masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hi angels! i apologise for my absence but im back w another request hehehe. i LOVED this one it was so fun to write <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: jude has been winding you up all evening – stealing sauce from the pan, balancing the remote on your head, being his usual annoying and clingy self. when you finally snap and tell him to sit still, he goes quiet but obeys, you jokingly say “good boy.” except he doesn’t laugh. he likes it. by the time you’re both on the sofa with your hands around his throat, he’s asking you to take control properly.
warnings: explicit smut, MDNI, praise kink, light choking (non-breath play), submissive!jude exploring it for the first time, established relationship, soft dom!reader, explicit language, brief mentions of physical teasing/playfighting that turns sexual
wc: 3.1k!
The first time you ever took control in bed, it started with a joke.
You only meant it as a joke.
Jude had been pissing you off on purpose all evening. He’d come home from training like a ball of energy, as if he hadn’t been running around all afternoon. He dropped his bag in the hallway, and immediately found his way into the kitchen like a satellite orbiting the only thing that mattered to him as soon as you were in sight. You were at the stove, stirring the sauce you’d spent twenty minutes getting right, and suddenly he was right behind you. His chest against your back, chin hooked over your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.
“Smells good,” he murmured, already reaching past you.
You swatted his hand, already knowing exactly what he was going too. “Don’t.”
He did it anyway, like the toddler he sometimes acted like he was. Two fingers dipped straight into the pan, scooped up a taste, and disappeared into his mouth with a satisfied hum. You turned, wooden spoon still in hand, and stared at him.
“Jude! Be fucking for real… I don’t want your fingers in my sauce!”
“What?” He licked the residual sauce from his thumb, eyes bright with mischief that only ever came out when he was home and safe and decided you were his favourite toy to play with for the night. “I’m helping you! It’s just quality control, babe.”
“You’re being a child.”
“I’m being helpful.” He leaned in again, this time pressing a sticky kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You can’t be grumpy with me baby. Tell me you missed me.”
“Fuck off,” you huff, but you were smiling anyway.
The rest of the evening continued exactly like that.
He carried on doing tiny, deliberate little things he knew would wind you up, all of them wrapped in the soft, obsessive affection that meant you couldn’t actually be pissed off with him. While you plated the food he stole a piece of chicken straight off your fork with his teeth, grinning around it like he’d just won a game you didn’t know you were playing. At the table he kept “accidentally” knocking his knee against yours under the table, then pretending to be deeply offended when you kicked him back. He hummed an off-key version of whatever song had been stuck in his head at training, loud enough that you had to reach over and clap a hand over his mouth just to hear the telly. Every time you tried to scroll on your phone he would lean in, rest his chin on your shoulder, and ask what you were looking at even though he could clearly see the screen. When you got up to get water he followed, pressed you gently against the fridge, and kissed the side of your neck until you were laughing and shoving at his chest. He even tried the classic cold-feet-on-your-thighs move once you were both on the sofa, sliding his icy toes under your leg with the most innocent expression in the world.
It was annoying. It was relentless. It was also so completely, stupidly him that you couldn’t stay mad for longer than thirty seconds at a time.
The final straw was him trying to balance the TV remote… on your head… whilst you were trying to concentrate on the episode of Love Island that was playing.
You felt the plastic edge of it wobble against your hair and immediately reached up to grab it.
“Jude! Can you sit still for five fucking seconds before we go to bed?! Please!”
Your voice had risen just enough for his eyes to widen. He never actually wanted to upset you or make you angry. Teasing you and winding you up was part of how he showed you how much he loved you.
His eyebrows furrowed. The playful light in his face flickered, then dimmed completely. He stilled instantly, hand dropping the remote so it landed softly in his lap, shoulders dropping, bottom lip poking out ever so slightly like a wounded puppy who’d just been told he wasn’t allowed on the sofa. The living room went quiet apart from the episode droning on.
Your heart lurched a little in your chest as you watched him obey so easily. He looked… sad. Softened into something almost submissive by the way you’d spoken to him, in a way that made something protective and strange twist in your stomach. You hadn’t meant to actually scold him. You never did. The two of you lived in a constant loop of teasing and touching and deliberate annoyance that somehow always circled back to affection. This felt different, though. Like you’d stepped on something fragile without meaning to.
So you made a joke to brighten his face back up. Or what you thought was a joke.
You reached up, brushed your thumb across the pout of his lower lip, and said it lightly, almost laughing—
“Good boy, Jude.”
He blinked at you, eyebrows nearly raising to his hair line. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Sputtered a little with words that wouldn’t come out and then ultimately gave up as he cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from you. You ducked your head to meet his eyes again, but his gaze lingered stubbornly on the floor like he was suddenly too embarrassed to meet them.
The air between you thickened and you both felt it settle over your skin like static.
What was that?
You forced an awkward laugh and nudged him with your toes, trying to shove the moment back into familiar territory. “I was joking, Jude–”
He didn’t smile or tease back straight away. He sat there still as stone for a second longer, the tips of his ears gone unmistakably pink, throat working around a swallow you could see. Then he shifted in his seat, attempting to be subtle, adjusting himself in his joggers like the words had landed far lower than either of you had expected. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, and when he finally spoke his voice was a little rougher than usual.
“Nah, you’re good,” he said, trying for casual and missing it by a mile. “You know what I’m like. Golden boy loves a bit of praise, yeah? Especially from his favourite girl.” He glanced at you then, eyes darker than they should have been, the flush creeping down his neck. “Didn’t mean to piss you off though. I’m sorry, baby.”
