re being dramatic,” you say reaching for his hand just to distract him, and he lets you take it without thinking about it, which is always dangerous because it makes you forget what you were even arguing about for a second.
“i’m being realistic,” he corrects, turning your hand in his like he’s inspecting it for evidence. “last time you said ‘it’s just a trend,’ i ended up doing something embarrassing in public.”
“that was one time.”
“it was three times.” he says immediately, and now he’s definitely smiling.
you ignore that because you’re committed now.
“this one’s harmless,” you continue, shifting your tone into something softer, more convincing, leaning your head slightly closer to his shoulder as if proximity alone could win him over. “it’s just a guessing game.”
seonghyeon finally looks at you properly at that, and the way his expression changes tells you he’s trying to figure out where the catch is.
“a guessing game…” he repeats slowly, like he’s testing the phrase for traps.
you nod way too quickly.
“about what.”
you hesitate for half a second too long, which is exactly enough time for him to look even more suspicious.
“chapstick,” you say finally, as casually as possible, and immediately regret how convincing that sounds out loud.
his eyebrows rise.
there’s a beat of silence where he just stares at you, and you can practically feel him trying to decide whether you’re serious or not.
“of course it’s chapstick,” he mutters, leaning back against the couch like he’s accepted fate. “why would it ever be something normal like a quiz or a movie recommendation.”
seonghyeon looks at the chapstick like it personally offended him.
“and if i refuse?”
“then i’ll be very disappointed,” you say, widening your eyes slightly, because you know exactly what it does to him.
he holds your gaze for a long while, clearly trying to resist whatever instinct is telling him to give in.
it lasts maybe three seconds.
“fine,” he says finally, snatching the chapstick from your hand like he’s doing it reluctantly for legal reasons. “but if this is weird, i’m blaming you.”
“it’s not weird.”
“it’s always weird with you.”
you ignore him again, because he’s already uncapping it, and you’re trying very hard not to look too excited about that fact that this is actually working.
he applies it slowly, deliberately, like he’s suspicious the entire time, and you watch him with way too much satisfaction, propping your chin in your hand as you wait.
when he’s done, he caps it and tosses it back to you.
“okay,” you say, leaning forward, your knee brushing his. “guess.”
he leans in closer just slightly, studying your face in a way that makes your brain briefly forget what you were doing, which it unfair because you’re supposed to be in control of this situation.
“cherry,” he guesses first.
“no,” you say, shaking your head.
“strawberry,” he tries next, a little less confident.
you shake your head again, and you can see him starting to get annoyed now.
“watermelon,” he says, squinting.
you chuckle at that one because he says it like he already knows he’s wrong.
“no,” you confirm again.
he leans back, groaning under his breath like this is a much bigger problem than it needs to be.
“yeah, this is rigged.” he decides.
“it’s not rigged, seonghyeon,” you say, smiling.
“you’re enjoying this way too much,” he accused, pointing at you like that’s proof of something.
he shifts closer again, this time with purpose, his knee pressing more firmly against yours, and you realize way too late that he has changed strategies.
“come here,” he mutters, almost a whisper.
you immediately narrow your eyes. “why.”
“because i need another try.”
“that sounds like cheating to me.”
“it’s called data collection,” he replies, already leaning in. “i need to know what i’m working with.”
you should stop him.
you absolutely do not stop him.
the first kiss is soft enough that it barely feels like a decision, more like something that happens between conversations without permission, his hand resting against your wrist like he’s grounding himself there. when he pulls back, it’s only far enough to look at you properly, like he’s actually thinking now.
he blinks once, then slightly tilts his head.
“peach,” he says confidently, all smiley.
you immediately laugh, because it’s wrong in the exact way you expected.
“that’s not how this works,” you reply, still smiling.
“it tasted like peach,” he insists, completely serious.
“you’re just saying that because you like kissing me,” you accuse, and you regret it the second it leaves your mouth because his expression changes in a way that makes your face warm instantly.
“i do like kissing you,” he admits, like it’s obvious, and then he leans in again before you can respond.
the second kiss lasts longer, slower, like he’s testing again on purpose, and by the time he pulls back you’ve completely forgotten the point of the game, which is exactly the problem.
he looks far too pleased with himself.
“still peach,” he repeats.
“it’s not peach.”
“then it’s broken.”
“it’s not broken, you’re just really bad at guessing.”
he gasps dramatically, leaning back against the couch like you’ve insulted his entire identity.
“bad… bad at guessing,” he repeats, clearly offended, and you can’t help but laugh harder because he looks genuinely betrayed by the accusation.
“try again,” you say, pointing at him.
“…okay,” he says eventually. then he kisses you again.
this one is different, not faster or slower exactly, but more certain, like he’s decided this is the correct method and he’s sticking to it. when he pulls back this time, he doesn’t guess right away, he just looks at you longer than necessary.
“strawberry?” he tries again, but there’s no confidence in it now.
you shake your head very slowly.
he exhales, lean in his forehead against yours, he’s thinking about too hard about something that’s objectively not that serious.
“you’re distracting,” he mutters.
“you started it.” you remind him.
by the time you’ve lost track of how many guesses he’s made, the chapstick flavor has become completely irrelevant to both of you in a way neither of you are willing to admit. he keeps getting closer every time he tries again, like the game is an excuse now, and you’ve stopped pretending you’re not leaning into it too.
when he finally pauses, still close enough that you feel his breath against your skin, he looks at you like he’s considering something far more important than guessing.
“watermelon,” he says quietly.
you freeze for half a second, then immediately shake your head. “no.”
“oh, really?” he asks.
you hesitate, looking at his face you know he’s sure of his answer.
“…maybe,” you admit.
his smile widens instantly, like that was all the confirmation he needed.
“i knew it,” he says, far too satisfied, and you groan, realizing too late that he absolutely did not need more than one kiss to win this game.
and when he leans in again, and you don’t stop him, because at this point losing neither of you remembers why you ever wanted to.
the game is long forgotten.
pensieri this was originally written for keonho, but then after i finished revamping it, i thought it’d suit seonghyeon ! plus i haven’t written for seonghyeon in a while so ( > < )
🐠 bf!idol!seonghyeon x f!reader, profanity, fluff, kys jokes, corny jokes, attempts 2 be funny (im sorry), mentions of cheating as a joke, ragebaiter yn
sometimes you wonder if your boyfriend prefers acai over you
listen to: acai by cortis
🥒 iro's notes: it's been so long omg hi....big keonho + james fic otw so its taking me smm time fuckk i feel like im on a writers block istg
~WARNINGS: language, pet names, suggestive content (no smut just a bit sus 👀), bromance, fluff crack, (lmk if i missed anything 😓)
✮⋆˙ aughhhh i got bored of writing the martin fic but ill be back to it sooon!!!! here is some more bf james content 😸😸😸😸😸!! ignore the fact that i forgot to put my watermark on some posts 😭
LAST NIGHT I HAD A DREAM WE STARTED DATING (AND NOW YOU’RE PISSING ME OFF) !
pairings: jude bellingham x reader, mentions of kylian mbappé x reader and jude bellingham x unnamed gf oc
faceclaim: pinkpantheress <3
summary: you and jude have been in each other’s circles since you were young, but whenever one of you is ready, the other never seems to be.
warnings: jealous jude acting ANNOYING!!!!!
sequel to im not attracted to you like i was (back at the start) !
author’s note: i’m referring to this yn as pink!yn so if u want to see any other headcanons etc. look thru my pink universe tag! also i’ll do one more official part to this so if you’d like to be tagged, fill out my taglist!
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liked by yourbestfriend, erling and 23,927 others.
yourusername: sshhh no talking. i’m busy.
view all comments
erling: hello
-> yourusername: can’t talk here. message me on the jude bellingham app.
-> judebellingham: u think you’re hilarious. not even a smile from me.
-> user1: if he doesn’t find it funny why is he ALWAYS HERE 😭
→ yourusername: he replied in 14 seconds 😂
→ judebellingham: coincidence.
user2: how was ur dating going?
-> yourusername: apparently i am weird and off ‘pudding’. which makes no sense??? i’m not on a diet. i am ON pudding. so i ended it.
user3: jude being under y/n’s comments and popping out at his game with his girlfriend… oh jude i can never form a coherent thought about you…
-> user4: wym?! yn isn’t his gf?!
-> user3: no 😭 his gf was the girl who was with denise and jobe at the england game.
-> user4: shiiii… pass yn my way then 😮💨
user5: u would be my fav wag yourusername
*liked by yourusername.*
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↗ now playing: human nature by madonna.
liked by jobebellingham, k.mbappe and 45,878 others
yourusername: thinking 💭
view comments
user1: okay booberella 😍
yourbestfriend: home before midnight and smiling. who are you and what have you done with my bestie
-> yourusername: he fed me. i’m easily managed.
user2: YN LIKING A MAN… WE CHEERED
jobebellingham: did he pay
→ yourusername: obviously.
→ jobebellingham: fair enough then
-> user3: jobe doing the older brother inspection because jude is too busy throwing up somewhere
-> user3: NOT HIM LIKING THIS ?! LMFAOSISSKSAJ
user4: jude posting his gf on main for the first time an hour after yn posted this…..
-> user5: wait so jude saw the date post, got mad, and hard launched his girlfriend??? very normal behaviour.
-> user6: he posted that woman like a rebuttal 😭
user7: yn u look sooo good omg
user8: the song !!! queen has great taste. totally not a subtle way to give us context on the situation ofc
*liked by yourusername.*
user9: he has never posted her before but suddenly today was the day. alright babe.
→ user10: subtle as a brick through a window
k.mbappe: nice photos :)
→ yourusername: :)
→ user11: oh jude just dropped to his knees in a tesco express
→ user12: SHE SMILED. wrap it up. JUDE UR OVER!!!!
user13: this whole situation is sooo messy
-> user14: cause no jude in the comments is acc CRAZY
user15: bro remembered he had a relationship IMMEDIATELY after this post 😭😭😭 men ain’t shit
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↗ now playing: hit ‘em up (feat outlawz) by 2pac.
liked by everyone, andyourmama and 238,929 others
ham1ltonshaderoom: uh oh, trouble in spanish paradise? footballer jude bellingham has unfollowed real madrid teammate kylian mbappé after gossip that the latter took his friend out on a date. the british footballer then hard launched his girlfriend.
what are we thinking is the reason ham1lton’s? dinner date drama or something else?
view all comments
user1: men will unfollow their teammate before admitting they’re jealous 😭
user2: wait who is the friend and why are we acting like she’s public property
user3: this is literally probably nothing. footballers accidentally unfollow people all the time.
→ user4: no they don’t 😭 not their starting teammate after one alleged dinner date.
user5: she is single. kylian is single. jude is not. next case.
user6: i just watched the wc. idk who everyone is. but trust!!! i am seated for this!!!!
user7: oh to be in a judekylian love triangle….
user8: messy asf to keep following kylian’s brother 😭
user9: jude’s girlfriend needs to stand up because why is her man unfollowing people over another woman ???
user10: “his friend” oh brother that man has been in love with her since secondary school
→ user11: source: voices in your head
→ user10: source: literally every interaction they’ve ever had online and in public.
user12: can somebody explain this from the beginning i have a job
→ user13: yn is a family friend of the bellinghams, she and jude have known each other forever, kylian took her to dinner and then jude randomly posted his girlfriend and unfollowed kylian
→ user12: oh so everybody involved is annoying. understood.
user14: this is why footballers should not date within the workplace
-> user15: she doesn’t work there 😭
user16: kylian has been at madrid five minutes and already took jude’s girl. generational impact.
-> user17: not his girl btw
-> user16: does jude know that?
user18: THE SONG CHOICE ?!?!
user19: jobe liking the girl’s post but not jude’s girlfriend post is the real tea for me
user20: maybe jude’s girlfriend asked him to unfollow kylian??
-> user21: why would she ask him to unfollow kylian and not yn ?? that makes no sense 😭
user22: does kylian still follow jude?
→ user23: ofc. idk why ppl r weirded out they’ll be hugging after the next match and everyone here will pretend this never happened.
user24: need someone from madrid to leak the group chat immediately
user25: i’m not saying he’s in love with her but i am saying emotionally neutral men do not behave like this.
-> user26: he wanted her available, not necessarily with him. men love a reserved seat they never plan to sit in.
user27: jude and yn are giving right person, wrong time, wrong decisions, wrong everything.
user28: jude’s PR team currently drafting a statement about a “technical glitch.”
-> user29: technical glitch that specifically searched kylian’s profile and pressed unfollow 😭
user30: perhaps kylian borrowed his charger and never returned it. we don’t know these people.
user31: why is everyone blaming jude when kylian knew that was his close friend?
