sypnosis. You and Jude had been dating for five months now. Even after all that time, you had decided to keep your relationship private. No one knew the two of you were together.
That stayed true until you filmed your What's In My Bag? video with Vogue. Everything was going as planned—until Jude decided to do something cheeky.
contents. secret relationship
warnings. none
jude’s masterlist - part 2
“Sorry I can’t drop you off today. Here’s a coffee to make it up to you. Good luck with your Vogue filming! I love you.”
You smiled as you read the note attached to your coffee. You could recognize your boyfriend’s handwriting right away.
He was supposed to drop you off today, but an urgent meeting came up, and he had no choice but to attend it and have another to drive for you instead.
You took a sip of the coffee, and a smile spread across your face. It tasted exactly the way you liked to make it yourself. Jude had done an amazing job.
Today, you were filming a video with Vogue, where you would be showing your everyday and work bag.
You decided not to pack or organize them beforehand. You wanted everything to feel natural and real. Besides, you already knew what was inside—they were your personal and work bag, after all.
You picked up the bag from the table and headed to the Vogue studio.
As soon as you arrived, the staff quickly got you ready. They worked on your hair and makeup before helping you change into a more polished outfit, a cream-colored vintage Chanel suit your stylist had chosen for you.
Just as the final touches were being done, your phone buzzed with a notification.
You glanced at the screen and smiled when you saw the familiar nickname.
Your boyfriend.
Did you drink the coffee I prepared? Sorry if it was bad
A smile appeared on your lips.
I did, it was good
You did a great job copying how I make it 👏
Really?
That was just my first attempt
I’m so good at this
Don’t get too ahead of yourself
That could be just first time luck
Watch out love
Never underestimate my capabilities
You couldn't help but laugh, catching the attention of the makeup artist you had started to get along with.
"Is something funny?" she asked with a smile.
She tried to peek at your phone, but you quickly lowered it out of her sight.
You couldn't blame her for being curious.
After all, no one, except your closest friends and family, knew that you were dating anyone, let alone England footballer Jude Bellingham.
The two of you had been together for five months now, and everything had been going well.
The people who knew about your relationship often asked why you still hadn't gone public.
Your answer was always the same.
"We're just waiting for the right time."
And it was the truth.
Both you and Jude were at the peak of your careers. Your schedules were packed, and there were times when you were separated by countries because of your work and his matches and training.
You hadn't even been able to watch one of his games in person.
Instead, you cheered him on through a screen whenever you had the chance, never missing an opportunity to support him, even from miles away.
Sometimes, though, you couldn't help but feel guilty.
You wished you could be there in the stands, watching him play, cheering as loudly as everyone else, wearing his team's jersey with "Bellingham" across the back.
Maybe one day, when the timing was finally right, you would be.
Jude, on the other hand, was always understanding.
He never made you feel guilty about missing his games. Before every match, he would always text and ask if you were going to watch.
When you said yes, he would simply reply with a smile and tell you that was more than enough.
But deep down, you knew he wished you could be there.
Still, that wasn't the only reason you kept your relationship private.
You were scared.
Scared of what people might say, especially his fans.
You had only dated two people in your life.
Your last relationship had ended badly.
Some of your ex's fans accepted you, but most of them didn't. You received endless hate, cruel comments, and even threats just because you were dating their “man”.
It went on for three years.
You tried your best to ignore it, but eventually it became too much. Choosing your own peace, you ended the relationship.
You chose yourself.
Jude knew all of it.
He knew everything you had gone through, which was why he never rushed you.
It had taken him an entire year to convince you to go on your first date with him, and even longer before you finally said yes to being his girlfriend.
He had been patient through every step.
And even now, he respected your decision to keep your relationship private.
Until you were ready.
“Uhm— no one!”
The make-up artist, Celine, just stared at you suspiciously but didn’t push you further.
The camera starts rolling as you sit comfortablyon a couch in the middle of the studio, a coffee table in front of you. Behind you, a large glasswindow looks out over the city skyline.
"Hi, Vogue! I'm Y/N L/N, and today I'm going toshow you what's in my bag."
You reach down and pick up the bag sittingbeside you, placing it on your lap.
"So, this is my Birkin 35," you say, holding up the taupe-gray bag for the camera. "This is basically my work bag and my everyday bag. I feel like you've probably seen me carrying it a million times.
You smile.
"I'm not really someone who changes bags very often, especially my work bag. There's just way too much stuff in here, and I honestly can't bebothered moving everything into a different bag."
With a small laugh, you undo the straps that was barely holding the bag close and slowly open the bag, tilting it toward the camera to reveal how full it is.
"As you can see... it's packed."
You shake your head, laughing at yourself.
"I hope Jane Birkin would be proud of me."
Picking up the first item, you hold up a small black leather notebook.
"So, first up is my work journal. It's nothing too exciting, honestly. It's mostly filled with myschedule, meeting notes, random phone numbers, and things I need to remember."
You laugh.
"It was actually supposed to be a journal. I really did try, okay? But I just couldn't stick with it. Writing down my feelings doesn't really work for me. I prefer talking things out."
Setting the notebook aside, you pull out your iPad.
"Next is my iPad. I bring this with me almost every day because I use it for work, too. But wheneverI'm in the car, stuck in traffic, or on a flight, I use it to watch my favorite shows and movies."
You smile at the camera.
"My current obsession is House of the Dragon. If you haven't watched it yet, you definitely should. I love it."
"Next, I have this little makeup bag. It's just for touch-ups."
You hold up a small baby pink makeup pouchbefore unzipping it.
"First is my YSL Butter Balm. This is my favorite balm ever. I use it every day, everywhere, all the time."
One by one, you take out the rest of yourmakeup.
"I've got a Rhode blush, a lip liner, a few makeup brushes, my eyelash curler, lip gloss, powder, and a little hairbrush. Just the basics."
You put everything back into the pouch and tossit into your bag.
"Moving on!"
You glance inside your bag before laughing.
"Okay... please don't judge me for this, but I have a ridiculous collection of AirPods."
You open your hand, and the camera zooms in.
There are five AirPods cases resting on your palm.
A few members of the crew let out surprisedlaughs, their expressions matching the camera operator's disbelief.
Four of the cases are covered in stickers andsparkling gems, while one is completely plain.
"I own four of these," you say confidently, not even bothering to count them. "I use them all the time, and the extras are just backups. If one dies, I can grab another one. I honestly can't livewithout music."
"...There's five."
Someone behind the camera speaks up, making you stop mid-sentence.
Five?
You frown and look down at your hand.
Sure enough... there are five.
A confused look crosses your face as you count them again.
"Wait..."
Then your eyes land on the plain case.
From a distance, it looks completely ordinary. But up close, there's a tiny sticker on the front with two small letters.
J.B.
Jude's initials.
For a second, you simply stare at it.
You knew exactly whose it was.
You were the one who had stuck those tiny letters onto the case so Jude would know which pair was his.
Oh, no.
A hundred thoughts ran through your mind at once.
Did he accidentally leave it in my bag? You couldn't remember seeing it this morning.
He couldn't have put it there on purpose. Jude used his AirPods all the time—there was no way he'd willingly leave them behind.
The problem wasn't really much about how many AirPods there are on your bag.
The problem was that everyone watching would wonder why your bag had someone else's AirPods in it.
Because no one knew they belonged to your boyfriend.
Not yet.
You quickly turned the case over in your hand, hiding the tiny "J.B." sticker with your thumb.
"Oh!" you said with a nervous laugh. "I think these are my manager's. They must've left them in my bag."
The studio went strangely quiet.
A few crew members exchanged quick glances before looking back at you.
"...Right," someone replied.
A couple of people nodded, pretending to believe the explanation.
You smiled back, hoping it looked convincing.
Judging by the silence in the room...
It definitely wasn't.
You keep the bag raid going, pulling things outone by one, hoping it distracts everyone from thealmost-slip about your relationship just a few moments ago.
It was an accident.
Jude had just left it in your bag.
That's what you keep telling yourself, even as a tiny bit of doubt starts to creep in.
You get a little too caught up in showingeverything inside, reaching in without thinking. Then your fingers wrap around somethingfamiliar.
A bracelet.
Not just any bracelet—a very obvious men's bracelet.
One that belongs to none other than your boyfriend.
"And a bracelet!" you say with a bright smile, holding it up for the camera like it's just another random thing in your bag. You let out a small laugh, trying your best to hide the nervousness slowly settling in as you realize exactly whose bracelet you're holding.
By the time you reached the very bottom of your bag, you thought the bracelet would be the last surprise.
You were wrong.
Your hand brushed against something flat, and when you pulled it out just enough to see the white border, your heart nearly stopped.
A Polaroid.
It was the photo of you and Jude from your trip to Greece.
