warnings: me out of retirement? (kind of) jealous!Chris, sex, nipple play. Idek man i haven't written in so long.
for @devotedlyteenagemusic
edited but not fr.
he knew it was dumb.
he knew you were a fangirl, from a young age, it didnt bother him that you had celbrity crushes. but hearing you laugh at interviews because of luke hemmings, seeing you smiling everytime you saw a picture of the blonde australian, hearing the mans voice.
he couldnt stand it
it had been happening for two weeks now, he was pissed and fed up.
and he was going to handle it.
you didnt even hear him come in, your attetion set on an old interview of the australian band. of course that cheesy smile was on your face, your feet swingin as you sit at the kitchen table. you jump feeling a pair of hand on you, rubbing at your thighs slowly before giving the occasional squeeze.
"hey baby," you relax hearing chris's voice, leaning into his affection as he kisses at your neck.
"hey, how was your meeting?" it was clear you weren't really paying attention, your eyes still casted on the video. chris rolls his eyes and slowly trails his hands from your thighs to your breasts, cupping the mounds and squeezing them firmly.
"it was good, i missed you though." you hum in response, laughing to yourself softly as luke dramatically shouts something in the video. he rolls his eye again before cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to look at him.
"i said i missed you." he repeats
"i missed you too,"
he scoffs and squeezes your breast again, "you sure? because youve been so focused on your new boyfriend." he forces your head back down and forces you to look back at the screen.
"chris he's not m-shut up and keep watching." he demands, his hand going towards the neck line of your tank top and yanking it down, your breast immediately falling out. a soft gasp escapes your mouth as he starts to tweak and tug at your nipples, a warm sensation spreading through your body and going straight to your core.
"i mean what do you even see in him baby? he blonde, has blue eyes, probably dick because the fames gone to his head. thats not your type."
he pulls one hand away from your chest and towards your shorts, shoving his hand down the front and sweeping a singular finger through your folds.
he clicks his tongue, pinching down on your nipple harder. "already wet? either you really do miss me or you thought about a certain australian too much today."
"chr-shhh, it's ok. keep watching him."
you moan softly as he starts to circle your clit, his fingers applying the right amount of pressure to make you turn to puddy in his hands. you do your best to keep your eyes trained on the video but you can't concentrate.
"moan his name."
his demand causes you to tense, your eyes wide in confusion. before you could even question what was wrong with him and what's going on, he slaps your breast, causing the australian mans name to tumble past your lips.
"see? can't even moan his name right. mine's better."
he pulls you up, shoving the chair out the way and bending you over the table. he quickly pulls your shorts and underwear down and lands a firm slap to your ass, making you squeal in shock.
"tell me why you like him so much." you could hear him fumbling with his belt, the buckle clinking loudly. you shudder feeling the tip of his cock sliding through your folds, your juices covering his length. "i-i like his hair, how curly it is. i-i like his voice, his -ah!"
your body shudders as he buries himself deep inside you, hitting the right spot immediately. he gives you no time to adjust, setting a brutal pace from the start.
your moans bounce off the walls of the kitchen, drowning out the noise from the video as your knuckles turn from holding on to the table.
"yeah? you love all that about him?" you yelp out as he slaps your ass once more, his hand gripping both the cusp of your ass and your hip tightly.
"look at you, falling apart on my dick, yet you're talking about loving another guy's hair. fucking whore."
"keep going baby, tell me what else you love 'bout him."
you couldn't even form a thought, the pleasure from him and the way your nipples pressed against the cold counter being all too much.
"see baby? you're going dumb on my dick, he couldn't make you feel like this now could he?"
"no!" you moan out, your walls clamping down on him as he pulls you closer and closer to the edge.
"whose pussy is this?"
"y-yours!"
"who should you be thinking about?"
"you!"
"who fucks you better?"
"you! o-oh fuck, you chris!"
"there we go, come on baby. make a mess for me."
your eyes roll back at his words, video long forgotten as your orgasm rushes through you. not long after, he lets go as well, painting your velvet walls a pearly white. he pulls out with a soft and wet pop, watching his seed falls out of you and onto the tiled floor. he smirks, watching you shake and shudder, your breathing ragged.
he tucks himself back into his pants, zipping the fly and leaving the belt unbuckled. he bends down and pulls up your pants and underwear, adjusting the bottoms before pulling the chair back over and forcing you to sit down. you whine and clench your legs, the feeling of his semen between your folds making your mind even more hazy.
"Now finish watching your video, and remember whose cum is dripping out of you."
Win or lose, there's one thing Jude always does before anything else. He looks for the person waiting for him in the stands.
warning: this is basically jude being in love for 2k words.
english is not my first language
I've been in a relationship with Jude for 2 years now. Despite his strict rule about being private with his personal life, he has always been the affectionade and clingy type. When we're in public he holds my hands, or keeps his low on my back. I appreciate that, even though he's a public fegure, he's concerned about letting me confortable all the time.
This side of him shows on the pitch, too. Whenever the final whistle blows, the first thing he does is look for me and his family, searching for either congratulations or comfort in our faces.
He was devastated after England's World Cup exit, but today they beat France in the third-place match, and from up here he looks absolutely radiant.
As always, he looks up, frowning slightly as he scans the stands. Denise and I immediately start waving like maniacs, hoping he'll spot us. Our attempts were unsuccessful, because he still doesn't seem to find us.
I watch him say something to one of his teammates before looking back at the stands. A few seconds later, his eyes finally land on us. His entire face lights up, the largest smile appearing. He waves at us with the same energy and I throught him a kiss. Jude do a little heart with his hand and keep smiling, before the coach ask the team to reunite again.
[...]
Denise and I waited in the family area just outside the tunnel, chatting absentmindedly as we watched players and staff come and go. Every now and then, a familiar face would stop to say hello before disappearing down the corridor.
I heard him before I saw him.
His laugh echoed through the hallway, followed by the sound of football boots tapping against the concrete floor. A few of his teammates walked out first, still joking about something that had happened during the match.
Then Jude appeared. The second he spotted us, his expression softened.
The bright smile he'd been wearing for the cameras melted into something quieter, warmer. Something that belonged only to us.
Without thinking twice, he walked straight over.
— Finally — he sighed, opening his arms before I could even say a word.
I laughed as I stepped into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist. He held me tightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck for a few long seconds. It wasn't a celebratory hug. A silent I'm okay now.
— I couldn't find you back there — he mumbled against my shoulder. I pulled back just enough to look at him.
— I noticed — I teased — We were waving like crazy. — A laugh escaped him.
He finally let go of me, only to pull Denise into a hug next.
We started walking toward the team bus together, the crowd around us growing louder with every step.
At some point, I instinctively let go of his hand, thinking he probably needed to stop for more photos or interviews. Before I could pull away completely, his fingers tightened around mine. I looked over.
— Stay — he said softly, almost absentmindedly. I smiled and intertwined our fingers again.
After ninety minutes of hearing thousands of people chant his name, all he wanted was something familiar to hold on to.
summary: Jude Bellingham has spent months convincing himself you're off-limits. Between the lingering touches, the effortless laughter, and the way Eduardo Camavinga always seems to be by your side, he's certain his teammate got there first. The only problem? You've only ever had eyes for Jude.
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, jealousy, dirty talk.
wc: 2.1k
main masterlist | football masterlist
There was one thing Jude Bellingham had never quite managed to understand about you.
Eduardo Camavinga.
From the outside, it looked obvious. You were always together whenever you were around the team. He greeted you with an arm slung over your shoulders, stole food from your plate without asking, pulled you into conversations before you'd even set your bag down. You laughed at his terrible jokes, rolled your eyes when he teased you, and never once seemed bothered by how naturally he occupied your space.
To everyone else, it was just Camavinga being Camavinga.
To Jude, it looked like something more.
It had driven him insane ever since the day he'd met you.
Because from the second you introduced yourselves, there had been something neither of you had been able to ignore. Every conversation somehow turned into a flirting mess. Every accidental touch lingered a little too long. Every glance lasted just long enough to make your stomach tighten before one of you finally looked away.
It wasn't subtle.
The attraction sat between you like an unspoken dare, growing every single time your paths crossed.
But nothing ever happened.
Jude refused to make the first move, convinced he was imagining whatever existed between you. Besides, he wasn't about to risk crossing a line with someone he believed one of his closest teammates might already want.
And you?
You'd spent months convincing yourself that if Jude Bellingham actually wanted you, you'd know. Men like him didn't hesitate. If he hadn't made a move by now, then maybe all those lingering looks and crooked smiles meant nothing after all.
So you settled into the easy friendship you'd built with the team instead.
Which was exactly how you found yourself at Antonio Rüdiger's house on a warm Friday night.
Music drifted lazily through the living room while conversations overlapped from every corner of the house. Some of the boys were arguing over a football match playing on the television, others were crowded around the kitchen island making drinks, and someone had already started a card game nobody seemed to be following properly.
You were curled up on one end of the sofa, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as Camavinga dramatically reenacted something that had happened during training earlier that week. Half the room had stopped to watch him throw himself across the carpet in an exaggerated imitation of one of the coaches, earning another burst of laughter from everyone around him.
Camavinga looked ridiculously proud of himself.
You shoved his shoulder, still laughing.
"You're actually an idiot."
"So I've been told," he grinned, dropping back onto the sofa beside you.
Across the room, Jude watched the exchange over the rim of his drink.
His expression barely changed.
To anyone else, he looked relaxed, listening to whatever conversation Aurélien and Brahim were having beside him.
But every few minutes, his eyes found you again.
Watching Camavinga lean closer to whisper another joke.
Watching your hand briefly rest against Camavinga's arm while you laughed.
Watching the effortless way the two of you existed together.
You looked up instinctively.
Your eyes met his.
For a second, everything else disappeared.
The noise.
The laughter.
The music.
Just those impossible brown eyes fixed on yours from the other side of the room.
Jude didn't smile.
He simply held your gaze for another heartbeat before taking another sip of his drink, looking away as though nothing had happened.
You frowned to yourself.
Because that wasn't the first time you'd caught him staring that evening.
And somehow, every look felt heavier than the last.
The bass from the party inside thumps through the floorboards, a distant rhythm that feels like the echo of your own heartbeat. The night air is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the crowded living room. You lean against the balcony railing, closing your eyes and inhaling the scent of Madrid at midnight dust, expensive cologne, and the faint smell of rain.
You hear the sliding door creak open behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. The air always seems to tighten, becoming electric and heavy, whenever he enters your space.
"Escaping the chaos?" Jude’s voice is a low rumble, closer than you expected.
You turn your head slightly, catching him in your periphery. He’s leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he hasn't touched in minutes. He’s looking at you with that look the one that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world, and the only person he's ever truly seen.
"Just needed to breathe," you reply, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips. "Eduardo was starting to tell that story about the training ground again. I couldn't handle another ten minutes of it."
Jude chuckles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He steps forward, closing the distance until he's standing right beside you. He doesn't touch you, but you can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Is that right? I thought you loved those stories. You two seemed... very close in there."
The tone is subtle, but there’s a bite to it. A flicker of something that sounds suspiciously like jealousy. You shift your weight, your arm brushing against his. The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt of electricity straight down your spine. You look up at him, challenging him.
"Close? We're friends, Jude. He's like a brother to me."
Jude finally looks at you, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. "Is that what it is? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like something else. I didn't want to... step on any toes."
You blink, genuinely confused. "Step on toes? What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. He steps closer, pinning you between the railing and his chest. He’s so close now that you can smell the mint and cedar on him. "I’ve spent months watching you with him. Watching you laugh, watching how he touches you... I figured you were into him. That you were just being polite to me."
A laugh escapes you, breathless and shocked. "You thought I wanted Eduardo? Jude, I’ve been practically throwing myself at you since the day we met. I thought you weren't interested. I thought you were just being a gentleman because you didn't want to ruin the group dynamic."
Jude freezes. The silence between you is thick, loaded with months of repressed longing and misinterpreted signals. His eyes search yours, searching for any sign that you're joking, but all he finds is the raw, aching desire you've been hiding.
"You... you want me?" he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek.
"I've wanted you since the first second I saw you," you admit, your voice trembling. "It’s been driving me crazy."
A low, guttural sound escapes his throat half-groan, half-sigh. "God, you have no idea. No fucking idea how much I've wanted to do this."
He doesn't wait another second. His hand shoots out, gripping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tastes like desperation and relief. It’s not a gentle kiss; it’s a collision. It’s the sound of two people finally stopping the fight against an inevitable force. His tongue slides against yours, demanding and possessive, while your hands scramble to find purchase on his chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt.
"Finally," he mutters against your lips, his voice strained. "Finally."
He breaks the kiss just long enough to glance back at the door, then back to you, his eyes dark with a hunger that scares and thrills you. "I can't stay out here. I can't be 'just friends' for one more minute."
He doesn't even make it to the bedroom before he has you pressed against the wall of the hallway, his hands roaming your body with a frantic urgency. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the restraint he’s held for months snaps completely.
"I've imagined this every single night," he groans, his voice thick and vocal, echoing in the small space. "Thinking about you... wondering if you tasted like this."
He drops to his knees in one fluid motion, his hands sliding up your thighs to hike your skirt up. You let out a loud, sharp gasp as his warm breath hits your inner thigh. Jude looks up at you, a predatory glint in his eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful. I'm going to make you scream my name until you can't breathe."
He doesn't waste time. His tongue finds you with a precision that makes your knees buckle, licking you open with long, slow strokes that have you arching your back against the wall. You let out a loud, unrestrained moan, your fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer.
"Yes... Jude, please, right there," you cry out, your voice loud and needy.
He’s incredibly vocal as he works, letting out low hums of approval and guttural moans as he tastes you. "You taste so sweet... fuck, you're so wet for me," he praises, his voice vibrating against your skin. "That's it, baby, just let it out for me. Let me hear how much you want this."
The sound of his praise drives you over the edge. You're sobbing his name, your body shaking as you peak, the intensity of it leaving you breathless and clinging to him for support.
But he isn't done. He stands up, his eyes blown wide, his breathing heavy. He strips off his clothes with a frantic energy, revealing a body that is lean, muscular, and currently pulsing with need. When he frees himself, you gasp at the sight of him thick and rigid, leaking a bit at the tip.
He grabs your waist and hoists you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. He slams you against the wall, the thud echoing through the room, and drives himself into you in one deep, punishing thrust.
"Fuck!" he roars, his head snapping back, a loud, visceral sound of pleasure escaping him. "Oh god... you're so tight... so fucking perfect."
You scream into his neck, the sensation of being filled so completely almost too much to bear. The rhythm is rough and urgent, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the silence of the room a wet, rhythmic that syncs with the frantic pace of your breathing.
"Tell me you're mine," he commands, his voice a rough growl in your ear. He pulls back nearly all the way before slamming back in, hitting your cervix with a force that makes you cry out. "Tell me you've only wanted me."
"I'm yours! Only you... Jude, please, harder!" you wail, your voice echoing.
He obeys, his movements becoming more primal. He shifts your position, flipping you over and pushing you onto all fours on the bed, his chest pressing against your back. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and enters you from behind with a deep, sliding thrust that makes you shriek.