→ user32: because she is a grown woman and not jude’s property ??? hope this helps
→ user31: nobody said she was his property?? it’s still weird to date your teammate’s best friend
→ user32: only if your teammate secretly wants her. otherwise literally who cares 😭
user33: two coworkers unfollowing each other has never deserved 238k likes but here i am
user34: yn hasn’t even posted kylian’s face and jude is already at DEFCON 1
user35: real madrid HR / PR opening instagram this morning: 🧍♂️
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should yn stay w/ jude or leave him for kylian?
jude
kylian
dinner w/ jay-z
Voting ended onJul 27
taglist: @abbotbunny @midnightmadss @yatta-exe (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)
author’s note: look at my shitty editing skills everyone!! also sorry this got long. part three will be posted later and it’ll be less angsty xoxo
IM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU LIKE I WAS (BACK AT THE START) !
pairings: jude bellingham x reader.
faceclaims: pinkpantheress
summary: you and jude have been in each other’s circles since you were young, but whenever one of you is ready, the other never seems to be.
warnings: not any really. besides judeyn being dumbasses!!
author’s note: i’m back!!! hi :D also i was so inspired by this edit of the prince and princess of british biracia that i had to make this. part two is here. wanna be tagged in pt 3? fill out my taglist.
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liked by jobebellingham, judebellingham and 12,827 others.
yourusername: be honest, who outmogged?
view all comments
judebellingham: why are you like this
judebellingham: delete
judebellingham: my lawyers r coming for you
judebellingham: I HATE YOU TIMES INFINITY
judebellingham: WHERE DID U EVEN GET THIS FROM FUCKS SAKE DELETE !!!
-> yourusername: so u want to silence women. wow.
k.mbappe: jude tu t’es fait humilier 😭
-> judebellingham: speak english
-> k.mbappe: you got cooked brother
-> yourusername: merci kylian 😘
jobebellingham: queen outmogged that mouthbreather 😂
-> yourusername: YASSSSS
user1: we all know u mog him babe xxx
user2: yn beefing w/ jude will never not be funny.
-> user3: domestic terrorist 😭
user4: can someone explain this dynamic. who is she?
-> user5: so basically she’s a family friend of the bellinghams. she went to the same school as jude and her mum is besties with denise so she grew up with them. as far as we know, they haven’t publicly dated and seem to be very close friends.
-> user6: they be fuckin
-> user7: i think he’s her beard.
user8: tell jude i can comfort him personally after that england loss.
-> yourusername: comfort ME tf?! who cares about him. i went through a LOT of emotions 💔
user9: one thing about jude he’s gonna like the post while threatening legal action 😭
judebellingham: ur obsessed
-> user10: dude just block her!!!!
-> judebellingham: i’ve tried 💔
-> user11: u have training at 10 stop arguing with women online.
-> judebellingham: MIND UR BUSINESS 🤨‼️
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liked by erling, jobebellingham and 345,628 others.
judebellingham: who outmogs now?
view all comments
user1: her
user2: her
user3: her
user4: her
user5: her
user6: her
user7: her
user8: her
user9: her
user10: her
erling: you bro 👊🏻
-> judebellingham: love you bro 👊🏽
-> user11: now kiss 😍
jobebellingham: this weird foreplay is strange. just kiss and stop dragging us into it!!!!!!!
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📍 new york city, usa.
liked by jobebellingham, yourbestfriend and 21,938 others.
yourusername: new york i love you, but you’re bringing me down.
view all comments
judebellingham: depressing ass song. don’t see that man again.
-> user1: “don’t see that man again” WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS 😭
-> user2: bro the booty police 😭😭😭
user3: girl stand UP jude is literally trying to save u from evil hell situationships
-> yourusername: he wants me miserable.
-> user3: YOU want you miserable 😭😭😭
user4: the way he always appears under her posts within 3 business minutes 😭
-> user5: notifications ON btw
jobebellingham: not this again.
-> yourusername: HE STARTED IT
-> judebellingham: YOU POSTED IT
user6: jude is that one friend who says “he’s weird” about every guy 😭
*liked by yourusername*
yourbestfriend: this is NOT your business btw judebellingham
-> judebellingham: made it my business
-> yourbestfriend: you literally asked ZERO follow-up questions 😭
→ yourusername: he never does
user7: this is NOT a normal friendship btw
user8: possessive but not enough to ask her out. fascinating.
-> user9: if she blocks every guy because of jude eventually she’ll have to date jude… he’s playing chess we’re playing checkers
user10: somebody explain this situationship in football terms
→ user11: VAR checked it. still confusing.
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author’s note: this got ahead of me. i will post another part later ok bye xoxo
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hiiii angels it's @purplesectorlew (Lo)!! here with my addition to the jude hype train because i can't stop thinking about his facial expressions and exhausted but clingy jude so here we are. hope you enjoy the fluff-to-spice pipeline as much as i did writing it <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: after england’s dramatic quarter-final win over norway, an exhausted Jude just wants his girlfriend close. post-match cuddles (that definitely don’t stay just cuddles) in the team hotel lead to soft, sleepy, and very needy sex. comfort, praise, and tired-boyfriend vibes.
warnings: smut MDNI, handjob, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, tired but horny jude, whimpering + whiny jude, lowkey sub!jude, lots of praise and pet names, slight possessive talk
wc: 4.5k!
The last notes of Wonderwall had just faded out across the Hard Rock, the lads still buzzing on the pitch with arms slung round each other. Jude was right in the middle of it, singing along like the rest of them, his beautiful smile splitting his face even though you could tell every last inch of him was running on empty.
It had been a grind. The Miami heat and humidity were brutal, thick and sticky, so much so that it had made your lungs burn just watching from the stands. Extra time looked like it nearly broke them, but Jude dragged it through with his second goal in the 93rd minute like something out of a film. Your heart was still hammering, ears ringing, the whole stadium vibrating around you.
Then the fans started up with “Hey Jude” and you had to look away quickly, blinking hard. The pride you feel swells up so huge it doesn’t fit in your chest, it spills over into these stupid tears every single time you hear the song, no matter how many times you see him do something like this.
“He looks exhausted,” Denise says quietly, her arm still hooked through yours, squeezing a little.
“I know. Bless him. I don’t know how he’s still standing out there. He gave that absolutely everything.”
You take some deep breaths with his parents, gushing over his performance as usual and wait for him to finish with everything else he has to do after the final whistle.
Soon enough, you watch him walk over showered and changed into the usual post-match tracksuits, his hood half up already like he’s already trying to shut the world out. Even from a distance you can see the heaviness in his shoulders, the way he’s moving a bit stiffer than usual, his tall frame carrying the weight of a country for ninety-plus minutes. He looks happy though. So, so happy. His dark eyes scan the stands until they find you three, and you can see the sparkle in them as soon as he spots you.
He hugs his mum first, extra tight, murmuring something that makes her laugh and pat his back. All week she’d been saying watch your language, watch your tackles, watch your face so he wouldn’t get booked. You could see how proud she was of him, her eyes closing when they hugged. It almost made your heart burst.
Then his dad, the two of them clapping each other on the shoulder like they always do, that quiet father-son thing that always makes your chest warm. Mark kisses his cheek, and your smile mirrors Jude’s bashful one. Only after that does he turn to you.
“There she is,” he says, voice a little rough from the game, his accent coming through even stronger when he’s tired. He smiles down at you, exhausted but sweet, and you stand up to meet him.
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone, your other arm sliding round his broad back. He’s warm, solid, still carrying the smell of the grass mixed with fresh shower gel. “I’m so proud of you, Jude. That looked so tough out there.”
He leans down and kisses you, soft and quick. He’s never one for big PDA with the cameras hovering, but he never lets you feel unloved. Then his hand comes up, gentle as anything, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear.
His eyes go all soft as he looks at you, the intense match-day fire dialled right down just for you. “Thank you, baby. Yeah… it was hard. Proper hard. But we got there. It was rough though, I’m shattered.”
You sit back down and he drops straight onto the seat next to you, no hesitation. His head finds your shoulder immediately, heavy and trusting, like he’s been waiting for this exact spot the whole night. You slide your hand up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the way he likes, and feel him let out a long breath, sinking further into you. The relief in his body is so obvious it makes your heart twist.
His mum and dad chat lightly for a minute — something about the referee, how proud they are, the usual post-match debrief — and Jude mumbles along, half in it, half gone. His hand finds yours in your lap, fingers threading together lazily.
After a bit he turns his head, lips brushing your ear as he lowers his voice. “Are you gonna come visit me tonight?”
You snort, playfully nudging his head away. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, babe.”
He laughs then, loud and bright, teeth flashing, his eyes lighting up with the loving mischief that always gets you. “What? I can’t get cuddles from my girl? After that?”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “Cuddles?”
His lip twitches, smirk spreading slow and dangerous. “Cuddles,” he repeats, all innocent like. “And a couple of kisses. Just three or four…”
You tilt your head, giving him a look. He’s dead on his feet, shoulders slumped, yet still managing to look at you like that. You ignore the heat pooling in your stomach from the way he's looking at you and try to think logically. The semi-finals are midweek. “You’re gonna cramp up at some point and whatever idea you’ve got of cuddles and kisses is gonna be straight out the window.”
“Can I not enjoy my recovery with my girlfriend? Is that against the law now?” He huffs dramatically, but his hands are already stroking up your sides, warm and familiar.
You huff at him, already giving in. “You’re so spoilt.”
He grins wider, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You can never say no to me.”
And it’s true. You can’t say no to him. Not when he looks at you like that. Cuddles. Right.
It wasn’t long before you found yourself being led by Jude back to his room in the team hotel in Miami. They’d just had a squad dinner, winding down after the match. As soon as players started to retreat he’d texted you and met you in the lobby. Other England camps weren’t like this in the past, you were so grateful the rules had been changed to let you see him, even if he should be resting.
He’d showered again, you could already tell by the cologne and body wash mix you could smell as you followed him down the quiet corridor. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles every few steps. He still moved a little stiff from the game, the beautiful body of his carrying the bruises and the exhaustion, but there was this restless energy in him too, the win still buzzing under his skin.
Once the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop talking. He kicked his slides off, flopping back onto the bed as he kept going, voice low and rough but nonstop the way it always gets when he’s over-excited.
“...and then after the equaliser, I swear the pitch felt like it was moving, the humidity was mad out there. But the lads were buzzing, it was so loud on the pitch. Harry pulled me over after and was saying something about the run we’re on now, and I was just thinking the whole time about that last chance, how I nearly messed up the touch but it just fell right. Then extra time, my legs were gone but you just dig deep, don’t you? Mum’s texts were killing me the whole week about watching my face and my language, I nearly got booked just for breathing heavy at the ref at one point—”
He laughed at himself, running a hand over his damp hair, eyes bright even though his shoulders were sinking deeper into the pillows. You perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, the usual warmth spreading in your chest.
He reached out and tugged you closer by the wrist, still mid-story. “—and then I was like, nah, we’re not losing this one. You get me babe? And then I was like—”
“Jude, take a breath, love. I was there and watching the whole thing,” you chuckle, adjusting to lie next to him on the bed. His arm slipped under your head straight away, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb moved slowly across your cheek, warm and a little rough.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, half-laughing at himself again, voice dropping lower. “I’m just… excited. I don’t know. We left everything out there and…”
He trailed off for a second, eyes half-closed, but his fingers kept moving, tracing your jaw, then down the side of your neck, like he couldn’t quite settle even though his body was heavy with tiredness. Up close like this you could see every little detail: the faint sheen of sweat still at his hairline from how warm it was in Miami, the way his chest rose and fell a bit quicker than normal, a fresh bruise along his jaw starting to darken. You breathed in his warm skin scent that always made your stomach flip.
He shifted closer, leg hooking over yours casually, voice going soft and a little rough with emotion. “It’s mad innit? One minute you’re out there thinking your legs are done, next minute the ball drops and it just… happens. And now we’re in the semis. Semis, babe.”
His grin came back, tired but bright, the one that always made your heart do stupid things. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in like he needed it more than air. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were up there. Makes it all feel different.”
“I love you,” you whisper softly, thumb brushing his cheek, “and I’m so proud of you.”
“How proud?” he beamed, raising an eyebrow, a playful spark lighting up his exhausted face.
“Very proud. Like… prouder than you can even imagine. I think I’ve cried at nearly every game—”
Jude giggles, almost giddy, the sound low and warm in his chest. He loved praise, especially from you, it always turned him soft and a little cocky at the same time. “I know, my little crybaby,” he cooed, voice teasing and fond as he leaned in, pressing little kisses all over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one gentle and sweet, like he was savouring being close after the chaos of the match.
“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “You need to calm down, baby. You have to sleep.”
“My body’s tired,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lingering lower near your jaw, “but the adrenaline is just making me wired, man.”
You stroke his side, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palm, the faint tremor of leftover energy in his muscles. His tall frame was heavy against you, one leg tangled with yours, but his hands kept wandering. Sliding under the hem of your top to rest against your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles there.
After a moment he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at you properly. The lamp on the bedside table casts a soft glow over his face, his beautiful brown eyes and pink lips slightly parted. He looks unfairly good for someone who just played extra time in a stadium that felt more like a sauna.
“So…” he starts, a smirk creeping back in. “About those kisses I was promised.”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile again. “I don’t remember promising anything.”