The two of you stood overlooking the sea, you smiling brightly at the camera while he looked down at you instead, his eyes full of nothing but love.
It was Jude's favorite photo of the two of you.
For a second, you considered pretending it wasn't there. It wasn't like anyone knew there was still something left in your bag.
Unfortunately, everyone noticed the way your expression changed.
"What is it?"
"Uh..." You slowly pulled the photo out, letting out a quiet sigh. "It's a Polaroid."
"It's me and... a special someone."
You held it up for the camera, carefully covering the face beside you with your thumb.
The room immediately filled with gasps.
"This is definitely not how I planned on revealing that."
You weren't ready to tell the world about your relationship.
Especially not like this.
By the time filming wrapped, everyone was packing up for the day. Crew members chatted excitedly as they cleared the set while you gathered your things, ready to head home.
"Oh my God!" one of the staff members exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "I had no idea you were already taken!"
You laughed sheepishly.
"I was waiting for the right time."
It had become your answer for everything today.
"Well, it's about time!"
Another crew member smiled before adding, "Now we're all wondering who this special guy is. You covered his face."
At least you had remembered to do that.
On the drive home, your manager glanced over at you with a reassuring smile.
"Look on the bright side. Nobody knows who it is yet."
"Yeah," you sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Thankfully."
A beat of silence passed before you groaned.
"I still don't understand how all of his stuff ended up in my bag."
You shook your head, replaying the whole day.
"I don't even remember putting that Polaroid in there. It was supposed to be stuck to our fridge with the magnet."
Your manager stayed quiet for a moment before finally speaking.
"I think you need to ask Jude about that."
You paused.
She was right.
There was only one person who could explain how his AirPods and bracelet—and somehow his favorite Polaroid—had ended up in your bag.
Jude himself.
“I still can’t believe you used me to cover up that AirPods,” your manager laughed which only earn her an embarrassing groan.
author’s note. continuation will be on part 2! also credits to the owner of the dividers/borders used above! I unfortunately forgot to take note of the user, my apologies! Will look for it and tag next time i find their acc again xoxo
Can you please write fluff on the “i forgot to pay the rent” trend on Jude Bellingham?
RENT DUE - ju. bellingham
inwhich! you try the “i forgot to pay the rent” trend on jude, knowing that you’ve never paid rent, touched any bills, or paid for outings whenever you’re with jude.
frannytalks! jude was kind of annoying me during vs. dr congo just now 😪😪 but i hope you like thisss, i tried my best, i think this is the trend you were talking about? i’m sorry if it’s not, i couldn’t find any in my native language for reference! don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!
jude was sitting at the kitchen island answering messages when you saw the trend on your phone. you curled your legs beneath yourself on the couch as a grin slowly spread across your face.
immediately, you knew he was the perfect victim. you looked over toward him mischievously, you already knew exactly how this would end, because despite living together, jude had never once let you pay for anything.
the first time you’d offered, jude had looked genuinely offended. he stood in the living room holding his wallet while staring at you in disbelief.
“why would you pay rent?” he asked as though you’d suggested selling the furniture.
the second time, he transferred the money back into your account before you’d even finished talking. he sat beside you with the most stubborn expression imaginable.
the third time, he’d kissed your forehead and said, “absolutely not, sweetheart, nice try though.”
you casually propped your phone against the fruit bowl. you adjusted the angle to make sure jude wasn’t suspicious.
he remained completely unaware. he hummed softly while pouring coffee into two mugs.
“jude?” you spoke carefully, trying not to laugh.
he turned around immediately. his expression softened the second he heard your voice, “yeah, love?” he carried the mugs toward the island.
you swallowed and forced yourself to stay serious, “i need to tell you something.” you folded your hands together dramatically.
jude put both mugs down, his smile disappeared immediately, “what happened?” he asked quietly.
“i forgot to pay the rent this month.” you looked down at the counter.
his eyebrows knitted together, he stared at you, “what rent?” he asked slowly.
you kept your expression serious, your fingernails dug into your palm to stop yourself from laughing, “our rent.” you answered back softly.
jude looked at the ceiling, he seemed to be replaying several years of memories of you not paying the rent, or anything at all.
“baby.” he spoke with patience in his voice.
you nodded slowly, giving him puppy eyes.
“you don’t pay rent.” he said carefully.
you shrugged, “i know, but i forgot this month.” you replied.
the coffee in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. his lips parted slightly, “forgot?” he repeated.
you nodded again, “to pay?” he continued.
then, it finally hit jude and he let out a loud laugh, “what are you talking about?” he managed between laughs.
you tried maintaining character, “i’ll make it up next month.” you said seriously.
jude bent forward, he covered his face with one hand,“next month?” he repeated.
you nodded and he looked at you like you were the most ridiculous person alive. his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“with whose money?” he asked.
you opened your mouth, then stopped midway, nothing coming out.
jude laughed again, he shook his head in disbelief, “you have lived with me for over a year.” he pointed at you.
you remained silent, still trying your hardest not to laugh or even smile.
“you’ve contributed exactly zero pounds toward rent.” he smiled.
you gasped dramatically, “that’s not true.” you defended yourself.
jude folded his arms, a growing smirk spreading across his face, “oh?” he challenged.
“i bring emotional support.” you answered immediately, “a lot.”
“yeah, that’s true.” he nodded thoughtfully, “and apparently financial stress too.” he added, joking.
you burst into laughter at the last comment, jude squinted his eyes immediately, curious about your odd behavior.
“wait.” he glanced around the kitchen, then his gaze landed on the phone.
“are you recording me?” he pointed accusingly.
you couldn’t breathe from laughing, trying to grab the phone before he did. jude walked over and grabbed the it before you could.
“you’re evil.” he shook his head dramatically.
“it’s a trend!” you defended yourself, throwing your hands up, “you looked so concerned.” you giggled.
“because you said you needed to tell me something!” he protested, crossing his arms.
his expression softened almost immediately. the annoyance lasted two seconds. then, a he stepped between your knees and wrapped both arms around your waist, his forehead rested against yours.
“for the record,” he spoke quietly, “if you ever actually tried paying rent, i’d send the money straight back.”
you smiled, rolling your eyes slightly, “why?” you asked.
“because i take care of you.” he shrugged lightly, his hands squeezed your sides. “your responsibilities are being funny, stealing my clothes, and enjoying life with no worries.” he counted on his fingers.
you laughed softly, “that’s a full-time job.” you argued.
“exactly.” he kissed your forehead, “your money is your money, my money is our money.”
your grin widened, “fine, fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “can i have a kiss?” you asked, looking up, pouting.
he immediately placed a kiss on your lips, “how could i say no to you, princess?” jude said, holding your head in his hands.
i just saw jude’s photo dump from cannes so my mind immediately went to boat sex with jude. could i request a fic with you both going on vacation and you basically have sex in the boat?💗
Don't forget my Patreon is now available for $3; don't miss your chance to catch up on all the exclusive content!
morning tide
Masterlist
Sorry to Anon for taking so long with this. Been dealing with a massive case of writer's block. Kinda short but hope you like it!
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — A quiet anniversary morning aboard a yacht.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x reader
𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.5k
Warnings! NSFW / SMUT (18+), explicit sexual content, gentle dom!Jude, established relationship, anniversary sex, This chapter contains mature themes and explicit content intended for readers 18+.
The Mediterranean sun hasn’t even breached the horizon yet, but the heat radiating from the body pressed against your back is enough to make you forget the early morning chill.
You wake slowly, dragged from the depths of sleep by the sensation of lips tracing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The yacht rocks gently beneath you, a rhythmic, soothing sway that contrasts sharply with the intent in Jude’s hands.
He is spooned behind you, one heavy arm thrown possessively over your waist, tugging you to him until there isn’t a single millimeter of space left between your bodies. You sigh, a soft, contented sound that seems to encourage him, and his hand begins to wander. It starts innocently enough, his fingers splaying wide against your stomach, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your ribs, but you know him better than that. You know the way his breathing hitches just slightly when you arch back into him.
"Happy anniversary," he rasps against your neck, his voice thick with sleep and that deep, gravelly cadence that never fails to pool heat low in your belly.
You turn your head to find him already watching you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark in the dim light of the cabin. He looks devastating like this, defenses completely down. He leans in to capture your lips, and it’s a slow, lazy burn of a kiss. His hand slips lower, sensually bypassing the curve of your waist.
"Jude," you whine against his mouth, your naked body arching instinctively into his touch.
"Hmm?" he hums, but he doesn't stop. His fingers explore you with a deliberate, languid pace, as if he has nowhere else to be in the world but right here, tangled in these sheets with you.
