Save me? - J. Bellingham x reader
Summary: after the GlobeSoccer awards, you find yourself being chased by Paparazzi, and end up leaving with something you didn’t come with.
A/n: visit my masterlist for more!!
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The Globe soccer awards dwindle in attendance as the night comes to a close, an evening of boredom but occasional awe falls behind you. Literally, while you walk away from the theatre-like award hall, and head in the direction of the Ladies toilets.
You’d come on your own, having been in Dubai for a bit of relaxation away from the hustle and bustle of your home.
You smile politely at people exiting the lavish building as you head in the opposite direction, having to contain a sliver of inner fangirl as some of your favourite footballers walk past you.
It takes you a few minutes to find the bathroom, the signs conveniently covered up by directions to bars dotted around as opposed to their original purpose.
You push the door open to find the most extravagant looking bathroom you’ve ever seen in your life. The expanse of it almost bigger than the whole bottom floor of your house (and you’re quite successful so your house is not small). Large, black, velvet sofas stretch out against the sides with gold detailing in an intricate floral pattern, the mirror stretching the expanse of wall above the sinks had little lights around the side cascading a warm gold hue, complimenting the dimly lit room beautifully. It was magnificent.
You went into one of the stalls and checked your phone, only having notifications from your agent instructing you who to network with. Oops…probably should’ve checked that earlier, you think with a grimace.
Once done, you unlock the door and head over to the sinks, washing your hands and making sure to make good use of the heavily perfumed hand soap and lotion before reaching into your handbag to touch up your lipliner.
Once happy with your appearance, you run your hands over your dress, smoothing it out and checking it in the mirror. Satisfied, you begin to head out and back into the labyrinth of hallways.
Everyone must have been in a hurry to leave, as the once overpopulated building now laid barren and desolate.
This suited you quite nicely, of course, savouring the peace and quiet as your feet scream at you for wearing your heels for too long.
You only get a few metres along the hallway, your heels sinking tenderly into the soft carpeted floor, before you hear someone attempt to talk to you.
It’s a waiter, his pristine suit and a white apron tied from the waist down giving it away. He’s looking at you with slightly panicked eyes and his hands make what looks to be a camera shape. He’s speaking to you, but in a language you don’t understand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand?” You say, feeling somewhat helpless.
He continues speaking but your cluelessness has no avail.
“Okay. Well, have a good night. Sorry again” you say, awkwardly shuffling away as his attempts to communicate with you slow.
He waves at you with a defeated look on his face, but you can still sense some nerves from his posture.
You head towards the doors that were previously home to attendees flooding out, only to find them closed with the little windows boarded up with pieces of…card?
The two men at the door turn to look at you as they hear you approach.
“Sorry Miss, we can’t let you out this way” one of them says.
Your shoulders slump slightly, knowing the other exit is on the complete other side of the building.
“Please” you sigh “my feet are killing me, and I didn’t even want to be here in the first place, I’m exhausted and this thing lasted hours longer than I was anticipating” you try to keep the begging out of your voice but don’t succeed.
They look at each other, before the other one turns to look at you. “If you’re sure?”
“Why would I not be sure, what’s going on?” You ask.
“Well, there’s-” the same guy starts before the one that spoke to you first interrupts him, sounding entirely uninterested, “just open the doors.”
Your brows furrow at the uncertainty on the other’s face before the doors swing open and your face is assaulted by a flurry of camera flashes.
Your brain doesn’t compute what’s going on as voices shout out:
“That’s not Ronaldo” a deep voice calls from behind a camera.
The cameras holt their flashing for a moment, allowing you some time to breathe. But not for long.
“Wait, that’s y/n y/l/n!” Another voice calls, and then the cameras begin their second assault.
“bollocks” you mutter under your breath before you’re running down the hallway, attempting to flee the bombardment, ignoring the pain in your feet at every step.