“Oi, don’t lie to me..” He leans in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your mouth. “I distinctly remember talking about three or four. Minimum.” His hand slides higher under your top, palm flat and warm against your ribs, thumb stroking just under the curve of your breast. “Come on, baby. I earned them, didn’t I? Scored two, dragged us to the semis… least you can do is give your man some proper kisses.”
He’s grinning again now, all cheeky and tired and completely devastating to your self-control . Before you can answer he dips his head and presses one slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear, lingering there like he knows exactly what it does to you.
“You’ve just wasted two kisses…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
He groans in joking frustration, eyebrows furrowing to give you a little puppy dog look that always gets him out of trouble. “I just want cuddles and kisses before i sleep-”
He stops as you tilt your head at him, giving him another look.
“I swear, I swear! Baby, please…”
The pleading look on his face already has your stomach flipping, mouth a little dry. He’s so unfairly gorgeous like this. Tired eyes, messy damp curls,his toned body stretched out next to you, still radiating heat from the match. The way his tracksuit top has ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach… it’s ridiculous how much you want him even when he’s half-dead on his feet.
“Fine,” you say, trying to sound stern but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, “but you need to try and sleep too…”
He shifts slightly so you’re fully facing each other, one hand moving to your lower back, his leg still draped heavy over yours. “I can fall asleep kissing you.”
The kisses start off sweet and slow. Gentle presses of his lips against yours, his hand stroking your lower back under your top. His other hand in your hair, fingers loose and tired. Then they deepen.
Jude lets out a quiet, relieved sigh into your mouth as his lips part wider, tongue sliding in slow and warm. The kisses turn sloppy fast. Wet, lazy, unhurried in an exhausted way that somehow makes it hotter. His tongue moves heavy and deep, tangling with yours in long, messy strokes, licking into your mouth like he’s too tired to do anything but feel you. Every so often he sucks softly on your tongue or your bottom lip, pulling it between his before going back in deeper, slower, wetter. You can taste the faint mint from his post-dinner toothpaste mixed with the warm, familiar taste that’s just him. His breaths are heavier now, little groans vibrating against your lips as the kisses grow filthier. Your tongues sliding slow and slick, mouths open and messy, spit-slick lips catching every time you pull apart for air only to dive right back in.
He’s genuinely exhausted, you feel it in the heavy weight of his body against yours, the way his movements stay soft and sleepy even as they get more desperate. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you there as he kisses you like he’s trying to melt into you. Deep, lazy swirls of his tongue, slow sucks, the occasional sleepy grind of his hips against your thigh. He’s half-asleep and completely turned on at the same time, and it’s doing dangerous things to you.
Your hand slides under his top to rest on his ribs, and the soft, needy sound he makes against your tongue makes you shiver hard in his arms.
“M’so hard for you,” he whispers against your lips, breathing heavily. He presses his hips forward, grinding slowly so you can feel exactly how turned on he is, the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his joggers.
“You need me to help you, baby?” you murmur, letting your hand trail down his stomach until your palm cups the hard bulge. He’s so warm, so fucking hard already, twitching eagerly under your touch.
Jude’s breath hitches, hips jerking up into your hand as he lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “Please…”
“But you’re so tired, Jude.” You stroke him slowly through the fabric, teasing, because you love when he gets like this…all soft, sleepy, and whiny for you.
“Baby—” he whines, the sound high and needy, forehead pressed to yours. His hand moves down to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just a little. “M’never too tired for you… fuck, please touch me properly. I need it. Need you so bad..”
You push his joggers down just enough to free him and wrap your fingers around him. Jude’s whole body shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you start stroking him. You start slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head every time. He’s so thick and hot in your hand, veins pulsing, leaking steadily now. You’re transfixed by the sight of him.
“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he whimpers, voice all sleepy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as soft, desperate little sounds keep falling out of him. “Your hand feels so good, baby… don’t stop, please. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”
You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he jolts, hips bucking lazily into your fist, chasing the pleasure even though his body is heavy with exhaustion. Every whimper is quieter, needier. He’s almost submissive in the way he lets you take control, thighs trembling, fingers clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him.
You lift his shirt higher so you can see his toned stomach, selfishly maybe, but he looked so pretty. You keep going, stroking him faster, tighter, watching the way his abs clench and his chest rises and falls quicker. “So pretty Jude,” you whisper, and Jude lets out a broken whine, biting his bottom lip.
“Baby… I— fuck, I’m so close already,” he pants, voice cracking. “Your hand is gonna make me come if you keep— ah—”
You slide down his body before he can finish, taking him into your mouth in one slow, wet glide. Jude’s back arches off the bed with a loud, guttural moan, one hand flying to your hair, holding on tight as his fingers tremble.
“Oh my god— your mouth, fuck—” He’s losing it completely now, sleepy whimpers turning into desperate, broken sounds as you bob your head, tongue swirling around him, sucking him deep. “So warm… so fucking good. Baby, please— I can’t— you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep sucking like that.”
His hips twitch up gently, like he’s trying so hard to be good and not fuck your mouth, but his control is slipping. Whiny, breathy moans fill the room as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing along the underside. Jude’s thighs shake, hand tightening in your hair, voice hoarse.
“Baby… slow, please, I’m so sensitive— fuck, I love your mouth so much…”
You slow down and look up, making eye contact with him. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded with exhaustion and pure bliss, lips parted, chest heaving. The sight of you between his legs like this seems to ruin him even more.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, voice cracking, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “My beautiful girl.”
He keeps watching you with that dazed, adoring look, hips rocking up in tiny, helpless movements as you suck him slow and deep. You swirl your tongue around the head, then take him all the way again, relaxing your throat until your nose brushes his stomach. Jude’s whole body trembles.
“Fuck— baby, look at you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and reverent. “Taking me so well… even when I’m this tired. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”
His praise comes out soft and broken, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or a little whimper. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock throbs heavier on your tongue, the constant little twitches of his thighs, the way his fingers keep flexing in your hair like he’s fighting not to lose it. But he stays so good for you, letting you control everything, just moaning and whining softly every time you swallow around him or suck a little harder.
“Gonna make me come if you keep doing that…” he pants, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth is too good, love. Too warm and wet and— shit—”
You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock as you stroke him slowly with your hand instead. Jude lets out a wrecked, needy sound at the loss, hips chasing your mouth for a second before he catches himself. Before you can say anything, he’s tugging at you weakly, desperate.
“Too far away… come back up here, please.”
You crawl back up his body and he immediately pulls you in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your top, squeezing your waist, your hips, like he needs to feel all of you at the same time. The kiss goes on and on, lazy and filthy, tongues sliding slow while he whimpers softly into your mouth every time you stroke him.
You keep working your hand over his cock, slow and slick, and Jude’s hips rock up to meet every stroke, his breathing getting shakier. He breaks the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting.
“You don’t want to come yet?” you whisper against his lips, still stroking him lazily.
He shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanna be closer to you baby, wanna make you feel good.. wanna.. wanna— fuck.”
His sentence cuts off into a broken moan. For a long moment he just kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your body. His palm smooths over your stomach, then lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts like he’s giving you time to feel the anticipation. His fingers finally slip under the fabric, pushing your shorts and panties down your thighs in one clumsy but eager movement. He helps kick them the rest of the way off, big hands gentle on your skin the whole time.
Once they’re gone he settles between your spread legs, still kissing you slow and deep. His fingers drag through your folds and he curses softly against your mouth.
“You’re so wet for me, fuck…” He circles your clit slowly, almost lazily, but the way his breath catches tells you how much it affects him. “All this for me? After I played like shit for half the game?”
You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips against his hand, and he smiles a tired, crooked grin before leaning in to kiss you again. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on your clit, then dipping inside you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He’s still so hard against your thigh, twitching every time you moan.
Jude buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers work you open. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you around me. Wanna make you come first… then you can ride me slow while I hold you. I just— I need you close. So fucking close.”
He curls his fingers just right and you arch into him, moaning his name. Jude whimpers in response, pressing his cock against your hip like he can’t help it.
“Please, baby,” he breathes against your neck, voice hoarse and shaky. “I need to be inside you. Can’t wait anymore.”
You nod, pulling him up for another deep kiss as he lines himself up. “If you get tired just say, Jude,” you whisper against his lips. He looked so exhausted — eyes heavy, shoulders slumped — and part of you still felt a pang of guilt that he was going to be the one putting in all the effort tonight.
“You’re such an angel,” he whispers softly, pecking your forehead with heartbreaking tenderness, then leaning down for another deep kiss. “As if I could ever be too tired to fuck you.”
The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as he starts pushing in. He’s so slow and careful, even though you can feel how badly he wants to bury himself.
“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Inch by inch he sinks into you, stretching you open until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. The sound he makes is relief mixed with pleasure, a long, broken moan that vibrates through his chest.
For a moment he just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against your lips. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, desperate for the full body contact. You can feel how tired he is, the way his muscles are trembling from the long match and the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. “You feel so good,” he groans. “Just for me, yeah? Tell me this pussy belongs to me. ”
“It belongs to you, baby. Only you,” you moan softly, clenching around him. “I belong to you.”
A shaky breath leaves him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking softly on your skin while he gives one slow, grinding roll of his hips. “Good girl… all mine,” he mumbles, the words slurred with tiredness. “I don’t share you with anyone.”
Then he starts moving with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, grinding deep instead of thrusting hard. Every stroke is deliberate, like he’s savouring every second even though exhaustion is weighing on him. His breaths are heavier, his arms shaking slightly as he holds you, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down his temple. Still, he doesn’t stop. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and Jude lets out a soft, whiny sound again that makes you clench harder around him.
“Baby… yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Feels too good. You’re squeezing me so tight— fuck.”
His mouth finds yours again, the kiss sloppy and tired, tongues sliding lazily while he keeps that slow grind going. One hand stays gripping your hip, the other slides up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, thumb brushing your nipple almost absentmindedly, like even his hands are running out of energy but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s so vocal, whimpering your name, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he needs you.
You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming a little more desperate. “I’m so close,” he whines against your mouth. “Come with me, baby. Please. Wanna feel you come around me.”
One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. The combination of his cock dragging deep inside you, his fingers, his soft sleepy moans, pushes you over the edge first. You clench around him hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you.
Jude follows right after with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he comes deep inside you, hips stuttering. “Fuck— love you, love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, trembling through it.
Afterwards he collapses on top of you, heavy and warm, still buried inside. His arms wrap around you tightly, face tucked into your neck as he catches his breath. Soft kisses press against your shoulder, lazy and sweet.
“Best recovery ever,” he murmurs with a tired little laugh, voice muffled. “But I’m never moving ever again.”
You run your fingers down the muscles of his back, smiling as both of your breathing starts to even out, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion.
You kiss his temple, open your mouth to respond, but he's snoring softly before you can even reply.
Coming over after work was supposed to be a quick check-in. Instead, it turns into dinner, two languages, one very clingy footballer fresh out of the shower, and the quiet realization that your boyfriend has absolutely no concept of personal space.
WARNINGS ◦ established relationship ◦ multilingual couple ◦ reader speaks fluent spanish ◦ jude bellingham being your cozy boyfriend on a sunny madrid morning... that's it that's the tweet ◦ reader is a famous event promoter in spain for context purposes lolz ◦ ittiy bitty angst but nothing major ◦ bellingham brothers drama mentioned 👀 ◦ sfw content but we have kisses and a really touch-starved jude ◦ NOT EDITED
5,861 ━━━━━ oneshot jude bellingham x spanish!reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , i'm afraid my non-spanish-speaking girlies won't enjoy this to the fullest, my bad 😔 i just had this scenario in my head and thought using real spanish would be top top for the immersion and everything bla bla. just noticing this was unnecessarily long rn lolz, sowwy! thanks for enjoying my very small ballblr era btw, you guys are so sweet ><
━━━━━ read on ao3
translated from spanish ¿qué cocinas, bebé?—what are you making, baby? huele bien—it smells good todavía no lo has visto—you haven't even seen it yet no hace falta—i don't have to eso dices ahora—that's what you're saying now ¿ha dicho que primero va la cebolla?—did she say the onion goes in first? has entendido eso—you understood that claro—of course hace unos meses me habrías mirado esperando una traducción—a few months ago you would've looked at me waiting for a translation
The villa was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of peaceful hush that settled over Jude’s Madrid home after a full day of training. He had been there for well over a year now, long enough for the sleek, modern space with its high ceilings and wide windows to feel less like a temporary base and more like a proper house.
The two of you had been officially together a little more than six months, though the relationship had grown in that easy, gradual way that made weekdays feel negotiable. Surprises like this one, dropping by unannounced, had become possible, even welcome, without needing elaborate plans.
You let yourself in with the code Jude had given you a couple of months earlier. At the time you had refused at first, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, insisting you wouldn’t need it. “I don’t want to intrude,” you had told him. “Weekdays are for my place anyway. I’ll just text when I’m coming over.”