You wince as his large palm cups you, his fingers pressing through the slick evidence of your arousal, proving he isn’t the only one who woke up ready. He groans low in his throat, a vibration you feel all the way down your spine, and the sound is purely territorial.
"Already so wet for me," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his accent thickening around the syllables.
"I'm sore," you whisper, though your body betrays you, your hips rocking instinctively to meet the rhythm of his hand.
"I know, baby, I know," he coos, pressing a kiss to your temple, but he doesn't let up. Instead, he shifts his weight, maneuvering you until you’re flat on your back and he can hover over you. The sheets pool around your waists, leaving your chest exposed to the cool, conditioned air. His eyes drag over you, dark and hungry, taking in the mark he left on your collarbone last night.
His knee nudges your thighs apart, settling firmly between them. You groan as his weight settles, a deliciously painful pressure that reminds you exactly why your muscles are protesting this morning.
"Sorry, baby," he murmurs, though the curve of his lips suggests he isn't sorry at all. He dips his head, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the stinging mark on your collarbone, his tongue soothing the ache before he bites down gently again. "got a bit carried away last night. Couldn't help myself."
You thread your fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. The truth is, you love seeing him like this—uninhibited, focused entirely on you. The golden boy of football, usually so composed under the stadium lights, is completely unraveled in your arms.
"You're insatiable," you breathe, watching as he begins to trail kisses down the center of your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your racing heart.
"Only for you," he counters immediately. He doesn't even look up, too intent on his path south, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Can't help it when you look like this. Woke up hard just looking at you."
The confession sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, banishing the lingering ache in your muscles. Your hands slide from his hair down to his broad shoulders, your fingers tracing the familiar topography of his back. You feel the tightness of the muscles there, the result of endless training sessions, but your thumb catches on something else—smooth, raised skin.
You drag your fingertips over the scar on his left shoulder, a now permanent reminder of the sacrifice he makes for the game he loves.
He tenses for a fraction of a second under your touch, a reflex he can’t quite shake, before melting into your caress. He lifts his head from where he was worshipping the skin of your stomach, and his eyes find yours.
The morning light catches the chocolate of his eyes, turning them molten as he stares down at you, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it came. He captures your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips to press a lingering kiss to the pads, his gaze never leaving yours.
"I love you, baby," he murmurs against your skin, the words slightly muffled against your fingertips before he releases your hand.
The intensity in his gaze shifts, the dark clouds of desire parting to reveal the sheer, unadulterated adoration that always manages to make your breath hitch. He doesn't give you a chance to respond; instead, he slides back down your body, his broad hands gripping your hips to pin you to the mattress.
His mouth finds the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you gasp, your hands flying back to the sheets to fist the expensive cotton.
He takes his time, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there, teasing you. You can feel the stubble on his jaw scratching against you, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.
"Stop teasing, Jude," you plead, your voice breathy and thin, desperation clawing at your throat. "Please."
He looks up from between your thighs, his chin resting against your skin, a smirk playing on his lips, equal parts arrogant and affectionate. "Patience," he chides softly, though the way his grip tightens on your hips betrays his own waning control. "It's our anniversary, love. Let me love on you."
With that, he finally grants you what you’ve been begging for.
The first drag of his tongue against your clit is slow and torturous, stealing the air from your lungs. Your back bows off the mattress, a broken cry falling from your lips as your hands automatically clench the sheets.
You crave more, your hips lifting in a silent, desperate plea, so you tell him. "Jude, please… need more."
But he just shakes his head in a smug, predatory kind of way, muttering a "Patience, baby" as he lays gentle, wet kisses against your pussy lips, driving you wild.
You look down the length of your body, meeting his gaze as he watches you with heavy lids. He likes this—likes seeing you come undone for him, likes knowing that he's the only one who can make you feel this way.
"Baby, please," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair again, tugging sharply to get your point across. "Stop teasing me. I need you inside. Now."
He groans against your skin and pulls back, his face glistening slightly, and the look in his eyes is feral. He knows you’re at your limit.
"Alright, alright," he mutters, pushing himself up the bed. He doesn't bother with gentle finesse now; the need is too urgent. He settles between your thighs, the heavy weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.
He lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, and the motion makes you wince, still sensitive from the five-hour sex marathon he had you doing last night.
He notices immediately, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stills above you. "You okay?" he asks, brows twisting up in concern now, all his playful arrogance from earlier vanishing in an instant.
"Mmhmm," you hum, nodding quickly as you wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together at the base of his spine to pull him closer. You need him to fill the ache, to occupy every sense you have. "I want you. Don't stop."
He exhales a shaky breath, dipping his head to nuzzle his nose against yours, a gesture so tender it makes you melt. "You sure? I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm sure," you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Please, Jude."
That’s all the permission he needs. He starts to push forward, the stretch intense and overwhelming in the best way possible.
He takes it agonizingly slow, his jaw clenching with the heavenly sensation of your wetwarm gummy walls sucking him in. He stops every now and again, eyes locked on your face to make sure you're okay, waiting for you to adjust to his sheer size before he inches deeper.
It’s an exquisite kind of torture, the way he fills you so completely, stretching you until the dull ache morphs into a blinding pleasure that whites out your vision.
"Fuck," he grits out, his voice straining as he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against yours. "You feel incredible."
He drops his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged and hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds himself there, buried deep inside you, letting you both adjust to the overwhelming sensation of becoming one.
The silence stretches, filled only by the ragged sound of your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the ocean against the hull.
He stays perfectly still, but the effort it takes for him to remain motionless is evident in the lines of his shoulders. You feel his cock throb inside you, and your walls clench instinctively around him.
Jude groans low in his throat, the sound muffled as his head drops into your neck. "You keep doing that, and I’m not going to last," he warns, his voice strained.
"Can't help it," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper as you tilt your head to the side, exposing the column of your throat to him. "You feel so good."
He lets out a ragged laugh against your skin, "You're going to be the death of me, woman."
He starts to move then, withdrawing almost entirely before sliding back home in one fluid roll of his hips. It’s a stark contrast to the frantic urgency of last night; this morning, he’s taking his time, savoring you.
The rhythm he sets is a devastating; slow grinds that steals the breath from your lungs. He isn't fucking you so much as he is worshipping the very ground you walk on, pouring every ounce of his affection into the slide of his body against yours. Each stroke is deep and measured, designed to hit that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him as your hands roam desperately over the sweat-slicked expanse of his back, your fingernails digging into his shoulders, drowning yourself in him as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch.
"Look at me," he commands softly, though the gentleness of his tone betrays the authority in his words. He pulls back slightly, framing your face with one large hand, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "Want to see those eyes when I make love to you."
You force your eyes open, locking onto his getting lost in the gentle pools of his love. The yacht swaying on the water only adds to the romantic bubble you've built. The gentle rocking motions almost lulling you to sleep.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, ducking down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, swallowing the moan that spills from your throat. "Best year of my life, baby. You know that?"
"Knowing you makes it mine," you manage to choke out as the pressure coils low and tight in your belly. "I love you so much."
The confession seems to undo him. His rhythm stutters, that famous composure cracking completely as he buries his face in your neck again. He picks up the pace just enough, the slow, languid strokes turning sharper, more intent on dragging you over the edge with him.
"Come on, baby," he urges, his voice a rough, breathless whisper against your ear. His hand slides down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with ease to circle that bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. "Let me feel you. Give it to me."
The friction is exactly what you need, that tight coil in your belly snapping loose with violence. You cry out his name, your body arching off the mattress as the pleasure washes over you in waves, pulling you under. Your walls flutter around him, dragging a ragged groan from his throat.
"That’s it," he grits out, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own end. "Fuck, I love you."
He buries himself deep one last time, his hips flush against yours as he falls apart. You feel the heat of him spilling inside you, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.
The silence that follows is perfect, filled only with the ragged sounds of your breathing as you both come down from the high. Jude collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, but you don’t mind. In fact, you relish it.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, your fingers tracing the damp sheen of sweat on his skin. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your throat.
You stay like that for a long time, tangled in the sheets and in each other, neither of you willing to break apart just yet. It’s a quiet moment of pure intimacy, the kind that makes the rest of the world feel miles away—which, technically, it is.
Eventually, reality calls in the form of a grumbling stomach causing Jude to laugh against your neck.
"Quit it," you mumble, though you’re smiling, running a hand through his messy curls, damp at the roots from exertion.
He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before pushing himself up, rolling off you with a groan that’s half-pleasure, half-exhaustion. The loss of his warmth is immediate, and you shiver slightly, pulling the duvet up to cover your bare chest. He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face, looking beautifully debauched.
The morning light is fully spilled into the cabin now, illuminating the golden tone of his dark skin and the defined muscles of his back as he stretches his arms over his head. He looks like a greek statue, except for the lazy, satisfied grin he shoots you over his shoulder.
