synopsis ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: what happens when you confidently make a bet with your boyfriend that you could easily go one week without sleeping with him? it’s like you flipped a switch. gone was your loving, doting boyfriend. he was replaced by this monster who wanted to do bad things to you and did not want to treat you well. pride is going to be the death of you, and jobe will be there to watch you fall and piece you back together — after he has his fun with you.
content ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: so suggestive that autocorrect told it to get a room but nothing explicitly nsfw, just a lot of teasing and psychological torture
word count ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: 1.9k words
author's note ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: now i understand why selena gomez sang a day without you feels like a year without raaaaaain. who knew a two-sentence prompt could turn into this monster but this was super self indulgent because i genuinely felt some supernatural urge to write this instead of doing my homework.
“i bet i could get through one week without sleeping with you,” you remarked completely out of the blue.
jobe, in the midst of slicing the assortment of berries, looked up at you with one brow quirked upwards. “do you now?” he asked evenly.
you sat on the island stool and grabbed a thinly sliced strawberry. “can’t be that hard,” you teased, popping the fruit into your mouth, humming at the burst of flavor. “don’t go thinking you’re anything special in bed.”
jobe laughed humorlessly, licking his fingers clean while staring straight at you. “oh?”
you gulped, averting your eyes as you felt your confidence evaporate under the heat of his gaze. “trust me. this week will fly right by.”
famous last words.
for the next week, jobe dedicated himself to making your life hell on earth.
he spent every suffocating minute reminding that you would be eating your words by the end of this week, and you were slowly and painfully beginning to regret ever challenging him to this bet. between jobe, a professional athlete who was trained to endure the most grueling training regimens, and you, spoiled princess since birth, it should have been immediately apparent to you who would come out on top by the end of this challenge.
he would firmly press his shirtless chest against your back in the kitchen, leaning deeply into you so you could inhale the bergamot and smoky vanilla emanating from his freshly washed skin, only to reach forward to grab an apple from the bowl of fruit and walk away innocently.
once, he intentionally left his airpods on your bedside table and texted you to bring it to him at the home gym so that you could drop by and hear all the shallow cursing and grunting that went on as he lifted heavy dumbbells. he smiled knowingly at you from the bench, back glistening with sweat and veins prominent on his tense muscles. ‘thank you, baby,’ he said, voice dripping with insincerity.
fed up with his antics, you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. you were sipping red wine in the kitchen when he approached you, white crisp shirt half-buttoned and black tie in his hand. you set the wine glass down on the counter, slung the tie around his broad shoulders before taking another long sip. your eyes never left his, even as you tilted the wine glass downward and spilled it all over his nice white shirt. ‘oh,’ you frowned, ‘sorry.’ jobe let out a small unbothered laugh and began unbuttoning his shirt while his dark eyes bore into yours, shrugging it off and throwing it into the sink. ‘it’s okay, my love.’
at a dinner hosted by adidas germany, jobe was innocently conversing with a close friend from birmingham. ordinarily, you wouldn’t think much of it, but he was noticeably giving her more attention than he gave you this entire week. whenever he leaned forward to hear her better or laugh at her comment with his arm around her waist, you would grasp the stem of the wine glass like a weapon. and when his playful gaze met your withering stare, he winked and returned to whatever he was doing.
tonight, you were in paris celebrating denise and mark’s anniversary.
you did everything you could do distance yourself from jobe: sat all the way on the other end of the car, stood on opposite ends of the elevator, hell, even booked a separate room from him — everything short of putting an ocean between you two.
in the elevator going down from his suite you glared at the door, hands crossed over your chest. jobe was in your peripheral, leaning against the mirror with an amused look on his face.
“you ought to relax, you know,” he remarked casually, chuckling at your discomfort.
you gritted your teeth, nails biting painfully into the flesh of your skin. “thanks for the advice.”
jobe grinned, relishing in your downfall. “don’t forget to smile later. gotta keep the act up.”
you ignored him and walked out of the elevator the moment the doors pulled apart. the both of you acted like it was business as usual, conversing casually to denise and mark about football, the financial markets, politics. you momentarily forgot that this week had been especially hellish due to your cold war with jobe, but you refused to back down. can’t take it back when it’s been set in motion.
while his parents were looking at the menu, jobe turned his head to yours, pretending to talk about the menu, when he was actually whispering the most obscene things in your ear. everything from ‘you look so pretty, baby’ to ‘can’t wait to get you alone’ and ‘it’s taking everything in me not to drag you back to my room and have my way with you.’
all while you sat in front of his parents, smiling politely with your arms crossed on your lap.
in the midst of a conversation about the mid-year market outlook, a hand began lightly caressing your thigh. your breath hitched in your throat as you nodded thoughtfully at denise’s story about her shopping experience at the la vallée village. jobe laughed, pretending that it was at his mom’s story and not at you, absolutely unbothered by whatever he was doing to you underneath the table.
once his hand reached your mid-thigh, your hand shot down and clamped it over his hand, preventing him from moving upward. you crushed his hand, warning him to stop, but your boyfriend was way stronger than you and broke free from your grip.