He had listened, then shaken his head with that stubborn, gentle smile of his. “It’s not intruding if I’m giving it to you. Makes life easier—for both of us. What if you finish late and I’m already asleep? Or what if I want you here and you’re stuck waiting outside?”
In the end you had taken the code, the small act feeling heavier than it should have, like another quiet step deeper into each other’s worlds.
Your laptop bag was still slung over your shoulder from the long workday, back-to-back calls coordinating stadium tours, private concerts for international superstars, and high-profile corporate events as you gradually took the reins of your parents’ renowned event promotion company.
The heels came off by the door with a soft click, a small sigh of relief escaping as your bare feet met the cool tiles.
A couple of hours earlier Jude had sent you a blurry selfie from this same gym: sweat on his forehead, mid-cardio face, the caption complaining about the ninety-minute session his trainers had prescribed. You had giggled in your office and replied with your own equally blurry photo from behind your desk, the exchange light and familiar in the middle of busy afternoons.
Then Denise had called.
Jude’s mum had been distant at first, polite but reserved, the natural caution of a mother watching her young son build a life in a new country with a new relationship. She never interfered, but you felt the careful distance in those early months.
Over time, though, she had begun to warm. Small conversations during family dinners, shared coffees in the kitchen, the way she noticed how you showed up for Jude without making a fuss. Tonight’s call had been straightforward but telling: she mentioned the phone call with Jobe, how Jude had sounded a bit flat afterward, and simply said, “I thought you might want to know, dear.” No pressure, just quiet maternal intuition.
You had thanked her, hung up, and decided to come straight over after wrapping your last meeting.
You headed toward the home gym, following the low, steady whir of the stationary bike. The glass door was closed, keeping the air-conditioned coolness inside, Jude was there, pedalling at a consistent pace in a black compression top and shorts, earbuds in, his expression focused but carrying that subtle tension you recognised from the photo.
You knocked lightly on the glass, then pushed the door open a fraction.
“Jude?” you called softly, not wanting to startle him.
He glanced over, slowing the pedals as recognition hit, a tired but genuine smile broke across his face. He pulled one earbud out and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Hey, darling. Didn’t expect you tonight.”
You stepped inside, the cooler air raising goosebumps on your arms after the warmer hallway. “Surprise inspection,” you teased lightly, crossing to him. Leaning down, you pressed a quick, familiar peck to his lips, the kind of casual hello that felt married-couple natural even though there were only six months of weaving your lives together yet. “How’s the cardio going?”
“Almost done,” he said, voice a little breathless as he slowed to a complete stop. The compression top clung to his torso, outlining the hard work of a professional footballer in season.
Jude stepped off the bike with another quiet exhale, one hand reaching automatically for the towel draped over the handlebars. He rubbed it through his hair before slinging it loosely around the back of his neck, then closed the small distance between you without thinking twice.
His free hand settled lightly at your waist while he dipped his head, pressing an absent kiss into your hairline before letting his forehead brush yours for the briefest second. "Long day?" he asked.
"Mhm." You let out a soft breath through your nose, shoulders relaxing now that the workday finally felt behind you.
Jude's thumb traced one absent sweep against your side while he watched you. "Bad long or busy long?" He tilted his head just slightly, studying you with that attentive look he had whenever he was trying to gauge whether you were simply tired or quietly overwhelmed.
Your mouth curved faintly despite yourself. It wasn't the first time he'd asked you that. Somewhere along the line, he'd quietly divided difficult days into categories, insisting they weren't all the same.
"The second one." You answered.
"That's alright then."
His thumb gave your side one lazy stroke before dropping away as he reached for the water bottle perched beside the bike.
You looked him over once more, taking in the damp curls pushed back from his forehead and the way his breathing had already begun to settle now that the bike had stopped. "What about you?"
He took a long drink before answering.
"Ninety minutes of cardio." He swallowed, wiped the back of his wrist across his mouth and glanced briefly toward the bike over his shoulder, as though it had personally offended him. "They're trying to kill me."
The words came with just enough dramatic weight to make you smile. They weren't spoken seriously, not really. Jude had a habit of narrating the more miserable parts of training like they were personal attacks, usually with the same level of conviction he'd argue with a referee.
"They've been trying to kill you since you were sixteen." That earned you a small pause from the english. He looked off to the side for a moment, lips pursing thoughtfully as though he were actually giving your statement the consideration it deserved.
"Yeah..." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Still rude though."
The quiet sincerity with which he delivered it caught you off guard. A laugh escaped before you could stop it, filling the cool gym for the first time since you'd walked in.
Jude's mouth tugged into a grin almost immediately, he tried to hide it behind another sip of water, but the corners of his eyes gave him away. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for making you laugh.
"Oh," he said suddenly, something flickering across his face as though he'd just remembered it. His brows lifted a fraction before he reached back towards the bench where he'd left his phone, unlocking it with one practiced swipe of his thumb.
He glanced at the screen, a smile already beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at you.
"Your brother messaged me."
You blinked, surprised enough that it briefly pulled your attention away from the compression top stretched across his shoulders. Jesus Christ, did he look good... "He did?"
"Mhm."
Jude didn't answer with much more than that. Instead, he wandered back over, still scrolling with his thumb until he found the conversation. He stopped close enough that your shoulders brushed naturally, the familiar contact barely registering anymore, before angling the screen so you could both read it.
"Hi Jude!! My sister said you might've scored tonight. Congrats!! Also tell her she's still ignoring my messages."
The second your eyes landed on the last sentence, a groan escaped you. "Oh my God."
Beside you, Jude's laugh was quiet, more amused than triumphant. "He grassed you up, baby."
You reached for the phone instinctively as though you could defend yourself directly through the screen. "I was in meetings. He knows that."
"I'm guessing he doesn't believe you, darling."
"I literally was." Your protest only seemed to amuse him further. The grin lingering on Jude's face widened just enough for the dimple in his cheek to appear before he scrolled lower, entirely unbothered by your attempt at saving face.
"He asked if I thought he'd make a good midfielder one day." You let out a small breath through your nose, already knowing exactly where this conversation had gone. "I told him to keep enjoying football first."
There wasn't a hint of condescension in the way Jude said it. If anything, he sounded oddly earnest, as though he'd given the question proper consideration before answering. You weren't surprised, he'd always had a soft spot for kids who loved the game, especially the ones who still saw football as something fun before it became anything else.
Still smiling, he turned to gather the resistance bands left on the floor, hanging them neatly back onto their hooks with practiced efficiency. You watched him move around the room, the routine clearly ingrained after months of using the same space every day.
Jude laughed again after glancing at your betrayed face, shaking his head as he headed for the door, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his shorts.
The conversation with your brother seemed to have lifted something from him, the earlier heaviness around his eyes softened now into something lighter, more familiar. He stooped briefly to grab your hand lightly before nudging the gym door open with his shoulder.
The air outside felt noticeably warmer after the chilled gym. You followed him into the hallway, falling into step beside him without really thinking about it.
It always seemed to happen that way, neither of you was particularly attached to leading; you simply drifted through the house together, matching each other's pace until one naturally fell half a step behind.
"I've got to take these before I forget," he said, veering toward the kitchen instead of the stairs. His hand found yours almost absentmindedly as he passed, fingers hooking loosely around them with the quiet confidence of someone who no longer thought twice about reaching for you. "Come here for a second, baby."
You let him tug you along, smiling to yourself as you followed him out of the hallway. Jude walked a pace ahead, still warm from training, your joined hands swinging lazily between you as he occasionally glanced back to make sure you were actually following, as though there were anywhere else you'd be going.
The kitchen was flooded with the last of the afternoon sun, light spilling across the pale stone island where a shaker bottle, a bowl of fruit and a couple of unopened parcels had been left from earlier. Jude crossed straight to one of the cupboards, opening it without hesitation.
You'd noticed long ago that everything in his kitchen had found its permanent place, not because he was especially organised, but because routine had a way of arranging itself around him.
He reached for a white plastic tub, then another, reading neither label before unscrewing the lids.
You leaned your hip against the island, watching him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who'd repeated the same post-training routine hundreds of times. "I've got to go to Amsterdam next week." The words came almost absentmindedly, dropped into the room the same way you'd mention needing to buy milk.
Jude paused halfway through screwing the lid back on. "...Amsterdam?"
"Mhm."
He looked up after your response. "For work?"
"Yeah, baby." You try to take your eyes off him and stare at the counter instead. "It's just three days."
A beat of silence settled between you.
He swallowed the capsules with a mouthful of water before setting the glass down a little more carefully than necessary. "And when," he asked slowly, "were you planning on mentioning that?"
You frowned, already aware of where this was going. "...I just did. I swear I just got the notification, baby."
"No, no." He pointed at you with the bottle still in his hand. "You've been here, what..." He glanced dramatically towards the oven clock. "Nearly ten minutes."
You let out a disbelieving laugh, folding your arms across your chest as you watched him build his own case with alarming confidence. Jude didn't seem remotely interested in dropping it either.
He wandered back toward the island, unscrewing the lid of another supplement tub while talking, the conversation continuing as naturally as his post-training routine. "You let me tell you about cardio."
"Yes, baby, I listened to you."
"You were planning to deceive me."
"C'mon, I wasn't! I was being supportive." You couldn't stop the smile off your lips.
He tipped another two capsules into his palm before looking back at you, his expression suggesting that this only strengthened his argument. "I showed you your brother's messages."
He swallowed the tablets with another mouthful of water, setting the glass down before resting both palms against the edge of the island. Only then did he finally look at you properly again, eyebrows lifting with quiet disbelief.
"And now..." One hand came up in a slow, almost offended gesture. "...Amsterdam."
The dramatic pause was enough to make you smile. "It only got confirmed this afternoon, I swear."
"So?"
"So..." You laughed softly, unable to believe you were actually defending yourself. "I've barely known myself."
"You've had ages."
"I literally haven't."
He frowned as though the timeline genuinely wasn't adding up. Then, with all the seriousness of someone presenting evidence in court, he glanced at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "You've had..." His eyes lifted back to yours. "...At least two hours."
"I was in meetings."
"So text me."
"I am here, Jude."
"I know." The answer came quietly. He nodded once to himself, lips pressing together in exaggerated contemplation before the corners of his mouth twitched. "Which now feels suspicious."
"Suspicious?" You stopped where you were on the other side of the island, one hip settling against the cool stone countertop as you folded your arms across your chest.
He looked at you for a second over the rim of his shaker, taking another slow sip as if he had all the time in the world. The silence wasn't hesitation, it was commitment. Commitment to whatever ridiculous argument he was constructing in his head.
He swallowed, lowered the bottle onto the counter with deliberate care and nodded once. "Mhm." One finger came up between you, not accusingly, but thoughtfully. "I thought..."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the floor, shoulders rising in an almost imperceptible shrug before he looked back at you with that terribly convincing expression of someone processing a deep emotional wound.
"...I thought you just missed me, you know."
"I did miss you, baby." Your eyebrows lifted slowly, lips parting as though you were genuinely trying to understand the conclusion he'd somehow reached.
"I see what's happened." His shoulders slumped with theatrical resignation as he looked mournfully into the shaker, turning it slowly between his hands as though searching for answers somewhere inside the plastic. "I was feeling all special."
You couldn't help smiling. "You were?"
"I was." He sounded almost offended that you'd question it.
"You sent me that tragic selfie."
"It was a vulnerable moment." He lifted his eyes to yours again, giving a tiny shake of his head. "I was even thinking I'd cook tonight."
That was enough to break whatever composure you had left, a laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You were not."
"I was."
"You literally complain every time you have to cook, Jude."
"I would've persevered."
"For me?" You folded your lips together, tryin, and failing, not to smile.
He looked at you as though the answer should have been painfully obvious.
"For us." The sincerity lasted exactly half a second before his expression tipped back into something quietly pleased with itself.
He knew full well how ridiculous he sounded, which somehow only made the act more convincing.
"...Turns out you were buttering me up because you're abandoning me."
"Oh, shut up." You closed the distance between you with an exasperated huff, reaching up to poke him lightly beneath the ribs. He caught your wrist almost on instinct, more amused than triumphant now that he'd managed to get exactly the reaction he'd been fishing for all along.
His grin widened, not because he'd won the argument, but because you'd played along.
You let your wrist remain in his hand for a second longer, his fingers warm despite the lingering chill from the shaker bottle he'd been holding moments earlier. He wasn't gripping you, just absentmindedly keeping you there while he looked at you with that unmistakable expression that always meant he was enjoying himself far too much.
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself, William." You laughed quietly, giving his hand a small tug.
"I'm not." He came without resistance, taking the single step that closed the gap between you until there was barely any space left between your bodies.
"You are."
"I've been abandoned, Y/N, have mercy on me."
From this close you could still smell the clean sharpness of his body wash underneath the sweat from training, the compression top clinging stubbornly to his chest where it hadn't quite dried yet.
"It's just three days," you reminded him, your voice softening without you meaning it to. "I fly out Tuesday morning, meetings Wednesday and Thursday..." You counted them off lightly against the back of his hand with your free index finger before looking back up at him. "...and I'm back Friday afternoon."