"Come on then," he says, standing up and unabashedly naked, padding across the room to grab his discarded briefs from the floor. He pulls them on, the fabric sitting low on his hips. "Let's get you fed before you waste away."
You laugh, the sound still raspy from sleep and screaming his name earlier, and force yourself out of the warm cocoon of the bed.
jude being absolutely obsessed with the girl he fucks 24/7 (aka you) , loving every inch of her even if she probably enjoys arguing with him more than having sex.
warnings : sex, toxic jude, cussing, pussy eating, over stimulation
not proofread!
jude puts his phone down with a thud, rubbing his tense eyebrows. obviously, he's not taking the loss well, why the fuck would you point that out?
always running your mouth. whatever, he's used to it. he kinda likes it, but he'll never admit that.
twenty minutes later, he hears his phone buzzing and he immediately picks up without even checking if its you, mumbling the room he's in.
after impatiently waiting on the king sized bed, the door finally opens and you walk in wearing shorts and one of his oversized shirts that you stole from him a couple of months ago.
jude gets up, walking over to you and kissing you. his lips smack against yours with some sense of urgency that only you can mimic.
"mm- slow down. i just got here." you try to speak, barely able to pull away before he stuffs his tongue into your mouth, making you moan in surprise.
"please, let me fuck you. im so hard, y/n. i need your pussy." he whines, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and nose.
you roll your eyes but nod in consent.
jude doesn't waste one millisecond, lifting you up and throwing you down on the plush bed, taking his shirt off right above you which makes you bite your lip.
theres nothing more you love than admiring judes body. he's toned, has abs and a big dick, and muscles. what more can a girl want?
you spread your legs teasingly, taking your time unbuttoning your shorts.
jude clearly doesn't find it nearly as funny aa you do, since he roughly grabs them and pulls them down your legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor.
"you're actually pissing me off." he grumbles, pulling your panties off to and leaning down, licking a strip up your already wet cunt.
"so? that's what im best at- ah!" you moan as his plump lips wrap around your pulsing clit, sucking as if his life depended on it.
you squirmed on the bed, unable to move due to his strong hands holding your thighs down. incoherent words and moans come out of your mouth due to how good and overwhelming his tongue is.
he eats your pussy out like a starved man, groaning at the taste and gripping you tighter when he feels your hips trying to move away from his face.
"don't run from me pretty, you taste so good." he practically moaned into your pussy, tongue licking against the gummy walls.
jude was clearly enjoying himself. not only was he moaning just like you, but he was basically humping the mattress.
"im gonna cummm! please please please don't stop-" you babble on and on continuously, pussy leaking straight into his mouth.
jude doesn't stop or slow down, instead he sucks on your clit again because he knows that makes you cum every time.
you immediately orgasm, gasping and closing your eyes shut in nothing but pure pleasure. "jude, fuck."
he continues eating you out to prolong the orgasm until you smack his head.
"im obsessed with your pussy." he smacks it softly, snickering at your legs closing on instinct.
"can i fuck you now?" he mumbles, sliding his shorts and boxers down.
you roll your eyes, clearly exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you 30 seconds ago.
"give me a minute, geez.. i don't have footballer stamina."
jude sighs but lays down next to you , watching as you try to slow your breathing and relax.
"okay.. im good. but im not doing any work, yeah?"
"fine with me. cmon, on your belly." he taps your waist, motioning for you to turn around.
you comply silently, lazily rolling around so your face is stuffed in the pillows, extremely close to falling asleep.
jude rolls on a condom before positioning himself behind you, spreading your ass cheeks and pressing his thick mushroom tip against your pussy.
"fuuck. you're so tight." he pushes in, making both of you moan at the delicious feeling.
once his cocks fully inside you, he starts thrusting. not slowly, not softly, but fast and rough. just the way he knows you love. his hips slam against your with a loud plap-plap-plap! , girthy dick hitting spots you didn't know existed.
"shiiittttt, jude!" you moan mindlessly into the pillow, mouth wide open in pleasure.
he groans in response, lifting your hips up so he can fuck his cock into you in a different angle.
"i love your pussy so fucking much, oh my god." he practically whines, eyebrows furred in pleasure as a thin layer of sweat forms on his beautiful skin.
after a couple minutes of nonstop fucking, jude feels your gummy walls clenching around him just enough to make his hips stutter, losing his rhythm.
"you gonna cum, pretty? can feel you- fuck, clenching around me. 's so tight."
you nod into the pillow desperately, turning your head to the side so you can speak clearly.
"im- im gonna cum. please. please let me cum?" you whimper, tears streaming down your face from how good everything feels , even if you were about to fall asleep 6 minutes ago.
judes thrusts turn even rougher (if possible), his breaths coming out hard and quick. "cum with me, pretty."
at his demand, you immediately start cumming all around his cock. moans turning into whines and pussy clenching impossibly tight as the knot unravels in your lower tummy.
he finishes right after you, moaning your name as his hips still, cumming into the condom.
jude collapses ontop of you, kissing your sweaty shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.
"that was.. really fucking good." he mumbles, kissing your neck, then ear.
you only nod in response, too tired to reply verbally. jude knows you're pleased though, noticing the small smile on your face even though your eyes are closed.
jude knows you two aren't exclusive , but sometimes it's nice to pretend otherwise.
ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ₊ ˚ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊
other parts here:
⭑in which, you and jude just can't seem to stay away from each other.
⭑contains, slightly suggestive content (MDNI), walking through entirety of the relationship, unhealthy relationship dynamics towards the end, lots of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, secret meet up, dry humping + makeout exes rekindling, happy ending
⭑a/n, long fic (8.5k+ words) - super angsty but has a happy ending! i also imagined the reader as kind of an olivia rodrigo-esque figure, the album holding a lot of similarities to you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love - similiar in the concept that the first half is really romantic and blisfull, and second half really heartbreaking :)
you were well aware of how it looked.
you were backsliding - you knew that. if your friends knew where you were going right now, they'd be disappointed. it didn't matter how much they liked jude, or how much they liked him for you. they had been there for the aftermath, picked up the broken pieces, took shifts on "watch" for you, making sure your mentality didn't turn dark in the depths of your despair.
they had sat with you in bed as you lay motionlessly, watching mindless reality tv, going back and forth between numbness to spontaneous sobs. they had brought and cooked you food, forced you to go outside when a few days wallowing turned into over a week, built up your confidence when it had crumbled.
to know you were risking that again...well, luckily they wouldn't know.
you knew how it looked, but it wasn't like that - not really.
you and jude broke up in early february of last year after almost a year and half of dating. a year and a half of blissful, raw, and unadulterated love.
you had met in september of 2024. you both were in paris - jude for a madrid v. paris game, you for the european branch of your world tour. the two of you had always joked and called it fate, divine intervention, that you had both been there.
after your show, and after his game, you had gone out with friends. post hopping between bars and your sobriety levels growing lower, the night led your group into a ambient and low-key jazz bar, where you just so happened to run into jude and his friends, who somehow knew a few of yours.
you didn't ask questions on the logistics, exactly, because as soon as you locked eyes with the madrid player, you were instantly taken.
the now combined group of footballers, singers, and stars took over a booth and a few table surrounding it, the volume of chatter maintaining low as to preserve the atmosphere. you and jude had naturally found yourself at a table at the corner of the group, sitting across from each other as the jazz band played soulfully from the corner of your eye.
"first time in paris?" jude had asked, eyes glinting as a candle flickered between you. the eye contact that he seemed to have no trouble maintaining was momentarily broken when a man came up to your table, dropping off the martini you had ordered earlier, as well as the vodka soda for the brit across from you.
you took a sip, maintaining your gaze, though you weren't fearless as him. you could feel your own cheeks heating - from the alcohol in your system or his relentless eyes, you weren't sure.
you shook your head softly as your lips pulled away from the glass, the vokda slipping warmly down your throat. "no, actually, i stopped here on my last two tours as well."
jude hummed, eyes dropping to his drink as he swirlled the glass in his hand. something about his demeanor was so magnetic to you. the clear, quiet confidence oozed from him as he leaned back in his chair, legs spread, wrists still resting on the table after putting down his drink.