"Look at you," he pants, his voice loud and filled with pride. "Look how well you take it. Such a good girl for me."
The praise sends a fresh wave of heat through you. You're vocal, loud and unrestrained, moaning his name over and over—"Jude! Jude! Please!"—while he continues to hammer into you. The sound of the impact is loud, raw, and explicit, the slapping of his thighs against yours creating a symphony of lust.
He reaches around to pinch your nipple and pull your hair back slightly, forcing you to look at him in the mirror across from the bed. "See this? This is how it's supposed to be. You belong right here."
The visual combined with the feeling of him filling you to the brim pushes you toward another cliff. Jude is just as loud, his groans turning into shouts of pleasure as he feels you tightening around him.
"I'm close... fuck, I'm coming!" he bellows, his voice cracking with the intensity.
He delivers three more powerful, deep thrusts, each one sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room, before he collapses against you with a final, guttural cry, filling you with everything he has.
You both lie there for a long time, chests heaving, the only sound in the room being the loud, synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating as one.
request: jude bellingham + crippling baby fever. just moping around and pouting because his gf is adamant that they aren’t ready.
warnings: innuendos towards horniness/getting hard as well as like a smidge of a breeding kink but not intense or anything. baby that's not yours tries to nurse from you lol not explicit idk if that needs a warning, just fluff otherwise!
requests are OPEN if u wanna send in :)
the day starts with jude watching you from across the barbeque, his head lolling back, half-catatonic with boredom. you’re sitting on the grass, surrounded by half the squad’s children, all of them soft and sticky and demanding, and you—your skirt is rumpled at the knees, hair falling over your shoulder, a baby in your lap with a fist curled determinedly in your top, rooting with a little, frustrated whimper.
you coo at her, soft and low, one hand smoothing her back, the other tugging your top higher so she doesn’t get a mouthful of cotton. your smile is patient and achingly sweet, and jude has to look away, has to force his jaw unclenched, because he feels that ache again—the one that never really goes away anymore, just simmers, hot and thick, at the base of his spine.
he’s got it bad, and everyone knows. his teammates snicker behind their hands, subtle as bricks, and he pretends not to see the way they elbow each other when he glances your way. one of them mutters something about “domestic bliss” and jude scowls, shoving his hands in his pockets, but his eyes keep finding you anyway, soft and magnetic, like he’s helpless to stop it.
you look up, catch him staring, and your mouth quirks. you make a face, crinkle your nose at him, and then go back to blowing raspberries on the baby’s round cheek, making her squeal with laughter. there’s a smudge of drool on your collarbone, a little glitter sticker stuck to the back of your hand, and you look so natural, so right, like you belong there, like you were made to do this. jude’s chest goes tight, his pants suddenly too snug, and he shifts on the balls of his feet, staring at the way your arms cradle the tiny, wriggling body, the soft way you shush her, the gentle sway of your hips as you rock her in place.
the worst is when you hand the baby back to her mum and the little thing wails, reaching out for you, her whole face crumpling in protest. you laugh, gentle, and promise you’ll see her again soon, but jude can see the way you linger, fingers brushing over the baby’s fists, the way your eyes go soft and fond and a little wistful. when you stand up, brushing crumbs off your shirt jude’s already there to intercept you, his arm sliding around your waist, tugging you flush to his side.
“you’re really good with them, you know,” he says, voice pitched low, almost a grumble.
you roll your eyes, but your cheeks go warm under his gaze. “they’re just babies, jude. anyone can do it.”
“not like you,” he insists, squeezing your hip, his palm big and possessive. “they love you.”
you snort, elbowing him lightly. “they love anyone who’ll feed them and let them chew on their fingers.”
“nah, not true. you’ve got that thing.” he leans in, nuzzling behind your ear, inhaling the scent of baby powder and your skin and something sweeter, something that’s just you. “like magic, almost.”
you laugh, tipping your head against his shoulder, letting him have his way. “don’t start, jude. i know that look.”
he pouts, full lower lip jutting out, and you want to kiss it away, but you don’t—because you know what he’s after, and you’re not giving in. not today.
“what look?” he says, but he knows. it’s the look he gets every time he catches you with a baby on your hip, or talking to a toddler in that soft, conspiratorial tone you reserve for little ones. it’s the look that says he’s thinking about you all glowing, his hand splayed over your belly, his mouth pressed to your skin, whispering promises into the shell of your ear. it’s the look that says he wants, desperately, to make it real.
you don't get the chance to respond before another baby toddles into your orbit, this one a chubby-cheeked little boy with sticky hands and a drool-soaked bib. his mum waves apologetically from across the lawn, mouthing a thank you, and you just smile, scooping him up with practiced ease, balancing him on your hip. his legs dangle, fat and kicking, and he immediately starts gnawing on his fist, staring at you with wide, adoring eyes. jude hovers by your side, torn between awe and apprehension, gaze fixed on the baby as if he’s some rare, breakable artifact.
you catch his look, arch a brow, and extend the baby toward him. “here,” you say, voice gentle but firm. “your turn.”
jude steps back, palms raised, shaking his head. “nah, nah, i don’t—i’ll drop him or something. i don’t know how.”
you snort, shifting the baby so he’s perched securely in the crook of your arm, then beckon jude closer with two fingers and that knowing smile. “come on, jude. you want one so bad and you’re scared to hold him? it’s not rocket science.” you pat the empty space where the baby’s back will rest. “just support his head. easy.”
he hesitates, glancing from you to the baby and back again, jaw working. then, with exaggerated reluctance, he steps in, letting you guide his arms, arranging them just so. the baby settles into the hammock of jude’s forearms, fat legs kicking against his stomach, and for a moment jude stands frozen, eyes wide, lips parted in concentration.
“see?” you say, brushing his knuckles with your thumb. “you’re a natural.”
jude looks down at the baby, who stares up at him, drool bubbling at the corner of his mouth. jude’s smile wobbles, nervous but genuine, and he rocks on his heels, shifting the baby slightly, careful and gentle.
“what do i even do?” he mutters, voice low enough for only you to hear.
“talk to him,” you say, grinning. “babies love that.”
jude clears his throat, glancing around as if checking for witnesses. then, awkwardly at first, “uh… hi. i’m your uncle jude.” he pauses, glances at you, then back at the baby. “i play football. pretty cool, yeah? your dad’s alright at it too, i suppose. but, you know…” he bounces the baby gently, shoulders relaxing a little. “one day you’ll have to pick a favourite. no pressure, but i do score the best goals.”
the baby stares, transfixed, then lets out a loud, delighted shriek, tiny fists waving in the air. jude’s grin splits his face, all pride and bashful joy, and he glances up at you, as if seeking approval, as if he can’t believe he’s actually doing this.
“see? he loves you already,” you tease, nudging his elbow. “he’s got good taste.”
later on, that evening, you pad barefoot into the bathroom of your shared flat, jude trailing behind, in his boxers and an old t-shirt. he perches beside you at the sink, bumping your hip with his, both of you standing too close in the cramped little space, elbows knocking as you pass the toothpaste back and forth. you make a face at your reflection, tongue poking out, and he grins at you in the mirror, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth like a lollipop. for a moment, it’s just the soft scrape of bristles and the little fizzing sounds of toothpaste, mouths full, neither of you talking.
you finish first, leaning against the counter to watch him. jude glances over, rinses, and spits, then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes flicking down to meet yours, still a little shy from earlier, like you’re holding some secret between you. the memory of him, panic and pride all tangled up, holding that baby like he was made for it—god, you can’t help but smile.
he catches you looking and rolls his eyes, but there’s a flush climbing his cheeks. “what?” he says, voice muffled as he tries to get the remnants of toothpaste out of his mouth.
you shrug, feigning innocence. “nothing. you just looked… right, earlier. with him. like you’d done it a million times before.”
he turns, leans his hip against the counter, arms folded, gaze fixed on your face. “yeah, well. didn’t drop him, did i?”
“no,” you say, grinning. “you didn’t.”
he hesitates, a half-smile twitching at his mouth, and then he sighs, shoulders slumping in that overdramatic way he does when he wants something and knows you know it. “you’re gonna make fun of me,” he says, not quite a whine but close, and you shake your head, stepping into his space, wrapping your arms around his waist, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt.
“i won’t,” you promise, chin tilted up so you can meet his eyes. “swear.”
he fidgets, fingers tracing lazy circles on your lower back, and you can feel the tension radiating off him, the storm of want and hope and nerves. “just—seeing you with them. you know?” he says, voice low, almost sheepish. “the babies. you’re so sweet with them. makes my brain go a bit mad, honestly.”
you snort, trying to keep it light, not letting the moment get too heavy. “your brain, huh?”
he huffs a laugh, leans down to nuzzle your nose with his, and you feel the smile against your cheek. “yeah, well. other parts too.”
you swat at him, but he catches your wrist, holding you close, voice dropping into something softer, more earnest. “i mean it, though. it’s just… you. with a little one. s’like my whole body goes, yeah. that’s it. need that. need you.”
you feel the heat of his words settle deep, but you keep your tone airy, teasing. “bit obsessed, aren’t you?”
he groans, buries his face in your shoulder, and you feel his lips move against your skin. “can’t help it. you’re over there, baby on your hip, all glowy and gorgeous, and i’m just—” he gestures vaguely, eyes squeezed shut in mock agony—“hopeless. honestly, it’s embarrassing.”
you laugh, turning in his arms so your back’s pressed against his chest, his chin settling on your shoulder. his arms snake around your waist, holding you tight, swaying you gently from side to side. you both look at your reflection in the mirror—his broad shoulders, your sleepy eyes, the way you fit together, so familiar and easy.
“you’d be a good dad,” you say, quietly, and you feel him smile, his arms tightening around you.
“wouldn’t be half as good as you’d be a mum,” he replies, voice warm, and you roll your eyes, elbowing him lightly.
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.
summary: jude can’t keep his hands off of you, especially not in public.
notes: i accidentally deleted the request for this, but to the anon who asked for this, I hope you enjoy ;))
also I cried after England’s loss today because what 💔 anyways go spain PLEASE beat Argentina.
should I do another jude smut but this time it’s set after his loss?? let me knoww 👀 👀
warnings: smut!
you were at a restaurant with both you and jude's friends, laughing and making jokes with them. your boyfriend jude sat next to you at the table. his hand rested on your inner thigh, occasionally squeezing it in comfort.
you had been dragged here by your friends. they'd told you that it would be fun, so you had agreed begrudgingly. jude had agreed to come as well, and he was chatting with his football friends at the other side of the table.
you sat there, sipping your drink and contributing to the conversation. the table was a lively environment, and the talking never seemed to subside. every single time one story or joke was uttered, another one of your friends added on to it. it was already 8pm. you had been here for 2 hours already, and it didn't seem like you were making it home anytime soon.
throughout the whole time though, jude had never stopped touching you in any sort of way. when his hand left your thigh, it moved to snake around your waist, and when he wasn't doing that he was holding your hand. you loved it, and he knew it too.
your back straightened as you adjusted your position in your seat, and jude took your brief moment of silence to lean in, lips touching your ear.
"you look so fucking sexy right now, you know that right?" his low voice spoke, and you shivered slightly. his lips stayed there at your ear for a moment before pulling away, teasing you. you closed your eyes for a second, regaining your composure before opening them again.
you'd continued your conversation after, throwing a warning glance in jude's direction. just then, as you threw your head back in laughter at one of your friend's jokes, you felt jude's hand move upwards slightly. your breath hitched slightly, and you turned to look at him. his lips twitched in a not quite smile, clearly trying to hide his amusement.
he leaned forward and kissed you then, a soft and gentle one, in contrast to what he had said earlier.
"get a room!" your friend said, tossing a clean napkin at you two. you laughed as you broke the kiss with jude.
you'd thought that that would've been the end of it, that he was just simply teasing you for a moment, but oh boy, were you wrong. just as you were in the middle of telling a story, jude's fingers grazed just under the dress you were wearing.
"and so I was li-" you stopped talking for a moment, back straightening as you adjusted your posture, moving away from jude slightly.
"you okay?" your friend asked, looking at you with concern. you could see jude in your peripheral vision doing his best not to laugh, and you'd never wanted to clobber him more.
"I'm fine." you said, taking a sip of your drink. your friend nodded, a bit unconvinced. you continued on your story from before, this time uninterrupted.
"stop it, jude." you murmured under your breath. he smiled in response.
"can't help it, you're just so beautiful." he said under his breath, his teasing touches turning to gentle circles on your thigh.
the night continued on as it was, eventually winding down as you said goodbye to your friends and jude's. the walk back to his place felt unbearably long, especially since you knew what was going to happen once you got back.
once the door clicked shut, you kicked your shoes off impatiently before immediately heading to the bedroom, jude not too far behind you.
you tugged jude into a kiss once you neared the bed. his hands immediately flew to your neck, one hand pulling on your head slightly to deepen the kiss. his tongue made his way into your mouth, devouring you.
“thought of this all night, baby.” he pulled away, his hot breath on your face as one hand drifted to the back of your dress, unzipping it.
his fingers went to pull the dress off you you, revealing yourself to him. he let out a slight groan as he took in the sight, hands going to his own clothes to undress himself. once he did so, he slowly guided you backwards until your legs hit the bed, your back falling onto the mattress gently.
he joined you on it after, the mattress sinking down as he got closer to you. he leaned over you, fingers tracing light patterns across your chest. you let out a slight whine in protest when he didn't do anything and just kept teasing you.
"I'm going to make you see stars, baby." jude said before pushing two fingers inside of your needy pussy. you moaned out in pleasure, writhing on the bed as his fingers worked you over.
"fuck.. so wet for me." he added a third one in, making you gasp out in pleasure as your back arched off the bed. his lips curled into a devilish grin as he watched your reaction to his fingers moving in and out of you at a rapid pace.
"fuck, jude... shit!" you let out a guttural cry as his fingers curled inside of you then, hitting the perfect spot. you were completely lost in the pleasure, panting heavily as your eyes rolled back into your head. you clenched around him, knowing you were close.
just then, jude's fingers pulled out of you. you let out a desperate whine as your eyes shot open, focusing on him.
"need you to come on my cock, baby." he explained, seeing your frustrated expression on your face. he pulled off his boxers, the only remaining article of clothing on him. he then moved closer to you again, teasing you as his tip nudged your entrance.
"fuck, jude. need you inside..." your voice trailed off.
"yeah?" he asked, a groan escaping him as he heard you plead. "how badly do you need me, love?"
"please, jude. need you so bad.. please." you rambled on. jude smiled as he watched you beg him, finally taking pity on you. he finally pushed his cock past your entrance, letting out a groan as your walls clenched around him tightly.
he waited for a moment, until your breathing slowed down to push inside again. you let out a moan, hands gripping the sheets as jude pushed deeper inside of you.
"fuck." he moaned out, hips beginning to move. the headboard banged against the wall as he did so. "feel so good, baby. clenching around my cock like this."
he only picked up the pace, his hips thrusting into you. he pushed your legs up to rest onto his shoulders before thrusting into you again, hitting a deeper angle inside of you. your lips never stopped moving, letting out a series of curses as his hips moved back and forth.