Before you could answer he was already reaching for you, his hands settling on your waist and pulling you easily across the sofa and into his lap. You ended up straddling one of his thighs, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he pressed his face into the side of your neck and breathed you in.
“Forgive me?” he murmured against your skin, voice soft and sweet and still a little shaky. He pressed a slow kiss just under your ear, then another to the hinge of your jaw, then one more to the corner of your mouth when you turned your head. “I’ll be good. Promise. No more remote-balancing. No more sauce-stealing. I swear.”
“I don’t believe you, but you’re already forgiven Jude,” you sigh, leaning back into him.
You felt him smile against your cheek as his hold on you tightened, like he needed the contact to settle whatever the “good boy” had woken up in him. His heart was thudding a little too hard against your back. His ears were still pink. Every time your fingers absently stroked over the back of his hand where it rested on your stomach, his breath hitched. You could also feel him twitching against where you were sitting but neither of you bought that up.
He was brushing it off. He was being sweet. But he was also very, very flustered. Interesting.
You stayed in his lap longer than you meant to. Love Island continued on in the background, the contestants arguing about some nonsense in the villa while Jude’s arms stayed locked around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder with no intention of letting you go. Every so often he’d press another lazy kiss to the side of your neck, or nuzzle against the soft skin just under your ear, still more quiet than usual. His heartbeat had slowed, but the flush on his ears hadn’t completely faded.
Eventually you shifted, climbing off him so you could actually see the screen properly. He let you go with a soft, dramatic sigh, like you’d deeply offended him, then immediately stretched out along the sofa and dropped his head into your lap instead.
“Comfier,” he mumbled, already reaching up to play with the hem of your top.
You rolled your eyes and kept watching. For about four whole minutes he was almost well behaved. Almost.
Then the teasing started again. First it was the commentary. Low, continuous, and completely unnecessary.
“She’s lying through her teeth, look at her face–”
“Nah he’s not into her, he’s just bored–”
“Baby, if someone spoke to me like that on national telly I’d never show my face in public again–”
You shushed him. He grinned and kept going, louder.
When that didn’t get a big enough reaction he started poking the soft spot just above your hip with one finger, over and over, until you slapped his hand away. He waited exactly three seconds, then did it again. When you grabbed his wrist he twisted free and used both hands to tickle your sides, laughing when you yelped and nearly kicked the remote off the coffee table.
“Jude– stop– I’m trying to watch–”
“You weren’t even watching! You were thinking about how cute I looked when I said sorry earlier.”
“I was not!”
“You were. Your blushed”
“You blushed, you absolute–”
He cut you off by sitting up suddenly, crowding into your space, and planting a loud, exaggerated kiss right on your mouth. You shoved at his chest. He only leaned in harder, still grinning, still talking against your lips.
“Admit you missed me being annoying.”
“I will literally smother you with this cushion, Bellingham.”
“Do it then.”
You grabbed the nearest throw pillow and swung it at him. He caught it mid-air with a delighted bark of laughter, yanked it out of your hands, and used it to lightly bonk you on the head before tossing it aside. That was your last straw. The playfight properly started in the next breath, hands grabbing, bodies twisting, both of you laughing too hard to form proper insults. He tried to pin your wrists above your head the way he always did; you slipped free and shoved him onto his back instead. He let you, like he always did. His long legs tangled with yours as you ended up half on top of him, both of you breathing harder than the wrestling really required.
Kissing got mixed in somewhere along the way. Messy, laughing kisses that turned slower without either of you deciding to. His hands slid under your top, warm against your bare back. Yours found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him tilt his head and make a soft, needy sound against your mouth. The television was still playing, forgotten. The only real sounds were the shift of fabric, the quiet hitch of breath, the occasional low murmur of each other’s names.
You ended up straddling his hips properly, knees either side of his waist. He was looking up at you with a soft, dark-eyed expression he got when the teasing started tipping into something hungrier. One of his hands rested loosely on your thigh. The other was still tangled in the hem of your top like he couldn’t decide whether to pull it off or just keep touching you through it.
You leaned down, still smiling, still half in the game of playfighting you wanted to win, and wrapped both hands around his throat. Thumbs resting lightly over his pulse, fingers spanning the strong column of his neck the way you’d done a hundred times before when you were only pretending to choke him out during a playfight.
He stilled completely again. His eyes went wide, brown and shimmering and suddenly so open it almost hurt to look at. The playful light drained out of them again in one slow blink, replaced by something so primal it stole your breath. His lips parted. A soft, shaky breath left him, and you felt his throat move under your palms when he swallowed.
For a second neither of you spoke. Then his voice came out low and rough, almost a whisper, like the words had been dragged up from somewhere he hadn’t meant to show you yet.
“Fuck… keep your hands right there and ride me. I want to feel you while you’re holding me down like that. Please.”
His hips shifted under you, and you felt exactly how hard he already was. His hands stayed where they were, not trying to take control, not trying to move yours. He looked up at you, flushed and waiting and so clearly turned on by the simple weight of your fingers on his throat that the air between you went tight all over again.
The joke was long gone, apparently.
“What?” you breathed, almost laughing from disbelief.
Jude’s throat flexed under your palms. His eyes were so dark they looked almost black, lashes low, mouth parted like he couldn’t quite get enough air. When he spoke his voice came out broken, the words tumbling over each other the way they only ever did when he was desperate.
“I’m dead serious, baby. Keep your hands there… hold me down and ride me. Call me a good boy again. I— fuck, I don’t even know what’s happening right now but you’re making me so fucking hard it’s stupid. Please.”
The last word cracked like he couldn’t believe he was asking for it out loud.