"and what do you think?" he asked you, his accent thick as he looked back up to you, taking a sip from his own glass.
your friends had all faded to a buzz in the background - it was like you and jude were in your own little bubble, your own world. nothing could break you out of it.
your lips pulled up, your head tilting slightly. "i mean, its paris."
he chuckled smoothly, shrugging. "fair, yeah."
he leaned forward, hands clasping as his elbows rested on the table. "where're you from? forgot to ask you."
the smile couldn't seem to leave your lips. "new york," you answer, leaning forward a bit subconsciously. "but i moved to los angeles when i was, like, sixteen."
he hummed, his gaze attentive as his eyes ran over you. it was like he was trying to memorize you, but the dim lighting made it challenging. you didn't mind, though - having his attention like that was electrifying. "why's that?"
you propped your left elbow on the table, resting your chin into your palm as you answered. "that was when i started doing music. my first single hit the charts and my label moved me straight out of the city."
his eyebrows raised, a hint of both surprise and impressment rippling across his features as he leaned back again, arms crossing over his chest. your eyes dipped to the way the his biceps rippled at the movement, peaking out from the sleeves of his shirt ."yeah? thats mad, wow. and you were only sixteen?"
you nodded in response, your palm catching the heat in your cheeks. "mhm. it all happened really fast."
he blew out a breath of air. you tilted your head, lightly appraising him, brows tilting. "how about you? when'd you go, like professional, or whatever?"
you both let out breathy laughs at your clear lack of knowledge about his profession, but he didn't seem offended in the slightest, in fact, he seemed to find it endearing, almost. you supposed he must've been used to girls playing up their soccer - or football, or whatever - appreciations just to appease him. it might've been refreshing to talk to someone in a more real way.
"i was sixteen as well," his lips tilted up even further at the surprised expression on your face. "but i didn't join, like, the bigger leagues until a year later."
you hummed. "and when did you sign with madrid?"
"nineteen," he answered. "so, two years later."
you scrunched your nose a little. "so, it all kind of went fast for you too, right?" he regarded you with curiosity, eyes edging you to continue the thought. you shifted a bit before answering, the weight of his gaze heavier than you could handle. "well, i mean...i don't know a lot about it all, but i bet most people don't make it to the big leagues after - what, four years of playing professionally?"
he bit down on his bottom lip as he smiled, hesitating a moment before nodding. "yeah, no, thats true. guess it all was pretty speedy, yeah?"
his accents is so cute, you gushed in your head. you nodded, you chin leaving your palm as you placed your arm back on the table, eyes falling to the liquid in your glass as you wrapped your fingers around the stem, swirling around the liquid. your eyes found his again. "guess we have some things in common," you commented quietly - nothing outright or suggestive - it was throwing a shot in the dark, a feeler that you were both on the same page.
his tongue poked into his inner cheek as his lips tilted up, brows lowering as his eyes floated down to your throat. you lifted the glass to your lips, and his eyes found yours again. "guess so," he affirmed.
you squinted over at him a bit with a subtle smile. it was quiet for a moment. "i forgot to ask where you're from."
he sat up a bit. "place called stourbridge. its near birmingham."
you hummed softly. "never been."
his smile resembled a smirk, his eyes swirling with harmless mischief and a bit of a challenge. "maybe i'll take you someday."
from then on, it didn't seem like anything could tear the two of you apart. for the following months, the two of you took each break, each time either of you had a few days off to visit the other in whichever city they were in. jude came to a few of your shows, you came to a few of his matches, and when neither of you had anything to do, you spent the days wandering around different european cities and towns, or spending days in hotel room, getting to know each other in every way imaginable.
he asked you to be his girlfriend in october, and took you home to england for thanksgiving with his family in november.
to most, it seemed to be progressing fast, maybe even too fast. but with jude, you suddenly had an understanding of the famous saying thats comprehension initially escaped you - when you know, you know. and with jude, it seemed the two of you just knew.
after finishing tour in januaray, you spent the next eight months going back and forth between new york and wherever jude happened to be in europe.
in new york, you met up with friends and family, telling stories of your travels with your boyfriend, spent days at a time in the studio, working on your next album as you scribbled sickeningly-sweet lyrics into your notebook, each letter and word dripping with your affection for the dark-eyed footballer.
when you finally were reunited, you and jude couldn't be deterred. you watched his matches up in the stands with his family, quickly forming relationships with each member.
you and denise would hold hands during tough match moments, embrace and jump up and down when jude scored, take turns consoling him when his frustration towards the media or madrids increasing issues became overwhelming.
mark would help teach you about the game, patiently and kindly explaining what certain fouls and plays were as they took place. he grinned so big when you called it "football" for the first time at a family dinner in munich instead of soccer.
jobe you didn't see quite as often, given he was a player of his own for dortmund, but the two of you got along really well whenever you saw each other, taking turns teasing your boyfriend, which he took (mostly) on the chin.
jude had only been with your family a handful of times, but in august of that year when he had been out due to his shoulder injury, the two of you had flown out to the hamptons for you sisters wedding.
you spent a whole week of bliss together as your mother fawned over the boy, as your father took him out on the boat in a moment of bonding, and as your sister pulled you aside with that knowing look in her eyes after the ceremony, one that had your heart racing as you pictured yourself in a dress like that one day, and jude in a suit similar to your new brother in law. you clingged a bit harder to jude that night, connected your lips a bit more frequently. he regarded you with an amused, knowing look as you did this.
when you and jude were together...it was like the air around you had shifted. the constant result of friends teasing your lovesick nature, you and jude had never left the honeymoon stage. you had stayed in it, lived in it, and grew in it.
he first said he loved you in march, but his devotion was fully confirmed in july when you stood by him every step of the way through his recovery after surgery.
it was as if whever you were with him, you had been transported to some utopia, some world where everything was...perfect. because it really was.
until it wasn't.
in december of last year, your label began to pressure you to come to a closing on the record. you had admittedly been a bit slow, taking your time to develop the album as you lived in the moment with jude. they were understanding, especially for a star in your position and acclaim, but you were admittedly a bit eager to get back to work. you had missed being busy, and there was no busier time than an album rollout.
you and jude parted ways that month, jude continuing to train relentlessly and travel endlessly around the continent for matches, while you flew back home to new york, returning to the recording studio and the routine you once had.
you hadn't even realised you had missed it.
you didnt see jude for two months - two whole months.
you were busy, but you made time for phone calls and messages any time you could. the time difference made it difficult to sync up, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
when you flew back to madrid in early feburary, things had admittedly grown a bit strained between the two of you. it was almost like you were unsure of how to act around each other after so long apart.
hindsight, the distance that had grown between you two made sense - going from spending a year so constantly in each others lives, to not seeing each other for two months - it was a complete unknown for the two of you. it was the first real adversity you had faced together, and because you had never faced something to that level before, it carried a larger magnitude.
you began to get into little spats over seemingly nothing. you knew the issue was bigger - you knew that at the core of it, you were two kids in your early 20s with the weight of the world on your shoulders, with tremendous pressure from your careers, from your fans, from the world. you knew logistically, that it wasn't just realistic, but it was likely to happen to any couple under these conditions, that sometimes, love, no matter how deep it is, can't prevent cracks from forming.
but the two of you weren't supposed to be just any couple. you were supposed to be exempt. he was supposed to always be yours.
the resentment slowly built over the following month, and before you knew it, your relationship almost felt unrecognizable. it wasn't like you were fighting every second of every day, but when you did, neither of you could stop the sharp words from slipping, words shooting to kill in the depths of you frustration.
it was like clockwork - you would fight, jude would storm out and you would go about your night, pretending everything was normal as you made yourself dinner, leaving leftovers for jude absentmindedly. you didn't let your mind wander or dwell on the words earlier said as you showered, scrubbing your body until you were sure each and every spec of dirt was washed away, until your skin was red from the scalding heat of the water.
you would curl into bed, closing your eyes, even though you knew sleep wouldn't find you until you knew jude was home.
after a while of laying in the dark, you would hear the door shut. if you were home in madrid - funny, how madrid had become some sort of home, though you supposed anywhere jude was would cary that trait - it would take him a bit longer to find his way to the bed, but if you were away, you listened carefully as his shoes slid off once the hotel door close shut behind him. your body was stiff as you heard him carefully shrugging off his jacket, the sounds of his airpods case closing shut and being shoved somewhere in the room.
you had puzzled together that he when he would storm off, he must've gone to the gym or for a run, because each morning after as you woke up, shuffling into the bathroom, you took in the new active gear discarded in the corner that hadn't been there the night before. you weren't sure how he managed to get the clothes - if he had borrowed from a team member, if he had gone all the way to the training center to grab them from his locker. it stung every time you thought of it, thought of the extents he went to in those moments just to get away from you.
the sound of his slow footsteps towards the ensuit was next. his attempts at being quiet always did a funny thing to your thawing heart - you both knew that you weren't really asleep yet, but he played into the game of pretend, assumedly to preserve your ego.
the bathroom door closed after he enters, lights turned on, spilling below the cracks. then the sound of the shower turning on, water punching the tiles. five minutes. shower off. lights off, the door creaks open.