“my dear,” denise said concernedly, noticing your face lose color. “are you alright?”
“yes, i’m fine,” you breathed out, hurriedly rising to your feet. “i-i just need to use the powder room.”
denise accepted your excuse and continued her conversation with her boys. jobe smirked to himself as he took another sip of his wine. the rest of your company might not have noticed the tremor in your voice, but he certainly did.
your head was spinning. all the staring, touching, and unholy murmurs in your ear were all tightening the figurative noose around your neck and you were on the verge of gasping and begging for forgiveness. jobe, on the other hand, was prepared to kick the stool underneath you just to see how far your pride and dignity would take you.
you stumbled into the powder room and headed straight to the sink.
you grasped either side of it, steadying yourself as the white straight-edge porcelain dug into the palms of your hands. the deserted restroom was still and silent, save for the whir of the air conditioner. the dim, red backlit mirror reflected your breathless and frustrated expression, and the wallpaper, an aztec-inspired tribal pattern in warm red, yellow, and brown, seemed to grow redder with each passing minute.
jobe — the thorn on your side, the bane of your existence, the fire that consumed everything in its wake and razed all your defenses to the ground. he’s been pressing your buttons the whole week, never once letting up on your overstimulated nerves.
you inhaled and exhaled deeply, attempting to regain your composure. you pumped the ceramic soap dispenser and washed your hands slowly and deliberately, as if the vetiver and bergamot could cleanse your soul of the impure thoughts that clung like rust on iron.
this desperate need to exorcise your mind of jobe consumed you, and your distractedness made it all that easier for satan himself to slip into the powder room undetected.
after washing and drying your hands you looked up at the mirror and found him leaning against the wall behind you, his expression mischievous.
“been here quite a while,” he remarked lowly. “almost thought you were secretly touching yourself to the thought of me for the last ten minutes.”
you scoffed at his filthy insinuation, anger bubbling deep within you. “the only time i would touch myself and think of you is when i’m dragging a knife across my throat wishing it were yours instead.”
jobe let out a small laugh. “ouch,” he cooed, feigning hurt.
you glared at his reflection in the mirror, hands anchored to the edge of the sink.
“what do you want?” you gritted out, your body practically vibrating with rage.
he pushed himself off the wall, positioning himself behind you. he was close enough for you to feel his presence but distant enough that your bodies weren’t touching each other.
“give it up,” he whispered, the teasing lilt of his voice had a sharp edge to it, as if he were sick and tired of the mind games. “apologize and i’ll consider taking it easy on you.”
you scoffed, the frayed threads of your patience slowly unraveling. “i hate you,” you seethed, punctuating each word. “i would rather burn in hell than apologize to you.”
he stepped forward, his toned body pinning you to the sink as he wordlessly tucked a strand of hair behind your ears, leaving the right side of your neck exposed.
“from the looks of it, you’re already in hell,” he whispered into your bared neck, his warm breath tickling your oversensitive skin. desire pooled deep in your stomach as you fought to remain still. “think i don’t notice the longing stares? all the times you stare into space, dreaming of the time i finally have my way with you and fulfill every sick fantasy that no doubt plays in your head.”
he slid his fingers up your waist slowly, each touch painfully igniting your raw nerves. “you’re frustrated, aren’t you,” he pointed out, his voice low and husky. “that as smart and as level as you are, you can’t seem to climb yourself out of this grave that i’ve dug for you.”
“you can do it, baby,” he murmured into your ear, his eyes never leaving yours. “apologize.”
the emotions inside you — passion, anger, frustration, lust — had reached a boiling point. you let out an almost animalistic noise and whirled around, pressing your chest to his.
surprise flickered briefly in his eyes. he grinned in a way that only victors could after witnessing the pain and the trail of destruction that followed him after each conquest.
you leaned closer to him, lips mere centimeters away from touching. the pulsing and flowing of blood pounded in your ear as desire clawed its way over the battered and bruised reason.
jobe let out a small laugh, appearing satisfied with himself. he leaned into you, prepared to close the gap after your desperation had brought you to him.
you gathered the shattered pieces of your self-control, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and shoved him forward, the force startling him as he stumbled against the wall.
jobe let out a small laugh, almost proud that you still had some fight left in you.
“i’ll apologize to you over my dead body,” you whispered menacingly, bunching up the lapels of his jacket up in your first, debating whether to push him further up against the wall or to pull him close to you and end your suffering immediately.
a sly grin slowly formed on his lips. “how about over your naked one instead?”
