... jude helps you get ready for midsummer
꥟ synopsis jude accompanies you home for midsummer (noc kupały / ivan kupala / līgo / midsommar). before heading down to the bonfires, he sits in your childhood bedroom, learning how to braid your hair and weave a flower crown.
pairing: jude bellingham x eastern european!reader(afab) genre: fluff word count: 2.5k
“If I pull your hair, you have to promise not to yell at me,” Jude warned, his large hands awkwardly hovering over your head like he was handling fragile glassware.
You snorted. “Jude, it’s just hair. It’s three strands over each other. You handle a football in front of eighty thousand people every weekend, I think you can manage a braid.”
“Yeah, well, the ball doesn’t slip through my fingers every three seconds,” he grumbled softly.
You looked at him through the mirror of your vanity and giggled. He was sitting on the wooden chair pulled up right behind you, his brows knit together in intense concentration, his lips pouted slightly as his dark fingers carefully tried to section the top half of your hair into two separate parts. The sheer contrast of him — a towering 190-centimeter athlete looking utterly defeated by two woven plaits meant to sweep back into a crown — made your chest swell with warmth.
He looked adorable, honestly. Since Midsummer was all about staying up until dawn, gathering around the bonfire, singing, and eating traditional food, you both were taking your time getting ready before stepping out into the golden evening air. Jude was already wearing his crisp, loose-fitting linen shirt with subtle traditional embroidery along the collar, paired with simple trousers. Seeing your culture’s traditional style on his tall frame felt surreal — a little funny to see him out of his usual designer gear, but deeply, impossibly cute.
On the bed right beside him lay his heavy wreath of dark green oak leaves. Your dad had bought it for him at the morning market, proudly explaining that while women wore woven flower crowns, men were crowned with oak leaves to symbolize strength and endurance. Jude had been wearing the oak crown around the house all afternoon like a proud golden retriever, preening every time your family complimented him.
When you’d first told him back in Madrid that you were flying home for Midsummer, you hadn't expected him to pay much attention. You’d offered to go alone so he could rest during the off-season, but Jude had immediately cut you off, insisting on coming along. He genuinely wanted to learn the traditions, eat the pungent caraway cheese, drink the local beer, jump over the fires, and celebrate where you came from. The fact that he was here, fully embracing your world without a single complaint, had touched a part of your heart you weren't prepared for.
His huff of frustration broke you out of your thoughts.
“A normal braid is fine, but this is like... two braids at an angle!” Jude groaned, his hands dropping to slump against your shoulders in defeat. “I don’t have enough fingers for this! Your hair is like silk, it just slides out!”
You laughed, turning your head back to look up at his pouting face up close. “If it’s that hard, I can just do it myself, you know. You don't have to stress.”
“No, no,” Jude snapped back quickly, his hands instantly hovering back over your head, defensively smoothing down a stray lock. “I’m doing it. I said I want to help you get ready, so I’m helping. Just... hold still and stop moving your head.”
You smiled softly, reaching up to lay your hands gently over his knuckles. “Okay, coach. Let me walk you through it.”
“Please,” he muttered, dropping his head for a second on your shoulder with a tired sigh that blew a soft puff of air over your ear.
“First of all, stop trying to use your whole hand,”you instructed, angling your eyes up to meet his in the glass. “You only need your fingertips for the top part. See this section on the left? Divide it into three, but keep the tension tight against my scalp. Don't let go of the middle strand.”
Jude stared intently into the mirror, nodding with absolute, deadly seriousness as if he were taking down tactical instructions from his manager.
“Now, every time you cross the outer strand over the middle, you just grab a tiny bit of extra hair from the side. That's what keeps it pinned back so my flower crown actually has something to rest on.”
“Easier said than done,” Jude grumbled, but his tongue poked out slightly between his teeth as he carefully pinched the strands between his long fingers, his breath slowing down as he concentrated. “Like this?”
“Perfect!”
Jude’s hands worked slowly, his thumbs gently brushing behind your ear every time he gathered a fresh section of hair. The delicate, feather-light touch sent a quiet shiver down your neck. He caught your eye in the mirror, a sudden, smug little grin breaking through his serious expression.