he steps slowly towards the bed. the noise of the gentle crunching of the carpet stops for a moment, almost as if he's hesitating. you wonder what goes through his mind in this split second - does he worry you don't want him there? does he not want to be in bed with you, is he still mad? does he consider knocking on one of the players door? he had done that the first time you two exploded, spending the night in vinis room. you didn't want him to do that ever again.
after the second is over, you feel the mattress dip, duvet shifting off then back on as he slips in, scooting towards you, arms wrapping around your waist. you felt it - the moment every muscle in his body relaxed, the quiet, almost shaky breath that hit your shoulder. you knew he felt how you seemed to melt into him too, releasing a shaky breath of your own.
he let your pretend to be asleep as he pressed feather-light kissed into your skin. they seemed to say what he couldn't in those moments - i'm sorry. i love you. i miss you.
you would wake up. turn in his arms - he was already awake. you would look at each other for around a minute. your lips would softly meet, slowly moving together, as if prolonging the moment. he would pull you in by your waist, holding you as close as possible. you would all but climb his body to press against him. it felt eager every time - needy, desperate.
the next few days would be strained. it would almost be back to normal by the time it repeated again. and then again.
you just wanted jude back - your jude.
it all ended after one fight - one fight. you don't even remember what it was about, but you remember it had all became meaningless as soon as the words, "i think we need to break up," had devastatingly left his lips.
whatever you were angry about didn't matter. it paled in comparison to your devotion for him. no, no you would work it out. you would.
you were going to argue, were going to fight for your bone deep love, for the source of your joy and full heart.
but then you took in the look on his face. the one of defeat, of pure grief. then you looked around - you were standing in his kitchen, you had been in the middle of making dinner together. a feeble attempt at romance, at bridging a gap that didn't seem to want to be bridged. the food was now cold, the red wine sitting by the stove must've been warm. the mood-lighting no longer reminded you of your star-aligned meeting in paris - no, the lights now burned your retinas, your head aching if you looked too long.
you looked back at jude. he saw it in your face too.
there was nothing left to do - it was over.
you don't really remember what happened next - you somehow travelled over to the living room, sitting on the couch, facing each other. the same couch you had watched movies on, same space where you had laid by the fire as you made love for the first time.
you remember how heavy his hoodie felt against your torso. you remember his hand coming up, thumb brushing under your eyes and coming away with a sheen of wetness - you don't remember starting to cry. you remember the glass coating his gaze, the way his hands didn't leave you as he spoke. you remember "i love you," you remember "there will never be anyone else, not like you. not like this." you don't remember which one of you said it.
you remember when you stood up - you remember how hard it was. it felt like every nerve in your body was pulling you back down, begging you stay. begging you not to walk out on the best things that ever happened to you.
you remember calling a cab to the airport - no, jude had called the cab. you sat on the curb, calling your mom. you remember landing home and collapsing into her arms. you remember you things arriving at your apartment a few day later.
and just like that - it was over.
you thought back to your first ever conversation with jude - you bitterly thought that fast did seem to be the two of yours thing.
the first half of march was spent as described earlier - your friends picking up the slack, loving you back to life.
by the middle of the month, you were by no means better, by no means cured, but you knew you had to get to work - you had an album to make.
the first half of the album was made between october 2024 and december 2025. the second half was written in the second half of march - roughly two weeks.
some would say it was unhealthy the way you threw yourself into your work - that you were using it as a coping method, and that you should've slowed down. the truth was, song writing was always therapeutic for you, a way to process your feelings. and you were going through a lot of really rapidly changing, and complex emotions that needed processing.
you released the first single in early april, then the album before the middle of the month even came around.
a friend spotted jude at a club with a model in london during the rollout. you pretended you hadn't heard that information, but that night you didn't sleep curled up with his hoodie for the first time since leaving madrid. it took up residence in the back of your closet, now.
his mom texted you once a week, timed out perfectly so it was 3pm in new york on fridays, no matter where she was in the world. she sent you a long paragraph after the album released, and you imagined her eyes tearing up with pride as she wrote it.
his dad sent you one message after the breakup, filled with his sorries that it didn't work out, that he had loved you and considered you his daughter, that you could come to him for anything you needed, anytime. you both knew that you wouldn't, but you appreciated the sentiment regardless.
it was jobes message, however, that had somehow tore at your chest the most. the shortest, yet most impactful, judes younger brother had simply written how much you made his brother smile. you read it repeatedly every night for the two weeks following the breakup.
the rollout was admittedly difficult - the feelings were still really fresh, and having to sit down for podcasts, magazine cover interviews, and radio station, going through each of the songs and their meanings, had proved to bring up a lot of things you had desperately tried to squash down.
it didn't help that the media, who already had been in a frenzy all throughout march as more and more information released about your "dramatic, heartbreaking, and gut-wrenching" breakup (coined by tmz, of course), was having a field day with the new content your album provided them.
you hardly went on your phone for months. you didn't need reminders of how blissfully in love the two of you had been, or see clips of him now, not an incredibly notable difference if you didn't know, but his eyes were definitely duller, lips more consistently downturned, more prone to frustration during matches then his usual level head. you didn't need to see anymore - you had made the mistake a few times too many.
you made appearances on talk shows, preformed at snl, announced your next tour. you kept moving, because life didn't stop just because you wanted it to. it kept going, and you had to keep going with it.
you went out with friends, let them try to set you up with guys, even though they never quite succeeded. the internet caught you at a bar with someone one time - nothing crazy, the two of you at a booth talking while your friends were elsewhere in the room. you forced yourself not to text judes friends when it had showed up on your feed, assuring them it was nothing, asking how he is, if he missed you as much as you missed him. you didn't, but you wanted to. you finger hovered over morgan rogers contact for twenty minutes the night that released.
by june, you were better. it still lived with you, but it didn't weigh you down they way it once had. you would sometimes go a whole day without thinking about him. you would lay up late the nights that realization happened, almost as if you were punishing yourself for forgetting him. it was futile - it wasn't like you really ever could.
but by mid-june, all of the sudden, you couldn't escape him. you went from never seeing him to seeing him everywhere - every bar you walked past on the street, he was on the screen. every time you looked out your apartments windows, you looked into the ones across from you, any tvs displaying the world cups matches.
you stayed far away from it - new york and jersey were hosting at metlife, and you preferred not to know when jude would be in the city.
it didn't help that he was having an insane run. eventually, you started watching in july after the england vs. dr congo game - it wasn't like you could escape it for much longer - like stated, he really was everywhere. your friends had all gathered in your apartment to watch with you, pretending not to glance over every now and then to gauge your reaction whenever he popped up on screen. you pretended you heart didn't jump each time he did.
you had sort of forgot how much you had grown to love the game - how much you had loved watching jude. he was just in his element on the field, unstoppable - now more than you had ever seen him.
jude scored against mexico in the 36th minute, and not 2 minutes later, scored again. you're friends had all jumped up in celebration as he had, while you stayed glued to your spot, watching the tv in awe. your lips tilted as the camera zoomed in on him after his second goal - he looked absolutely on fire. you couldn't help but be filled with pride. your jude, playing for his country for the second time, something he had extesniviely talked about throughout your relationship. it was surreal.
"of course he had a run like that the game you started watching," a friend teased, head shaking. "i bet you he somehow knew. he has a weird sixth you-sense."
you cried ugly tears when they beat norway the following match, jude scoring both of the two goals. what prompted the water works was watching his face as the crowd sung hey jude to him. you softly mouthed along to the words of the song you had once sung for him - teasingly in his kitchen, soothingly in bed after a long day or long game, proudly on tour in madrid in january of last year, one of your last stops, the crowd exploding at the borderline confirmation of your relationships. your eyes hadn't left where jude was in the crowd through the whole song. you grin had never been wider.
the tears were both immense pride, but also a gutting, selfish sadness that you weren't there with him to celebrate.
you were on the edge of your seat for entirety of the the argentina game. you felt judes despair to your bones when they lost, felt his disappointment and frustration as if it was your own.
when your company had left that night, your living room was too quiet. your phone almost seemed to buzz from the cushion beside you, beckoning you to pick it up and do the unthinkable.
you hardly hesitated as you grabbed it, drafting up a message. the only sign of emotion was the rapid thumping of your heart due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, otherwise, you were void.
hey jude. i know i probably shouldn't be reaching out, but i just want to say i'm so proud of you. i know that you must be feeling really disappointed right now, which is understandable, but i just need you to know how incredible you were out there this whole tournament. you've inspired so many people across the world, and given hope to the england fans again. don't beat yourself up. i hope you're taking care of yourself. i'm really really proud of you.
you hit send after checking it over once. you threw it to the other side of the couch, turning your attention to the tv, pretending you didn't care if he responded or not. pretending your chest wasn't heavy with anxiety at what you had just done.
you checked your phone two hours later.