You stared at him for a long second, feeling the way his pulse hammered against your thumbs. Then you leaned down and kissed him slowly once, before sitting back up and rolling your hips against the thick line of him still trapped in his joggers.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “Then be good for me.”
He whimpered and nodded eagerly. You got his joggers and boxers down together, just far enough. He lifted his hips to help, movements clumsy with how worked up he already was, and the second you wrapped a hand around him he made a punched-out little sound that went straight to where you were already soaked for him. You stroked him once, twice, watching his head tip back against the sofa cushions, the long line of his throat still offered up under your other hand.
“Stay still,” you told him.
He nodded, eyes half-lidded, and actually managed it, his body tense and trembling but obedient. It was that obedience that made you unravel. You shifted, tugged your own clothes out of the way, and sank down onto him in one slow, continuous slide. The stretch forced a quiet moan out of both of you at the same time. Jude’s hands flew to your thighs and then immediately dropped away again, like he’d remembered he wasn’t supposed to take over.
“Good,” you breathed, settling fully, both hands finding his throat again. “That’s it. Just like that.”
His whole body shuddered.
You started moving with slow rolls of your hips at first, then deeper, finding a rhythm that made his breath stutter every time you sank down. Every few thrusts you tightened your fingers and watched the way his eyes fluttered, the way his mouth fell open on a gentle moan. He kept trying to thrust up to meet you and then forcing himself still again, thighs shaking with the effort of being good for you.
“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, leaning down so the words brushed his lips. “Taking it so good for me. My good boy.”
Jude made a sound you’d never heard from him before, high and wrecked and almost wounded. His hands fisted in the sofa cushions either side of his head, shaking. Sweat was starting to shine at his temples. Every time you called him that the muscles in his stomach jumped and his cock twitched deep inside you like the praise was wired straight to his nerves.
“Fuck– baby– I can’t–” He was panting now, words half-swallowed. “Feels too good. You’re gonna make me come so quick I-I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” You rolled your hips harder, grinding down on every downward stroke so he felt every inch of you. One hand stayed at his throat; the other slid down to where you were joined, fingers finding your own clit so you could chase your own pleasure while you watched him fall apart. “You can come whenever you need to. You’ve been so good. Look at you… letting me use you like this.”
The visual of you touching yourself made Jude’s eyes fly open, locked onto you, and his expression shattered into complete ecstasy. His back arched clean off the sofa, a broken moan tearing out of him as he came hard, pulsing inside you, completely silent for a second before the sound finally caught up and left him in a long, shaky groan of your name. You felt every throb of it, felt the way his thighs locked and trembled, felt the desperate tiny aftershocks that kept rolling through him while you kept moving, chasing your own edge.
You came with your forehead pressed to his, both hands still cradling his throat, whispering “good boy, good boy, that’s it” against his open mouth until the pleasure crested and broke over you too.
Afterwards he was ruined. Completely fucked out in a way you’d never seen. His chest heaved. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. When you carefully lifted your hands from his neck he made a soft, almost lost sound, like he missed the weight of them already. You stayed on top of him for a minute, stroking his cheek as he came down, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his mouth, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose.
“You okay?” you whispered.
Jude blinked up at you slowly, like he was still somewhere else. Then a tiny, dazed smile tugged at his lips.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “I… yeah. That was– fuck. I’ve never… I didn’t know I could feel like that.” His hands finally came up hesitantly , and settled on your waist like he needed you to anchor him back to reality. “Can we… do it again sometime? If you want. God, that was so fucking good baby.”
You laughed softly and kissed him, slow and sweet, tasting the salt from his sweat on his upper lip. “We can do it as many times as you want, Jude.”
He closed his eyes and nodded, still breathing hard, still looking like you’d rearranged something fundamental inside him.
ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ ~ ᴇxᴛʀᴀꜱ ₊ ˚ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊
series masterlist:
⭑in which, the media and fans react to you and judes relationship - from rumors, to confirmation, to sightings, to the breakup, and the reunion.
⭑contains, fake social media and news post (SMAU), angst, fluff, y/n use bc i needed to adress the readers name so sorry if thats annoying, olivia rodrigo fc,
⭑a/n, omg this was so fun!! lmk if you guys want to see more things like this, and send more ideas+suggestions on what you would like to see next <333
deuxmoi
Deuxmoi
Liked by y/nupdates, jessiebrenson, and 32,039 others
Deuxmoi Real Madrid player Jude Bellingham and Y/n L/n spotted by fans getting cozy outside a nightclub in Madrid.
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y/nupdates wait im here for this
user1 this is kinda random but i dont hate it lol
judefanpage user1 he's way too good for her sorry
user3 judefanpage r we fr rn 💀
user4 i love when hot people get together
user5 bruh that doesn't even look like them
user6 user5 yeah bc its dark...and blurry...
user7 bro if this is real they would break the internet
user8 he better not hurt her
user9 user8 omg even if this is true they're literally just making out 😭 no one knows anything yet
user10 she better not distract him
user11 user1 how miserable are you genuine question
yourusername
Liked by judebgellingham, tatemcrae, and 982,827 others
yourusername i ❤️ tour
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user1 we see you in the likes jude...
user2 soft launch is CRAZY
tatemcrae u r just the cutest
yourusername tatemcrae love ya 😘
haileybieber baby
yourusername haileybieber MOM!!!
user3 JUDE LIKED!!!
user4 user3 IK OMG!!!
user5 y/n x jude is offical
user6 user5 so delusional 😭
user7 user6 how is it delusional?? they were literally spotted kissing and he was at her show and they left together???