“They lied! Ronaldo must be on the other side” a pap calls out and you sigh in relief as you turn the first corner of the hallway, thinking they must be leaving you alone to go and find him.
But you’re wrong, as whilst the numbers have dwindled, a crowd of paparazzi come barrelling down the hallway you’ve just run through, in pursuit of you.
So much for the door guards…
You waste no time before sprinting again, as fast as you can in your shoes, towards the bathrooms again. They’re all men, they can’t follow you in there.
You manage to put a few metres between you and the photographers, them thankfully not having the stamina of a professional athlete, giving you the upper hand.
Just as you reach the entrance to the award hall, a figure walks out.
You don’t have time to compute before you’re smashing into them, their hard chest taking the breath out of you. But you can’t stop to look, you have to keep running.
“Y/n? What?” You recognise the voice as Jude Bellingham.
You halt in your tracks for a moment before turning round and grabbing his hand before pulling him with you, forcing him to start sprinting too.
You’d met a few times doing some shoots for Adidas campaigns, so whilst your conversations were brief, you were familiar with him and so you felt you owed him the loyalty of saving him from the paparazzi.
“Keep running, trust me” you say as you turn your head to the side to see his face looking entirely confused as he easily matches your pace.
He looks over his shoulder to see the large crowd of paparazzi that he somehow hadn’t noticed as he was leaving the award hall.
“Oh dear” he says before increasing his pace, slightly dragging you behind, your hand still in his.
“I thought you were supposed to be fast” he teases, and you glare at him. How is he joking in these circumstances…
“Wear a pair of heels in your next match, then come find me and tell me if they help your speed” you bite back.
He begins to laugh but immediately stops as you yank him sideways into the women’s bathroom, finally arriving at the place you were silently begging for.
You let go of his hand, allowing him to slightly stumble into the room as you press your back against the door. You press a finger to your lips, gesturing for the man to be quiet as you listen.
“Did y/n just bring Jude Bellingham into the bathroom with her” you hear one voice say as the camera shutters finally cease.
“That will make a headline, I’m happy to go now” you hear another one say before all the shuffling outside the door stops.
You stand in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the two of you catching your breath.
Your face scrunches up as one of your palms rests on your forehead.
“You’re welcome for saving you” you say after what feels like a minute.
“Saving me? You’ve just caused a PR nightmare for me to wake up to tomorrow” he says, his face painting annoyance but his tone lets you know he’s just teasing.
“A notch in Jude Bellinghams belt.” You try out the title, “How everyone woman wishes to be described” you laugh and he does too.
“Could be worse, Modric was right behind me. At least this is age appropriate” he jests as he flops his lean body onto one of the sofas you were admiring earlier.
“Are you assuming I like dating men my own age, Bellingham?” You squint your eyes at him, your voice full of sarcasm.
“Oh no, by all means go for a 39 year old man” the smirk on his face causing your stomach flip, a feeling you’re used to whenever you speak to him at shoots, albeit it only short conversations.
You laugh, a sound his smile widens at as you walk over to the mirror, fixing your hair after the events of the last five minutes have displaced some strands.
“I believe congratulations are in order” you say as you look at him, your gaze meeting his in the mirror, “where are your two awards anyway?”
“My mum took them back to our hotel, she left as she was tired but I stayed for a drink with a mate” he replies, moving to a sitting position, leaning back on the sofa, arms spread over the back and legs apart.
God he’s attractive…for a man-spreader, of course.
“So you didn’t take a 39 year old date with you?” You smirk as you turn to look at him, pushing yourself up onto the counter next to the sinks and crossing a leg over the other.
“Nah, not my type” he shrugs with a smirk mirroring yours.
“But thank you, for your congratulations” he starts before his face turns in confusion, “what are you doing here anyway, these awards are just for male footballers. Are you someone’s date?” He asks with a slight edge to his voice, making you tilt your head to the side.
“Was that jealousy I heard there” you raise a brow.