“fuck, jude. feels so good. oh, fuck.” you said.
your hands went to his shoulders, holding on as you felt your own release coming onto you. jude’s thrusts became erratic and rushed as he felt his own release coming onto him.
“shit, jude, i’m coming!” you exclaimed before your eyes closed. you moaned, experiencing your high. jude came right after, spilling into you and filling you up with his cum. he stayed inside of you for a moment, catching his breath before pulling out of you.
“remind me to tease you again if this is how it’s going to end.” he said, and you doubled over in laughter, endorphins still rushing through you. you fell asleep soon after, jude pulling you into his chest as you soundly slept in his arms.
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.
You noticed it right away. A slight limp the moment Jude got out of bed. It was a faint limp at first, but it kept getting worse. One day, you both woke up, and Jude went to make coffee before heading to training; that’s when you decided to bring it up.
"What's wrong with your leg, baby?"
"My leg?" Jude replied a bit too quickly. "Why?"
Well, he didn't deny it.
"You've got a slight limp in your right leg. What happened?"
Jude examined his leg and tapped his foot on the floor a few times. "It's fine. It's already healing. Besides, the team needs me. It's nothing serious, pretty girl."
You could hear the hesitation in his voice.
"What do you mean it's nothing? You're clearly limping, Jude!"
"It’s a tight calf," he said, his voice dropping into that low, flat tone he used when he was trying to shut down a conversation. "Everyone plays with knocks. It’s part of the job."
"A tight calf doesn't make you drag your foot the way you're doing it," you said, crossing your arms. "You have the biggest match of the season in three days. If you go out there and tear something because you're too proud to sit out a training session, you're out for months. Is that 'part of the job' too?"
He finally turned around, and the dismissive charm from a moment ago was completely gone and his jaw was set so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"I don't need you managing my body. I have a whole medical staff paid millions of dollars to do that. I don't need it at breakfast."
"The medical staff only knows what you tell them! And you're lying to them! And since we're being painfuly honest let me tell you that I'm the one who has to watch you groan in pain just trying to roll over at night!"
"Because I am trying to win a title!" Jude suddenly snapped, slamming his mug down on the counter. The loud crack of ceramic against stone echoed through the quiet kitchen. "You think I want to feel pain? You think I like waking up feeling like my leg is on fire? But the coach is relying on me. The whole damn city is relying on me. If I sit out, we lose the momentum. I don’t get the luxury of taking a day off because it hurts!"
"Wow. And what about me?!" you yelled back, stepping right into his space. "When do I get the luxury of not worrying myself sick?If you ruin your knee, or snap your Achilles, the club will just buy another midfielder next season. They'll replace you in a heartbeat. I can’t replace you!"
Jude stared at you, his breath coming in hard. You weren't wrong, but he wasn't either.
"Then don't look," he whispered, almost regretting the words that just came out of his mouth. He reached past you, grabbed his car keys off the island, and didn't even bother to pour the coffee. "If it's too hard for you to watch, then don't look. But I'm going to training."
He limped past you, not even trying to hide it anymore.
Dortmund was your youth, the place you blossomed and the place you first found love with him.
You were eighteen, barely out of girlhood. Your room was still painted baby pink, and your lingerie was still stitched with delicate bows of innocence.
And Jude, well Jude was golden.
A golden boy, with golden skin and a golden future. One which he made you believe you were in.
You met on a rain filled afternoon in the middle of April, the clouds were grey and gloomy, the rain on the pavement made the city smell of damp and earth. You were working at the front desk of a small cafe, one which was tucked behind a bookstore that most of thr tourists missed. He ordered a hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream and his brother laughed at him. Then, they tucked themselves into the booth away from the public eye, not that there were many people in the cafe that day.
All that shift, you felt his eyes on you. When you were collecting empty cups and wiping down tables. When you were refilling the baked goods and pouring coffee.
When he left, he left his number and a note on a napkin.
-y/n, call me
Jude
And since that day, it had seemed your world had never stopped being dizzying.
The early days were sweet. Secret. Sacred. A special sort of magic that only exists between two teenagers falling in love for the first time. Walks through the cobbled streets under the warm glow of street lamps, sitting in the empty stands of the stadium after training just to talk about nothing. He'd hold your hand so carefully, so delicately and he'd kiss you with so much raw love.
It was easy back then, light. You fell in love with him before the world did.
But the golden days were just gilded.
Rot lay beneath.
The fame came quickly, and with it came the late nights and the turned off location. The texts slowed, as did the affection and the effort.
You started to see glimpses of a boy that didn't belong to you, a boy so different than the one you were in love with. The Jude in the club surrounded by the bottle girls in scandalous clothing, the Jude in tabloid headlines with body lingering close to someone that wasn't you as he partied in Ibiza.
The boy who had once kissed your forehead and caressed the freckles on your face became the man that called you clingy for asking why he had come home at four am. He became mean in moments and then unbelievably loving in the next.
He would go two days without saying anything to you, just to show up at your door with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and telling you everything you wanted to hear. You believed it because you were eighteen and so madly in love, blinded by the sweet days before he was consumed by the money and the fame.
You failed to realised he had changed so much because it changed overtime.
The jealousy grew like mold under his skin. Infecting him slowly before it began to grow on you like rot.
He would hate when you posted photos without him in them, he hated when you couldn't text back right away and he especially hated when other men would look at you.
His jealousy would wrap around your ankles and pulled you under every time he would whisper, "you know it's you and me forever, right?", then he would be gone to the night for a few days.
And you would wait.
You would stay for way to long because you were blinded by how good it once was. You told yourself it could get back there, that you could fix this.
But eventually, loving him blurred into losing yourself. Everyone around you saw that, they saw the way you got thinner and the way your smile vanished. You paled. You lost the sparkle in your eye. And you couldn't go on.
So, you broke up. You left him.
But it never really ended.
Every time you were moving on, he would come back with false promises and declarations of love. He would sleep with you, make you feel things no one else could and then once he was satisfied that you were still attached to him, he would leave.
You used to think love was supposed to hurt a little, that ache in your chest and the longing. That was meant to happen, right?
But eventually, after the constant back and forth, it was no longer hurt. It was hollowing.
He’d show up at midnight, a hoodie pulled over his head, the smell of cologne and cold night air clinging to his skin. He’d kiss you like he missed you, like you were the only home he ever knew. And for a few fleeting hours, you'd let yourself believe he was yours again -- the boy from Dortmund, the boy who left his number on a napkin like it meant something.
But it never lasted.
In the morning, he’d be gone and he left behind crumpled sheets, lipstick stains, and a quiet that screamed.
You knew it wasn’t love anymore -- at least not the kind you deserved.
It was dependency, it was history, it was heartbreak dressed up in nostalgia. Each time he left, he took a piece of you with him and slowly but surely, there was no more of you left to give him.
And the sickest part was -- Jude knew. He knew how much you loved him, and that you would always come back to him. That made him careless about you. Reckless, unloving but possessive in a way that didn't feel romantic but suffocating. You were just he safety net, his comfort.
So you left. You didn't tell him where you were going. You didn't want him to chase you.
Paris.
Paris was refreshing.
A new city where Jude didn't exist, a city where his face wasn't plastered everywhere.
And a few months later, you got the text from a friend.
Jude had left Dortmund, and had gone to Madrid.
And those streets in Germany you used to walk down hand in hand, now only existed in your memories. Your eighteen year old ghosts were all that haunted them.
You were sat on your windowsill in Paris when you got the message, the city lights twinkled below in a way that reminded you of the lights in Dortmund. You arms wrapped around your knees in the big oversized jumper as winter began to settle into the city. You didn't cry, but it did feel like the whole world had shifted -- he was gone, Jude was really gone.
Both of you now in different cities in different countries, and Dortmund lay in the past.
Dormant and untouchable.
Over a year later.....
It was early spring in Paris, the city moved in a quiet hum as the sun made it's first real appearance as the winter wore off. The trees along the Seine were beginning to bloom with lush green leaves and sway in the light breeze.
You were sat at a small table near the edge of the river, one leg crossed over the other and a leather bomber jacket draped over your shoulders. Your lipstick stained the coffee cup a deep red, and a lit cigarette was held firm between your fingers as you enjoyed your lunch break.
You were twenty one now, and you had lived in the French capital for long enough to look like a local. You knew the cobbled streets like the back of your hand, you spoke the language fluently.
Your boyfriend sits across from you, wearing rayban sunglasses and his dark hair pushed back. His olive skin glowing under the sun, his hand rubbing across the stubble on his chin as he laughed at something you said. He wasn't a footballer, but a business advisor -- a very good one, with top clients all over the city and its suburbs. He didn't chase fame, only wealth and that wealth he wanted to spend on you. He was the kind of man that was chivalrous, he opened the doors for you, and he remembered how you took your coffee always. You never walked on the road side and got forbid you ever had to pull out your own chair.
You didn't love him yet. Not quite. But you can feel it budding inside you like a flower about to bloom, it's slow and familiar in the best way. The calmness and the steadiness of the fall, the love that didn't ache but tingled.
You took a drag of your cigarette, exhaling to the sky before meeting his eyes again across the table.
Charles is his name. So simple and classic, like everything about him.
He reaches for your hand, just to touch you because he likes the feeling of your hand in his. You let him take it because he touch feels like the warm of fire on your skin. He begins to ask you about work, and you answer with eagerness. You loved your job, it was in a publishing house and it paid better than the cafe job back home in Germany.
Although, Germany didn't really feel like home anymore. Paris had become yours, no longer just a city you fled too but the city that became you. This city didn't hold the ache of painful memories but the light of an unwritten future. Right now, that future tasted like a handsome man, a dark coffee and a cigarette.
You smile contently, leaning back into the chair and watching the river flow. The Eiffel tower in the distance, only the top being visible over the beige brick buildings.
"J'ai une question pour toi," (I have a question for you) Charles says, pulling you out of your gazing.
"Oui," You nod your head with a smile, signalling him to continue.
'Il y a un gala de charité dans quelques semaines à Cannes. Je vous invite à me rejoindre," (There is a charity gala in a few weeks, in Cannes. I want you to join me), He said, his finger drawing rings about the rim of his coffee cup.
You cock your eyebrow and tilt your head at him, "Charity or business?"
Charles laughs, low and hoarse, smooth like caramel. Then he holds his hands up like he had been caught, "You got me, mais je te veux là" (you got me, but I want you there)
"Qui sera là ?," (who will be there?), You ask.
"Des hommes d'affaires, des hommes d'affaires très riches. Des célébrités, des mannequins, vous savez, les coupables habituels." (businessmen, very rich businessmen. Some celebrities, models, you know the usual culprits.)
"alors j'aurai besoin d'une robe," (then i'll need a dress), You grin, giving him your answer.
"You can have whatever you want, ma cherie"
You blush under his words, and his thick french accent. He's so perfect and you struggle to understand how you got so lucky. He takes care of you in a way no one else has, and he made you realise that you were capable of loving after him -- after Jude.
-
The riviera air smelt of salt and jasmine, the dusk sky above bled in shades of rose and gold over the lapping waves of the blue sea. Cannes was like a dream, the warm sun setting but still lingering in the air.
You followed Charles around the venue, your arm linked into his. Camera's flashed in all directions, capturing actors and actresses alongside billionaires and their heirs. You felt out of place, being surrounded by such luxury and beauty. You felt like you stood out, but Charles had assured you that your were merely paranoid and that you looked the part.
The dress he had bought you was the nicest thing to ever touch your body. White and satin. Sleek and elegant. It was sculpted to your frame like it had been stitched on it. The neckline dipped low, and the back was open. A delicate white stole lay over your forearms and around your back. Your hair was pulled up into a styled up do, one which left the nape of your neck bare and able to show of the expensive diamond necklace Charles had gifted you.
Charles took your hand as you ascended up the stairs and into the grand ballroom where the big crowd waited. He looked every bit a Parisian socialite. The perfectly tailored black tuxedo with the matching prada bow tie. He greeted the staff by name, charmed a sommelier on the way inside and whispered how beautiful you looked into your ear as he guided you to the bar.
Inside, the gala was magnificent. Chandeliers rained golden light over everything, catching the glass of champagne flutes and the expensive fabric of designer ballgowns. A string quartet played elegantly in the background. Waiters moved through the crowd like shadow.
After getting a drink, Charles guided you to the table you were seated at. Some of his work colleagues already there and waiting. His hand was placed protectively on the small of your back in a way that made you feel a mix of desired and adored. Charles pulled out the chair, and you sat down ready to enjoy the night ahead.
And you didn't know, you didn't sense it because you had moved on. You weren't nineteen and obsessed anymore. You couldn't feel his eyes on you, you didn't notice him across the room watching your every move like he was seeing a ghost of him.
Jude.
He hadn't wanted to come, it was a club obligation. Something about good press and even better exposure. So, here he was, in a black suit and a heavy rolex on his wrist while he drank a glass of champagne. Kylian was talking nonsense about the models on the dance floor in his ear but he wasn't focussed on that.
He was focussed on you, and whoever the smugly dressed, gel haired man on your arm was.
so i heard you found somebody else.
and at first, i thought it was lie
His girl -- or at least the girl who had been his. The only girl that had ever been his. His first love, the one that left and never came back. The one that never responded or answered his messages. The girl whose siblings refused to talk to him.
His girl who is here, working the room so effortlessly like it was where you belonged. Chin tilted up slightly, shoulders back. A soft smile on your plump lips, a smile he hadn't seen in so long. You're confident and calm, and your hand in looped around his arm. Some man with olive skin and a stupidly well fitting suit which let Jude know he was a man of business because only businessmen care about suits like that. He was the kind of man that looked like he could give you everything Jude never could, older and more mature. He hated that.
and you.
You looked ethereal.
Mature and shaped. The white satin clinging to your skin in a way that shouldn't be turning him on as much as it is. Your bare back exposed under the golden light, and he can tell from the definition that you have been in the gym. Your skin was glowing across your collarbones, like oil was brushed upon it. The expensive Cartier necklace was glinting in the light. Jude knew it was Cartier because he had seen it in the shop recently, and he also knew that it cost double your yearly salary at the cafe. He doubted you had had such a big promotion since moving away that you now had spare ten of thousands just lying around to be spent. He didn't doubt that the businessman on your arm did.
Something like jealousy simmers under his skin, heating the collar around his neck. But how can he still feel jealousy over a girl he hadn't seen in over a year.
Jude looked at you again, Kylian still chatting nonsense in his ear as he picked up two glasses of champagne from the waitress and downed them both. He would need to be drunk if he was going to be in a room with you and be able to cope.
There was no trace of the girl in Dortmund, the one who would cry into the sleeves of his hoodies when he got back drunk at four in the morning. No evidence of that softness he was guilty of exploiting. You'd hardened but not in bitterness, but rather confidence. Like you knew you were better without him, like you to never let anyone treat you like he did ever again.
i don't want your body
but i hate to think about you with somebody else.
Jude watched as you sat down at a table beside the man. He watched as he leaned in close and said something into your ear. You giggled and then blushed. Rose flush tinting your cheeks. Then he kissed your bare shoulder.