user6 user7 ur seeing what you want to see bud
adisonrae hi ily
yourusername adisonrae hi ily more
yourusername
Liked by sabrinacarpenter, user3, judebellingham, and 1,378,234 others
yourusername hi 🙈
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judebellingham hi there
yourusername judebellingham hi back
user1 judebellingham GHIEHNFIHE IM FREAKING OUT
user2 IM SICK
user3 she said "here damn"
user4 user3 LMAO
morganrogers sick
liked by creator
jobebellingham i know that back
yourusername jobebellingham intresting
user5 jobebellingham jobe has entered the chat
user6 jobebellingham ariana what are you doing here
user7 ew
user8 im sorry i dont see it
user9 user8 then leave 🙃
yourusername
Liked by kyliejenner, beabadoobie, judebellingham, and 789,038 others
yourusername a little all over the place at the moment
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devonleecarlson angel girl
yourusername devonleecarlson i love u
user1 SHES IN THE STUDIO I REPEAT SHES IN THE STUDIO
user2 when is the album coming it gets to a point
user3 user2 bruh chill it'll come when shes ready
judebellingham i like that shirt
yourusername judebellingham eh
user4 yourusername LMAO y/n stays humbling jude
user5 user4 its a joke...
user4 user5 i know...
user6 ugh how can one human be so perfect.
user7 i dont see what jude sees in her
user8 user7 girl bye like he would ever go for you
user9 user8 istg these people are so crazy
kyliejenner hottest
yourusername kyliejenner learned it from the best 😉
user10 i cant stop singing you've got a way YOU NEED to release
user11 user10 no LITERALLY i cant wait
EntertainmentTonight
Liked by Deuxmoi, user12, and 32,947 others
EntertainmentTonight EXCLUSIVE: Singer Y/n L/n and European Soccer Player Jude Bellingham have reportedly BROKEN UP after over a year of dating. Confirmed by sources close to the couple.
The couples split can be attributed to "busy schedules," as well as "a gradual strain forming over time." Our sources confirm that there is still a lot of love between the two, and they will continue to be supporting each other behind the scenes.
click the link in our bio to learn more.
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user1 NOO😭😭😭 MY PARENTS 😭😭😭
user2 i refuse to believe this unless one of them confirms it.
user3 user2 highly unlikely. they are both so private
user4 user2 baby this IS the confirmation i fear
user5 WHAT??? they literally seemed so happy huh
user6 user5 to be fair y/n was in new york for like a few months and from what we know the two didn't see each other that whole time so who knows what happened 🤷♀️
user7 oh this album is about to EAT.
user8 user7 omg have a little sensitivity
user9 user7 bruh who needs haters when you have fans like this
user7 user8 dude im just saying...obviously im sad for her but the music is going to be good
user10 oh we're all jumping jude
user11 user10 it literally says they just grew apart 🤦♀️
user12 i don't beleive in love anymore. thats it.
y/nupdates
Liked by user9, user7, user 10, and 13,094 others
y/nupdates y/n just went on Zane Lowes podcast and the two had a vulnerable conversation about the album. here are some highlights:
in response to Zanes question about the hardest song to write, y/n responded, "i would definitely say later." when asked about her reasoning behind this, y/n shifts in her seat, features growing a bit more somber. "i think...i think that one for me was kind of like the moment i accepted that... y'know, this relationship i was in was over. i feel like listening back to the song, i can kind of hear that like...grief, i guess, that i was experiencing when writing it."
in response, zane says, "do you think that later is sort of angry as well? or to you, is that a different emotion?"
y/n lets out a long breath. "yeah, no, there are definitely angry parts." she bites her lip for a moment before answering carefully. "i think that song was written in this moment of like, deep, deep feeling. i think when we are in those moments, our thoughts aren't really out thoughts, if that makes sense, they're like, manifestations of those moments." she lets out a breathy laugh. "yeah, a lot of those lyrics are...they're intense, but they were just how i was feeling in that moment. so yeah, a bit angry, definitely."
later in the interview, zane praises and dives into the beauty of the lyrics in melt with u, intentions, and hold. "like, that lyricism in intentions is just...it's just gorgeous. i mean...‘i just want a million ordinary moments if they’re with you every day’, like...it just puts to words that soft, and pure love that we see so clearly illustrated throughout that first half of the album."
y/n bashfully thanks him and smiles. "yeah, i mean...that song just feels really hopeful to me. i feel like even now...i just smile when i hear it. it reminds me of a really happy time, and the lyrics...yeah, yeah what you said. they feel really pure to me."
later, zane touches on tracks atmosphere and montauk. "atmosphere specifically stood out to me in that second half of the album," Zane commented. "it has this tone of wistful nostalgia, and in the middle of these, like, devastating songs, it holds this theme of - maybe peace? i mean, it's still very sad, but it also happens to be a bit happy as well. same with montauk - they both are very wistful and nostalgic. how did you manage to add in this sort of hindsight perspective when you were so in the middle of this turmoil?"
y/n nodded in response. "yeah, definitely. i think...it felt easy to feel disconnected to that version of that relationship when i was writing it," her features soften and her eyes turn down. "especially atmosphere. it's sort of looking back on the beginning of this relationship we're following throughout the album, and its almost retelling like, those first few songs from this older, wiser perspective. t was one of those songs that i wasn't sure if i was going to put on the album, because i was worried it would...almost ruin, i guess, how happy the beginning of the record was. but, no, i really love that song, and its one of the first times i've ever written from that - like you said - wistful perspective."
go watch the zane lowe interview to learn more!!