judey🤍thank you. really. that means everything, especially from you. i'm crushed but i'm proud of the boys.
you're everywhere. i went out for coffee in new york when we were playing panama and your face was plastered on a billboard. i almost sent you a pic.
anyways, i'm trying to say i'm proud of you too. you're killing it.
take care of yourself, and thank you again. i'm glad you reached out. xx
⁴⁵ ᵐⁱⁿᵘᵗᵉˢ ᵃᵍᵒ
you read over his message 20 times. it made you think about if he had wanted to gush over his achievements when they happened, if he had also almost picked up the phone a million times to call throughout the last few weeks. if he had also wished you had been there as much as you wished you were. he had almost sent you a photo of the billboard, hadn't he?
you wondered if you should respond, but didn't. what else was there to say? it wasn't like the two of you could be friends, or that you really wanted to - you knew deep down that you could never be just his friend.
so was this it? was this what you were condemned to? a life of quietly loving and rooting each other on? your eyes traced over his final words - i'm glad you reached out - maybe a thousand times. i'm glad you reached out. i'm glad you reached out. i'm glad you reached out.
you watched the bronze final against france alone. jude was on the bench the first half of the game. the crowd roared as he walked back onto the field - he seemed lighter than he was after argentina.
you watched as he handed saka the ball for the penalty to complete his hat trick. you watched as jude made another goal in the last minutes of the game. you found out later that goal had crowned him the title of first england player to score seven goals during a world cup tournament. you fought off the urge once again to reach out.
so, back to the present: you haven't spoken since a few weeks ago when you briefly broke no-contact - until now.
you didn't have a good reason. you were in madrid for a shoot with vouge españa, only in the city that had once become a second home for a few days. the shoot was over, and you leave tomorrow night.
you sat on your hotel balcony, watching as the sun set. you downed half a bottle of wine.
you knew he must be back, training for the season. it was all you could think about on the flight over, and every time you left the hotel. on the way to the shoot today, you had driven past his street. you swallowed the emotion that suddenly climbed your throat - you didn't look to see if your initials were still carved into the pavement.
maybe thats why you couldn't help it. maybe being in the city that you had once shared with jude was too much for your fragile heart, the wine either inflating your bravery or lowering your inhibitions as you clicked on his contact, pressing the call button under his name, almost as if it was muscle memory. you press the phone to your ear as your bite your lip, looking out into the now dark sky.
he picks up after four rings. he says your name, tone laced with worry, and you feel your resolve crumble further. "is everything alright?"
hearing his voice for the first time in months did something funny to your heart - it twisted it up in the most warm, painful way, that made you want to crawl into bed and cry, and run into his arms all at the same time.
"um," you start lamely, swallowing. great start, you silently chide yourself. "i just..." you shake your head, closing your eyes. "i'm in madrid," you blurt out.
clearly you suck at calling your ex.
you hear him shift on the other side, followed by silence. "yeah?" he asks, warily, guarded, yet you could almost hear his resolve slipping as well.
you nod, forgetting he can't see you. you let out a breath, and it comes out shaky. "yeah, i'm...i'm here for work," you articulate slowly, trying to regain your composure. "and....and i just..."
you what? feel sorry for yourself? hate that you still can't seem to breath properly without him 5 months later? despise the part of you that stays stupidly loyal to him, forbidding yourself from even considering anthoher man?
you don't want to admit the truth to him, that you don't ever want to move on - you want to be miserably in love with him forever. thats the real, raw, bitter truth.
your press the hand not holding your phone to your chest, feeling the way your heart jumps out against it, your palm flattening, almost as if checking for any fractures. you come up empty handed, though you're not quite convinced.
you swallow. "jude, can i come over?" you knew how you sounded even as the words left your lips - something akin to a kicked puppy, or a child asking their parent for a treat past bedtime. you felt no shame in that moment - your desperation for his warmth far overshadowing any embarrassment.
it;s quiet on the other line once again. you count the seconds. 3,4,5,6-
"okay," he breaths out. "yeah. come over."
you don't have time to regret it. "is 20 minutes alright?" you ask. you had already timed the distance from your hotel to his house during a break in the shoot today, before the idea had even fully formed. twelve minute drive, thirty minute walk.
" yeah," he agrees. "see you."
"bye," you practically whisper, hanging up, instantly moving to call the car.
you didn't tell a soul as you slipped a hoodie over yourself, hood over your head as you inconspicuously travelled downstairs, sliding into the car and waiting the twelve minutes before arriving - the longest twelve minutes of your life, by the way.
when you get there, you quietly thank your driver, stepping out. your eyes are fixed on the front door as you hear him drive away.
you gather yourself, walking to his front door. you count to thrity before knocking.
the door opens about five seconds later. your eyes instantly land on his, watching as he takes you in - he looks worried, troubled, yet also hungry. the way he gazes over you, its almost as if he checking for injuries, for signs you were unwell - for signs you were different than you left him.
you feel bad that you worried him, because the truth is a lot more pathetic.
his eyes reach yours again. "hi," you say quietly, hating the way your chest trembles at the effort.
jude nods once, jaw clenched. "hey." he looks behind you, making sure no one is around, before stepping to the side, wordlessly allowing you to enter. you step through the entrance, mindlessly starting to kick off your shoes as you once had done so habitually. you catch yourself halfway through the action when you hear the door shut behind you.
you lower your head, stepping out of the second shoe, turning around to face him. for once, the two of you are bathed in silence. so many words to say, neither of you quite sure where to start - or if to start.
you watch his throat work as he swallows. "can, i, uh - get you something to drink?"
your chest clenches, well aware that the house that had once been a home, you were now a guest in. you nod softly. "water would be great."
he nods gently back, hesitating before turning to the kitchen. you take off your hoodie, leaving it with your shoes, taking the time to fold it before slowly walking in his direction.
as you make it to the kitchen counter, you look around. you're heavily aware that the last time you had been here...well, you had thought it would be the last time you would be here. it looked the exact same as you had left it. all the little touches you had added throughout your time together remained where they were.
he slides the glass across the counter, meeting your eyers. "couch?" he asks, nodding towards the direction of the living room. you nod quietly, letting him lead the way.
you sit with your legs folded in your lap, facing jude, glass discared half empty on the coffee table after you had taken one big sip. jude faces you, leaning against his hand that was propped up on the back of the sofa.
the two of you watch each other for a long minute. you let yourself take him in - when you find no visible changes, you almost sigh in relief. to be in his presence after months of trying to ignore his existence was intoxicating.
he's the first to break the silence, his words coming after a heavy breath leaves his lips. one that makes your stomach twists, because all of the sudden he sounds so much older and wiser, and it makes you wonder about all of the things you missed. 'what are you doing here?" he asks. his voice devoid of anger or judgement.
you look away, biting your lip. "i don't know," you admit quietly. you look down to your lap. "i know that...that i'm not supposed to be here. that i shouldn't have called," you look back up into his eyes, you gaze sincere. "and i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. this isn't...this isn't good that i'm here, but..."
the silence that follows your words allows him to speak. "don't...don't be sorry," he sighs, running his hand down his face. he shakes his head, looking intently back at you, lips tilting up almost ironically. "if i didn't wan't you here, i wouldn't have said yes."
your lips mirror his, eyes falling to your lap again. "still," you state firmly, meeting his eyes once more. "i was just...i was sitting in my hotel room, and i knew you had to be here, and i know how selfish this is and how much you must have going on with the season starting soon and just finishing the world cup and-" you shake your head, letting out a small laugh-like-scoff.