“fuck you,” you snapped.
he reached into his pocket, pulling out his room access card and placing it in between your fingers. “promise?” he teased lowly, eyes flickering to your parted lips.
“you’ll come tonight, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, his words meaning two things at once. “be a good girl and come see me.”
you shoved him backwards and stormed out of the room, on the brink of insanity.
author's note ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: random bf!jude scenarios except that he's a licensed driver in this one so you know it's a fic
JUDE, WORLD'S BEST GIRL DAD, despite the fact that he had no daughter and that he admitted he didn’t want to have any children of his own. you would never admit it but you loved watching jude play with kids, even if your favorite line to say to him whenever he would joke around with them is, ‘shouldn’t you pick on someone your own size?’
you walked through the tunnel, sliding into your wool scarf button-front jacket, bracing for the cold air that awaited you on the field. the bright white lights illuminated the entire stadium as the real madrid squad relaxed on the field, laughing and talking with one another after a grueling training session.
vivienne ran to jude, stretching her arms out for a hug. he laughed, lifting her up and balancing her on his forearms. he whispered something in her ear and she nodded shyly before resting her head on his shoulder.
you saw harry and trent conversing on the field and went straight to them.
“you’re on enemy territory,” you said while their backs were still turned to you, referring to when bayern munich beat real madrid 4-3 in the UCL quarter-finals a couple of months ago.
harry and trent turned around, both cracking a smile when they saw you.
“really?” harry asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “cause i feel right at home.”
across the field, jude was touring vivienne around the stadium when his eyes met yours. he pointed at you and vivienne’s gaze followed the direction of his finger, eventually settling on you. she waved hello and you waved back with a grin.
“he’s a natural, isn’t he?” trent teased, shooting you a knowing grin.
“think he’s made his position on that pretty clear,” you responded with a snort.
harry exhaled doubtfully. “i don’t know,” he drawled. “love changes people.”
trent nodded thoughtfully, suppressing a smirk. “heard that too, yeah.”
you rolled your eyes. “think you should trade in your cleats for some microphones, boys. you know, start your own podcast and give your shitty dating advice there.”
trent laughed out loud. “i think she’s talking about you, mate.”
harry scoffed, flashing trent his wedding ring. “well, i’m married so that’s 1-0, advantage harry.”
“well, i’ve won the champions league so that’s the only 1-0 that matters,” trent retorted sassily.
you left the boys to their own devices, chuckling faintly at the remark as you approached jude and vivienne on the field.
“hey,” you greeted the pair. “how's my favorite girl doing?”
vivienne reached for you and once jude placed her on her feet she dashed into your arms. “i missed you, too,” you laughed, the force of her hug almost knocking you over.
“what about me? did you miss me?” jude asked, pecking you on the lips.
“don’t make this about you,” you said, rolling your eyes.
you crouched down to plant a kiss on vivi’s cheek, but she soon became fascinated by the soccer ball settled in between jude’s feet.
“come on, vivi,” jude said invitingly. “let’s score a goal for your dad.”
jude kicked the ball forward, his touch light as a feather considering that he was quadruple vivi’s size and strength. you ran alongside vivi, holding her hand to prevent her from falling over while she ran.
jude stopped directly in front of the goal, gesturing for vivi to take the ball and shoot it. her gaze moved between you and jude, uncertain of her next move.
you gently let go of her hand and walked behind jude, wrapping your arms around him and caging him in. “go, vivi,” you nodded encouragingly. “i'll hold him back.”
jude laughed, leaning into your touch and turning his head to press a kiss to your forehead. “she’s got me,” he said, in a faux defeated tone. “i'm stuck.”
vivi stared at the two of you, clueless, but nevertheless she kicked the ball into the goal.
“amazing!” harry exclaimed, scooping his daughter up in his arms and giving her a kiss. “they’d make such good parents, don’t they?”
vivi blinked up at her dad, confused, and then pointed her tiny finger at your stomach, silently asking him if you were pregnant. trent spit out his water, wheezing in between laughs, while vini rolled over laughing, bending over and slapping his thigh.
“no, no,” harry quickly corrected her with an alarmed look.
jude laughed with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “who knows? maybe one day, if we’re lucky.”
you froze in shock.
trent shot you a look, mouthing ‘i told you so’ in the most indiscreet way possible.
you mouthed ‘fuck off’ in an equally obvious manner.
while the rest of the team walked back to the tunnel to grab dinner at your favorite tapas place, you stayed behind with jude so he could change into clean clothes and freshen up. the conversation you had earlier played on a loop in your mind — “who knows? maybe one day, if we’re lucky.”