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user1 oh she is HEARTBROKEN.
user2 bro the look on her face when they're talking about atmosphere. i cant.
user3 user2 forget atmosphere, later????
user4 no but seriously this album is so incredible. i'm so proud of her.
user5 im sorry but the fact that she wrote the second half of the album in TWO WEEKS???? shes unreal
user6 user5 i was waiting for someone to mention this bc holy shit??
user7 her getting more and more sad every time a song gets brought up oh my heart 😭😭😭
user8 im geniunely curious as to whether judes listened to the album yet
user9 user8 he defintely has i feel like
user10 user8 nah if i was him i wouldn't
user11 later being the song she accepted her relationship with jude was over...omg. i cant take it.
user12 user11 the way she was still struggling to say it in the past tense oh my baby
user13 honestly i feel so so bad for her. she was defintiely pushed to release the album earlier than she was ready to and shes still clearly grieving the relationship and struggling...i really hope shes taking care of herself
user14 user13 i was thinking this too. like we keep forgetting shes only 22 and this is her first, like, real mature heartbreak.
notes: little blurb while i work on requests 👀 hope yall enjoy 😛
bf! jude who is such a gentleman. he never lets you touch a door. you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve opened a door yourself. he makes sure to walk on the outer edge of the sidewalk, positioning himself to protect you if anything happens.
bf! jude who carries your heels for you when your feet hurt. he keeps a separate pair of sandals in his car, knowing you always pick the heels yet end up complaining about them later.
bf! jude who’s always touching you in some sort of way. holding your hand, resting his on your inner thigh, holding your waist, you name it.
bf! jude whose favorite part of the day is coming home to you. you’d always press a kiss to his lips upon his arrival, making him melt inside.
bf! jude who adores seeing you in his clothes, particularly his jerseys. when he comes back from a hard training day only to see you lounging on the couch, hair messy, wearing one of his shirts, his mood instantly improves.
bf! jude who knows everything about you. your favorite drink, favorite food, favorite movie, shoe size, and more. he made it his mission to know everything once you started dating, and it’s safe to say he’s completed it.
bf! jude who loves having his head in your lap while you play with his hair. you tell him about your day, and he just admires you, watching the subtle changes in your expression.
bf! jude who makes it his mission to spoil you. he knows your expression when you notice something you like. you’d absentmindedly put it away, only for it to be laying on your bed a couple of days later.
bf! jude who alternates between calling you sweetheart, love, and your name. he loves letting people know that you’re his. he loves extremely loudly.
bf! jude who loves seeing the marks on your neck the morning after, especially if you leave them on display. he'd always try to discourage you from covering them up with concealer, saying "babe, come on.." with those puppy dog eyes he knows you can't resist.
bf! jude who loves it when you're on top. he definitely gets turned on by it, you can tell by the look of lust in his eyes as you ride him. his hands automatically go to your hips, guiding your movement once you tire out.
bf! jude whose favorite position is definitely missionary. there’s something about the intense eye contact during it which draws him in. he loves being able to see every facial expression of yours while he's making you feel good.
bf! jude hates when you suppress your moans. he wants to hear you, hear how good he's making you feel. he lives for those sounds you make when you're close, it only spurs him on further.
bf! jude who always prioritizes you after sex. he comes back with a wet washcloth, wiping you down tenderly before pulling you into his chest. he peppers you with kisses, murmuring praises against your skin. "you did so good, baby." he says to you.
ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2) ₊ ˚ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊
read part 1 here:
read part 1.5 here:
⭑in which, you and jude just can't seem to stay away from each other - and now you need to figure out if it's even worth it to try.
⭑contains, long fic (12k words woah hi guys), angst, exes getting back together, walk down memory lane, yearning, fluff, hurt/comfort, working out issues (communicating! finally! yay!), make out, happy ending
⭑a/n, the "final" part!! i love these two so much, i'm def going to keep writing little bits about them <333
the first time you and jude had fought, you were sure he was going to end things.
you two had fights before, sure, but they had simply been little spats. "why didn't you clean the dishes like i asked?" or, "babe, why did you say that in front of your parents? thats so embarrassing." never this.
it was early february, your first time seeing him since late november, and you had just arrived in madrid after a long 6 hour flight from new york. you spent the whole flight antsy, every form of distraction futile as your mind ran wild. would he be happy to see you? would things be different?
it wasn't jude who had picked you up, given he was at practice when you touched down. it was denise instead, who embraced you tight with a wide smile, rocking you back and forth. you saw a phone camera pointed your way, but you couldn't find it in you to care.
"oh darling, i'm so glad you're back," she practically cooed after the two of you got into the car, driving to her house.
you sent her a soft smile, letting out a deep breath, watching as the trees rolled into the cityscape "same, yeah. i've missed it."
you knew you were telling the truth as you were saying it, but a part of you hesitated before speaking. because it was true - you did miss madrid. you missed your favorite local stores, the restaurants and locals who hardly cared of your status, the cafe you and jude frequented not far from his house - and most of all, jude.
of course you had missed it, after almost a year of calling it a home base.
but you had also missed your own life.
because as much as you enjoyed traveling around with jude and his familly, watching his games and going to his events, it sometimes made you forget that you had your own career and life outside of it.
it wasn't like jude hadn't been supportive of your career. he attended every stop he could of your previous tour at the beginning of your relationship, flew all the way to la and chicago for just a few days when you preformed coachella and lolapalooza, watched from backstage when you did your biggest show, headlining glastonbury for over 200,000 people.
when you had actually remembered your job, jude was there the way you were for him. but that wasn't the issue - the issue was that it was far too easy to forget and push aside your life, because loving him was just so all consuming.
you hadn't told anyone this, but the first week back in new york, you didn't even go to the studio - didn't even leave your apartment. you were simply at a loss - what were you supposed to do now without jude?