And suddenly, Jude wasn't breathing because he's hearing your laugh in his head, the laugh you only gave when you were happy. The laugh you used to give to him, in tangled bed sheets or in the passenger seat of his car.
our love has gone cold
your intertwining your soul somebody else
You laughed again, this time leaning into the shoulder of the man next to you. Jude watched as that same man smiled from ear to ear, like he had earned it. Like he’d worked for that laugh and that blush, and maybe he had. Maybe he bought you flowers after long days at work, or made coffee just right, or didn’t disappear for three days without a word and come back smelling like perfume that wasn’t yours.
Jude swallowed hard, adjusting his collar once again because he was remembering the way he treated you at the end. Like you were his personal play toy, one that he would toss to the side when he got bored or a new model would enter his dm's. It wasn't because he didn't love you, as hard as it is to believe, but he did love you. He was just too young, too rich, too famous and surrounded by other young footballers who partied hard and fucked harder. He wanted that, but he also wanted you to come back to. He wanted the best of both worlds and for a short while you let him get away with it, so he kept going and going until one day you vanished.
And now you're here.
And he feels like the boy in Dortmund again.
And he doesn't want to see anyone else with you, because he can't bare the thought that you're not his.
You'll always be his -- the most special girl in his life. His first love.
He grabbed another two flutes of champagne and drank them quickly trying to dull the feeling in his chest.
"Jesus, that's your fifth one in about ten minutes," Trent said, coming to stand beside him and Kylian.
Jude grimaced as he felt the burn down his throat.
He was still only watching you, letting trent's words float off him like water off a ducks back.
You adjusted the hairs on the man beside you's head, gently running your hands through the onyx strands. That got him wondering.
He wondered if you’d run your fingers through Charles’ hair the way you used to with his -- slowly, absently, while you talked about your day. He wondered if you still wore oversized jumpers to bed, if you still pressed cold feet against warm legs in the middle of the night, if you still danced barefoot in the kitchen light after coming home drunk from a night with your girls.
He wondered if that man knew you the way he did.
i don't want your body
but i'm picturing your body with somebody else
He wondered if that man knew the parts of you that at one time only he had ever touched. Did he make you feel as good as he once had? Did you bite just under his ear the same way you used to for him?
However, the worst part was Jude starting to realise he didn't really know you at all anymore.
You weren't that shy German girl anymore.
And yet he still wanted you all the same. He felt that pull in his chest to reclaim you, make you come back to him because he still loved you. He always would, but he couldn't give you the relationship you wanted. He still wanted to party, to fuck other woman in the bathroom stalls of exclusive nightclubs, to slide into model's dm's after a long day of training but he wanted you to be waiting for him when he wished to settle down.
You were his wife. All the others were just fun.
I don't want your body
I don't want your body
"Whose caught your eye, ey?," Trent said, jokingly because he didn't understand just who Jude was looking at.
"See her in the black dress," Jude nodded in your direction, and both Trent and Kylian followed his glare.
"Fit, but seems like she's got a fella lad," Trent laughed. Kylian with him.
"She's my ex girlfriend," Jude said with a crisp bluntness. The words almost painful to get off his tongue.
"What," Trent's head snapped to his friend in shock, "That's not y/n is it?" He asked because he had heard Jude mention you more than a few times in his life. The girl that he let get away, the one that he would eventually go back to as if you would just be sat waiting for him.
Jude just nodded.
"Fuck lad, that's heavy," Trent breathed out, slapping his best friend on the back.
Jude didn't have to speak again, the clench of his jaw said enough. He grabbed another champagne flute, finishing it off quickly. The alcohol swirled in his system making his skin hot and his feet sway. Tipsy but not drunk.
Trent gave him a once over, noticing his friends cold stare and clenched fists. "What're you gonna do, bro?,"
"She's my girl, always my girl," Jude's words were almost ominous, they even made Trent feel uncomfortable. How could the girl in black be his when she was being kissed and loved by another man?
"I don't know man. She looks happy," Trent offered.
"I've seen her happier," Jude nonchalantly replies.
Trent just rolls his eyes, he can't believe his friend. Out of all the women in this room, he wants the one who has moved on. He wants the only girl who he shouldn't have, but that was Jude. Selfish. The Golden Boy who always got what he wanted.
The night went on and still Jude's eyes were always on you.
His table was a couple away, he had a direct view of you but you still hadn't noticed him. You had been to entranced by Charles to even make note of what colour the carpet was, let alone look around the room.
But when you did, when you took a brief moment to glance around at the venue while Charles went to the bathroom, your whole world was rocked at the very foundations.
Your eyes caught his like a slap across the ballroom.
You blinked, your face instantly paled like you had seen a ghost because in a way you had. He had been dead to you since you left Dortmund, but now he was here and breathing and looking at you with that same cheeky glint that you once fell in love with.
The air between you shifted. The music faded out into the background. Your hands began to tremble. You heart stuttered and your lungs seemed to forget how to fill.
Jude.
Sat across from you in a dark suit, with dark eyes and a dangerous smile. He didn't seem shocked to see you, in fact he looked like he had been waiting for you to notice him all night.
Your mouth hung slightly parted as you took him in.
He looked older, harder but it was still him.
The boy who once made you feel invincible.
The boy who then made you feel rotted to hollowness.
Your throat went dry.
You weren’t ready for this. You thought you were. You thought enough time had passed, enough therapy, enough Paris nights wrapped in the arms of someone who wasn’t him. But now, in one glance, it all came flooding back.
The napkin.
The cobbled streets of Dortmund.
Rain-soaked April.
His hands around your waist at three am.
Him saying you’re mine, always.
Him leaving. Then apologising just to leave again.
Suddenly, your white dress feels suffocating, and your skin is beginning to burn.
You want to look away. You want to pretend that this is just a strange coincidence, and that the man looking at you now is just a stranger that holds a familiar face. But you can't. You can't tear your eyes away from him. You can't breathe. Not properly. There isn't enough air.
Charles returns, his voice low, asking something you don’t hear. Your hand is still clenched around the edge of the table, nails digging into the smooth surface as you fight the sudden surge of emotions crashing into your chest. The sound of your heartbeat is deafening, almost drowning out the murmur of the party around you.
Charles notices the shift in your mood, his brow furrowing in concern. "What is it, mon amour?" he asks, following your gaze. He’s seen how you stiffened, how you were caught off guard.
You tear your eyes away from Jude, shaking your head. "Nothing," you murmur, but the lie feels thick in your throat. The sharp edge of truth digs into you as you glance back at Jude. He hasn’t moved. He’s still watching, still waiting. "I just need to get some air" You tell Charles as you cup he cheeks in the palm of your hands and place a delicate kiss on his lips.
Get someone you love?
Get someone you need?
With that, you stand from the table and quickly make your exit to the venues grand garden. You don't need to check if he's following. You know his ego well enough to know he will.
You walk briskly through the garden, the crunch of gravel beneath your heels the only sound that cuts through the pounding of your heart. The manicured hedges, the dim glow of lanterns strung in the trees, all seem to blur, fading into the background as you move further into the quiet solitude of the garden. You feel like running.
"This is the last place I ever expected to see you"
When you hear his voice, you wished you had.
You freeze. You don't turn to face him. Instead he comes and stands beside you. Close but not touching. Just enough that you can feel the heat of him. You move your hands behind your back, awkward and unsure of what to do with yourself. You never imagined you'd ever be this close to Jude again.
"Your boyfriend seems like a good guy" He says hoarsely but you know that possessiveness and that entitlement he still holds onto is behind every word.
"He buy you that necklace" He looks at you, but you keep facing forward. He chuckles at your stubbornness. "You used to hate diamonds"
That makes you snap.
"I hated them when they were bought as an apology for shitty behaviour. I hated them when they were a pity present" You finally look at him, and you see the smirk that lets you know you have given him what he wanted; a reaction. Anger was better than nothing. You wished he would just leave. Just walk away and let you breathe.
But that isn't Jude. He never gives up on you, not when he knows there is a chance you might actually have moved on.
“Is that what you think they were?” he asks, his voice almost too calm, too steady. “A pity present?”
You don't answer immediately. There's something in his posture, in the way he's watching you, that makes your chest tighten again. A betrayal of your body as it remembers who is standing in front of it. The man you once knew so well seems to be fading into someone else, someone more distant, harder to read. But that possessiveness? It’s still there. The thing that makes your skin crawl.
"I'm not that stupid anymore" You pause, "So don't treat me like I am"
His eyes flash with something. Whatever it was, it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared. He shrugs, his gaze dropping to your neck for just a second, focusing on the necklace that is reflecting the golden light of the garden's lanterns.
That light is also reflecting from your glowing skin, Jude notices. He also notices the way the wind is catching in your hair and the fact that you look more etherial than you ever have before. And that you look like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And you're not his.
You feel the weight of his gaze, and it presses down on you so deeply. He doesn’t say anything, but you can almost hear the thoughts racing through his head. He’s always had a way of making you feel like you were the centre of his world, like everything you did mattered, like the very air you breathed was the most important thing to him.
You face away from him again, looking out to the Seaview ahead.
"I love you" He says. "Always will"
You keep facing forward, although your heart drops when you hear those three words.
"And I know you love me too" Jude faces forward as well.
You stay silent. Swallowing hard as your eyes begin to gloss.
"And in a few years I'll be ready to be a good man for you, a husband and a father and whatever you need me to be"
He says it so matter of factly, like it's already written and fated. Like it's easy.
And that's when you feel it - a shift in your abdomen.
"I love him" You release and a weight lifts from your shoulders. A weight you hadn't known existed until this moment. "And I'm happy. Truly happy."
I can't give you my soul
'Cause we're never alone
"It will pass" Jude says, "You and I are meant for each other, in every universe, in every life. It will always be us in the end"
"No."
I don't want your body
You're firm with him now, because he needs to actually hear you know. He needs to know that this time there is no coming back. In the middle of this garden in the middle of the French Riviera, that this will end. For good.
"You're my past, and he's my future" You croak out trying to remain strong.
Jude looks at you.
I hate to think about you with somebody else
And in his mind he can't fathom the fact that that he is about to watch you leave in the arms of a man that isn't him. But as you turn, and walk back into the gala he doesn't reach out to stop you because he cannot imagine a world where you don't come back to him.
You don't look back as you walk inside the gala once more, leaving to boy from Dortmund stood alone.
can you write about the reader and jude being together, but hes been acting nonchalant the past few days for no reason, he also go to parties without her knowing and stuff so she punishes him straight.
she ties him on the bed and edges him for like hours without letting him cum and stuff?
Im pretty sure this has been sitting in my drafts for about two years 😭 im so sorry. You sent this around the time I took a break from writing. I hope you see this 💛
~
Make It Up to Me - Jude Bellingham
Summary: A late night argument that leads to Jude being distant- he’s been going out acting like nothing until one night. You’ve decided you’d had enough.
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Warnings: MDNI | established relationship (a few years) | angst from argument | jealous/angry reader, dom!reader | sub!Jude | edging | handcuffs (fluffy pink ones) | oral (m receiving) | handjob | teasing | begging/whimpering Jude | creampie | light emotional hurt/comfort at the end | messy & needy.
Word Count: 3.2k
Divider - cursed-carmine
—
The argument had started over something stupid—his schedule, your schedule, the way he’d snapped at you for asking where he was going one too many times. But it had snowballed into days of cold shoulders and clipped conversations. Jude had been distant ever since: nonchalant texts, late nights “with the lads,” and a shrug whenever you tried to talk about it. He’d pull away from your touches, mutter something about being tired, and disappear again.
You’d tried to give him space. Really, you had. But then one of his friends posted a story that changed everything.
It was a club in the city—neon lights, pulsing music, bottles on the table. And there was Jude in the middle of it all, smiling wide with a drink in his hand, arm slung around one of the guys like he didn’t have a girlfriend waiting at home wondering why he couldn’t even text her back. The caption was innocent enough: Nights like these. But seeing him look that carefree, that happy, after treating you like an afterthought for days? It lit a fire in your chest.
By the time the lock clicked at 2:17 a.m., you were already in bed—silk nightie on, lights low, scrolling through your phone with the story still burned into your mind. Jude stepped in quietly, trying to be considerate, but the faint scent of club cologne and whiskey followed him. He was still a little buzzed, that much was clear from the easy grin on his face when he spotted you.
“Baby,” he said softly, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his jacket. His voice was sweeter than it had been in days—too sweet, like he was trying to smooth things over without acknowledging the mess. “You’re still up? Missed you tonight.”
You set your phone down on the nightstand, sitting up against the headboard. Your expression stayed flat. “How was the club?”
He stopped dead in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt, one hand frozen on the fabric. The smile faltered. “What?”
“The club, Jude. The one your friend posted you at. Looked like you were having a great time.” Your voice was calm, but the edge was there—sharp enough to cut. “Smiling, drinking, out with the boys until all hours. Funny how you couldn’t even tell me you were going, but you could post it for the whole world to see.”
He sighed, running a hand over his fade. “It wasn’t like that. It was last minute— lads dragged me out after training. I was gonna text you, but my phone died and—”
“Save it.” You cut him off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and standing. “I don’t want excuses. You’ve been distant for days. Nonchalant. Like I’m some inconvenience after everything we’ve been through. And then you come home acting all smiley and sweet like nothing happened? I’m not in the mood for it tonight.”
You climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up like you were done with the conversation. But Jude wasn’t. He finished undressing down to his boxers, the guilt flickering in his eyes even through the remnants of the buzz. He slid in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Then he rolled toward you, one big hand sliding over your waist.
“Baby, come on,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. Let me make it up to you.”
His mouth was warm, pressing soft kisses along your neck, up to your jaw. You stayed still at first, letting him work—part of you still pissed, the other part already melting under the attention you’d been craving. His hand slipped under the hem of your nightie, palm rough and familiar against your bare skin. He kissed you properly then, deep and slow, the kind of kiss that always led to more. You kissed him back, letting the anger fuel the heat instead of shutting it down.
But you weren’t going to let him lead tonight.
When he tried to roll you under him, you pushed back—flipping him onto his back with a strength that surprised even you. Jude’s eyes widened, a surprised huff escaping him as his back hit the mattress. You straddled his hips, grinding down once against the growing bulge in his boxers just to hear the way his breath caught.
“Hands up,” you said, voice low and commanding.
He blinked, still a little dazed from the club and the shift in power. “What?”
You reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the pink fluffy handcuffs—the ones you’d bought as a joke a couple years ago but had only used once or twice. The sight of them made his cock twitch visibly under the fabric.
“Hands. Up.”
He swallowed hard but obeyed, raising his arms above his head. You clicked the cuffs around his wrists, securing them to the headboard with a soft snick. The fluffy pink looked almost ridiculous against his toned arms and the serious expression on his face, but the way his breathing picked up told you he was into it.
“You’ve been ignoring me for days,” you said, sliding down his body until you were kneeling between his spread thighs. You peeled his boxers off slowly, freeing his cock—already half-hard and thickening under your gaze. “Going out, smiling for the cameras, acting like I don’t exist. Now you’re gonna lie here and take what I give you. No touching. No rushing. You’re going to beg for it.”
“Baby—” His voice was already breathier. “I’m sorry, I—”
You cut him off by wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and stroking once, firm and slow. Jude groaned, hips jerking up into your fist. You kept the pace torturously lazy, thumb swiping over the head to spread the bead of pre-cum that was already leaking. When he was fully hard—thick, veined, flushed dark at the tip—you leaned down and took him into your mouth.