He listened without interrupting this time. "And?"
"And..." A smile tugged at your lips. "You'll see me at the amistoso."
That finally made something shift behind his eyes. "The friendly?"
"Mhm." You look at him and raise your eyebrows in a provocative smile. "My last meeting finishes around lunchtime, then I'll come straight from the airport."
His mouth pressed into a line that tried very hard not to become a smile. "You've thought this through, eh."
"I even checked your arrival time back from training." That earned you a proper look, not teasing this time, just... one of those quiet glances where he seemed to be taking you in all over again.
"You're like, my favorite person in the world, you know that, right?" You smiled, the warmth of his words settling comfortably in your chest. "I'll even forgive you for abandoning me for three whole days."
"I'm not abandoning you, you drama king." You roll your eyes after taking a step out and loosening your hands from his grip. You see his smirk and give him a last squeeze before continuing your defense. “And I’m going to tell Jobe you said that I'm your favorite now.”
Jude rolled his eyes immediately, the dramatic flair of it exaggerated just enough to make you laugh again. He let you take off your wrist from his grip but didn’t step back, his hand instead finding its way to rest lightly against your lower back as he shook his head.
“Don’t you dare, he’ll never let me live it down. Little shit already thinks he’s got me wrapped around his finger.”
Jude lingered close for another moment, the casual touch at your back familiar and grounding, before he finally moved to put the tubs away. You watched him for a second, his shoulders still carrying a faint tension beneath the compression top, then leaned your hip against the island, arms loosely crossed.
“So… how are things with you two, really?” you asked, voice gentle but direct. You didn’t want to push, but the reason you were here lingered between you. “Your mum mentioned the call to me earlier.”
Jude didn't answer straight away.
He gathered the tubs one by one, screwing the lids back on before sliding them into the cupboard with the same absent-minded precision that seemed to follow every part of his routine. The last one lingered in his hand for a second longer than the others before he set it down and quietly closed the cupboard door.
His shoulders rose with a slow breath. "...Mum called you."
You watched him turn around, the teasing from only moments ago having softened into something quieter. He leaned one hip against the counter opposite you, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
The compression top, still damp from training, pulled taut across his shoulders as he settled there, studying your face with that same attentiveness he'd greeted you with in the gym.
There wasn't any annoyance behind his earlier observation. If anything, it sounded faintly amused.
"That's why you came here, huh."
He watched you for another second before one corner of his mouth lifted.
"And as I expected... All of this surprise inspection excuse wasn't just because I'm devastatingly handsome after ninety minutes on a bike."
You held his gaze for a moment before pushing yourself away from the island, the corners of your mouth already beginning to soften. By the time you reached him, there was barely enough space left between you to call it distance.
"Mm..." you hummed, pretending to give his question some genuine thought.
Your hand found the front of his compression top almost absentmindedly, smoothing a crease across his chest before your fingers drifted to the small zip at the collar, fidgeting with it more than actually fixing anything.
"I'd say that's only..." You paused, finally looking back up at him with the hint of a smile. "...about thirty percent of the reason."
His eyebrow lifted immediately. "Thirty?"
You smiled a little wider. "I missed you," you admitted, your thumb still idly tracing the edge of the zipper. "Today I just... had another reason to come as well."
Jude's expression softened almost immediately.
The teasing disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, his eyes searched yours for a brief second before dropping to where your fingers still toyed absentmindedly with the zip of his compression top.
"...She called you then." It wasn't a question this time, more like an acknowledgment. "Figured she might."
He let out a slow breath through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching in a smile that carried more appreciation than amusement.
“It was nothing major,” he said, though the slight furrow between his brows suggested otherwise. “Mum had her phone on speaker while I was talking to her earlier. I overheard Jobe in the background going on about his housing situation in Germany—some technical problems with the landlord, stupid policies he couldn't meet or whatever. He was proper stressing her out, venting like she wasn’t already dealing with enough.” Jude shrugged, but there was a protective edge to it. “I called him after. Told him straight—he’s a grown man now, can’t be dumping all that on mom every time something goes sideways. Needs to handle it himself sometimes.”
Jude scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish now that the story was out.
“Might’ve talked his ear off, older brother stuff, you know? He got defensive, I got annoyed, we both said some things.” A small, rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “Whatever, we’ll be fine in a couple of days. As usual.”
You nodded, understanding the complicated balance of love and frustration that came with family. “Your mum worries about both of you, that’s why she called me, I think. She knows you take things like this heavier than you let on.”
Jude met your eyes closely, his expression softening. “Yeah… she’s been warming up to you a lot, notices when you show up like this.” One of his hands came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the gesture absentminded and tender. “Didn’t need to come all the way over though, I would’ve been alright.”
“I know,” you said simply. “But I wanted to."
His thumb, still resting against your waist, gave a small, absent stroke through the fabric of your blouse as though he'd forgotten his hand was there in the first place.
The corner of his mouth lifted. "...Thank you, love."
Your own smile answered before you spoke. "You're welcome."
Only then did you gently pat the centre of his chest, the gesture light enough to break whatever seriousness had crept into the kitchen.
"And," you added, glancing toward the grocery bags waiting by the island, "I'm cooking tonight." His eyebrows rose immediately. "So you can stop pretending you were actually going to make that nutritionist recipe."
He let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing further. “It really was dead easy. On paper, at least.”
His hand lingered near your jaw for a second before dropping to rest on your waist again.
“But I’m not arguing with you taking over, especially after that bike tried to kill me.”
The corner of your mouth lifted into a small smile. "Good," you said quietly. "Because I'd rather not spend the evening mediating between the Bellingham brothers."
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. "Fair."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, it simply settled around the two of you, filling the kitchen with the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant villa traffic drifting in through the cracked window above the sink. The conversation had done what it needed to do, there wasn't much else to add.
Jude's hand lingered at your waist for another moment before giving it one absent squeeze. "Right," he sighed, glancing down at himself. "I am absolutely grim."
You looked pointedly at the damp compression top still clinging stubbornly to his chest. "I've been trying to tell you that for the last ten minutes."
He looked offended. "I've had a productive workout, okay?"
"You've also been sweating on me." You pretend to roll your eyes just to annoy him.
"Oh, wow. I'm an occupational hazard, got it."
A smile tugged at your lips as you gave the zip of his top one last playful tug before letting go. "Go shower."
He stayed exactly where he was. "You sure you don't need a hand with dinner first?"
You shook your head. "I'm fine. Besides..." Your eyes flicked toward the grocery bags sitting beside the island. "You've got enough in here to make something decent."
He followed your gaze before nodding once, satisfied. "Alright."
Instead of leaving immediately, he leaned down just enough to steal a quick kiss from your lips. It was brief, familiar, almost absent-minded, the sort of kiss exchanged without interrupting the flow of the evening.
His forehead brushed yours for the smallest moment afterwards. "Shout if you can't find anything."
"William..." He smiled.
"Ok, I'm going, damn." You nudged him lightly toward the hallway with the heel of your hand against his side.
This time he obeyed, laughing quietly as he disappeared down the corridor, one hand already reaching for the hem of the compression top as he walked. By the time he reached the bedroom doorway, the black fabric had disappeared over his head in one easy movement before being tossed somewhere inside the room with considerably more optimism than accuracy.
You heard something hit the floor.
Of course.
Shaking your head to yourself, you turned back to the kitchen. The house fell into that comfortable kind of quiet that only ever seemed to exist after training sessions. Water began running somewhere upstairs as you crossed to the refrigerator, pulling open the heavy door and surveying its contents like you always did when you cooked here.
The shelves were predictably stocked: neatly labelled containers from the club chef, fresh vegetables, chicken, yogurt, eggs, berries, enough fruit to feed a small village, and, wedged somewhat carelessly between cartons of juice, a takeaway sauce he'd almost certainly forgotten was there.
A smile crept onto your face. Some habits, you suspected, even elite footballers never quite grew out of.
Without really thinking about it, you crossed to the opposite side of the kitchen and pulled open a drawer, your hand finding the wooden spatula before your eyes did.
The funny thing was, six months ago you would've had to ask where he kept absolutely everything.
Now you reached for the olive oil without looking, you knew the chopping boards lived in the drawer beside the sink, the good knives were hidden behind the cereal boxes because Jude had somehow convinced himself it was a sensible place to keep them, and the spatula he always reached for had a habit of disappearing into the dishwasher instead of the utensil pot.
Somewhere along the way, without either of you really noticing, his kitchen had stopped feeling unfamiliar.
You reached for your phone where you'd left it beside the fruit bowl, waking the screen with the side of your thumb before opening YouTube almost on instinct.
"Tortilla de patatas..." you murmured to yourself, already typing in Spanish without thinking twice.
Your thumb hovered over the search bar for barely a second before you tapped the first recipe that looked promising. You set your phone against the fruit bowl, propping it up with the salt cellar until it stood at just enough of an angle to see the screen from the chopping board.
A cheerful voice immediately filled the kitchen. "Hola, chicos. Hoy vamos a preparar..."
You didn't bother turning the volume up, it didn't need to be loud enough to follow every instruction, it was more company than guidance, something to fill the quiet while your hands got to work.
The knife found its rhythm against the wooden board almost immediately. Potatoes, onions, garlic. Olive oil warming slowly in the pan. The familiar sequence settled over you with the same ease as the workday had finally begun to fall away.
Without really noticing, your attention drifted between the recipe and your own movements. Sometimes you glanced at the screen, other times you were already a step ahead of it, shaking your head faintly when the woman reached for an ingredient later than you would've.
By the time the potatoes had begun to soften around the edges, the video had wandered onto the subject of whether onion belonged in a proper tortilla at all. The woman on-screen argued passionately for it, you quietly agreed. Upstairs, the shower had long since stopped running.
A few minutes later came the familiar sounds that always followed: drawers opening, wardrobe doors sliding, footsteps crossing hardwood before gradually making their way back downstairs.
Out of the corner of your eye you caught the movement of a clean white T-shirt disappearing over your boyfriend's head, the hem settling across his shoulders as he tugged it down the rest of the way. His hair was damp from the shower, darker than before, a few curls refusing to stay where the towel had left them.
Jude didn't announce himself, he simply wandered over until he was standing behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him before he actually touched you.
One arm slipped loosely around your waist. "¿Qué cocinas, bebé?" he murmured, the words soft against your skin.
His chin found the curve between your shoulder and neck almost instinctively. You smiled to yourself without pausing the knife. "La tortilla."
"Mmm..."
He leaned in just enough to press a slow kiss beneath your ear before settling there again, more interested in being close than interrupting whatever you were doing. His nose brushed lightly against your hair as he breathed in.
"Huele bien."
You let out a quiet laugh. "Todavía no lo has visto."
"No hace falta." His voice came lazily, still muffled where his face was half-hidden against your neck.
You smiled, keeping your attention on the potatoes as you nudged them gently through the oil.
"Eso dices ahora."
"I mean it."
His arms tightened around your waist for the briefest moment before relaxing again, his chin still resting comfortably against your shoulder. For a while neither of you said anything else, the only voices in the kitchen came from the woman on your phone passionately defending her preferred ratio of onions to potatoes.
Jude listened for a second. "...¿Ha dicho que primero va la cebolla?"
You turned your head just enough to look at him. "Has entendido eso."
He looked mildly offended. "Claro."
"No, I mean..." You smiled. "Hace unos meses me habrías mirado esperando una traducción."
He let out a quiet hum, considering it. "Sí... probablemente lo habría hecho…"
Your knife slowed against the chopping board as another thought crossed your mind. "You're speaking with a lot more confidence now."
That finally made him lift his head from your shoulder. "You think?"
"Mhm. You don't slow down anymore."
A small grin spread across his face, one that looked equal parts proud and shy. "That's because of you."
You laughed softly. "Don't give me that much credit, sir."
"I'm serious." He shrugged one shoulder. "I hear you every day." His fingers absentmindedly traced a small circle against your waist as he spoke. "After training, at dinner, on the phone with your parents." Another shrug. "Eventually it sticks."
You smiled to yourself, turning the potatoes once more. "Congratulations, baby. I'm proud of you."
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he simply stayed where he was, chin resting lightly against your shoulder as though the conversation had exhausted whatever words he still had left. One hand remained draped lazily around your waist while the other absentmindedly reached across the counter, stealing an olive from the small bowl you'd set aside.
You heard the quiet clink before you saw him. "...William."
"Mhm?"
"That's for dinner."
"It still is."
He popped another into his mouth anyway.
You shook your head, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips as you nudged him lightly backwards with your hip. He yielded exactly half a step before drifting right back into place a moment later, like muscle memory.
The tortilla hissed softly as it met the oil.
On your phone, the woman had moved on to explaining cooking times, speaking just a little faster now. Jude followed enough to nod every so often, occasionally throwing in the odd word or phrase under his breath before looking at you for silent confirmation. Sometimes he was right, sometimes he wasn't.
You corrected him without thinking and he accepted every correction just as easily.