you couldn't go to your favorite spanish vintage stores, couldn't lounge around his house, couldn't jump in his arms when he returned from practice. you couldn't lay on the bedrooms balcony, smiling stupidly as you scribbled lovesick lyrics in your notebook, waiting for him to get out of the shower or return from an event.
no, instead, you were left in your apartment alone. your parents had all but moved to the hamptons, your sister constantly working or busy. your friends were all traveling, on tour, doing photo shoots, shooting movies and shows, dealing with their own hectic lives - you were left all alone to your own devices.
and jude was busy. madrid was going through a rough season, and you didn't want to worry him, or take his focus. the last thing he needed was another distraction.
so you hardly left your apartment that first week. the busy streets of new york that once calmed your nerves, because who would possibly care about one passing star in a sea of them, suddenly felt alien.
you called jude either late each night or early in the morning- it was easy when you were working around his schedule. by the time you called, he was either in the car, on the way to early morning practice or the gym, or chilling at home after said events. he would update you on his morning, rant about practice from the day before, give his thoughts on madrids chances at their next match. sometimes denise would be in the car, adding on in an amused, humoring tone. it was your favorite part of the day.
when he asked about your day, you threw him little white lies. "just worked on some lyrics." "the studio was really quiet today, so we got a lot of work done." "i met up with some friends for lunch, they all say hi."
it was easier for him to believe that you could still function without him. and you guessed that was the hardest part, far more difficult than being separated from him - that you didn't know if you could.
how pathetic was that? your biggest fear was to become one of those girls - the girls who loose their personality and individuality when getting a boyfriend. you couldn't be one of those girls. you were one of the most successful artists in the world right now, you had such a lively world in front of you, and such incredible friends and family. you had no reason to loose yourself in jude.
but you had. and you had to come to terms with the fact that you may not know yourself as well as you used to.
after the first week passed, you promised yourself you were done with sulking. you called your producer, and got into the studio early monday morning. you had recorded the first five songs of the album during short trips back throughout the past year, but it wasn't nearly enough. the label wanted an album by april at the absolute latest.
it took you a while to fully write and record the next song. you spent practically the whole week at the studio.
on wednesday, you got out at one in the morning, looking at your phone to see a missed call from jude at 11pm, and a message.
judey🤍
hey baby, just tried calling. i know you're probably busy and it's late so don't worry about calling back. love you, hope all is well xx
he seemed to be doing so...fine without you. while you had spent the first week crumbling under the silence, the weight of his absence, he didn't even need to speak to you.
you
sorry j, super busy at the studio! i hope practice went well, don't forget to keep icing your shoulder, you're still recovering. i miss you.
he didn't respond, just simply calling you the next day at your usual time. you pretended not to check your phone the whole next day.
as the weeks went by, you became more and more readjusted. you met up with friends when they finally returned to the city or schedules cleared up, got back into the flow with writing and recording. things were back to normal, a normal you had hardly even realized had stopped being normal.
but the more you adjusted, the less you and jude talked. one night missing your phone calls turned to multiple, and phone calls turned to brief texts. eventually, it got to the point where you hesitated during quiet moments to reach out - what if he's busy? what if he didn't want to talk?
you had began to get in your own head a little - more than a little. you were having so much fun back in new york, but it didn't stop you from missing jude, from agonizing over the distance. if anything, it was the other way around.
so yes, you were a bit hesitant before booking the flight back. you were only a little ashamed to admit it. whether it was due to how much you were enjoying your time in new york, or your fear of facing jude again, you were definitely nervous.
you were always supposed to come back in feburary. you waited a week before coming back to book the flight.
as denise drove, you let yourself feel the small, almost shameful swell of relief at being back. you had missed it, you weren't lying. and being in the same city as jude again felt like breathing fresh air for the first time in months.
when you arrived at her house, you didn't bring anything inside except yourself. you were hanging out with her for the morning, and returning back to judes late afternoon to see him home from practice.
home. you let yourself feel giddy for a few moments. it really did feel like you were home.
denise poured you some fresh lemonade as you sat in the backyard, telling stories from the few months spent in new york. you played her a song that practically had her sons affection written all over it and she teared up.
around three, the two of you got back in the car and drove the ten-ish minutes over to judes. you knew he wouldn't be back yet, but your chest still pounded with nerves.
denise helped you move your suitcases inside before parting with a sweet hug and kiss on the cheek. you stood for a long minute in the entrance way, looking around the house you hadn't been in for months. it felt strange being back.
you unpacked, smiling a bit when you saw that jude had left your drawers empty for you, as well as your side of the bathroom sink. your anxiety dwelled a bit - of course he had missed you as well, what were you thinking?
you roamed around the house, landing in the couch after ten minutes. you checked your phone - no message from jude. its fine, he's in practice.
but then you checked the time - 4:30pm. your brows furrowed. he was supposed to have ended practice 30 minutes ago. you shook your head, reassuring yourself that it wasn't a big deal.
but then 30 minutes became 45, and then 45 became an hour, and then suddenly, your boyfriend was almost two hours late.
you weren't a particularly controlling girlfriend - he had been late from practice before and you had hardly thought twice about it. it was just... wasn't he excited to see you?
you hadn't left your place on the couch the whole time, simply watching as the time slipped away, biting down on your nails, a habit that had been left behind over a year ago. when you heard the distant sound of the door opening and closing, you flinched.
you plastered on a small smile, standing up, facing the hallway. when he walked through, training bag in hand, his body seemed to relax when he saw you, smile easy. and for a moment, you forgot your frustration, walking over to him as he dropped his bag to the ground, wrapping his arms around you.