The first suck had him cursing under his breath, chains rattling softly against the headboard. You worked him with your mouth and hand in tandem—wet, sloppy, perfect. Tongue swirling around the head, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. Jude’s thighs tensed, breath coming in short pants.
“Fuck— that feels so good. Please, don’t stop—”
But you did. Right when his hips started twitching like he was close, you pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him just enough to keep him on edge but not enough to tip him over. He whimpered—actually whimpered—tugging at the cuffs.
“Baby, please. I need to cum. I’ve been thinking about you all night—”
“Not yet.” You licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, teasing the vein there, then sucked lightly on the head again. Edged him a second time. A third. Each time he got close—whining your name, hips bucking helplessly—you stopped. His cock was throbbing, red and slick with your spit, balls drawn tight. Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of his eyes.
“Please,” he begged, voice cracking into a whimper. “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry for being distant. For not telling you. I was an idiot. Just let me cum, baby. Please. I’ll do anything. I need you. Need to feel you—”
You watched him for a long moment, savoring the sight: Jude Bellingham, usually so composed and in control on the pitch and in life, reduced to a begging, whimpering mess because of you. His chest heaved, muscles straining against the pink cuffs, cock twitching in the air every time you blew a cool breath over it.
Only when you were satisfied—when his pleas turned into broken little sobs and “I love you”s—did you move. You stripped off your nightie, tossing it aside, and climbed back over him. No teasing this time. You sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion, both of you moaning at the tight, wet heat. He filled you perfectly, stretching you in that way that always made your toes curl.
“Fuck— yes,” he gasped, head tipping back against the pillows. “You feel so good. Ride me, baby. Please—”
You did. Hands braced on his chest, you rolled your hips—slow at first, then faster, chasing your own pleasure while keeping him right on the edge. Every time he got close you slowed down again, grinding in circles until he was panting and tugging at the cuffs. The fluffy pink looked even more ridiculous now, his wrists red from pulling, but he didn’t complain. He just begged.
“Please— I can’t— I’m gonna— baby, let me cum inside you. Please. I’ll be so good. I swear.”
You leaned down, kissing him messily—tongues sliding, teeth nipping—while you rode him harder. “You don’t get to come until I say. This is what you get for shutting me out.”
But eventually, even you couldn’t hold back. The angle, the fullness, the power of having him like this—it pushed you over. You came with a cry, clenching around him tight enough to make his eyes roll back. Only then did you reach up and unlock one cuff, giving him just enough freedom to grab your hips.
“Cum,” you whispered against his lips. “Cum inside me, Jude.”
He didn’t need telling twice. With a broken moan that sounded a lot like your name, he thrust up once, twice, and spilled deep inside you—hot, thick pulses that filled you until it leaked out around where you were joined. His whole body shook with it, whimpers spilling from his mouth as the orgasm dragged on and on.
When it finally ebbed, you collapsed onto his chest, both of you sweaty and panting. You reached up and uncuffed his other wrist, rubbing the marks gently. Jude’s arms came around you immediately, holding you tight like he was afraid you’d disappear.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, voice hoarse. “I was being a dick. The argument… I took it out on you instead of talking. Won’t happen again. I love you. So much.”
You kissed his collarbone, softening now that the anger had burned out. “I love you too. But next time you pull that nonchalant shit, these cuffs are coming out again.”
He chuckled weakly, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Promise?”
You smiled against his skin. “Promise.”
The two of you stayed like that—tangled, messy, finally talking—until sleep pulled you under. The argument wasn’t forgotten, but it was a start. And in the morning, you’d make sure he remembered exactly who he came home to.
summary: dating jude bellingham means learning to ignore the cameras, the compliments, and the girls who swear they could treat him better. it's harder than it sounds. good thing jude never gets tired of reminding you who he belongs with.
content: fluff. hurt/comfort. jealousy. insecurity. established relationship. kissing.
authors note: this is my first time uploading a fanfic i am so scared soo let me know if theres any misspelling of some sort thank youuuuu
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you hated football parties.
not because you didn't like football—you'd learned enough from jude to know the difference between a false nine and a number ten—but because every party ended the same way.
girls. beautiful, famous girls. girls who somehow knew exactly how to laugh at the perfect volume whenever jude walked by.
you'd never been the jealous type. at least, that's what you'd told yourself.
then you started dating jude bellingham.
now every notification that mentioned his name made your stomach twist.
you stood near the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring the ice in your drink while jude spoke to a group of teammates across the room. every few seconds someone stopped him for a picture. another handshake. another conversation. he looked over and pointed at you with that tiny nod that meant, i'm okay. are you? you smiled back.
you weren't.
"you're dating him, right?"
you turned to find a girl beside you, glamorous enough to belong on the cover of a magazine.
"yeah," you replied.
"you're lucky." she laughed softly. "i've had the biggest crush on him for ages."
your smile stiffened.
she didn't mean anything by it. she was just talking.
...right?
"oh my god, he's actually so much prettier in person," another girl said.
you looked back toward jude. someone had already wrapped an arm around him for a selfie. then another.
your chest tightened. it was stupid. he wasn't doing anything wrong. he was just existing.
you hated how quickly your brain filled in the blanks anyway.
she's prettier than you.
she's more interesting.
he's probably tired of reassuring you.
before those thoughts could get any louder, you quietly slipped out onto the balcony.
the night air was cool. you counted cars, trees, stars—anything to keep your mind occupied.
the balcony door slid open behind you.
"there you are."
a familiar voice.
jude.
you didn't turn around.
"i thought you'd be inside."
"i was."
"and?"
"...needed air."
he leaned against the railing beside you, and neither of you said anything for a while.
"you do this thing," he finally said.
"what thing?"
"you go quiet."
"i don't."
"you literally disappear emotionally."
you let out a quiet, sarcastic laugh.
"that's dramatic."
"so is walking outside instead of telling me what's wrong."
silence settled between you again.
then—
"talk to me, baby," he whispered.
"i don't like these events."
"i know, my love."
"i don't like how everyone looks at you."
"i know."
"i don't like that they flirt with you even when i'm standing right there."
another pause.
"and i hate that i hate it."
you finally looked at him.
"i sound insane."
"you sound human."
"i trust you."
"i know."
"but i don't trust..." you gestured toward the party inside. "...everyone else."
jude nodded like he'd been expecting exactly that answer.
"you know what i see?"
"what?"
"i see someone who's been pretending she's fine for the last twenty minutes. i also see the girl who stays up until two in the morning helping me recover after matches. the girl who watches game film with me even though she'd rather be watching terrible rom-coms."
he smiled.
"the girl who steals my hoodies."
"i borrow them."
"you've permanently borrowed six, my love."
"they look better on me."
"they actually do."
that earned the smallest smile from you.
"there it is."
"what?"
"your smile."
he reached for your hand.
"i can't stop people from looking."
"i know."
"i can't stop people from having crushes."
"i know."
"but i can decide who i go home with."
his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
"i can decide whose texts i answer first. and i can decide who gets every version of me that nobody else sees."
his forehead rested gently against yours.
"and that's always you."
your eyes stung.
"i wish my brain believed that all the time."
"it doesn't have to."
"what?"
"i'll remind it."
he smiled softly.
"every time you doubt yourself. every interview. every event. every party. as many times as it takes."
you laughed through your tears.
"that sounds exhausting."
"for you?"
he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"never."
when the two of you walked back inside together, jude never let go of your hand. not because he needed everyone else to know you were his.
because he wanted you to remember that he was already yours.
⊹ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀. jude bellingham could handle anything football threw at him. but admitting he needed help? that was something you had to teach him.
⊹ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀. physiotherapist!reader, lighthearted fluff, post-training recovery, massage session, stubborn jude, teasing, playful bickering, slow tension, jude being dramatic as always, soft moments, him pretending he’s fine, her knowing him too well, emotional comfort.
the treatment room was always too quiet after training. not silent, exactly.
there was still life outside the closed door—the distant sound of footballs being kicked around on the pitch, voices echoing down the corridor, teammates laughing somewhere near the changing rooms—but everything felt muted in here.
slower.
it was the one place where the pressure of the outside world seemed to stay behind the door. you preferred it that way. especially when a certain midfielder decided to make your job ten times harder than it needed to be.
your eyes stayed on the tablet in your hands as you updated the last few notes from the day’s training session, already knowing who was next without needing to check the schedule.
jude bellingham.
of course. you could almost predict how this would go. he would walk in, pretend nothing was wrong, insist he was perfectly fine, and then act personally betrayed when you pointed out the obvious fact that his body did not agree with him.
and right on cue—the door opened.
“leave.” the word left your mouth before you even looked up. you were too familiar with the sound of those footsteps to mistake them for anyone else’s. everyone else who walked into the treatment room came in with a reason—an injury, a question, a concern.
jude walked in like he had come to negotiate a personal disagreement. there was always a pause before he spoke. like he needed a second to decide whether he was going to be reasonable or make your life unnecessarily difficult. you already knew which option he would choose.
the silence stretched.
you kept your eyes on the tablet in your hands, pretending you were more interested in the recovery notes than the fact that you could practically feel him staring at you.
then—
“excuse me?” his voice came out lower than usual, slightly rough, but the amusement underneath it was impossible to miss. his eyebrows raised like you had personally insulted him instead of simply telling him to leave. which, technically, you had. but he deserved it. he wasn’t actually offended. he never was. jude liked pretending he was.
you finally raised your eyes.
the door opened fully, and jude stepped inside, looking like he had just walked straight out of training and had no intention of admitting how tired he actually was. a towel rested loosely around his neck, his training shirt slightly damp from the intensity of the session, the fabric clinging just enough to show the evidence of ninety minutes spent pushing himself.
he carried himself with that same effortless confidence he brought onto the pitch, shoulders relaxed, a faint smirk already appearing like he knew he was about to be challenged the second he walked through the door. he looked exhausted, but somehow that never stopped him from finding the energy to argue.
especially with you.
“you heard me.” you said it calmly, almost lazily, and that seemed to annoy him more than if you had argued back.
he had always been terrible at dealing with people who refused to react the way he expected.
jude stared at you for a moment, his eyebrows still slightly raised, waiting for you to break and admit you were joking. he closed the door behind him, his attention immediately shifting to you as he crossed the room.
“i haven’t even said anything.” the way he said it was almost convincing. almost. his tone had that familiar disbelief he used whenever he wanted to make himself sound like the victim. his eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth twitching at the corner because he was trying not to smile.
he hated that you knew him well enough to notice.
“that’s usually when you’re at your most annoying.”
for a second, he just stared. you watched the exact moment he decided whether to laugh or defend himself. he chose both.
“interesting,” the word came out slowly, like he was genuinely considering your statement. he dropped his bag beside the chair with a quiet thud. “you knew it was me.”
there was something annoyingly confident about the way he said it. like he was proud of the fact that you could predict him. you hated that he was right.
you leaned back in your chair. “you’re the only person who walks into my room like they own it.”
jude looked around. slowly. dramatically. his eyes moved over the room like he was searching for proof that he had somehow been given ownership without anyone telling him. then he looked back at you. “i walked through a door.”
“dramatically.” you had to look away for a second because the seriousness in his voice was ridiculous. he said it like you had accused him of committing an actual crime.
his eyebrows lifted and he repeated the word quietly, almost to himself. “dramatically?”
“yes.”
you could see him trying to understand your logic. failing. and somehow finding that entertaining. “how exactly does someone walk dramatically?”
you set the tablet down, finally giving him your full attention. “you found a way.”
there it was. that small smile. the one he always tried to hide whenever you won an argument. jude looked away for half a second, running his tongue over his cheek like he was thinking of a response. he had one. he always had one. but sometimes he paused because he knew arguing with you was exactly what got him here in the first place.
“you know, most people are happy to see me.” his voice softened slightly, slipping back into that teasing tone. the one that made it clear he was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit.
you looked back down. “most people don’t have to deal with you pretending a five-minute recovery session is a personal attack.”
he let out a quiet breath through his nose. a laugh he tried to disguise. “that is such an exaggeration.”
you looked at him. nothing else. just looked. jude immediately noticed. his confidence faltered.
“is it?” you asked, your voice carrying that quiet, unimpressed tone that always made him feel like he was already losing the argument before it had even properly started.
you watched the way his expression shifted almost instantly. just slightly. a tiny pause. a small flicker in his eyes. because jude knew exactly where this was going.
he leaned back against the edge of the treatment table, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would somehow make him look more prepared to defend himself. it didn’t. if anything, it made him look like he was bracing himself for a conversation he knew he couldn’t win.
“last week you called stretching ‘a punishment designed specifically for footballers’.” you repeated his own words back to him, your eyes staying on his face long enough to catch the exact moment he realised he had no reasonable argument.
jude’s lips parted slightly. then closed. for someone who always had something to say, it was almost impressive how quickly he went quiet when you reminded him of his own dramatic statements.
“i did not say it like that,” he finally replied, his voice taking on that defensive edge you had become far too familiar with. the one where he sounded completely serious, even when he was obviously trying to rewrite history.
you raised an eyebrow. “you did.”
“no.”
“you did.”
“i may have said something similar.”
“jude.”
he looked away for a second, dragging a hand through the damp hair at the back of his neck, the movement almost automatic—a habit you had noticed long ago whenever he was searching for an argument, trying to find a way to defend himself without admitting you were right.
the sweat from training still clung to his skin, a reminder that he had only just stepped off the pitch, and for once, the confident answer he usually had ready didn’t come as quickly. his eyes dropped briefly to the floor before returning to yours, his expression caught somewhere between stubbornness and reluctant amusement, like he already knew he was losing but was far too proud to surrender that easily.
“okay,” he admitted slowly, looking back at you. “maybe i said something close to that.”
“exactly.”
“but my point still stands.”
you stared at him. “what point?”
he hesitated. and that hesitation alone told you everything. “…that stretching is unpleasant.”
the silence that followed was immediate. you didn’t even need to say anything.
jude saw your expression and sighed, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “don’t look at me like that.”
“like what?”
“like you’re disappointed in me.”
“i am.”
“wow,” he pressed a hand against his chest dramatically. “that actually hurt more than the stretching.”
“good.”
“you’re enjoying this.”
“immensely.”
and the worst part was, he couldn’t even argue. because the small smile he was trying to hide gave him away.
you didn’t give him the chance to come up with another excuse. the second you saw the look forming on his face—that familiar expression that meant he was about to turn a simple recovery session into a full debate—you set the clipboard down on the counter. “enough.”
jude immediately stopped. not because the word itself was intimidating. because he knew that tone. it was the same tone you used when he was about to push his luck too far. calm, steady, completely unimpressed. the kind that told him arguing would only make things worse. which, unfortunately, had never stopped him before. his eyes moved from your face to the treatment table and then back again.
“what?” the question came out slowly, almost suspiciously, like he was waiting for you to reveal some kind of hidden punishment.
you crossed your arms. “get on the table.”
there was a small pause. jude stared at you. then he looked over his shoulder at the table behind him, as if maybe you were talking to someone else. you weren’t.