Outside, the last of the afternoon light slipped across the kitchen floor, stretching long rectangles of gold between the island and the windows. Dinner came together slowly. There was no rush.
No television in the background, no phones demanding attention beyond the recipe propped against the fruit bowl, no conversation that needed solving, just the quiet rhythm of a knife against a chopping board. The occasional murmur of a new relationship in two different languages.
And obviously Jude, who never seemed capable of standing more than an arm's length away from you once he was home.
For now, that was enough for you.
author's note — well hello there, how are we doing :D this is my main masterlist btw, more jude works coming for y'all there teehee >< (i'm sorry this was so long lolz, i think i got too excited with my domestic jude agenda)
Hi, can you do one about Jude Bellingham?He was consoling his girlfriend because they beat Mexico in the World Cup. Thank you
pic from pinterest and isnt mine!
wonderwall
your so happy england beat mexico in wc, the sensitive you can stop crying of joy and jude consoles you.
taglist ( tw ) : established relationship, fem!reader, jude bellingham x reader, crying (from reader), pet names (baby etc), sensitive (crybaby in this case) reader, ooc? (idk jude personally but this doesn’t give ‘jude’ vibes)
a.n. WE are all happy that england beat mexico. 2 goals in 2 minutes my goat. england will win wc 🥹 hopefully norway vs england goes well . also wonderwall by oasis is so flipping peak. “maybeeeeee ypur gonna be the one that saves meeeee”
a sea of white shirts jump up from their seats, players crashing into one another as relieved laughter and triumphant shouts echoed around the stadium. jude disappeared beneath a pile of teammates before emerging again with the widest grin you’d ever seen, throwing an arm around one of them as they made their way towards the travelling england supporters.
the fans were already bouncing.
scarves spun above thousands of heads as the players lined up in front of them, applauding every corner of the stand.
then the opening chords of wonderwall rolled around the stadium.
almost instantly, the england fans took over.
~
~
~
“there are many things that i would like to say to you but don’t know how”
the players laughed, some draping their arms over each other’s shoulders as they swayed in front of the supporters. a few sang every word at the top of their lungs, others simply stood there, soaking it all in. jude threw his head back, singing along with a smile so bright it was impossible to look away from him.
“cause maybe, your gonna be the one that saves me.”
your vision blurred, mouthing the unofficial anthem as you watched jude lovingly.
you’d held it together through ninety minutes, through every chance, the 2 goals of jude in the first two minutes and every agonising minute of stoppage time but watching jude sing with the supporters, medal hanging around his neck, completely lost in the moment he’d worked his whole life for was your breaking point.
“and after all.”
a tear slipped down your cheek.
“oh no…” you whispered to yourself, laughing weakly, not now.
another tear followed. then another.
within seconds, your shoulders were shaking as happy sobs escaped you, your hand covering your mouth as you watched him smile towards the england fans.
“your my wonderwall.”
he looked so happy, a big toothy grin practically stuck on his face like every sacrifice, every injury, every hour spent away from home had been worth it.
then, as if he could feel you watching him, jude’s eyes lifted towards the family section and found you immediately, already crying. even from the other side of the barrier, he could tell.
your eyes were glassy, your nose had already gone pink, and you were frantically trying to wipe away tears before anyone noticed with a big happy smile.
he laughed to himself, nudging kane beside him before subtly pointing towards you.
“she’s crying already?” kane laughed.
jude only smiled, unable to take his eyes off you. “ ‘course she is.”’ not an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. only affection, pure and unmistakable affection. “my little crybaby.”
he stayed with the team long enough to applaud the supporters, clapping above his head before tapping the england badge over his heart. he blew a kiss towards the fans, took a few photos with the squad and accepted yet another crushing hug from one of the coaches.
but every few seconds, he looked back at you.
you were still standing there, still crying. still smiling.
he couldn’t get to you fast enough, obviously having to go through the media.
but the moment there was an opening, he jogged towards the barrier.
fans reached out for him as he passed, shouting his name, asking for high fives, congratulating him, but he apologised with a sheepish smile and pointed towards you instead. “sorry, guys, gotta see my girl.”
your heart melted before he’d even reached you. you’d always loved watching him interact with fans. but reading his mouth say that, like as though getting to you was the most important thing in the world, it made another tear roll down your cheek.
you were so happy that england beat mexico.
jude reached the barrier and immediately opened his arms. “come here, baby.”
you didn’t even think, practically stumbling into him.
he caught you with a laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around your waist before pulling you flush against him. the force of the hug almost knocked the air from your lungs. not that you minded. (getting crushed by jude is the dream)
he always hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in months. he wanted to make sure you were really there. to make sure that you were his love only.
you buried your face into his neck, clutching the back of his shirt as another sob escaped.
he just held you.
one hand rubbed slow, comforting circles across your back while the other cradled the back of your head.
“hey…” he murmured, pressing a kiss against your hair. “we won.”
you nodded against him. “i know.”
another kiss. “we’re through.”
another nod. “i know.”
he smiled, feeling your shoulders shake.
“then why’s my baby crying?”
you let out the tiniest laugh between sniffles.“because…” you paused, trying to steady your breathing. “because i’m so happy.” your voice cracking on the last word.
jude’s heart practically burst. he leaned back just enough to look at you.
your mascara had smudged. your eyelashes were clumped together from tears. your cheeks were bright pink and somehow he’d never thought you’d looked more beautiful.
“hi,” he said softly.
you sniffled. “hi.”
“there’s my favourite face.”
“i’m literally crying.”
“i know.” he smiled, brushing a tear away with his thumb.“still my favourite.”
you looked at him for a second before your lip wobbled all over again.
he saw it instantly.
“no…”
you nodded.
“don’t.”
“i’m trying.”
“baby…”
“i really am. you just did so well!” two more tears escaping as you spoke.
jude laughed so warmly that you couldn’t help laughing too.“there they are.”
you groaned, hiding your face back against his shoulder.“stop looking at me.”
“can’t.”
“why?”
“‘cause you’re cute.”
“i’m a mess.”
“you’re my mess. a cute mess too.” he kissed your temple, then your forehead and then the tip of your nose just to hear you giggle.
“see?” he whispered. “there’s my smile.”
you couldn’t help it, being around him always made everything feel lighter. like everything didn’t matter. just him and yoi.
“you looked so happy,” you admitted quietly.
he frowned just slightly.“yeah?”
“when you were singing. it was so cute.”
you glanced back towards the england supporters, who were somehow still belting out wonderwall even though the song had long ended.
“you looked like… i don’t know.” you searched for the words. “like little jude.”
his expression softened completely. he stared at you for a moment and then reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.“that’s because i was thinking about everyone who got me here.”
your eyes searched his, onlt finding admiration.
“my family,”
“my teammates,”
“and you.”
you blinked.“me?”
he smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “especially you.”
you looked at him.“baby…”
“you’ve been there after every loss.” his thumb traced lazy circles over your cheek. “every injury.” he kissed your forehead.“every bad headline.” another kiss landed on your temple “every time i’ve been doubting myself.” he rested his forehead against yours. “you’ve never doubted me.”
you couldn’t stop the tears this time and they spilled over before you even realised. “aww jude don’t say things like that when you know i cry easily..”
jude laughed quietly, shaking his head. “there’s my beautiful crybaby.”
you gave his chest the weakest little shove. “it’s your fault.”
“i know.”
“you keep saying things.”
“good.” he wrapped you back up in his arms before you could complain anymore. “because i’ve got a lifetime’s worth left to tell you.”
you melted into him all over again, your cheek pressed against his chest as his medal rested cool against your arm.
around you, the stadium was still alive.
the fans cheered until their voices cracked, children waved england flags from their parents’ shoulders, his teammates danced together in front of the supporters and camera flashes lit up the pitch yet somehow, wrapped safely in jude’s arms, it all faded into the background.
he absentmindedly played with your hair, running his fingers through it while swaying the two of you ever so slightly.
it was something he always did when you cried. he never rushed or teased you. he just let you feel.
after a minute, he tipped your chin up again. “all done?”
you looked at him. “…no.”
he laughed. “thought so.”
“i’ve got more.”
“how many?”
you considered it seriously. “…at least another ten minutes.”
he grinned. “perfect.”
“why?”
he kissed your forehead once more.“’cause that means i get to hold you for another ten minutes.”
warnings/notes ➜ 18+ minors dni. lowkey innocence kink. some slight power imbalance (he’s 2 years older + more experienced). church girl™️, reader having an internal crisis. angst if you squint.
summary ➜ you meet jude on a random saturday night. some might call it serendipity, you just call it the beginning of your downfall.
you don't even like parties like that.
birthday, baby shower, graduation, whatever kind of party it is—you always find yourself standing near the exit, picking at the edge of your cup, smiling when expected, but never really there. even at church gatherings, when aunties are fanning themselves, talking about the goodness of God, and cousins are running around sticky-mouthed from too much cake, you're somewhere on the sidelines, nodding along but never fully melting into the moment.
it's not that you completely hate them. it's just that they've never felt like you.
you don't do the loud music, the heavy bass that rattles your chest. don't like the way people move in dim lighting, hands wandering, voices slurring, bodies pressing too close. don't care much for the mindless small talk, the smell of liquor clinging to the walls, the fake love that seems to ooze from everybody's mouth after their third drink.
it's not you.
and yet, somehow, you're here. at some house party that has absolutely no business being this packed, clutching a red cup full of something you aren't even sipping, standing by the porch like you're waiting on God himself to send you a sign that it's time to leave.
you should've stayed home, but your friend begged and begged, said you needed to get out, live a little, loosen up. said it like you were some wound-up little thing, too afraid to step outside the lines drawn for you.
so you borrowed one of her dresses. it's tight, clings to you in places you don't usually let yourself acknowledge. it's not short, not inappropriate, but it shows off the curve of your thighs, the softness of your waist, enough to make you feel like maybe you should've thrown a sweater over it before leaving. you tug at the hem, shift from foot to foot, take another glance at the gate like maybe—maybe—you should just call it a night.
and then, he walks up.
casual. easy.
he moves like the world bends for him, like he's used to doors opening before he even knocks. like he expects it. welcomes it. like he thrives in it. and maybe he does—because he's jude bellingham, and his name rings bells far beyond this crowded house, far beyond this city.
he's the guy whose face you've seen on billboards, stretched across stadium screens, flashing in sports headlines your daddy flips past in the morning paper. a name your little cousins scream when they're dribbling in the backyard, pretending they're him, tongue poked out, eyes locked on a goal that doesn't even exist.
you know who he is.
he looks like money. like fame. like a world you don't belong to. he looks like the kind of guy your daddy would pray for you to stay away from. there's something about him that screams worldly, that tells you he's seen too much, had too much, lived too much to ever be satisfied with simple things. with quiet things.
he stops in front of you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne. you can't even name it, but you know it smells expensive, smells rich, like something way above your whole bloodline's tax bracket.
"you alright?"
just that. no introduction. no hey, i’m jude. like he expects you to already know. which you do. but still.
his voice is smooth, thick with that accent that makes his words roll off his tongue just a little different. it makes heat lick up your spine, makes your fingers curl tighter around your untouched drink.
you don't answer right away. you just blink up at him, trying to figure out why. why, in a house full of people who probably came here just for the chance to breathe the same air as him, he's standing in front of you.
you shift, clear your throat. "yeah. just—" you hesitate, then sigh, "—not really a party person."
jude's mouth twitches, just barely.
"yeah?" he lifts a brow. "what, you get dragged out here?"
you give a small, tight-lipped smile. "something like that."
his eyes flick down, taking in the way you tug at your dress again, the way your shoulders are stiff, like you're waiting to be judged. he can easily tell you don't belong here, that you slipped in from a whole other world.
he sees it in the way your nails tap against your cup, like you're trying to distract yourself from how much you don't fit into this picture. in the way your eyes flick toward the exit—again—like you're counting the steps it would take to leave.
he almost smirks, because you look like a lost little lamb, dropped into the middle of something you shouldn't be in.
and he likes that.
too much.
"you wanna go somewhere quieter?" he tilts his head just slightly, smiles so sweetly it almost feels calculated.
and you should say no. you should. it's what's expected of you. the voice of every woman in your life rings in your head, your mama's warnings about boys with hands too quick and smiles too sweet, the voice of your youth pastor reminding you of what happens when you stray too far from the path.
"i—" your voice is softer than you'd like, unsure. "i shouldn't."
his smile doesn't waver. in fact, it deepens, like he expected that. like it only amuses him.
"but do you want to?"
"it's just—" you hesitate, shifting on your feet. "my friend's inside, and i don't wanna leave her alone."
jude doesn't react immediately. he just watches you, the corners of his mouth twitching like he's entertained by the excuse you're trying to convince yourself with.