he felt as warm as you remembered. the smell of his natural musk and body wash filled your nostrils as you tucked into his shoulder, rising to your tiptoes as he held you gently yet firmly in his arms. you almost cried in relief.
you must've stood there for a whole minute, jude gently rocking the two of you back and forth. when you finally pulled away, he placed a kiss on your forehead. "hi, baby."
your stomach filled with fluttering - how was it he still managed to do that with a single pet name? "hi," you responded back a bit breathless. his hands had come down to your waist, while yours had risen to his shoulders.
you narrow your eyes gently, smile still present, but faded. "what took you so long?"
something passed over his face before he shook his head, squeezing your hips. his smile was a bit strained. "just got some dinner with the guys. practice was long."
you nodded, yet your attention felt distant all of the sudden. "oh," you say. you had thought the two of you would have dinner - maybe back in the kitchen, cooking together like you used to do.
his jaw clenches a bit when he sees your expression. he squeezes you again, and you look at him, guilt clear in his eyes as he tried to smile. "i'm so happy you're back, babe."
the next hour was strained. jude refilled his water bottle as you sat back on the couch, staring into the distance. something about this felt off, but neither of you were quite ready to address it.
when he joined you again, he placed a gentle hand on your knee, urging you to catch him up on everything he missed. as you talked, it was everything it was supposed to be, technically - his warm touch, his attentive eyes, the two of you sitting together in the house that had become yours as well after so long apart - but something wasn't right. it felt like all of the sudden there was a wall between you, and you couldn't tell if it was real or an illusion created by your overthinking.
after a while of catching up, a brief second of silence passed. it wasn't long, but it felt strangely heavy. he cleared his throat, painting on a weak smile. "um, what're thinkin' for dinner? i can order you in something?"
you throw a strained one back - the kind that made your lips look thin and eyes dull. "i'm not really sure. i had thought we were eating together so i didn't really think about it."
you knew the words sounded petty as they left your lips, and you felt a pang of guilt, but you were still a bit frustrated about your reunion. you watch as the blow hits, and he winces. "babe-"
you stand shaking your head, thin smile still placed. "it's fine, i'm just going to cook."
you walk towards the kitchen, letting out a shaky breath. this isn't how it was supposed to go - you weren't supposed to be angry, he wasn't supposed to be walking on eggshells. what was happening?
as you reached the counter, you could hear jude on your heals. "are you upset with me?"
you let out a breath, and it came out fast and heavy, portraying your frustration. you opened up the pantry, not looking at him as your sorted through it, looking for something to make. "no, why would i be?"
he observed you for a moment, reading you clearly. sometimes, you hated how easy it was for him to know exactly what you're thinking. "you're upset," he said, this time a statement.
you huffed, still not looking at him. "i'm not," you insisted, though your tone told a different story. you groaned, frustratedly pushing the door of the pantry shut, a loud bang ringing through the kitchen. "seriously, jude, what have you been eating the past two months? its practically empty in there!"
you see him fight the smile off his lips as he shrugs. "just a few bits n' bobs, really."
instead of responding, you shake your head, storming over to the fridge, and jude follows, shutting it as you open it. you refuse to look in his eyes, crossing your arms and looking to the side. you felt childish as you did this, but you were filled to the brim irritation that you weren't quite sure how to direct it other than this.
"don't be like that," he speaks, smile thinning out and a hint of exasperation rising. "i'm here, just talk to me."
you scoff. "yeah, two hours late," you grumble.
he lets out a noise that resembles a laugh, but lacks the usual light amusement his laughs carry. "that's what this all is about? because i was a bit late?"
"no!" you defend, looking at him now. you run a hand through you hair. "yes, maybe, i don't know!"
you watch as the disbelief washes over his face - the one that isn't quiet angry yet, but incredulous - and you grow more protective. "its not just that! i haven't seen you in two months, jude!"
"look, baby, m'sorry. next time i'll show up on time, yeah?"
he didn't get it - he wasn't getting it. instead of coming home to his girlfriend that he hadn't seen in months, he had gone out on a spontaneous dinner with his friends, ones he just spent over four hours with and sees everyday.
"thats not what this is about," you defended, voice rising as your frustration grew.
"well, lets hear it, then," he says, his annoyance growing as well. "because i'm not gonna know unless you do. i'm not a fuckin' mind reader."
you cross your arms, biting on the inside corner of your lip. "why didn't you just come home?" you ask, tone filled with irritation and a hint of that pathetic neediness you hated.
he sighs, running a hand over his face. "you're being ridiculous. i told you already, practice was long, and the guys asked. it's nothin' personal, babe."
it felt like a big deal. "thats not good enough," you shake your head, pushing past him. the kitchen was starting to feel suffocating.
he clearly wasn't done talking, because he followed you out. his hands were on his hips as he questions you. "why are you being like this? i'm here now, aren't i?"
"you're not getting in," you complain, the frustration almost enough to want to rip your own hair out. "jude, i haven't seen you in two months. two whole months. and you-you what? would prefer to go out with the guys you see every day than come home to me?"
"thats not fair," he points a finger at you, almost scoldingly. "you know thats not fair. you know i've missed you like crazy."
you scoff, and you can't hold back the water from beginning to glass over your vision. "great at showing it, aren't you?"
you words were bitter and laced with insecurity, but you couldn't hold it back. because it was how you felt - that jude hadn't missed you like you missed him. you knew that he hadn't definitely felt your absence, but it wasn't crippling like it was for you. it wasn't soul crushing, it was simply an inconvenience.