“that’s it?” his voice had that slight teasing edge again, the one he used whenever he was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening while already preparing to do exactly what you said.
you raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean, that’s it?”
“usually there’s a lecture first.” he said, dropping his towel over the back of the nearby chair before grabbing the hem of his training shirt and pulling it over his head. the movement was effortless, almost automatic. he tossed the shirt aside without much thought, like he hadn’t just spent hours on the pitch pushing himself until his body was begging for a break. like he wasn’t the same person who had walked into the room with tension sitting heavily across his shoulders.
“jude.”
“i’m just saying,” he continued, looking at you with a small grin, “i appreciate consistency.”
you held his gaze. silence. that was all it took.
“right.” his grin faded slightly and a quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “table, okay.”
you watched him move, unable to stop the small thought that he really was predictable. every single time. he complained. he argued. he acted like he was being forced into something terrible. and then he did exactly what you told him five seconds later.
jude lowered himself onto the table with an exaggerated sigh, making sure you heard it.
you didn’t react.
that was exactly why he did it. if there was one thing jude hated more than being told what to do, it was when his dramatic complaints didn’t get the attention he thought they deserved.
“nothing?” he asked after a moment, his arms resting comfortably by his sides while his head was turned slightly to the left, cheek resting against the paper-covered pillow. the exhaustion from training showed more clearly now that he wasn’t moving—his shoulders finally relaxed, his breathing slower, the tension he carried around without noticing beginning to ease.
you continued arranging the supplies beside you, completely unfazed. “about what?”
“my suffering.” his head turned slightly against the pillow, just enough for him to glance back at you from the corner of his eye. even lying there exhausted from training, he still somehow managed to look offended, like he genuinely couldn’t believe you weren’t taking his complaints seriously.
you glanced at him. “you walked into the room five seconds ago.”
jude’s eyebrows lifted slightly, like that was completely irrelevant information.
“and already, i’m suffering.” the seriousness in his voice was ridiculous. he said it like he had just endured something unbearable instead of simply sitting down on a treatment table.
“impressive.” you tried not to smile. tried. but the smallest twitch at the corner of your mouth gave you away for half a second.
he caught it immediately. of course he did. jude always noticed the smallest victories. “thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.” you looked down as you prepared what you needed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had managed to amuse you.
“still taking it.”
you exhaled quietly through your nose, shaking your head as you stepped closer to the table. it was impossible. absolutely impossible. he could be exhausted after training, muscles aching, barely having enough energy left to complain—and somehow he would still find the strength to argue with you.
“you’re impossible.” the words left your mouth somewhere between a complaint and a statement of fact, because at this point you weren’t even sure why you bothered arguing with him.
jude had a talent for turning the simplest things into a debate. a recovery session became an argument. a simple instruction became a negotiation. somehow, even lying exhausted on the treatment table after training, he still found the energy to make everything ten times more difficult than it needed to be.
from where he was lying face down, his head turned slightly toward you, you caught the small smile he was trying to hide. he always did that. he’d act like he was offended, like your words had wounded him deeply, but the amusement in his expression always gave him away.
“i hear that a lot.” his voice was quieter now, slightly muffled against the pillow, but you could still hear the amusement in it.
of course he was still joking. even now.
you shook your head slightly, focusing on the work in front of you. your hands moved slowly, working through the stiffness that had built up after training. you knew exactly where he tended to hold tension—the same areas every time. jude always carried too much in his shoulders. he would deny it. obviously. he would probably argue that his shoulders were “perfectly fine” while you could physically feel the opposite.
“from everyone?” you asked, glancing down at him.
his breathing had slowed. his shoulders had dropped. and, most importantly, he had finally stopped moving. for about thirty seconds. which was probably a personal record.
“mostly from you.”
you stepped closer, refusing to let him see that he had almost made you smile—placing your hands over his shoulders and upper back, taking a moment to feel where the tension had settled.
you didn’t even need to ask. you already knew. “you’re tense.”
his answer came immediately.
“i’m not.” the words were slightly muffled against the pillow, far too confident for someone whose body was clearly disagreeing with him.
you raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “jude.”
“what?”
“don’t start.”
a small smile tugged at his mouth. “i’m just saying.”
“you always ‘just say’ things when you know you’re wrong.”
he let out a quiet laugh, but didn’t argue further. for a moment, he actually listened.
jude could stand there after a difficult training session, brushing off every complaint, insisting he was perfectly fine while everyone around him could see the exhaustion catching up with him. he was stubborn in the most predictable way—the kind of stubborn that made you want to roll your eyes and laugh at the same time.
your hands moved slowly over the tension in his shoulders, working through the tightness he had carried in from training. you didn’t rush it. you knew better than that with him. the second you found a particularly tense area, his body reacted before he could.
a small shift. a slight pause in his breathing. barely noticeable. to anyone else, maybe. not to you.
“see?” his voice broke the quiet again, softer now, like he was trying to distract from the fact that you had clearly noticed.
you looked down at him. “what?”
“fine.”
you paused for a second, glancing at him with an expression that made it obvious you weren’t convinced. “you’re fine?”
there was a tiny hesitation before he answered, like he knew exactly what you were about to say but was still committed to the argument. “exactly.”
you looked back down, continuing the treatment, completely unimpressed. of course. jude could barely hide his reactions, yet somehow still believed he was convincing.
“you said that before i even started.”
a quiet laugh escaped him, muffled slightly against the pillow. “because i knew.”
“you knew?” you looked down at him, watching the way he kept his face turned towards the pillow, like avoiding eye contact would somehow make his argument stronger.
“yes.” the confidence in his voice was almost impressive. almost. especially considering his body had already betrayed him twice.
“interesting.” you let the word linger, your tone making it very clear that you didn’t believe him for even a second.
jude didn’t respond. which was usually when you knew you were right.
your hands moved slightly higher, carefully working through the area that had been bothering him since training. you didn’t need him to point it out anymore—after enough sessions, you already knew where he held the most tension. and the second you found it, the smallest reaction gave him away. his shoulders tightened beneath your hands for just a moment.
a quick inhale. a slight shift against the table. nothing dramatic. nothing he could later claim was a big deal. but enough that you you felt it. and he knew you did, because the room suddenly went quiet. the confident answer he had been ready to give disappeared before he could say it.
“are you okay?” you asked softly. there was no teasing in your voice this time. no little hint of victory like there usually was whenever you caught him contradicting himself. just genuine concern. “did i hurt you?”
and somehow, that was worse for him.
because jude could handle being challenged. he could handle you arguing back, rolling your eyes at him, telling him he was being dramatic. that was familiar territory. that was where he could fight back, where he could throw another joke your way and pretend he wasn’t affected.
but this?
this was different. you weren’t arguing with him. you were simply noticing. and jude had always been terrible at hiding things from you.
there was a pause. a long enough pause that you knew he was thinking of an answer.
you knew that expression without even needing to see his face properly—the quiet moment where he was searching for a way to prove himself right, even when he already knew there wasn’t one.
jude stayed completely still on the table, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead like he was suddenly very interested in absolutely anything except admitting you had found the exact place that had been bothering him.
it was almost convincing. almost. because jude was good at a lot of things. football. confidence. pretending pressure didn’t get to him. but pretending his own body wasn’t reacting? not so much.
you continued watching him for another second, waiting. and then you saw it.
something so small that most people would have missed it. the slight movement of his fingers against the table. the tiny shift of his hand. a reflex. a giveaway. nothing dramatic. nothing he could turn into another argument. just enough to confirm what you already knew.
your lips pressed together, stopping yourself from smiling. because you knew him. you knew the exact moment he realised he had been caught. you knew the way he would try to act like it wasn’t a big deal. you knew he would rather defend himself for five minutes than simply admit that, yes, maybe you had been right.
“jude?” your eyebrow lifted slightly.
his usual confidence was gone for a second, replaced by the smallest look of surprise. because he knew you. he knew you could spend the entire session calling him dramatic, telling him he was impossible, arguing with him about everything.
but the second you thought you had actually caused him discomfort?
you stopped.
his expression softened slightly.
“no,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “no, you’re fine.”
you studied him for another second, still unsure whether he was telling the truth or just trying to reassure you. because with jude, it was always difficult to tell.
“fine?” you asked softly. not accusing. just knowing. because you had heard that word from him too many times. and you had learned that when jude said he was “fine,” it could mean almost anything.
jude stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting slightly towards you. he looked almost amused that you were still asking, like he couldn’t understand why you weren’t just accepting his word and moving on.
but you never did. not with him.
“are you sure?” you asked, your voice quieter this time. your hands remained still, giving him a chance to answer instead of immediately continuing. there was no impatience in your expression, no hint of annoyance—just that familiar concern he always tried to pretend he didn’t notice.
and that was probably what made it harder for him to keep pretending. because the truth was, yeah, it had caught him off guard. it wasn’t anything serious. it was just a sensitive spot, a bit more pressure than he expected after a long training session. but he knew you. he knew the second he admitted it hurt, you would immediately blame yourself. and he didn’t want that.
“yeah,” he finally said, but the answer came a little too quickly.
you watched him carefully. “jude.”
a quiet sigh left him. not annoyed. more like he had been caught. “it’s fine.”
“that’s not what i asked.”
he was quiet again. and that silence told you more than his words did. his fingers shifted slightly against the table before he relaxed them again.
“it just surprised me,” he admitted eventually, voice lower. “that’s all.”
your expression softened. “you could’ve told me.”
“i know,” he shrugged slightly, immediately regretting the movement when he realised he had given himself away again. “i just didn’t want you to think you hurt me.”
your expression softened slightly at his answer. because you knew him. you knew that hesitation.
jude could be honest about almost anything when it came to football. he could talk about a bad performance, a mistake, a match that didn’t go the way he wanted. he could stand in front of cameras and answer questions about pressure like he had already accepted every expectation placed on him.
but when it came to himself? when it came to admitting that something hurt, that he was tired, that maybe he had pushed a little too far?
that was where he always struggled.
your hands moved again, slower this time. more carefully. not because you were unsure of what you were doing, but because now you knew exactly where he was holding the tension. you adjusted the pressure, paying closer attention to every small reaction instead of letting him brush it off like he always did.
“jude.” the way you said his name made him quiet. not because he was worried. because he knew that tone. the one that meant you weren’t joking anymore. “you have to be more careful.”
your voice was quiet. not a lecture. not a complaint. just a reminder.
you could almost picture the thoughts running through his head—the instinctive urge to tell you he was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d dealt with worse. because that was always his first response.
he let out a small breath, already knowing where this was going. jude didn’t answer immediately.
“i am careful.” the answer came softly. too softly.
and you couldn’t help but glance at him. not because you didn’t believe him. because you both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
a small sigh left him when he saw your expression.
“okay,” a pause. “maybe i could be better.”
that was probably the closest you were going to get. and somehow, you appreciated it more because of that.
you continued, your hands working through the remaining tension while the room stayed quiet around you.
“jude…” something about the way you said his name made him stop trying to defend himself. “if something hurts, you tell me.”
his eyes shifted slightly toward you.
you kept your focus on what you were doing, giving him the space to actually listen instead of turning it into another argument. “don’t wait until it gets worse.”
your fingers moved carefully over the area that had been bothering him, gentler now. “don’t just decide you can ignore it because you’re used to pushing through.”
for once, he didn’t interrupt. no joke. no teasing comment. nothing to distract from what you were saying. because he knew you weren’t saying it because you were annoyed. you were saying it because you cared.
“that’s what i’m here for.” the words were simple. but they made him quiet.
jude had always been surrounded by people who needed something from him. his performance. his effort. his best. but moments like this reminded him that there were people who didn’t need him to be anything. they just wanted him to be okay.
“you know you don’t have to pretend you’re fine with me, right?” the question was softer than the rest. almost like you already knew the answer.
jude looked away for a second. and that small movement told you everything. because he didn’t have a joke. didn’t have a clever reply. didn’t have anything to hide behind.
“yeah,” he finally said. quietly. “i know.”
and you believed him. not because he said it perfectly. not because he suddenly changed. but because for once, he let himself hear it.
for a while, neither of you said anything. and you didn’t mind. with jude, silence was rare.
he was always filling empty spaces—with jokes, complaints, random comments that somehow turned a five-minute conversation into twenty. he had a habit of talking whenever things got too quiet, like silence gave people too much of a chance to notice what he was feeling. but now, lying there, he didn’t seem to feel the need to fill it.
his shoulders had finally relaxed beneath your hands. the tension he had walked in with—the kind he swore wasn’t there—had slowly started to disappear, leaving behind the tiredness he usually tried so hard to hide.
you took your time finishing, making sure there wasn’t any remaining stiffness before pulling your hands away, giving his shoulders a gentle pat.
the absence of your touch made him realise the session was over before you even said anything.
“better?” you asked softly.
jude stayed still for a moment, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead. you knew that pause. it was the same one he always had when he was deciding whether to give you the honest answer or the answer he thought would end the conversation faster.
finally, he exhaled. “yeah.”
just one word. simple. honest. and somehow, that meant more than him admitting you were right ten minutes earlier.
“yeah?” you looked at him. because somehow, that simple answer surprised you more than any complaint would have.
the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “don’t sound so shocked.”
you couldn’t help it. because you were. jude admitting something without a fight was rare enough to feel like a victory. not because you needed to be right. you just knew how difficult it was for him to stop arguing for once.
he could spend an entire session insisting he was fine, convincing himself that whatever he was feeling wasn’t worth mentioning, and somehow still look genuinely surprised when you noticed. so hearing him simply admit it made you pause. “i’m just impressed.”
the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. there it was. that look. the one that told you he already knew you were about to annoy him. “that sounds insulting.”
you looked at him, completely calm. “it’s not.”
“it definitely is.” his voice carried that familiar teasing tone, the one he used whenever he was trying to pretend he wasn’t amused.
you crossed your arms slightly, watching him. “it’s an observation.”
he shook his head, looking down for a second like he couldn’t believe you were serious. “you always have a way of making things sound worse.”
“and you always have a way of making simple things harder than they need to be.”
he opened his mouth. stopped. because he knew. you saw the exact moment he realised he didn’t have a comeback.
a small smile appeared on his face. “you enjoy that.”
“enjoy what?”
“being right.”
you gathered the supplies beside you, pretending to be more focused on putting everything away than on the fact that he was completely correct. “someone has to be.”
“there it is.”
you looked at him. “what?”
“that little smile.”
your expression immediately changed. “i’m not smiling.”
“you are.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.” he said it with so much certainty that you almost laughed. almost. because he looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had spent the first half of the session complaining.
“you’re unbelievable.”
he sat up slowly, reaching for his towel, the evidence of training still written all over him—the slight flush of exertion, the tiredness in his eyes, the faint scent of sweat mixed with the one that was unmistakably him. somehow, even like this, she thought he smelled good. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“it is.”
“and yet you keep helping me.” the words were said casually. almost like a joke. but there was something softer underneath them. because jude noticed things too. maybe not always with his own body. maybe not always when he should.
but he noticed you. the way you always remembered where he was sore. the way you knew when he was pretending. the way you never made him feel like needing help was a weakness.
you looked at him for a moment. “because someone has to make sure you don’t destroy yourself trying to prove you’re fine.”
for once, he didn’t joke, didn’t argue. he just nodded. small. quiet.