“what are you thinking about?”
you turned your head sideways to find jude already staring at you, a brand new t shirt in his hands.
“hmmm?”
“your face is doing that thing where it scrunches up,” jude said, stripping off his damp jersey. “that means something’s on your mind.”
“i thought you didn’t want to have children,” you said.
jude pulled his clean shirt over his head and dumped his jersey into his bag. “i didn’t before,” he admitted. “but now i’m not so sure. watching harry, fede, declan, and rodry play with their children sometimes gives me the baby fever.”
you let out a small laugh. “i get that.”
“i want to make you a dad” is what you actually wanted to tell him.
“what?” jude asked, his lips turning upwards into an amused smile. “you want to make me a dad?”
you froze, stunned that you actually said it aloud. “what?”
jude chuckled, pulling you close to him. “i'm flattered, really,” he whispered as his free arm tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “shall we go and do it?”
you stared up at him nervously. “go where?”
jude grinned. “to dinner, my love.”
you continued to look at him with a dazed expression. thinking about jude being a dad. thinking about making him a dad. “oh yeah sure,” you murmured, walking to the tunnel.
“you were thinking about it. weren't you?” he called from behind you.
“about what?” you asked, pretending like nothing happened.
“about making me a dad,” jude whispered teasingly behind you.
you rolled your eyes, jabbing his stomach with your elbow as your cheeks flushed crimson.
his laugh echoed throughout the tunnel.
JUDE, YOUR LONG-SUFFERING BOYFRIEND, who takes the time to listen to your rambling speeches on interesting things you learned from a movie, a book, or a lecture, even if he does so half-asleep and mumbling ‘that’s nice, baby’ or ‘hmm i'm glad, my love.’
“did you know the coldest planet in the solar system is uranus,” you said to him, snuggling deeper into his arms. “if you jumped into its atmosphere you would be hit by winds reaching 560 miles per hour, killing you instantly. if you were lucky — or unlucky, however you choose to look at it — enough to survive, you would still freeze to death because the temperature on uranus can be as low as -224 degrees celsius. you would survive a good 3-5 minutes.”
“that’s nice, baby,” jude mumbled, running his fingers up and down your waist. “best to avoid that place the next time we’re planning to go on holiday.”
you laughed out loud, amused that your boyfriend, in his sleepiness, thought you could easily travel to uranus as if it were the amalfi coast or the french riviera.
still, you played along. “so what would be your favorite planet to go to then?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice level. “uranus is off the table for sure.”
“well, what’s your favorite planet?” jude asked, stretching his arms and yawning loudly.
“saturn,” you said without thinking twice.
“then that’s my favorite planet,” he said sleepily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “wherever you are is where i want to be.”
“the clouds that sit below its troposphere are made of ammonia,” you mentioned, staring up at jude, whose eyes were currently screwed shut as his chest rose and fell steadily. “if you dove from your spaceship directly into saturn, the closer you get to its surface the more the temperature drops. it can drop to -200 degrees celsius and it gets extremely dark because sunlight won’t be able to reach you.”
“so is that during peak season or off season for them?”
“how are you still funny in your sleep?”
JUDE, THE LIFE OF THE PARTY, especially during karaoke. even if he was off the beat or out of tune, jude wasn’t going to let anyone rain on his parade.
“no i never felt this way before,” jude sang in a deep and gravelly voice to match that of bill medley. “yes i swear it’s the truth.”
“and i owe it all to you,” you both belted out in unison, both raising your hands up and encouraging the rest of the team to stand up and join you.
you pointed the microphone in their direction as they stood up with their glasses and sang back in chorus, “i had the time of my life!”
“though i never felt this way before,” the squad continued to sing, some putting their arms around each other’s shoulders, swaying left and right. “yes i swear it’s the truth and i owe it all to you.”
arda took ahold of your hand and spun you around. you handed him the microphone and he readily accepted, singing, “cause i had the time of my life! and i’ve searched through every open door!”
trent and jude pointed at arda, in awe. the team jumped up and down excitedly, shaking his shoulders to encourage him to keep singing. you grabbed your disposable camera and wound it up, pointing it at the squad, who were too busy singing and dancing to notice, and snapped pictures of them. you even took a couple of videos to send to their social media manager.
an arm snuck around your waist, pulling you to him. he intertwined your fingers in his and swayed you back and forth, “never felt this way, ’til i found the truth,” he sang. “and i owe it all to you.”
he twirled you around as you laughed at how hammered he was at this point. “you're not going to remember any of this tomorrow, are you?” you asked him teasingly.
“nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and grinning with no coherent thought in his head. “i’m having the time of my life. we’re the champions of europe! i’m on top of the world!”
“until tomorrow morning when you’ll be at the bottom of the floor puking your guts out,” you laughed as he continued to dance with you.