"i just...i couldn't stop thinking about how many times i've almost picked up the phone to call you this past month," you admit, vulnerability written across your features.
you watch the rise and fall of his chest, the solemity expressed in his eyes. he nods softly. "i know," he sighs. "i know. me too."
he shakes his head, laughing lightly. "god, you have no idea how many times i looked up into the stands, thinking you were there."
you feel another piece of your heart chip away at that. your eyes close in grief. "you have no idea how badly i wanted to be there," you utter out, looking back at him. "i wanted to be there for you, jude. so bad."
you're not sure what about your expression causes it, but he suddenly reaches forward, pulling you into his chest. you instantly melt, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck, the other around the middle of his back. one of his cradles the back of your head as the other snakes across your waist.
feeling him against you like this for the first time in months was like breathing clean air after so long surrounded by smoke. he still felt like home, still smelt and tasted like it, too.
you felt his head lift, pressing firm kisses on the top of yours. i love you, there will never be anyone else, not like you. not like this.
you pull away slightly, your foreheads meeting. "jude," you breath out, lips momentarily grazing his, sending shocks through your body.
he nods against you. "i know," he whispers back. your eyes both glance up to meet, and you watch as his trail down to your lips, nudging your nose with his.
the action had once been a playful tease, an early morning curled in bed with tired, sweet, close-lipped smiles, sun peeking through curtains, sheets twisted between legs. it makes you melt even now. "jude," you say again. "please."
he nods again, eyes not leaving your lips as he closes the distance. the kiss is slow - its desperate, and sensual, and thick with everything still unsaid.
he takes you further into his lap, your legs bracketing his hips as he twists so his back is now against the cushions. you count in your head how many other times you had been in this position - you loose count around april 2025 when his tongue slides past your lips, practically melting your brain cells.
his hands slip under you top, stretching across your back. you shiver at the skin-to-skin contact, arching further into him as your hands grip his toned shoulders. you let out a quiet, needy sound, and you feel him hum against you.
his lips are still so soft, still so gentle. they still fit perfectly with yours. his hands still travel the same path - up and down your back, snaking to grip your waist. you wonder what habits of yours that slip your mind he's noticed.
you start subconsciously moving against him, the feeling of his straining bulge against your clothed core sending shivers up your spine. he pulls away shakily. "fuck," he hisses, his head falling back against the back of the couch for a second.
you panick for a split second. is he already regretting it? does he want me to leave?
your fears are put to rest as he makes eye contact with you, his pupils blown wide. "bedroom?" he asks huskily.
you nod almost instantly, and you don't have it in you to find your eagerness embarrassing. his lips tilt up the slightest and he nods in response. before moving, his features grow slightly severe. "i'm not - we're not gonna do anything, i just want you to feel comfortable, yeah?"
you nod again, willing to take anything he'll give you. he pats your hip, signaling for you to get up. you stand to the side, letting him take your hand to guide you to the bedroom, as if you've never been before. the thought crosses your mind that he might've done this with another girl since you've broken up. you squash it instantly.
the lights are already off in his room by the time you get there. he closes the door behind him. you disconnect, walking over to your side of the bed, crawling under the covers. a few moments later he joins you.
you're instantly wrapped together again, your legs tucked between and under his as your lips meet again, pace mirroring the steady one from before.
after a few moments he pulls away, sitting up to discard of his shirt. jude was prone to getting warm, so it wasn't anything unusual. he lays back down, rolling to his side to face you once again. your hands trail down his toned chest as he meets your lips again.
his pointer and middle fingers dip into the waist band of your sweatpants, using it to urge you closer. you lips part as he does this, his fingers not moving once you followed his silent directions. they simply flip around, tracing the skin there, almost exploratory.
his lips pause once more, feeling the warmth of you skin beneath the fabric, edging against the lace of your panties. his eyes stay trained on his hands, whiles yours stay trained on him.
his lips accidentally brush yours once again, and he lets out a quiet noise of surprise and desire, before leaning back in with intention. you smile a bit at the happy accident, teeth briefly clashing against his.
"out of practice?" he whispered, laced with gentle amusement and no bite. he didn't move, though, in fact, lips tilting up to match yours. his hands slide out from beneath your wait band, snaking back under you tank top. you felt the roughness of his palms more closely than before, yet the warmth they carried.
the moment feels so domestic you could burst.
your smiles faded into something softer, less obvious, as your lips continued to meet almost lazily. his stubble lightly scratched against your chin. your hands reached down, fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants absentmindedly.
he pauses, forehead resting back against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you - really looked at you - up close. your hands don't leave their place on his sweatpants.
he leans a bit away, scooting up the head board just a smidge. one hand slips down to you waist, the other patting his stretched out thigh. "come here," he quietly instructs, voice soft and easy, yet intimate.
you're not sure why, but you pause. not out of hesitation, or of fear - you took a moment to simply admire the man in front of you. to simply appreciate and savor the moment, to allow yourself the bliss that you had found yourself back in his arms somehow.
his expression softened further. he reached up, brushing a strand of stray hair away from your forehead with the back of his knuckle. "c'mere, baby," he practically coaxed, the old endearment slipping out easily. the way he looked at you - with open, unguarded affection - it had so closely resembled the way he had once looked at you when everything had been so much easier.
you reach up and over to brace your elbows beside his head on the mattress, his other hand coming back to your waist to assist you over his lap to straddle him again. he begins to guide you to gently grind against him, the friction from just one slide enough to make your head spin. your lips are inches apart, softly grazing every few moments.
"fuck, babe," he curses, hips bucking up to meet yours. you hum, hands traveling from his chest to the nape of his neck/
you felt every rise and fall of his chest as he moved you over him, every time he hardened just a bit below you, every time the pleasure overwhelmed him, causing him to grip your hips. you wondered if it would bruise - you didn't care. you wanted to cary any evidence that tonight had happened
tell me its just me, that i'm it for you. tell you still love me. tell me you're mine. you wanted to chant these words against his lips, but refrained.
his lips reconnected with yours, picking back up the gentle rhythm from before. "alright?" he asked quietly against you, a hand coming up to your jaw.
you nod, nose brushing his as you grin softly. "mhm," you hum, biting down on your lip teasingly as you arch up a bit, gently pressing down harder against his lap. his eyes remained on yours as you do, and he lets out a quiet groan from deep in his chest.
his hand comes back down from you jaw to your hips again, giving a warning squeeze. "y'being trouble?" he murmured against you, an amused tilt to his words.
you shake your head, the glint not leaving your eyes. "just stretching," you reply back, repeating the motion.
"fuck," he softly cursed, letting out a breath of amusement, the type that wasn't really a laugh but carried the same ease as one.
"you're so..." he doesn't finish the thought, shaking his head to himself, simply settling for leaning back in, reconnecting your lips.
you spend the rest of the night tangled together, softly relearning each other, letting hands wander and tempos shift from soft and gentle to needy and heavy, then back to soft and gentle. you're not sure when you both finally fall asleep, but you know as your eyes rest, you feel at peace for the first time in months.
⭑⭑⭑
when you and jude both wake up the next morning, the air between you two is quiet. not the heavy quiet that would linger the mornings after fights, but the quiet that holds a hint of peace, and understanding.
you take your time to get up, allowing yourselves some more time to lounge in the others warmth. the sunlight woke you both up, given neither of you had bothered to close the curtain before falling to slumber last night, so it couldn't have been past six by the time you roused.
you shared a few more lazy, gentle kisses, before begrudgingly sliding out of bed. jude throws on a new shirt and offers you one of his to change into. you get dressed at the same time.
the quiet follows even as you both leave the house in the early morning light, walking down the street to the local coffee shop. the barista sees you both together for the first time since november. she doesn't comment.
since no one is there, you both sit in a seat by the window once you get your coffee. judes neighborhood is mostly quiet wealth, so you don't expect to be caught off guard, especially given how early it is in the morning. you start your coffees in silence.
judes the one to break that quiet, looking across at you thoughtfully. "last night it was...it shouldn't have happened." he watches as your face falls before quickly following up. "not - fuck - not in the way your thinking."
he sighs, running a hand over his face in frustration. "i just mean...we were together for a really long time," his face pinches painfully as he says this, as if even now, referring to your relationship as a past tense is difficult. "and we loved - love - each other a lot, yeah?"
you soften, then nod, throat working as you swallow.
"i..." he furrows his brows, eyes trained on his hands. he reaches over to cover yours across the table, and you flip them around so your palms meet, eyes also dropping. "we should've talked, first, is what i'm trying to say. we should've taken it slower."
"oh," you breath out, beginning to process his words. you swallow. "i don't...i don't regret it," you admit, almost nervously.
he shakes his head. "me either, swear," he assures, his eyes encouraging yours to meet again. he huffs under his breath. "shit, i'm sucking at explaining this."
you shake your head, hands gently squeezing his. "no, no you're not, promise. this is all just... it's just a lot," you softly promise, brows furrowing. "we have so much we still have to...i mean, i have so many things i want to say."
he nods instantly along. "same. fuck, same. theres so much, i..." he swallows, leaning forward even further. "i mean, fuck, babe, where do we even start?"
you let out a sniffely laugh, eyes starting to water. he takes one of his hands from yours, reaching out to cup your cheek. you instantly melt into him. he gives you a warm, slightly amused smile back, his thumb running under your eye
you let out a shaky breath, a hopeful glint in your own gaze mirrored across his. "maybe at the beginning?" you offer.
he lets out a breath through a smile, the sound holding a small bit of relief, of resolve. of that hope that seemed to dance in both of your eyes.
"yeah. lets start there."
you knew in that moment, that you would work it out. you knew that no time apart could rip you from this, could force your heart to concede its affection. no logic or distance or hurt could make you forget what this is, what it has the capability to be.
you knew that if you wanted it to, it would. and there was no one in the whole wide world that wanted this to work more than the two of you.
so you do exactly as you say - you talk. and you start right at the beginning.