“i know.”
and you believed him. not because you thought he would suddenly stop being stubborn. you knew better than that. but because with jude, progress never looked like a big confession or a perfect promise. sometimes it was just him admitting he wasn’t fine. sometimes it was him letting someone take care of him.
and sometimes, it was simply saying—
“i’ll tell you next time.” the words were quiet. not a joke. not a promise he said just to make you stop worrying. a real one. and you knew that, because jude didn’t say things like that easily. he wasn’t someone who suddenly became open just because the moment called for it. he was still the same person who would rather joke his way out of a conversation than admit something was bothering him.
but this time, he didn’t. he just looked at you for a second, like he was making sure you understood that he meant it.
your expression softened. you knew he would still be stubborn tomorrow. you knew he would probably still try to convince you he was fine before you even asked. you knew he wasn’t going to magically change overnight.but this was something. a small step.
and with jude, sometimes that was enough.
you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could—
the door opened. the change in his expression was almost immediate. a second ago, he had been quieter than usual—relaxed, finally not fighting every comment you made, the usual stubbornness softened after the session. but the moment someone else walked in? there it was again. that familiar look. the one that made you wonder if he had somehow recovered enough energy in the last five minutes purely to start being annoying again.
“there you are.” jude’s manager, tuchel, stood in the doorway, glancing between the two of you with an amused expression. “i was wondering where you disappeared to.”
he didn’t look surprised. if anything, he looked like he had walked in on something he had already seen a hundred times before. his eyes moved from jude sitting comfortably on the table to you finishing up the room, and the smallest smile appeared on his face.
before you could even answer, jude lifted his hand and pointed at you. immediately. dramatically. like he had been waiting for someone to arrive so he could finally make his complaint. “she’s keeping me here.”
you slowly turned your head toward him. “excuse me?”
jude didn’t even look guilty. if anything, he looked completely convinced that he was the victim in this situation.
tuchel watched the exchange with quiet amusement, clearly used to this exact kind of conversation. “is he giving you trouble again?”
“always.” you didn’t even hesitate. not even a second. the answer came so naturally that jude immediately looked offended.
he turned towards you, eyebrows raised in exaggerated disbelief, like he genuinely couldn’t believe the betrayal he was experiencing. after everything. after the entire session where he had apparently been “suffering.” after being forced to admit you were right. this was how you described him?
you looked at him, completely unimpressed. “what?”
he shook his head slowly, placing a hand over his chest like he was personally wounded. “i come here for the abuse.”
there was a brief pause. and then tuchel started laughing. the kind of laugh that wasn’t even surprising anymore, because somehow that was exactly the answer everyone expected from jude.
you tried to hold back your own laugh, but the second you saw the completely serious expression on his face, you failed. “you’re actually ridiculous.”
jude looked between the two of you, clearly pleased that he had managed to turn the situation in his favour. “thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“still taking it.”
you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small chuckle that slipped out.
his manager shook his head, still smiling as he stepped back toward the door. “i’ll leave you two to it.”
“finally,” jude said, watching him leave. “someone understands me.”
you turned your head slowly, staring at him with an expression that made it clear he had somehow managed to misunderstand the entire situation. “that is not what happened.”
but he was already smiling, completely satisfied with himself. and just like that, the serious moment from earlier faded into the familiar teasing you both knew so well.
because with jude, there was always going to be an argument. there was always going to be a reason why he was “fine,” a joke when things got too serious, and a stubborn attempt to have the last word.
but there was also always going to be trust, a quiet promise to do better, and a laugh waiting right after.
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hello angels! this is VERY explicit, jude is experiencing many emotions so expect a lot of emotional whiplash. i hope u love it <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: after England’s crushing 1-2 semi-final loss to Argentina, a seething and devastated Jude returns to the hotel room filled with raw anger. what begins as furious tears and pacing quickly explodes into desperate, rough, possessive sex as he tries to fuck the frustration out of his system and reclaim control. he only trusts you to see him like this, and remind him exactly who the fuck he is
warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit smut, rough sex, angry sex, spanking, possessive dirty talk, spitting in mouth, emotional hurt/comfort, angry tears, self-blame, brief argument, mood swings, vulnerable jude, very clingy and guilty aftercare, established relationship
wc: 5k!
Jude took the loss incredibly hard. None of you had the right words for him. He was devastated in a way that went far beyond the scoreline. He couldn’t hold back the tears as much as he would have liked, even though he tried. God, he tried.
It’s not that he was ashamed of showing emotion. Jude was a passionate man. About his sport, about his family, about what he believes in, about you. But breaking down on international television in front of millions, was never something someone actively wanted to do.
“Fuck…fuck!”
You heard him shouting from the pitch, emotions raw, just before he covered his face with both hands and started pacing in tight, frustrated circles. The Argentinians were celebrating wildly right in front of him, cheering, bodies jumping. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, eyes squeezed shut like he was physically willing himself to not explode publicly. Then one of the opposing players said something in Spanish – you couldn’t hear or understand what –and Jude lashed out, slapping the back of the player’s head in a flash of blind frustration.
You and Denise both shot to your feet at the same time. His mum muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like “for fuck’s sake, Jude,” her hand flying to her mouth as you all watched the brief altercation unfold. Luckily the England lads were quick, pulling him away, keeping him wrapped up and shielded from the cameras as best they could.
He finished his post-match interviews and finally made his way over to the family section. You could tell from the way he kept hiding his face under the brim of his cap that he was pissed off he couldn’t stop the tears. Pissed off he couldn’t stop those late goals. Pissed off he couldn’t score more, contribute more, do whatever it took to push England over the line. He would have sacrificed almost anything tonight to get them to the final.
He hugged his parents first. Denise held him tight, rubbing his back in slow circles, whispering things only a mother could say. Mark gripped him hard, proud even in defeat, murmuring quiet words of reassurance. But their comfort seemed to ricochet off Jude’s body. He was vibrating with anger, with frustration, with a deep, burning disappointment that lived in his chest after every loss with England.
When he finally sat down next to you, his hand automatically latched onto your thigh, gripping like you were the only steady thing left in his world. You watched as his knee bounced restlessly, as he ran his hand over his face again and tugged his cap even lower, trying to disappear under it.
“Jude, hey… hey… look at me,” you said softly.
He turned his head slowly, propping his chin on his fist. The muscles in his jaw ticked hard. He was devastated, that much was clear in his red-rimmed eyes. But underneath it you could see the anger simmering; at himself, at the way it had slipped away again, at the fact that no matter how hard he ran, how much he gave, it still wasn’t enough to cross that final line for England.
You reached out and gently wiped under his eye with your thumb. He turned his head and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your palm, lingering there for a second like he needed the contact to soothe his very soul. Then his eyes drifted away again, distant and unfocused, staring down at the now-empty pitch where the Argentina celebrations had finally started to die down.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and painful. His hand stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth absently, like he needed something to anchor him to reality and not let him get lost inside his head.
“Can you come to my room later?” he muttered eventually, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”
You nodded instantly, heart twisting at how small he sounded. “Yes… yeah, of course, baby. Whatever you need. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He let out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “Don’t wanna keep crying out here,” he admitted quietly, almost embarrassed. “Not with everyone still watching. Just… need it to be you. Need it to be quiet.”
You squeezed his hand, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. “I’ve got you. I promise. As soon as you’re back at the hotel, I’ll come straight to you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Jude turned his head slightly, pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head. His voice was barely audible when he spoke again.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you tonight.”
You got to his hotel room just after the sun had set, the sky outside still bleeding orange and pink. He’d texted you very bluntly earlier, the way he got when the pain was still too fresh to soften for anyone, even you.
Consequently, you weren’t expecting him to be in a fantastic mood when you finally knocked on his door. He always came down to the lobby to collect you, no matter how tired he was. Not tonight.
“Who is it?” came his voice, sharp.
You could hear him moving inside, pacing, up and down the room like a caged animal.
“It’s me, bab–”
You hadn’t finished your sentence before the door swung open. He pulled you inside and shut the door behind you before you could even blink. His chest was heaving. The second you were over the threshold he let go of you, stepping back like he needed space but also couldn’t stand being far away from you. There were fresh tear streaks down his face that he was angrily wiping away with the heel of his hand. He was being so hard on himself. It broke your heart all over again.
“Do you think I had a shit game?” he asked bluntly, voice a little cold, eyes burning with more tears.
“What? No, I—”
“Good. Because what more could I have fucking done?” He started pacing again, hands tugging at his hair. “I ran until my legs felt like they were going to snap. I covered every blade of grass. I created chances. I defended when I had to. And it still wasn’t enough.”
You sat on the edge of his bed, watching him, heart aching as the words poured out of him.
“Jude… you gave everything out there. Everyone saw that. I saw that.”
“Yeah?” He stopped pacing for a second, eyes flashing. “Well it wasn’t enough, was it? The second goal was right in the middle of the fucking goal. Right there. We had six defenders on the fucking pitch. Six! I’m not a defender! How did we let that happen? How did I not see it coming? I should’ve been there. Should’ve been closer to the ball. I should’ve done more.”
You tried to keep your voice steady. “You can’t carry the whole team on your back every single—”
“I wasn’t trying to carry the whole team,” he cut in, voice rising. “I was trying to win! And we were winning. We were in control. And then it just… slipped. Again. Like it always fucking does–”
He cut himself off with a bitter laugh, shaking his head. His eyes were glassy again, angry tears threatening to spill over. He wiped them away roughly, like they personally offended him.
“Baby, you’re being too hard on yourself—”
“Don’t,” he snapped, but there was no real anger directed at you, just frustration spilling out of him any way it could. “Don’t tell me I’m being too hard on myself. I know what I saw out there. I know what I felt. We were better than that. I was better than that. I always think I can do more and then it’s the same story. We get so fucking close and then—”
You stood up slowly, reaching for him. “Jude, hey… look at me.”
He shook his head, running a hand over his face, body shaking with the tears he was trying to hold back.
“I’m so fucking tired of this. Tired of getting to the last stages and watching it slip away. Tired of the ‘nearly men’ narrative. Tired of people saying we don’t have the mentality when we just went toe-to-toe with the world champions for ninety minutes. What more do they want from us? From me?”
His voice cracked on the last word. He stopped pacing for a second, chest rising and falling fast, fists clenched at his sides. The room felt too small for all the fury and grief rolling off him.
You reached for him again, and he let you pull him in, but his body stayed rigid, vibrating.
“What can I do to make it better then?” you asked softly, stroking his back. “If you don’t want me to criticise the self-blame, then how can I help?”
“I don’t know!” His voice cracked, frustration and pain mixing together. “You can’t. I’m just– I’m so fucking angry and–and–”
He cut himself off, breathing hard. For a second it looked like he might pull away. His face crumpled, eyebrows knitting together as a choked off sob escaped him.
“Baby…baby it’s okay–”
“It’s not okay. Nothing feels okay,” he sniffled, tucking his head into your neck. You stroked his back, not sure what to do next. He was so fragile but so angry. You’d never seen him like this before.
“I know and I’m so sorry, Jude,” you whispered, kissing the top of his cheek as you held him close. “Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything to make you feel a little bit better. Just tell me what you need.”
He lifted his head for a second, wet eyes meeting yours. He looked over your face slowly, like he was searching for something, before his gaze lingered on your lips. You wanted to say something else, anything to help pull him out of the spiral, but he was so focused on your mouth that the self-deprecating words had finally stopped pouring out of him.
“Baby?” you breathed softly.
His grip on your waist tightened almost painfully within seconds. He pulled you flush against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. It was desperate, angry, hungry, like he wanted to drown how he was feeling out with how good your lips felt against his.
You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, walking you backwards until your back hit the wall. One hand slid into your hair, tugging hard enough to tilt your head back as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with desperate need.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion, almost apologetic even as his body pressed harder against you. “I’m not trying to take it out on you. I just…”
He broke off, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were still glassy with frustration and leftover tears, but there was something else burning in them now – a desperate, almost feral hunger he only had for you.
“I need you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I need you to remind me who the fuck I am. Need you to make me feel like me again. Strong. In control. Not this… this version that keeps fucking up.”
His hand slid down to grip your thigh, lifting it around his hip as he ground his hardening bulge against you.
“Want to fuck you so deep you forget every other name but mine,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping into the filthy, dominant tone he only used when he was desperate. “Want you screaming for me. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock so I can remember who I am. The one who takes what he wants. The one who always wins with you.”
He kissed you again, harder this time, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.
“Tell me you want this,” he breathed, eyes dark and wild, hips rolling against you in a slow, filthy grind. “Tell me it’s okay to be rough tonight. Tell me you can take it. Because I need to feel like me again, baby. Need to feel like I own something. Like I own you.”
His fingers dug into your thigh, possessive and trembling with the emotions still raging inside him.
“Please,” he whispered, forehead still pressed to yours. “Let me have you like this.”
You hesitated for a second, searching his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure this was the healthiest way for him to process everything he was feeling…the anger, the grief, the powerlessness from the pitch. But this was Jude, and you didn’t think you could ever say no to him when he looked at you like that, desperate and aching and needing to feel something real.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear, and nodded.
“I can take it,” you whispered. “I’ll take anything you give me. You know I will.”
Relief and hunger flashed across his face at the same time. He squeezed your thigh again, leaning down to kiss you slightly softer at first, but quickly turning deeper, tongue sliding against yours with need and dominance.
“That’s because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his accent thicker with emotion. “My beautiful baby. Always know what I need. Always let me have you exactly how I want.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your eyes were already glazing over, the soft, submissive look he loved so much taking over. It didn’t take much when he spoke to you like that.
“Yeah?” he asked, almost teasing even through the emotions still raging in his chest. “You gonna let me fuck all this frustration out on you, baby? Let me remind myself who the fuck I am?”
You nodded, already a little breathless. “Yes, Jude.”
That was all he needed. In one smooth, powerful movement he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. Your cheek met the cool surface as he yanked your jeans and panties down your legs in one rough tug, barely giving you time to step out of them. His big hands immediately palmed your ass, squeezing, spreading, smoothing over your hips like he was reclaiming every bit of skin for himself.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, pressing his still-clothed erection against your bare ass from behind, grinding slow and hard. “Perfect arse. So fucking pretty for me. Bet you’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you.”
You whimpered as his lips attacked your neck, sucking and biting while his hands slid under your t-shirt, pushing it up so he could feel your skin. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you in place, the other moved up to cup your breast.
“Tell me you’re my beautiful girl,” he growled against your ear, voice thick. “Tell me this pussy belongs to me. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I-I’m your beautiful girl, Jude,” you moaned, pushing back against him. “Belong to you… only you.”
He let out a low, satisfied sound and bit down on your shoulder, grinding his cock against you harder.
“Good girl,” he praised, his voice dropping even lower. “Gonna fuck you right here first. Gonna make you take it so deep. I’m the only one, aren’t I? The only one who makes you scream.”
He shoved his own joggers down just enough to free himself, thick and hot, pulsing with the need to be inside of you. You felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Tell me again,” he demanded, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you against this wall.”
“I’m yours, Jude,” you gasped, pushing back against him. “Only yours.”