"that her right there?" he asks, nodding toward the open door, where your friend is laughing, deep in conversation with some guy you don't recognise. her body is angled toward him, her hand resting on his arm, her drink half-forgotten on the table beside her.
your stomach twists, because yeah. that's her. looking very much not alone.
jude chuckles, tongue peeking out to wet his lips before he looks back at you. "yeah, she seems real concerned about where you are."
he's got a point. you know he does. and before you can come up with some half-assed rebuttal, he's already stepping in a little closer. soft eyes, even softer smile, head tilting just enough to make you dizzy.
"i won't steal you away forever," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, so smooth it nearly melts into your skin. "just for a little while. promise."
it's stupid. so, so stupid.
but the way he says it makes it feel like the safest danger you'll ever walk into.
so before you can talk yourself out of it, before you can remind yourself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, before you can let the guilt take root in your stomach—
you nod.
and jude grins.
like he knew you would.
—
you don't kiss him that first night.
you almost do. his mouth gets close, real close, and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes your jaw. his touch is warm, gentle, not rushed. but you flinch anyway, just a tiny jerk of your chin, a nervous swallow he doesn't miss.
he steps back, slow. like he can see the hesitation all over your face. like he already knows the battle waging inside your head, between what you've been taught and what your body is starting to want.
"don't worry," he says, voice low. steady. like he's used to getting his way but doesn't mind waiting this time. "won't do anything you're not comfortable doing."
you nod, grateful, embarrassed, confused all at once.
grateful because he didn't push, didn't try to take what you weren't ready to give. didn't make you feel stupid for hesitating.
embarrassed because you wanted to. for a second—half a second—you wanted to feel his lips on yours, to know if they were as soft as they looked, to know if he'd kiss you sweet or if he'd take his time, teasing, drawing it out until you had no choice but to pull him closer. and that thought alone makes heat crawl up your neck, because what kind of girl are you to be thinking like that? what kind of girl stands out here in the dark, alone with a boy like him, heart racing, mind spinning, knowing full well she has no business even entertaining the idea?
confused because none of this makes sense. because he's him, jude bellingham, a name bigger than this city, bigger than you. because you're just some girl from a quiet neighbourhood, the preacher's daughter, the one who plays it safe and follows the rules and doesn't end up in situations like this. you don't flirt with boys who have money and a reputation that stretches across continents. you don't hold conversations with them after midnight, hands stuffed in their pockets, smirking when you tell them about how your daddy would lose his mind if he knew you were out here.
but you do.
you let it happen.
you let him happen.
you watch as he knowingly smiles down at you. soft. indulgent. patient. like he already knows how this story ends. like he already knows that this thing between you isn't about if—it's about when.
and the way your stomach tightens, the way your lips tingle from nothing but the ghost of what almost happened? you know it too.
he's what you'll be craving... eventually.
—
ynprivate
liked by yourbestfriend, yourcousin, and 11 others.
ynprivate life lately.✨
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yourbestfriend: beautiful ass bitch.😍
↳ ynprivate: language☹️
boyfromchurch: you get prettier every time i see you😢 - liked by author
yourfriend: all your angles are good angles😌
↳ ynprivate: 🥹💕
—
ynprivate added to their instagram stories
💬 judebellingham has replied to your story
judebellingham: cheffing up like this and didn’t offer me none? fake.
ynprivate: i don’t share with strangers.
judebellingham: good thing you and i are way past that then.
ynprivate: are we?
judebellingham: if our intimate little interaction from the other night is any indication, yeah.
ynprivate: intimate? you romanticise things. dangerous habit.
judebellingham: no. i remember things how they are. the way you looked at me was anything but casual.🤷🏽♂️
ynprivate: you’re delusional.
judebellingham: and you’re deflecting. which is fine. you’ll say what you mean eventually.
ynprivate: and that is?
judebellingham: you want me
ynprivate: hilarious.
judebellingham: you think i’m charming
ynprivate: even more hilarious. i’m busy. stop texting me, before i burn my cookies.
judebellingham: send me one. wanna taste.
ynprivate: go buy your own, i’m sure you have the budget for it big baller.
judebellingham: problem is, i don’t want a cookie. i want your cookie.
ynprivate: …
judebellingham: i meant that in exactly the way you just thought i did
ynprivate: wow. i’ll pray for you
judebellingham: i’d love that.😊
ynprivate: 🤦🏽♀️
—
he’s right about one thing.
you do think he’s charming.
weeks pass, and jude keeps randomly popping up.
at the coffee shop where you work—just off campus, tucked into the corner of a busy street, a place that smells like roasted espresso beans and vanilla syrup. you don't even see him at first. too busy at the register, wiping your hands on your apron, trying to keep up with the rush.
but then you hear his voice. low, warm, unmistakable.
"medium caramel latte. extra shot."
you look up, and there he is. leaning against the counter, watching you with this lazy kind of amusement, like he's already in on a joke you don't know yet.
you stammer out a "hi," and he grins.
"hey, pretty girl. you work here?"
you nod, suddenly flustered, suddenly too aware of how you probably smell like milk and coffee grounds, how your braids are tied in a lopsided bun at the top of your head.
"since when?" he asks.
you tell him—a few months now, just something part-time, something to keep busy.
"i like it," he says, tapping his fingers against the counter. "suits you."
it shouldn't make you warm inside, but it does.
after that, he starts showing up more. not every day, not even every week, but enough that you notice.
one time, he pops up at that one spot behind the student centre where you go to read alone.
you found it your first year—a little courtyard, quiet, shaded by trees, tucked away from the main pathways. most people don't even know it's there. you go when you need peace, when the world feels too loud, when you just want to sit with a book and let time slip through your fingers.
so when jude shows up on a random tuesday afternoon, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he belongs anywhere but here, you frown.
"how'd you find this place?"
he shrugs, lazy and unbothered, before dropping onto the bench beside you. "a little birdy told me this is your spot. figured i'd find you here."
your best friend. of course. she's been on one ever since she caught wind of whatever this thing is between you and jude. grinning every time his name comes up, eyes wide with something like glee when she saw him talking to you after church that one time.
she's way too invested. and knowing her? she probably handed him the information on a silver platter. all it would've taken was a quick dm, a little charm, and she would've folded in seconds.
you make a mental note to cuss her out later. in the most christian way, of course.
you turn to jude, lips parted, already halfway to telling him that you don't play about your reading time—but then he stretches out, long legs sprawling, his whole body shifting into something that looks too good to ignore.
his arm drapes over the back of the bench, all casual, his fingers just barely brushing against your back. and he's looking at you with something like amusement in his eyes, like he knows you won't ask him to leave.
and maybe you should. maybe you should roll your eyes, tell him to give you space, bury yourself back in the pages of your book. but the way he's sitting there, looking at you like this is exactly where he's meant to be? yeah. suddenly, the company doesn't feel so bad.
the first time, he talks your ear off.
leans back on the bench, eyes flicking between you and the worn-out pages in your hands. asks you what you're reading, why you picked it, if it's boring, if it's "one of them romance novels with the cringy shit."
"it's a classic," you argue, looking up at him, brow raised.
he snorts, shaking his head. calls you a hopeless romantic.
the second time, he brings food.
"thought you might be hungry," he says, pulling a sandwich and a drink from a brown bag. claims it's the best sandwich you'll ever taste because he made it himself.
you try to act unimpressed, try to keep your face neutral, but your stomach betrays you—growling at the smell of warm bread, fresh and tempting. his lips twitch, like he's fighting a smirk, before he nudges the bag toward you.
"go on, then. take it."
his fingers brush yours when you do. a small thing, a nothing moment. but something flickers in his gaze, quick and unreadable, before he looks away.
and maybe that's the moment something shifts. when you stop seeing him as this footballer who keeps showing up and start seeing him as jude.
jude, who doesn't tease when you say you've never even been on a real date. just nods, like he's storing that information for later. jude, who actually listens when you talk about your family, your plans, your fear of failing—like every word you say matters.
jude, who looks at you like he's figuring out a puzzle he likes being confused by.
jude, who's creeping into your life, slowly, surely, and you don't even realise you're letting him.
—
he doesn't kiss you until the third time he sees you outside church.
you're wearing a long, pink dress. something modest, something pretty. it cinches just enough at the waist to remind you that you have one, but it flows past your ankles, grazing the tops of your shoes with every step. it's the kind of dress your mama approves of. the kind that makes the older women at church nod in quiet approval when you walk past, whispering to their daughters about how this is how a young lady should carry herself.
your daddy's sermon is still ringing in your ears as you step out of the church, voice deep and steady in your mind: temptation comes in many forms, but the Lord will always give you a way out. you had nodded along like you understood, like you believed it was that easy, like you didn't already feel something twisting in your stomach—something you couldn't name, something that lingers even as you take careful steps down those stone steps, hands folded in front of you like a proper girl.
and then you see him.
jude's waiting across the street, leaning against a matte black mercedes. he's parked just far enough to not be obvious, but close enough that you know he's waiting for you.
he's watching you.
not in a way that's obvious to anyone else, but you feel it. the weight of his gaze. the way his eyes drop down the length of your dress before dragging back up. the slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips, like he's already thinking something he shouldn't be.
he doesn't belong here. doesn't belong anywhere near your daddy's church. but neither do you—not if the way your pulse jumps at the sight of him is any indication.
he lifts his hand, two fingers beckoning you over, just once. subtle. casual.
your daddy's voice is still in your head. temptation comes in many forms.
and yet, your feet are already moving.
he doesn't say a word when you stop in front of him. just looks at you, the way he always does—like you're something rare, something to be studied.
"what?" you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
he tilts his head, corners of his mouth curling in a small smile. "nothing," he says, but it's very clearly a lie.
you cross your arms, but it's useless. doesn't do anything to shield you from the way he's looking at you. doesn't stop the heat that creeps up your neck, the way your stomach tightens when he reaches out, fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress.
"this new?" he asks, voice low, barely audible over the noise of the street.
you nod, because you don't trust yourself to speak.
he hums, fingertips trailing just slightly before he pulls away. "pretty," he says. simple. like that's that. like it's obvious.
you should leave. should turn around and walk back up those steps, back inside where it's safe, where your mama and daddy are probably still shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. but you don't. you just stand there, rooted to the spot, watching as jude pushes off the car, the heat of his body suddenly much closer than it was a second ago.
he lifts a hand, fingers brushing against the chain resting against your collarbone. it's barely a touch, more like an absentminded gesture, his thumb lingering for a second too long, pressing lightly against the charm hanging there, before he lets it drop.
his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is lower than before, softer.
"can i kiss you?"
it's quiet. barely above a whisper. but it hits you hard, like he just knocked the air out of your lungs. because he's asking, asking—so, so sweetly.
your breath catches. your fingers twitch where they rest at your sides.
you should say no.
you should remind him that you just left church, that your daddy is still inside, probably lecturing girls your age about purity and virtue. that you were raised better than this.
but then you look up at him. and suddenly, none of that matters.
"yes," you breathe.
and that's all it takes.
he doesn't waste time. doesn't hesitate. the second the word leaves your lips, he moves—one hand curling around the side of your neck, the other pressing against the small of your back, pulling you in close, closer, until there's nothing between you but heat and the sound of your own breath catching in your throat.
he kisses you like he's been thinking about it for weeks. like he's imagined it a hundred different ways, but none of them compare to this—to the way your lips part under his, to the little sound you make when he tilts his head and deepens it, to the way your fingers clutch at his shirt like you need something to hold onto; because this isn't the kiss of a boy who's unsure. this is possession, plain and simple.
you feel him smile against your lips when you don't pull away. when instead, your hands slide up, fingers brushing at the nape of his neck, holding him there. when you sigh into his mouth like you've been waiting for this just as long as he has.
and when he pulls back, just slightly, just enough to drag his teeth over your bottom lip, just enough to let you breathe—he doesn't go far. his nose brushes yours, his breath is warm against your cheek, and his voice is lower now, thick with something you don't have a name for.
"you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that," he murmurs.
and then he kisses you again.
when he eventually pulls back, he's got that look. like he's tasting something he didn't expect to love so much. like you're some flavour he's never had before, and now that he has, he's wondering how he ever went without it. his fingers twitch where they're still resting on your waist, like he's fighting the urge to grab you, pull you back in, drown himself in you all over again.
and that's what makes you step back.
because the way he's looking at you cracks you wide open. like he's peeling back your layers without even trying, stripping you bare with nothing but his eyes. it's unnerving. intoxicating. makes your fingers twitch at your sides, makes your breath catch in your throat.
"uh," you trail off, voice thin, trying to ignore the way your heart is in such a frenzy against your ribcage, loud enough that you're sure he can hear it in the space between you.
he tilts his head slightly, watching you, watching the way you fidget under his gaze, the way you bite your lip like you're trying to stop yourself from asking him to kiss you again.
"how come you're here?" you ask, because you don't know what else to do with yourself. "aren't you supposed to be in madrid?"