“well, like chihuahua said, every day above ground is a great day,” he cheered, downing another shot of tequila. he pointed at you and arda, who stood beside you, and said, “remember that.”
jude stumbled back to the rest of the team who was letting loose on the dance floor. he poured vodka straight from the bottle down vini’s throat and made silly faces while fede filmed a video for his instagram story.
you turned to arda, feeling completely and utterly confused.
“chihuahua?”
“did he mean pitbull?”
JUDE, WHO WAS AN ANNOYING WINNER, and an even more annoying loser. pick a struggle, you donut. hannah montana was wrong, you can have the best of both worlds, or in jude’s case, the worst of both worlds.
nights at the pub playing pool with jude were one of your favorite ways to kick back and relax. he would wear his adidas cap and casual shirt and jeans to blend into the crowd.
as you bent down to perfectly angle your cue stick to pocket as many balls as possible, jude crouched down beside you with a mischievous glint in his eye.
you chuckled, catching wind of his scheme to distract you. “what are you doing?”
jude shrugged, feigning ignorance. “just enjoying the view.”
you froze as warmth crept up your neck and spread across your cheeks at the simple remark. jude chuckled, amused at your visible reaction to his harmless flirting.
you rolled your eyes at the sound of his laugh, rolled back your shoulders, and eyed the center of the rack.
“you look so pretty tonight, baby,” jude whispered in his low, husky voice. the same voice he uses late at night when you’re tangled in the sheets and he’s not quite ready to fall asleep just yet.
he perfectly timed his remark because he uttered those words at the exact moment you drove the ball forward with your stick. flustered, your shot lacked the momentum to pocket any balls.
you turned your head sideways and glared at him.
jude smiled cheekily, picking up his cue stick to follow the white ball. “better luck next time.”
you scoffed. “oh is that how it’s gonna be? be prepared to lose big time.”
jude laughed, unfazed by your barely disguised threat. “bring it on, babe.”
he shot two solids in one go, looking up at you with a smirk as each ball fell into the pocket.
he moved across the table to take another shot, but as he crouched down, face scrunched up with concentration, you purposely bumped his hip, causing him to lose balance.
the cue stick veered left as a result and failed to drive the white ball forward.
you simpered, appearing pleased with yourself, but immediately masked it with a pitiful smile once jude looked up at you with a knowing frown.
“oh, i’m sorry,” you said without an ounce of sympathy. “didn’t see you there.”
jude exhaled, a humorless laugh falling from his lips. “uh-huh,” he said disbelievingly, his tongue pushing the inside of his right cheek.
“better luck next time,” you mocked, throwing his words back at him.
you hit three balls in succession, undisturbed by jude’s antics, and stared at the white ball, strategizing to shoot the next ball at the edge of the table without pocketing them both. hit it too directly and the white ball falls in, but hit it too obliquely and the white ball might not even hit the striped ball.
“easy peasy,” you said nonchalantly to rile jude up.
the striped ball entered the pocket according to plan, but the moment you lifted your eyes to jude to gloat, he took the opportunity to push the white ball into the pocket with his hand.
“i hate you.”
“i’ll live.”
the game went on until eventually only the black eight ball remained. it was jude’s turn because he successfully tricked you into believing that the crawling sensation on your back was a spider that had fallen from the ceiling when, in reality, it was his fingers moving downward. you let out a yelp and bumped your knee under the table, causing the surrounding people to look at you in concern.
while waiting for jude to return from the toilet you hid his cue stick behind you. as jude walked back to your table he gave you a knowing look after noticing his cue stick was gone.
“come on,” he said. “give it back.”
“i don’t know where it is,” you insisted, failing miserably at keeping a straight face. “maybe you brought it with you to the toilet.”
“the cue stick is taller than you!” jude said incredulously, also failing to keep his tone serious. “i can see it!”
he tried to reach for the cue stick sandwiched between you and the table but you shifted left and right, dragging the stick along with you. the both of you eventually stopped moving and stared straight into each other’s eyes, attempting to keep your laughter at bay.
jude folded first, letting out a tiny laugh as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. he leaned forward until your lips were mere meters away from each other.
your eyes drifted from his eyes down to his lips and you leaned forward to kiss him when he pulled back slightly, preventing your lips from meeting.
he chuckled but eventually gave in, smiling as he kissed you.