He wanted to tease you for longer, but how could he when you were so good and obedient for him? He thrust into you in one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself deep. His hands stayed on your hips as he watched himself disappear inside you and groaned. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, and you cried out, hands bracing against the wall. Jude moaned as you clenched around him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stayed still for a second, letting you adjust.
“Fuck… always feel so tight,” he moaned lowly. “My pretty girl.”
Then he started moving with deep, rough strokes that pressed you harder into the wall with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, gripping tight enough to leave behind red marks, the other slid up to wrap around your throat, a possessive hold that had your eyes rolling back already.
“Say it again,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping forward. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”
“Yours,” you moaned, voice breaking on every deep thrust. “It’s yours, Jude. All yours.”
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he fucked you harder, deeper, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. His pace was relentless but never cruel. Every thrust was purposeful, like he was trying to fuck the frustration and self doubt out of his system and into you.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your neck between strokes, his voice loving despite his actions being quite the opposite. “Taking my cock so well. Letting me use you like this. Fuck, I needed this. Needed to feel like I can still make you feel good. Still make you mine.”
You whimpered, pushing back to meet his thrusts, and he rewarded you with a particularly deep, grinding stroke that made your knees buckle.
“Tell me you love it,” he breathed hot against your ear. “Tell me you love when I fuck you like this. When I take what’s mine.”
“I love it,” you gasped, cheek pressed to the cool wall. “Love when you fuck me like this, Jude. Love being yours.”
He let out a long moan and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you back against him so he could thrust even deeper. His free hand slid between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, gentle circles.
The difference between his relentless thrusts, but slow and gentle hands made your vision start to cloud white with stars already. “J-Jude I’m gonna come–”
“No you’re not, baby,” he rasped, slowing his hips enough to tease you. “Not until I tell you to. Hold it for me. Good girl… fuck, you squeeze me so tight when you get close. You’re so fucking wet for me.”
“Please–” you whimpered, thighs trembling.
“Nuh-uh. Not allowed until I get to come with you,” he murmured, sucking on your neck. “You’re gonna hold it for me, aren’t you, angel?”
You nodded frantically, trying desperately to hold off your climax by squeezing your eyes shut. He gave you a small mercy, pulling his fingers away from between your legs and bringing them up to your lips instead.
“Open, baby. Taste yourself for me.”
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips and sucking his fingers into your mouth, moaning around them as his hips sped back up to the punishing pace. The taste of yourself on his skin only made everything feel more intense.
“Fuckin’ hell… just like that, baby,” he moaned, tilting his head to watch your pretty lips envelope his fingers. “Look at you. Sucking my fingers while I fuck you against the wall. My perfect girl.”
The sounds he was making, the low and desperate groans and breathy curses, were not making it any easier to hold back. You whimpered, opening your eyes to give him a pleading look. He exhaled through his nose as he bit his lip, eyes rolling back slightly, the look on your face nearly sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm. He suddenly pulled out, spinning you around to face him. Before you could protest, he kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he lifted you up, pressing your back to the wall again.
“My beautiful girl is gonna make me come too quick,” he murmured against your lips, a dark chuckle vibrating through him. “Especially if you keep looking at me like that. We’re gonna change position so I can hold it a little longer. Yeah, angel?”
He spoke to you slowly like you were stupid, and you were, you suppose considering he’d just fucked you dumb against the wall. Normally you’d fight back, push against the power play because he loved when you were bratty, but that wasn’t what he needed tonight. He wanted complete submission, and you’d give him anything he wanted.
“P-please,” you whined, chasing his mouth when he pulled back slightly, hands clutching at his biceps. “Need you back inside me, Jude…”
“Oh, my needy little baby,” he smirked wickedly, nuzzling his nose against yours, eyes still burning with a mix of frustration and hunger. His hand smoothed up your arm, and wrapped loosely around your throat.
“Open your mouth for me,” he whispered. You parted your lips straight away at his command, tongue out, eyes locked on his. His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide as he looked at you, waiting for him. He leaned in closer, hovering above you, and let a slow, thick string of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. You moaned softly as it landed and swallowed it down without hesitation, eyes never leaving his.
Jude groaned deeply as his thumb stroked up and down your throat, feeling you swallow.
“Fuck… that’s my good girl,” he praised, voice hoarse. “Swallowing for me so pretty. You’d take anything I give you, wouldn’t you?”
You nodded, lips still parted, breathing a little faster.
“I want all your clothes off. Get on all fours on the bed. Now.”
You nodded again, still too drunk on submission to speak, stripping off your T-shirt and bra as fast as you could. Jude kicked his joggers and boxers off, throwing his own T-shirt across the room. He was leaking as he stroked himself slowly, watching you climb onto the bed.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer than it was before. “Can’t believe you’re all mine sometimes. Look at you… arching that pretty back for me already.”
The second you were on all fours, you automatically arched deeper for him, presenting yourself. Jude climbed onto the bed behind you, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your spine. His big hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he lined himself up. You were trembling with need now, feeling cold and empty without him inside you.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked, oversensitive heat again. “You love when I use you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whimpered, pushing back against him desperately.
He didn’t make you wait this time. In one powerful thrust he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open again so suddenly you cried out louder than before. Jude moaned loudly, the sound almost animalistic as he bottomed out.
“Fuck– so tight. So fucking good,” he growled, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in. His pace was brutal from the start – deep, hard thrusts that rocked your entire body forward with every snap of his hips. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall echoed through the room.
He reached forward, fisting your hair and pulling your head back to arch your back more.
“Scream my name, baby,” he demanded. “Want to hear you. Want the whole fucking hotel to know who’s fucking you this good.”
“Jude– oh my god, Jude!” you cried out as he hit the specific spot inside you over and over. He knew your body better than you did. You could’ve sworn you could feel him in your stomach.
“That’s it. Louder. Let me hear how much you love my cock,” he groaned, one hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting made you clench around him, and he moaned loudly. “Fuck yes. Again.”
He spanked you again, harder this time, the sound echoing as he kept pounding into you relentlessly.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice breaking with pleasure. “Say it. Tell me who this pussy belongs to again while I fuck you stupid.”
“It’s yours!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure spilling down your cheeks. “It’s yours, Jude– only yours– fuck!”
He let out a wrecked moan and leaned over you, chest pressed to your back as he fucked you even deeper, one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place while his other hand reached down to rub your clit again in tight, fast circles.
“Come for me,” he ordered, rough and desperate. “Come on my cock like the good little slut you are for me. Let me feel you. Scream my fucking name when you do.”
You shattered hard, screaming his name as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching violently around him. Jude fucked you through it, hips never stopping, groaning loudly as your climax milked him.
“Fuck– that’s my girl. So good. So fucking good for me,” he panted, voice breaking with pleasure. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna come so deep inside you. You’re gonna take every drop, yeah?”
“Yes– please, Jude– please come inside me,” you begged weakly, still shaking from your orgasm.
With a final, deep thrust and a loud, broken moan of your name, Jude came hard, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering with the force of it. He kept grinding through it, like he couldn’t bear to stop, whispering filthy praise against your ear the whole time.
When he finally stilled, he stayed buried deep inside you, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped tightly around you as he pressed soft, reverent kisses along your shoulder.
“God… I fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice shaky.
“I love you too baby,” you manage to get out, body feeling limp and hazy with the come down.
The switch happened so quickly you could barely keep up. The anger drained out of him at once, probably with his orgasm, you’d tease him later when you spoke about it. All Jude felt when he heard your soft voice was exhaustion and a sudden wave of nauseating worry. He carefully pulled out, a soft hiss escaping both of you, and immediately turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. His hands were gentle now, too gentle, as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice cracking. His eyes were wide, searching your face desperately. He was so expressive with his face, eyebrows furrowing in the sweetest way. “Baby, tell me the truth. Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to– fuck, I was so angry and I just… I needed you so bad.”
You shook your head, still catching your breath, but he was already looking you over, hands sliding down your body with careful tenderness. He turned you slightly, eyes scanning your hips, your ass, the places he’d gripped hard.
“Shit… there’s marks,” he whispered, sounding devastated as his fingers traced the faint red imprints of his hands on your hips and the light handprint on your ass. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be that rough. This time it wasn’t just…it wasn’t just dominance or playing. I was actually angry and I took it out on you and I–”
“Jude,” you said softly, cupping his face to stop his spiral. He looked up and met your eyes, bottom lip between his teeth with worry. “I’m okay. I wanted it. I wanted you. You didn’t hurt me. You’ve been more rough before, you’ve left marks on me before. Don’t worry. You’re okay…I'm okay..”
He still looked torn, eyes glassy again but this time with guilt instead of rage. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it was almost crushing, burying his face in your neck like he could hide from what he’d just done.
“I know I’ve been rough with you before,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice shaking. “But that’s always been… playing. Power play and acting and shit. This time it was real. I was actually angry and frustrated and I took it out on your body and I– fuck, I’m scared I hurt you because I couldn’t control it. I never want you to feel like you have to take my bad days. I’d never hurt you just because I’m upset or angry. You’re the one person who makes everything better and I just used you like that and I feel sick about it.”
You stroked his back slowly, pressing soft kisses to his temple and the side of his head.
“Jude, listen to me,” you whispered. “I wanted it. I wanted all of you – the anger, the need, everything. You didn’t use me. You let me be there for you in any way I could. And I’m okay. I promise. You know I like it when you act like that.”
He made a small, upset sound and held you even tighter, legs tangling with yours as he pulled you fully on top of him. His hands roamed gently over your body now, soothingly checking every place he’d been rough, pressing soft kisses wherever his fingers found faint marks.
“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering between kisses. “I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”
You kept holding him, fingers running through his hair, letting him cling to you until the guilt slowly started to ease and he could finally breathe again. He eventually settled with his face buried back in your neck, breathing you in like you were oxygen, one hand still gently rubbing your hip where he’d gripped you earlier.
“Stay like this,” he murmured. “Don’t let go. Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, you’re okay Jude.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, finally relaxing completely in your arms. "I love you more," he whispered, voice slurring with sleep. "M'sorry baby..."
He was still feeling bad about how rough he was. In reality, you think it could've been the best sex you'd ever had. You were going to tell him that, but the change in his breathing told you he'd already fallen asleep. You press one last gentle kiss to his forehead, "there's nothing to be sorry for, my love."
tags: @chabelitalace @thesizzler @hvnsinureyes @harryskissies (let me know if u want to be added/removed from the taglist)
guys this was filthy af i'm sorry HAHAHAHA apparently he makes me feral idk
──── ❝ jude x model celebcrush! reader ❞ ⌞ 644 wc⌝
synopsis ⪩ Jude embarrassed himself admitting his celebrity crush on the newest rising star and hot topic in the model industry - you. What he didn’t expect is to encounter feelings of reciprocation at their game against Norway.
warnings. . none
──── ──── part 1 part 2────
Charming, cool, composed - that’s how Jude was viewed in his fanbase and even beyond that. And that was true for the most parts, not just some gimmick held up for the public by his PR team. He was a gentleman thoroughly and it showed in the support he gained across various social media platforms.
He always appeared mature and well spoken; even for his relatively young age he maintained a son-in-law image over the years.
That was also the image that you had in mind since you were introduced to him in the Euros 2020. Back then your career didn't start yet and except for a few modeling jobs in your home town you were pretty much a nobody. But that changed drastically.
After your first few national wide campaigns you were soon discovered and ended up in the fashion capitals on the runway and as a brand ambassador for various luxury brands - it all worked out.
You’ve taken the fashion industry by storm and are now a very recognizable name. And that‘s exactly how you ended up here - in the grand stands of the football match between Norway and England invited by Adidas. And thats when you saw a certain someone warming up on the field.
Since you had to be in Miami for a shoot with a clothing brand anyways you decided this was a good opportunity for a little break. Though, you would be lying if you claimed this as the only reason. A very amusing video featuring England’s superstar going viral right now certainly aroused your interest as well.
★
„So Jude, continue, what‘s the next essential in your bag?“ the girl from British Vogue behind the camera said after he took the first few items out of his Luis Vuitton bag. He shot a quick smile into the camera and then continued with the YouTube video.
„So for the next item I picked this moisturizer. Cause I‘ve got quite dry skin so it’s really nice to just have this on me whereever I go.“ he paused for a little showing the tube into the camera.
„I‘ve also heard they‘ve got a new ambassador right?“
„Oh yeah that’s right.“ the voice from the faceless girl could be heard again, mentioning your name.
„ She actually signed about three new brand deals this year, quite impressive if you ask me.“
„Three? Thats actually crazy work. But with that face...“ the last part came out a little quieter and less directed at the camera. As if the statement was only meant to be heard by him, followed by a subtle blush on his cheeks.
That's right when the clip segment ended and the video was cut to Jude showing the next essential of him. And if you weren't paying much attention to the video either you wouldn't have noticed it any further.
But the internet did. And within the first hour the video was online the moment got clipped; uploaded hundreds of times on Tik Tok and Instagram and instantly got viral.
The comments reached from jealousy and shipping you two to even people suggesting you're already dating in private. And after a few days of circulating online, the whirlwind surrounding it reached you.
In the middle of a shoot, which was only meant to be a quick Tik Tok break, turned into a deep dive into the Englishman and all of the attention disrupting his normally well collected appearance online.
Football wasn't the usual content appearing on your for-you page either but seeing your name in the hashtag made you curious. So you stayed. And you were glad you did.
So after a well spent amount of time online you were all filled in on this little crush regarding Englands matchmaker. It was safe to say that this also might have been a reason why you showed up at the match in the end.
★
a/n: this lowkey screams for a part two (in the making)
(I do not own any characters/ pictures except for the oc in this story)
The apartment door had barely clicked shut before you were running.
Jude had only managed to kick off one boot when you jumped into his arms. He caught you instinctively, holding you steady as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Whoa—“ he laughed, stumbling back a step. “Hi.”
Instead of answering, you grabbed his face and showered him with kisses—on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his chin. Finally, you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. He laughed into it, holding you tight so you wouldn't slip.
“I missed you too,” he mumbled.
“You were incredible,” you said.
“I know,” he replied with a smug shrug.
you pulled back just enough to narrow your eyes at him, “wow and so humble about it”
“It’s one of my best qualities” he grinned.
You rolled your eyes, smiling, as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I still can’t believe that goal. It was amazing.”
His grin grew wider. “Oh!” he said, like he’d almost forgotten. “Did you see that?”
“Jude, baby, the whole world saw it.”
“I know, but did you?” He bounced you slightly in his arms, his excitement bubbling over.
You laughed. “Yes! Of course I saw it.”
“Good, because that one was for you.”
Your heart swelled. You reached up, cupped his jaw, and pulled him in for a slow, deep kiss. He let out a low happy groan, shifting one hand to the back of your neck while keeping the other firm on your waist, pulling you flush against him.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, resting your foreheads together.
“I couldn’t wait to get home,” he admitted.
“oh yeah?” you said softly.
he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “yeah, all I could think about was getting back to you.”
Your heart fluttered. You leaned in for another gentle kiss, and when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours once more.
“I love you,” he whispered.
You smiled so brightly it made him grin, too. “I love you more.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
author’s note: today’s win was so surreal! here’s a cute one shot as a gift :o!!