“Who am I going to talk to during long campaign shoots if your whisked away by a boyfriend on set with you?” He jokes, pouting his bottom lip.
You giggle, “I’m here because I was holidaying here anyway and so my agent thought it would be a good ‘networking’ opportunity. You know, show my face at an award show that’s got big stars like you in attendance.”
“Do you need networking? You’re quite a household name in women’s football, are you not?” He says with a smile.
“Different audience in men’s versus women’s football i guess?” You shrug, tiredness weighing on you.
“Fair enough. Don’t think your agent is going to be happy with the kind of press you’ll come out with after the newspapers are published tomorrow” he sighs.
“You’d be surprised. He actually suggested I fake date this Swedish model just to get my name recognised outside of England” you laugh, a slight edge of bitterness in your voice.
“What?!” Jude barks out a laugh, throwing his head back as a smile grows on your face.
“Yep. Only got out of it by saying I was ill and didn’t want to infect the guy” you admit, not having told anyone that before.
“You need a new agent” he tsks, shaking his head.
“Trust me, I’m working on it” you say, looking around the room. Your eyes light up when you see something to your left.
A gasp leaves your lips causing Jude to look at you.
You push yourself off the counter, and head over to the little table near the entrance of the bathroom.
A metal bucket filled with chilled water, no doubt melted ice, and an unopened bottle of very expensive looking champagne with a few glasses on the side.
You pick up the metal tray the items lay on before taking it over to the sofa where Jude moves to create space for you.
“What on earth is that in here for?” He asks, his voice filled with joy.
“I guess it’s promotional?” You answer, reading the label.
He nods and picks up two glasses, holding them out to you, “we might as well, probably safe to hide in here for a while and let the paps disperse.”
“Are you really going to make me pop the bottle?” You sigh, to which he nods.
You go to take the cork out the top, somewhat succeeding apart from the fact to cork flies out of your hands and into the ceiling, leaving a tiny dent.
“Oh my god” you say, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it.
Jude begins cackling, “and that is why I wanted you to open it”
You shake your head before filling up the glasses, he hands one to you after you put the bottle back into the metal bucket.
“Cheers to your awards” you say, smiling at him as you hold your glass up for him to cheers.
He does so with a nod in thanks, before you both take a sip.
Your gaze snaps to his, the liquid resting in your mouth. His eyes meet yours, before swallowing it with a grimace.
“God that’s awful” he proclaims, his mouth open in disgust.
You swallow as you stare at him, having almost spat yours out at the look on his face.
“Yeah, there was always going to be a reason the bottle was unopened” you say in regret, your expression matching his.
You stare at him for a moment before linking your arm holding your glass, with his.
“Down the hatch?” You ask, and he nods, the both of you emptying the contents of the glass into your mouths, your arms intertwined.
You shake your head as you finish the last drop, “vile, so so vile” you say.
“Agreed. But it’s free alcohol” he proposes with an eyebrow raise.
“As if you need anything to be free” you tease him, and he smirks.
“What can I say?” He teases and you push your tongue into the side of your cheek.
“You can say ‘thanks for saving me’?” You suggest with a laugh and he nods sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, thanks so much for saving me. So glad I ended up stuck in the women’s bathroom drinking champagne that tastes like it’s from the toilet” he mocks with a smile as he pours another glass.
“You’re welcome!” You match his tone before taking his arm and knocking back another glass.
“So, how’ve you been since I last saw you?” He asks, his full attention on you.
“I’ve been good. Christmas was nice, saw all of my family. Scored lots of goals in recent matches, as per” you smirk.
“Yeah? I’ve been watching a few of your matches actually. Only really watched the England matches before but since we met, I’ve watched a few league games too. I get what all the fuss is about now” he says, taking a sip from his freshly filled glass.
“Yeah people tend to overlook women’s football, but it’s actually not bad” you reply.