JUDE, WHO KEEPS YOU ON YOUR TOES, by never letting you know his next move. randomly mentioned that you missed your favorite fish and chips shop? jude's pulling out his credit card to book a flight back to england. want to go on a late night drive? he's already twirling his car keys around his finger. feeling spontaneous? jude's stretching his arms, ready to spin you around and eat at whatever restaurant you point at after you stop feeling so dizzy. he was your partner-in-crime (when he wasn’t the one you wanted to commit a crime against).
jude maintained a steady speed on the wet and slippery road as he drove you both home from trent’s wedding reception. fat droplets of rain relentlessly splatter onto the windshield and the windows were starting to fog up from the cold. lorde played softly in the background as lightning struck the ground somewhere in the distance.
you rented a house for your weekend trip. it was perched on a small hilltop overlooking a massive lake. across the lake were acres of forestland and the leaves of its trees were swaying violently in the wind. mud painted the tires of the car as you pulled into the empty driveway, the well-lit house immediately greeting you.
jude turned off the ignition while staring straight ahead.
“we should jump into the lake.”
you laughed. was he being for real?
but jude was already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door while your brain was still processing the idea of jumping into a freezing cold lake. heavy raindrops drummed on the metal roof of the car as jude gestured for you to come outside.
“what?” you whispered, hurriedly unbuckling your seatbelt to join him in the pouring rain.
the rain soaked your entire body within just seconds. “you’re insane!” you exclaimed over the noise.
“live a little!” jude exclaimed back, tossing his shoes aside and running barefoot down the hill.
you had no idea what possessed you to run after him in the pouring rain. it was probably a bad idea, and yet, you chased after him. the ruffled detailing of your dress sagged pitifully as it grew wetter every time your feet hit the ground and its butter yellow color looked almost translucent in the storm.
jude kept running, discarding his tie and jacket somewhere along the way. you both stopped where the dock met the land and stared at each other, possibly delirious from all the rainwater you swallowed.
the two of you laughed, fat droplets of rain streaming down your face.
this time you surprised him by running down the wooden dock, with your wet hair swaying wildly with each movement, dragging your dress along behind you. at the edge of the dock you jumped into the water without a moment’s hesitation, your dress ballooning to the top and surrounding you.
jude chased after you, diving into the water and swimming straight towards you.
“there’s my girl,” he said.
fog rolled over the mountains and thunder roared in the distance. there was something about seeing raindrops paint jude’s face, with his white dress shirt clinging to his body and the steel gray sky hanging above both of you, that felt so cinematic.
“we’re going to get sick!” you yelled over the pouring rain, “your mom is going to kill us.”
“what?” jude yelled back with a mischievous grin, pretending not to hear you. “you’re going to kiss me?”
“we're so gonna regret this,” you said, already picturing the two of you laying in bed, sinuses leaking and your body temperatures through the roof.
jude stared at you, his expression soft. you both probably would come down with an extremely high fever but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it right now. all he wanted to do is live in the moment with you, as unbelievably reckless as it was.
synopsis ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: the aftermath of the disastrous party. you and jude both return to your normal lives accepting that it was never going to work out. but is it truly over? was it over when you left him standing there with his heart in his hands? was it over when you boarded the plane without looking back? was it over then? is it over now?
content ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: angst, fluff, pining, jude fighting for the girl he loves (i know that man is a yearner, i just know)
word count ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: 2.3k words.
author's note ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆: jude has probably watched all the high school musical movies and has cried to at least one of them.
WAS I JUST A FOOL?
stevie nicks’ raspy and spiteful voice sang into jude’s ears as he walked into the stadium. his shoulders were tense and his lips were twisted into a frown as he trudged through the tunnel. the plastic water bottle crackled and crumpled underneath the weight of his hand.
behind him, trent and kylian shot each other a knowing look, neither willing to disturb their grieving friend. at a glance, it looked like it was business as usual for jude, as though he wasn’t absolutely gutted and heartbroken by recent events. he devoted himself to training for the champions league finals: he was the first one in the stadium and last one to leave; he spent hours working out at the gym; and he spoke of nothing but winning the title.
but no matter how hard he pushed himself on the field or how jam-packed his schedule was that day, his mind would drift and he would think about you. if you had taken your last final. if you were preparing for graduation. if he consumed your thoughts as much as you consumed his own. if you were happy with someone else. someone else who deserved you.
the idea that someone else could make you as happy as he does made jude blind with rage. he drove the ball into the net forcefully, the ball spinning as the net caught it.
“jude,” a voice called out.
jude sank another ball into the goal, oblivious to the world.
“jude,” the voice called out once more, nearer to the tense footballer.
the star athlete kicked another ball into the net, its path curving perfectly past the imaginary goalkeeper.
a hand clasped his shoulder, bringing him back to earth. “jude,” his coach said. “go home.”
“i'm fine, coach,” jude said dismissively, walking to the goal to retrieve the balls.
his coach blocked his path, putting his hand on his star player’s chest. “no, you’re not,” he insisted. “you keep going at this rate and you’re going to crash and burn tomorrow when we need you the most.”