“Look at that,” he whispered near your ear, his knuckles lightly skimming your temple as he secured the first side with a tiny clear elastic band. “Told you I could do it. What's next?”
“Now you do the exact same thing on the right side,” you teased lightly, “and then you get to do the fun part and weave the tiny little accent braids that hang down over my shoulders.”
Jude looked at the fine sections of hair remaining, then up at his own hands, letting out a soft laugh. “You're trying to test my hand-eye coordination more than an entire season in Spain does, I swear.” But despite the complaint, his hands immediately settled back over your hair, softer and more careful than before.
Sitting there beneath the gentle rhythm of his touch, a sudden wave of emotion washed over you. It was almost overwhelming. The affection suddenly pressed hard against your ribs.
Here was one of the most famous athletes in the world, a man who spent his life under intense public pressure, sitting on a creaky wooden chair in your childhood bedroom, his shoulders hunched over just so he could carefully braid your hair for a pagan holiday he’d barely known existed before he met you.
Your chest felt almost too small to hold how much you loved him in that moment. You had to bite the inside of your cheek just to keep your eyes from watering in the mirror, watching the genuine care in his eyes every time he smoothed down a stray strand.
“All done,” Jude announced softly a few minutes later, stepping back to admire his work with an unashamed grin of triumph. He adjusted the final tiny elastic, handing you the small wooden hand mirror from the vanity so you could check the back.
The braids weren't perfectly symmetrical — one side was a little tighter than the other — but they were neat, secure, and most importantly made with so much love that you thought it was the best hairstyle you’d ever had.
“Jude... it actually looks amazing,” you whispered, turning around in the chair to look up at him. “Thank you.”
He preened under the praise, tossing his head back slightly with a proud little smirk.
Before he could pull away, you reached out, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face against the soft linen over his stomach. Jude let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer until he was bracketed between your knees. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close while his fingers gently idly played with the soft ends of the braids he’d just finished, his thumb brushing behind your ear.
He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss right to the crown of your head, smelling the sweet meadow scent of your shampoo. “You're welcome, my love,” he murmured against your hair. “Now, go put your dress on so we can finish the look. I want to see the whole thing.”
“Give me two minutes,” you smiled, kissing his jaw before standing up to grab your traditional embroidered linen dress and heading into the bathroom to change.
When you stepped back out, adjusting the ties at your wrists, Jude was waiting by the window, bathed in the honey-colored light of the late afternoon sun. He turned around, his eyes softening instantly as he took you in.
“Wow,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “You look... incredible.”
“Not complete yet,” you smiled, walking over to the large wooden tray resting on the mattress.
On it lay a fresh, fragrant pile of wild daisies, cornflowers, clover, and long meadow grasses that your mom had gathered earlier that morning. Jude came closer and stared down at the stems in utter confusion, eyes wide.
“Wait,” Jude looked up, gesturing to the pile. “You don't buy the flower crowns pre-made?”
You giggled, sitting down on the bed and pulling the tray closer into your lap. “Nope. Men's oak crowns are bought at the market because oak branches are way too stiff to weave at home, and honestly, my dad is too lazy to do it anyway. But women’s crowns are tradition. You’re supposed to pick wild blooms and weave them yourself. That’s part of the magic on Midsummer.”
Jude looked at the wild blooms, then at you, a determined glint immediately returning to his eyes as he sat down cross-legged right beside you, his long leg pressing warm against yours.
Before you could even pick up the first stem, he reached over to grab his heavy oak leaf crown and plopped it right back onto his head.
“Okay, now i’m ready,” Jude announced, adjusting the oak leaves with a serious nod that made you giggle. “Show me how to do it. I helped with the hair, I'm not backing out now.”
You couldn't help the affectionate giggle that escaped you at the sight of him sitting there in full forest-king mode. “Alright, master weaver. It's actually easier than the hair, I promise.”