“Not the fuss about football” he starts, “the fuss about you”
His gaze is intense as he looks for a reaction, “I don’t get awards for nothing, Bellingham. I’m actually very good” you say, drinking out of your own glass.
“Yeah, you are. But don’t tell me you don’t know you’re all over tiktok with teenage boys obsessing over you” he says with a raised brow.
“Ah, you’ve seen the edits” you laugh, and he nods. “Guess that makes two of us with an avid fan base on tiktok.”
“So you’ve seen the edits of me then?” He asks, his voice full of humour.
“Don’t go thinking I searched for them, they just pop up occasionally” you weakly defend yourself.
“On your for you page. Which is made for you. Based on what you’ve liked and viewed in the past?” He teases, the biggest and handsomist smirk you’ve ever seen on his face.
“If you’ve seen mine, then you’ve stitched yourself up too” you poke back at him and he holds his hands up.
“You’ve got me” he sighs.
“But yeah, I’m not blind, maybe I do like the edits I’ve seen” you say, the alcohol loosening your lips.
“Makes two of us” he shoots back just as easily, seeming unphased at the admission.
“Where’s this all coming from?” You ask, not shy at all, feeling perfectly comfortable with the man sat beside you suited up in all his glory.
“Never had the chance to tell you. You’re a busy lady” he quips.
“Well, you could’ve followed me back on Instagram and send me a message” you turn to look at him.
“First, I didn’t know you followed me and I was too shy to follow you first. Second, I’ll do you one better” he says and you gesture for him to continue.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He taps on the screen for a few moments before holding his phone up to you, “smile.”
You do as he says as you hold your glass of champagne up and pose sweetly.
Your cheeks heat up at the way he’s looking at you through the screen before he passes his phone to you with a contact page open, your name and the picture waiting to have your number added.
You type your number in as you try desperately hard to act like this isn’t what you’ve wanted for months.
“Okay that is better” you say as you hand the phone back to him.
He presses the button, and your phone starts ringing from your handbag.
You raise a brow as if to say ‘really?’.
“What? Just got to make sure you aren’t lying to me” he bites back a smile.
“I’d never lie to you” you tease as you save his contact.
The two of you stay like that for what ends up being an hour, finishing the bottle and having a proper conversation like the both of you have desired since you first met, not the surface level chatter you have during shoots.
You’re both suitably drunk as he holds his hand out for you, helping you out of the taxi that’s now parked in front of the hotel.
“Wait a moment, please mate. Just going to walk her up to her room” he says, leaning back into the car to talk to the taxi driver once you’d gotten out.
Wordlessly, he takes off his suit jacket and wraps it around your shoulders as his hand finds the small of your back to guide you into the hotel.
You lead him to the elevator, where you press your floor number and wait for the door to close.
Once it’s closed, you lean into his chest, resting your head on the hard surface you’d crashed into earlier.
He smiles softly and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
You inhale the smell of his expensive cologne and allow your eyes to flutter shut for a moment.
“Y/n” Jude whispers your name, making you pull away from him and look up at him.
“You’re beautiful” he murmurs, his lips against your forehead as he pulls you back to him.
“Thank you, Jude. You’re jaw droppingly gorgeous” you say and a deep laugh rumbles through his chest.
“Okay I was going to say those exact words but I thought I’d better play it cool” he jests and it’s your turn to laugh now, looking up so your faces fall only a few centimetres away from each other.
You can’t hold back any longer, you go to move your lips close to his, but before you can, his soft lips are on yours.
It takes you a moment to process but you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss, allowing him to explore you in a way he’d been wanting to for months.
You’re in a peaceful bliss, until the elevator door opens, having reached your floor.
You don’t care to pull away, and nor does Jude, until you hear the all too familiar shutter of a camera.
You jump away from him as the both of you turn to look in the direction of the sound, to see a lone photographer looking like he’s just stumbled upon a goldmine.
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