“we need to beat dortmund in the finals,” jude said, looking straight at the goal with his jaw clenched.
“and we will,” his coach said reassuringly. “but right now you need to go home.”
jude looked to his right, seeing his teammates stand on either side of their coach, concern and worry splashed all over their faces. the ones who knew what happened noticed his pain for weeks but avoided the topic because they refused to deal with the fallout of even mentioning your name to him.
trent finally spoke out. “mate, we’re worried about you.”
jude ran his hand down his face. “you’re right,” he said apologetically. “i’m sorry. i’ll go.”
his coach stroked his cheek with his thumb. “good boy. everybody head out — we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
trent and kylian slapped his back comfortingly, a sort of wordless message that they were there for him. jude, for the first time in days, smiled genuinely and appreciatively at his friends as they headed home.
at home, jude leaned against the granite countertop with his jug in his hand. he was a dim figure in the dark kitchen and the only source of light was the control panel of his fridge. the memories of you and him — preparing dinner together, attempting to follow recipes, telling stories after dinner, and washing and drying the dishes together silently — haunted him.
his mom found him in the kitchen, staring into the void.
“good gracious,” she said, her voice strained. “what are you doing in the dark? have you eaten?”
jude wordlessly shook his head, taking another sip of his protein shake.
denise pulled out the premade frozen meal prepared by his personal chef and heated it in the microwave. “you can’t go on like this,” she ordered him in her motherly tone.
“don’t know what you mean,” he murmured unconvincingly.
“you have been moping around for weeks,” she told him in a reprimanding tone. “you work yourself to the bone every single day. you snap at us and your friends at any given moment. you need to fix that attitude right now because i won’t put up with it any longer.”
“it's nothing,” jude said. “i’ll win another game and put this all behind me.”
denise sighed. she wasn’t aware of the specifics behind your split but she made an educated guess that it was about his career. her son’s life was complicated — sure, he was handsome, famous, talented, and rich, but it all came with a price tag. he could no longer walk the streets without being recognized, he feared being used by people whom he considered his closest friends, and he was plagued with constant anxiety about someday ending up a washed up football player.
it was one of the main reasons she loved you and jude together. you lived a normal life. he brought you out of your comfort zone and you brought him down to earth when everybody was pushing his ego to new heights every time he scored a goal. you taught him new card games, filled his life with interesting facts, and made his stomach hurt from all the laughter. with you, jude had the best of both worlds.
“it’s ninety minutes,” denised stated simply.
jude finally looked up. “what?”
“a game is ninety minutes,” she clarified.
“she could be the rest of your life.”
he paused before closing the fridge. “it doesn’t matter. it’s too late.”
“it’s not too late,” denise sighed, cupping her son’s face with her hands. “be honest with her about how you truly feel.”
“she's good for you, son,” mark commented, emerging from the staircase to stand beside his wife. “keeps you grounded. you both bring out the best in each other.”
“what should i tell her?” jude sighed, exasperated. “that i love her? that with one word i would walk away from everything just to be by her side? that it terrifies me that i have never felt this way about anyone in my entire life? that seeing her walk away from me has crushed me more than any other loss in my whole career ever has?”
denise and mark looked at each other knowingly, their son was head over heels for you.
jude froze, the realization that he loved you dawned suddenly. “i love her.”
“you do,” denise said, her face breaking out into a proud smile.
mark slung his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “go on,” he encouraged his son. “fight for her.”
IS IT KILLING YOU LIKE IT'S KILLING ME?
after the ceremony you and your friends had the deserted campus all to yourselves. you all decided to substitute a possibly fancy dinner with one last meal at the dining hall. your friends brought cupcakes and other pastries for the kitchen staff, to thank them for all the kindness they’ve shown you throughout the years. from early breakfasts to late dinners and late night cravings during exam season, the dining hall was a safe haven to all.
while your friends reminisced and laughed at old memories, you nodded distractedly, half-listened to stories, and laughed just in time as the punchline ended.
ping! a google alert brightened your screen.
real madrid win champions league final as dortmund rue missed chances.
pride washed over you, but it was soon followed by a wave of sadness. you could imagine the stadium right now: confetti raining from the skies, the crowd singing the real madrid anthem, jude and his teammates lifting the trophy to the sky, and tears streaming down everyone’s face as the entire stadium celebrated. you pictured jude grinning from ear to ear right now and the thought alone made you smile sadly at the table. you could also picture him ending the night at a bar with his team, chatting it up with a girl and taking her home — that thought left a sour aftertaste.
despite yourself your hand itched to pick up the phone and text jude congratulations.
instead, you swiped right on the notification and watched it disappear.
“you okay?” francie whispered concernedly, resting her chin on your shoulder.