"break between games," he responds mindlessly. his eyes stay locked on you, intense, unreadable. they trace over your face, your lips, the way your chest is rising and falling just a little too fast, like you're struggling to catch your breath. "i come back home sometimes. clears my head."
you feel warm all over. heat rushing up your neck, pooling low in your stomach.
you want to ask why you, then. out of all the girls he could 'come back home' to. out of all the girls he could have. the models, the singers, the girls who got names blue-check-verified. the ones who post thirst traps and don't flinch when someone touches their thigh.
but you don't ask.
because you like how he looks at you.
like you're something precious he wants to keep for himself.
like he's never had anything like you before. and maybe, just maybe, he never wants to go without it again.
—
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—
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—
things get... interesting after that.
kisses that grow longer. hands that travel further. his voice in your ear, soft and deep, saying things like, "you can tell me to stop, pretty. i'll stop whenever you say."
and you believe him. you do. but the problem is you never really want him to stop.
he calls you "pretty girl" when you're shy, when your fingers fidget with the hem of your new pastel cardigan, when you tuck your face into his chest after he says something that makes your skin feel too hot to wear. when you sit next to him in his car, trying to ignore the way he looks at you like you're the kind of girl men start wars over.
he calls you "baby" when you're quiet, when you're watching him with those soft, searching eyes like you're trying to understand every little part of him. when you're curled up against his side, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin like he's coaxing you to say something, anything.
"what you thinkin’ about, baby?" he murmurs, voice all gentle, because he genuinely wants to know where your mind goes when you get quiet like this.
you shake your head, because you can't say it. you can't tell him how deep he's gotten into you, how you're always thinking about him now—when you're in class, when you're at work, when you're sitting in the pews listening to your father preach about temptation and sin and how easily the devil slips into the cracks of your foundation.
he calls you "mama" when you're doing things you know you shouldn't be doing. when you're in his bed, back arching, lips parted, fingers grasping at his shoulders like they're the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. when you let him push you past every boundary you swore you'd never cross, when you let him drag you into the kind of pleasure that feels more like salvation than sin.
and it sounds so good in his mouth. so right. like it belongs to you. like he belongs to you. like every time he says it, he's giving you another piece of himself to keep.
and maybe you are keeping him. maybe he's yours in a way he's never been anyone else's before.
maybe you're his in a way that feels deeper than flesh, deeper than anything either of you have ever known.
—
he keeps showing up more.
in your bed, late at night, when your parents are fast asleep two rooms down the hall. you sneak him in, because that's apparently something you do now. feet tiptoeing across the hardwood, heart pounding so loud you're sure it'll wake up the whole house. you don't even turn on the lamp—just fumble for him in the dark, breathless, nervous, excited in a way you can't explain. and he's there, all warmth and muscle and mischief, slipping under the covers like he belongs there.
on your phone, texting things that make your thighs clench under the covers.
"what you wearing?"
it's the first thing he sends, and you already know where this is going. you hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. but he knows you too well.
"don't get shy on me now, pretty."
you take a breath, then type back.
"my nightgown."
it's a simple answer, nothing suggestive about it—but jude makes it mean something.
"the white one?"
"yeah."
"the one that's real thin?"
you pause. heart hammering.
"yeah."
the typing bubble pops up, disappears, pops up again. then—
"wish i was there."
you exhale sharply. shift under the covers. try to ignore the way your thighs press together on instinct.
"jude..."
"bet you're warm under there."
your breath catches.
"bet you keep rubbing your legs together, trying to make yourself feel good without me."
your fingers shake.
"open your legs for me, baby."
and God forgive you, but you do.
and, of course, he shows up in your mind as well. when you should be studying, praying, thinking about your future.
you sit in the second pew, bible open on your lap, the words on the page nothing but blurred ink. your daddy's voice booms through the church, preaching about temptation — because that's suddenly all he's been preaching about lately.
"flee from sin," he says, voice thick with conviction as he paces back and forth across the pulpit. "do not entertain it. do not welcome it into your home. into your heart. into your bed."
your breath stutters.
you swear your daddy looks at you too long. like he knows something. like he can see the filth on you. your fingers tighten around the edges of your bible, nails pressing half-moon indents into the leather. your mama glances at you, concern in her eyes. you force a smile, nod like everything's fine.
"temptation is a test," he continues. "and the devil is patient. he waits for a moment of weakness. he whispers to you when you're alone."
you suck in a sharp breath, heat crawling up your neck. because he does.
except it isn't the devil whispering to you at night.
it's jude.
"miss me?"
"wish i was there with you, don't you?"
"bet you still feel me, huh?"
you do.
so much so that it's wrong. so much that you feel like the walls of this church are closing in around you.
you shouldn't be here.
but you shouldn't be in jude's bed either. or sneaking him into yours. or texting him back. or letting him touch you like he does.
"resist temptation, and it will flee from you."
your fingers tremble where they rest on the page. because you don't want it to flee.
you want it to stay.
you want him to stay.
—
jude learns your body too quick. too well. too thoroughly.
it should scare you—the way he figures you out like he's done this a hundred times before, like he's studied you in a past life and came back knowing exactly what makes you gasp, what makes your voice shake, what makes you go all pliant and pretty beneath him.
he takes his time with you. always. moves slow, like he's savouring every moment, like he enjoys watching you come undone little by little. because that's the thing about jude—he doesn't just take pleasure from you; he drags it out of you, pulls it from the depths of your belly, coaxes it from between your lips until you're trembling, until you're arching into him, until you can't think straight.
he likes to test your patience, to see how long it takes before you can't handle it anymore. he'll brush his lips against the shell of your ear, mumbling, "look at you. so damn needy." and he'll chuckle when you whine, when you try to pull him closer, when your fingers clutch at his shirt like you're begging.
and your voice—God, your voice.
the way it wobbles when he kisses down your neck. the way it catches when he mouths at your collarbone. the way it pleads before he finally—finally—presses his hips against yours.
you call his name like it's something sacred. like it's something holy.
and maybe it is.
maybe in the heat of this room, in the way he touches you like you're the only girl in the world, in the way he murmurs, "let me hear you, baby. i wanna hear you say my name,"—maybe in all of that, he is holy.
at least, that's what it feels like when he finally gives you what you've been aching for, when he murmurs your name back just as soft, just as breathless, just as wrecked.
and suddenly, the preacher's daughter isn't so pure anymore.
—
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—
he corrupts you in pieces. not all at once.
one night, he's between your legs, looking up at you like you're the only girl that's ever mattered.
it's the first time. and you're nervous. your thighs tremble, and you keep trying to close them, instinct kicking in. but jude doesn't let you. his hands are firm, spreading you open, settling you against his mouth like he belongs there.
"relax, mama," he murmurs, lips brushing against your sensitive skin. "just let me taste you."
and God, do you let him.
his tongue is slow, dragging over you with a patience that makes your head spin. he groans into you, like he needs this, like this is his salvation. his hands grip your thighs tighter, his tongue flicks, swirls, sucks, and you swear you forget how to breathe.
"fuck—" the curse slips out, unbidden, and you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes going wide.
jude pulls back just enough to grin up at you, chin glistening. "that's a first," he teases, before licking back into you, hungrier this time.
you should feel ashamed, should feel guilty, but all you feel is him. the warmth of his mouth, the desperation in the way he grips you, the heat curling low in your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue.
your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging, pulling him closer, closer, closer, and he groans in pleasure against you, like he loves it when you take what you need.
his name spills from your lips, over and over and over, and when you cum, it's with a soft cry and a shudder that rocks you to your core.
he doesn't move for a moment. just presses his lips to your inner thigh, breath warm against your damp skin.
"told you i'd take care of you," he murmurs, voice low, eyes dark as he watches you try to catch your breath.
you don't respond. you can't.
because for the first time in your life, you don't know what comes after.
—
he meets your daddy once.
it's at a football charity event in the neighbourhood. something small, nothing crazy—just a few sponsors, some local businesses, a handful of academy footballers showing up to sign autographs, pose for pictures, and play a friendly game with the kids. you're only there because your mama insisted, said it was a good cause, said it'd "look good" if you showed up because your daddy's church is donating supplies—clothes, food, books for the kids.
you don't ask how jude's dad got involved. maybe he knows somebody who knows somebody. maybe it's just one of those things that happens when your son is famous, and people call in favours like it's nothing.
you also don't know jude himself is going to be there. not until you hear a collective of screams from the little boys and girls, all hyped up and bouncing on their toes like they can't believe their luck.
your stomach instantly drops as you turn to look across the field. to look at your man. the one you could never claim publicly.
he's in his element—long limbs, strong build, the kind of casual confidence that only comes from knowing you're him. he's grinning at the kids, talking to them easy, letting them pass the ball between themselves.
he laughs at something one of the kids says, head tilting back slightly, tongue peeking out between his teeth. your heart stutters. it always does when he looks happy like this—like the weight of the world isn't sitting on his shoulders for once.
his hand ruffles one of the boy's curls before he steps back, rolling the ball under his foot, nodding for them to come take it. and even in something as simple as that, he moves with a smooth athleticism that's almost unfair.
it's mesmerising. it always is.
and then—like he can feel you watching—he glances up. his eyes find yours instantly, like they always do. his grin shifts, turns into something slower, something more knowing. his head tilts slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in those deep brown eyes.
you look away. immediately. pretend to be interested in anything else. the donation table. the banners. the sun, for God's sake. anything but him.
but jude? jude is shameless.
because, before you know it—
"hey, pretty girl."
you freeze for half a second. then slowly, carefully, you turn your head, your heart slamming against your ribs. not because he called you that. he does that all the time, whispers it in the dark when he's got his hands on your waist, when his mouth is on your skin, when you're falling apart beneath him.
but this? this is here. this is now.
you don't even get a chance to say anything before your daddy steps in.
"jude bellingham," he greets, extending a hand, voice firm. "been hearing a lot about you, son."
jude takes it without hesitation, shaking it firm, nodding like he knows how to play the game.
"all good things, i hope."
you side-eye him. but jude just grins, the corner of his mouth lifting, and somehow, it makes him look even cockier.
you want to kill him.
but he plays it cool. stays respectful. makes conversation. even your mama seems to like him, which is ridiculous, because if she had any idea the things he's done to you—
you shake the thought out of your head, forcing yourself to focus.
people come up to him, ask for pictures, autographs. he takes it all in stride. smiles, poses, makes them feel like they matter. it's the first time you really see it—the way he switches it on, the charm, the ease, the star power that makes people want to be near him.
but when the attention dies down and the crowd shifts, he still finds his way back to you.
"nice dress," he murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear, his fingers brushing your wrist for half a second too long.
you step back, shooting him a glare. "stop."
his brows lift, all innocent. "stop what?"
you don't answer.
you can't answer.
because your daddy's watching, your mama's close by, and the last thing you need is for anyone to see the way your breathing falters when he's too close.
jude notices, though. of course he does. his lips twitch. and then—because he's him—he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch.
"see you later, mama."
and with that, he walks off, leaving you there—flustered, irritated, wanting.
you don't even hear the rest of your daddy's speech. don't even remember why you came here in the first place.
all you can think about is later.
when the sun goes down. when the cameras are gone. when it's just you and him.
because he meant it.
and you know—deep in your bones—that tonight, he's going to make you pay for pretending you don't want him.
—
there's a moment—late, after everything, while jude is lying on your chest, tracing lazy circles into your skin as you lay in his california king bed—where he murmurs something that makes your breath catch.
you're still trembling from the weight of what just happened, your body spent, skin dewy, lips tingling from the way he kissed you like he was trying to brand his name into your mouth. the sheets are tangled around your waist, his body warm and lax beside you, his fingers absentmindedly dancing along the curve of your hip like he isn't even aware he's doing it.
the room smells like him—cologne, clean linen, and the faint musk of sex that lingers in the air. the dim glow from the city outside seeps through the cracks in the blackout curtains, casting soft shadows over the luxurious bedroom.
your heart is still beating too fast, your mind caught somewhere between reality and the high of him. you don't even know what time it is. past midnight, probably. maybe later.
then, in that quiet, between the distant hum of cars outside and the slow rhythm of your breathing, he speaks.
"you're the only good thing in my life right now."
his voice is heavy with something you can't quite name. it's almost like a confession, something secret slipping past his lips before he can stop it. it feels unguarded. raw. too honest for a boy like him.
you want to ask what he means. why he said it. if he really believes it.
but you don't.
because you see the way his jaw clenches like he's already regretting saying too much. the way his fingers tighten just slightly on your hip. the way his head stays pressed against your chest, close enough to hear the way your heart stutters at his words.
and maybe you should leave. maybe you should remind yourself that this was supposed to be nothing, that you were never meant to matter to him like this.
but instead, you exhale, slow and careful, and thread your fingers through his curls. soft. comforting.
"i'm not going anywhere," you whisper, and it feels like a promise you shouldn't be making.
but he sighs against your skin, like it's exactly what he needed to hear.
and so you hold him.
because you're not so pure anymore. not after him. not after the way he's touched you, seen you, ruined you in the best and worst ways.
and honestly? you'd let him do it again.
every night.
every sunday morning before church.
every time he whispers your name like he's afraid he's dreaming you.
because even if it's wrong... even if you go to hell for it...
there's nothing holier than the way he makes you feel.