You picked up a long, flexible blade of sweetgrass and a thick white daisy, holding them up so he could see. “You start by making a loop with the grass to anchor the base. Then, you take your first bloom, lay the stem right alongside the base, and wrap a second stem around the back to lock it in place. Like a knot.”
Jude leaned in so close his shoulder pressed against yours, his oak crown lightly brushing your temple as he watched your fingers. He picked up a bright blue cornflower, trying to mimic the motion with his long fingers.
“Like this? Loop it around the stem... and pull tight?”
“Not too tight, or you'll snap the stem,” you warned softly, guiding his wrist. “Just enough tension to bind the blossoms together. Every time you add a new flower, you overlap the stems so the chain keeps growing.”
Jude went dead silent, his tongue poking out slightly between his lips as he concentrated. He carefully laid a white daisy next to his cornflower, wrapping the stem around with extreme precision. When he successfully bound it into the loop without snapping the delicate green stalk, he held the tiny two-flower chain up to your face to show you like a proud kid.
“Look at that. Structural integrity.”
“Impressive,” you teased, grabbing a cluster of yellow clover to add to the chain. “Only about forty more flowers to go.”
Together, four hands working in tandem over the wooden tray, the ring gradually grew into a lush, vibrant crown of wild summer colors. Jude got into the rhythm, picking out specific flowers to alternate the colors — a stem of blue cornflower, a head of yellow clover, a sprig of green fern — working with the same meticulous care he’d used on your hair.
“Finished,” Jude breathed, carefully lifting the flower crown with both hands. He looked at you, his eyes softening as he held it over your head. “Ready?”
“Ready,” you whispered.
He gently lowered the crown onto your head, resting it right against the sturdy braid structure he’d crafted earlier. His hands lingered against your cheeks, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he took you in — the white linen, the wild blooms, and the hair he’d braided himself.
“I made you look like a queen,” Jude murmured softly, his voice thick with a warmth that went straight to your chest.
He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips that tasted like sweet summer air. When he pulled back, he took your hand and pulled you up from the bed, leading you over to stand in front of the full-length vanity mirror.
Seeing the two of you reflected together — Jude towering behind you in his crisp linen shirt and oak leaf crown, his hands resting on your hips, while you stood framed by wild meadow flowers and his carefully crafted braids — was too much. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, your eyes shimmered with tears.
Jude caught your expression in the glass instantly. His brows knit together in concern, and he spun you around in his arms, cupping your face. “Hey... baby, don't cry. What’s wrong? Did a stem poke you?”
“No,” you sniffled, letting out a watery laugh as you wiped a tear before it could spill onto your cheek. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his collarbone. “Nothing is wrong. I just... you're the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to me, Jude. You came all the way here, let my dad buy you oak leaves, wore it the whole day, and spent an hour braiding my hair... I just love you so much.”
Jude let out a breathy laugh against your temple, his arms tightening securely around your waist as he lifted you an inch off your feet, rocking you gently side to side.
“Of course I did,” he whispered into your hair, kissing the side of your neck. “I want to be part of your world. All of it.”
When he set you back down, he straightened his shirt, his usual confident grin returning as he adjusted his oak crown in the mirror. He flexed his broad arms playfully.
“How do I look? Powerful?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Extremely powerful,” you giggled, wiping the rest of the warmth from your eyes and reaching for your phone on the bedside table. “Come here. We need proof of this before we head down.”
Jude wrapped a warm arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head — careful not to crush the flowers — while holding up his free hand in a peace sign. You lifted the camera, snapping a few quick photos.
In the reflection on the screen, surrounded by flowers, oak leaves, and linen, Jude looked completely in his element — leaning down to press a kiss against your temple right as the shutter clicked.
“Okay, forest king,” you smiled, locking your phone as a loud call of laughter echoed from the backyard downstairs. “My mom just shouted so it’s time to go take family photos before we head to the bonfire.”
Jude grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers securely through yours with a bright smile. “Lead the way.”
a/n: idk about yall but was legit SOBBING while writing this
btw feel free to send me more jude requests bc there is a little drought and i want to write more for jude!
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
the ledger of sins