“yeah” you responded, laying your head on top of hers affectionately. “i’m fine.”
after dinner, you all went on one final stroll around campus.
“are you sure you don’t want to join us at the pub?” francie asked.
“come on, for old time’s sake.” ayrton said as he slung his arm around your shoulder.
“you guys go ahead, i’ll be fine,” you encouraged. “i want to soak it all in one last time.”
ayrton and francie looked at each other knowingly but decided not to push you on the matter. “text us if you decide to change your mind,” francie stated, “or if you want some company.”
“i will,” you assured them. “go on. you deserve to have fun.”
“we deserve to have fun,” ayrton clarified, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “call us!”
after you parted ways, you started off in the direction of the halls. around you, the crickets chirped monotonously and the pathways were illuminated by the warm light shining through the buildings. the cool and refreshing breeze picked up the scent of the freshly cut grass and the smell alone soothed your nerves.
on your way home your mind drifted back to jude. where was he? what was he doing right now? was he thinking of you? did he look for you in the stands earlier, wishing you were there cheering him on?
“figured you’d be the last one to leave campus.”
you froze. that was a voice you could recognize anywhere.
you searched around for the voice and saw nothing but a deserted campus. confused, you were about to move forward when you heard the ruffling of the leaves above you.
you looked up to find jude balanced on the thick tree branch. he wore a pressed suit with no tie and the first two buttons undone. infuriating as it was, he was still as handsome as ever.
“what are you doing here?” your voice was breathy, unsteady.
“the girl of my dreams graduated with honors today,” he stated. “where else would i be?”
“you’re supposed to be in madrid.”
“the game ended two hours ago.”
“you’re supposed to be celebrating,” you said.
he leapt off the tree.
“there’s nowhere else i’d rather be right now than here with you,” he confessed.
“the last time we spoke…”
“i know,” he interrupted. “it was stupid—i was stupid.”
“i love you,” he announced.
“i knew it from the moment i met you. for whatever reason you seem to believe that the fame, medals, and championships make us incompatible, but strip those away and i am the exact same person. ever since you entered my life, everything has felt incredibly mundane when it is experienced without you by my side. i would move mountains, cross oceans, trade everything in a heartbeat just to be with you, to hear you laugh, to see you smile.”
you were rooted to the spot in disbelief and the silence of the night only amplified the violent outburst of emotion thrumming in your head and heart.
“baby,” jude whispered nervously. “please say something.”
you blinked back the tears threatening to stream down your face. “whatever was said that night was true,” you stated tiredly. “i’m not a supermodel and i can’t pretend to be one or look like one or act like one just so i feel qualified to be your girlfriend. let’s face it: you should date people that belong in your world and i should date people that belong in mine.”
it was a battle coming to terms with that conclusion because despite the fact that it was true, your heart kicked and screamed and protested inside your chest. i am truly, madly, and deeply in love with you, you desperately wanted to shout, i want to risk it all on us.
feeling the dam of tears behind your eyes ready to burst, you side step to the left and walked past him.
“my feelings for you are immune to whatever you or anyone has to say,” he called out.
you turned around, eyes welling up with tears. he approached you with a determined look in his eyes. “what you don’t get is that i want you and there is nothing you or anyone can say or do to change that. fight it all you want but you know that we are meant to be together. to me, there is no other girl that is prettier, funnier or smarter than you. every other girl just pales in comparison. so, trust me when i say there is no competition for my heart—you already won.”
your knees nearly buckled under his resolute gaze.
“the distance,” you breathed out. “you live in madrid and i live here. i can’t move to madrid. i would hate being followed and photographed in public. the time difference—”
jude let out a tiny humorless laugh as if it was a nonissue, as if he could give you the world with a simple snap of his finger. “it’s a two-hour flight with a one-hour time difference,” he said. “i’ll fly home or i’ll fly you out.”
you tried to imagine another nightmarish scenario of you two together, but you knew, deep down, that any fire your insecurities would light, jude would put out in an instant.
“it's going to take a lot more than that to push me away,” jude whispered tauntingly.
he smiled triumphantly as he sensed you were close to giving in. he wrapped his arm around your waist to draw you nearer, to make it all the more impossible to push him away, literally and figuratively.
“so, is that a yes? or are you going to break my heart?”
“i don’t know,” you whispered.
jude clasped your hand in his, pressing it to his lips before placing it above his heart. “then break my heart, baby. do whatever you want with it—it’s yours. i’m yours.”
you slid your arms up and above his chest, wrapping it behind his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
in a few seconds he broke it off and murmured, “been waiting a long time to do that, haven’t you?”
you rolled your eyes, “shut up and kiss me, bellingham.”
jude grinned, capturing his lips in yours once more.
the start of forever signed, sealed, and delivered with a kiss.