"fuckin' hell," he curses under his breath, running a hand over his eyes, head dropping. "babe, i'm knackered. i got home at 3am because we were forced to go to a stupd gala after loosing to levante. levante, babe," he emphasized, looking at you fixedly. "and all i wanted to do was come home, and just - be with girlfriend who i haven't see in ages."
a flash a guilt washes over you. it wasn't like you wanted to argue with him, but you couldn't help your emotions about the ordeal.
"don't," you started, narrowing your eyes. "don't make me feel crazy for being upset at you."
he scoffed, waking over to the coat rack, grabbing his athletic jacket. "you're doin' that one all by yourself."
suddenly, a wave of panic ran through you. was this it? was he leaving for good? would the next time you see him be in the morning, him standing over your side of the best, telling you to pack back up your things and leave?
those were the thoughts that ran over you as he stormed out of the house. had you ruined everything?
jude had never once raised his voice at you before, so the fact that he had portrayed his real frustration. you stood in the hallway after his dramatic exit for a few moments, before finding yourself back on the couch with a glass of wine, sulking once again.
you let yourself cry. you let yourself be angry at him, at yourself, and go through your head all the different ways the conversation could've gone, should've gone. you should've been more mature, more communicative - instead you had given him attitude and expected him to read your mind.
but he had been dismissive, and unfair. both could be true at once, you supposed.
you let yourself be disappointed about the reunion you had been building up since you left, and feel scared about what came next for the two of you. a deep part of you was almost sure that this meant the end.
after a few more glasses of wine and a long moment of sulking, you made your way up to bed. you slipped off your clothes and got into your pajamas in a daze, flipping off the lights and laying in your side of the bed. it was colder than you remembered.
your weren't sure how long you had laid there, zoned out, staring out through the windows, when you heard the door crack open. it was quiet, and if you had actually been attempting to go to sleep, you probably wouldn't have heard it.
your eyes snap shut, as if to feign sleep. you weren't sure if you were ready to face him yet.
the door then quietly clicked shut, and then followed the door to the ensuit closing. the reflection lit up on the windows in front of you, showing that jude had turned the light on, the warm hue slipping past the cracks under the door.
the shower ran for about five minutes - 5 minutes and 13 seconds to be exact - then came to a stop. a few moments passed before the reflection disappeared, and the sounds of jude exiting could be heard. your eyes flickered back shut.
you heard him rustling in his drawers for a second, then the dropping of his towel, and his briefs being pushed up his legs.
the sounds of his footsteps stopped once he reached his side of the bed, the weight of his body joining yours on the mattress not yet being felt. the air was thick with his hesitation. you heard him let out a long, heavy breath.
when you finally felt the bed dip, your eyes scrunched shut tighter with deep relief and distant sorrow.
you hadn't expected him to, but as soon as his body hit the sheets, he scooted over, wrapping himself around you. you instantly melted.
feeling your bodies movement, he squeezed tighter. "hey," he greeted softly, voice mumbled against your shoulder, the vibrations faintly tickling the skin.
you let out a shaky breath, shifting closer. "hi," you responded back timidly.
you both laid in silence for a moment, thoughts running rapidly as you tried to formulate the right words. jude broke the careful quiet with another deep sigh against your skin. "m'sorry."
the words twist up your stomach, and your eyes flutter open. its quiet for another moment. "me too," you whisper back, your lips trembling just a bit. "i'm sorry too."
he nods into your neck, and you feel the steadying rise and fall of his chest. his hands at this point have gone past your waist now that your secure against him, and slipped under the silk of your pajama set, hands still a bit cold from outside.
"fuck, i don't want you to think i didn't miss you. because you..." he lets out a shaky laugh. "you can't possibly understand how much i did."
you turn around in his arms. you can briefly make out his features due to the light under the door from the hallway. "i think i can," you answer, eyes finding his, a sort of desperation held in them as you wrap your arms around his lower back.
he sighs softly, resting his forehead against yours. "i love you - so much. have i said that yet?"
you shake your head softly, but nudge your nose with his, pulling out a small smile. you let out a small breath, brows furrowing a bit, the tension from earlier still heavy on your chest.
"you don't want me to leave?" you ask quietly.
his face falls, pausing for a moment. his eyes were earnest as he reaches out, holding your face in his hands so delicately, as if he was worried this peace between you would break if not handled carefully. "fuck, of course not. i always want you here," he assured. "even if we're fighting, and y'driving me crazy," you let out a sniffly giggle at his words, and his thumb darts out to smooth a stray tear into your skin. "i want you here. always."
you nod, not fully convinced, but wanting to believe him. "okay," you agree softly.
he places an easy kiss on your forehead. "get some sleep, yeah? we'll have a proper reunion tomorrow. start it all over."
you let out a small laugh-like-breath, nodding, and tucking yourself into his chest. "deal."
that little sneaky feeling that the two of you had a lot more to discuss didn't disappear, but it could be ignored for now, because at least you were in his arms. at least you had him.
⭑⭑⭑
you're late.
of course you are - the one time you're supposed to be looking perfect, and be emotionally ready, you're nowhere near.
you guess that might be fitting for the two of you, anyways.
you had a whole plan; you were going to come home, have an hour long everything shower, wash every spec of dirt and shave every inch of your body, lather yourself in lotion and body oil and your favorite perfume (reserved for date nights, only - you hadn't pulled that one out in ages), put on the meticulously picked outfit you laid out last night, planned out to the earrings and bracelets, have a glass of champagne to calm your nerves as you took your time to get ready, beating on a natural glam look that would have him fall to his knees in front of you, surely.
you had it all planned out, but you should've guessed it wouldn't work out the way you pictured, anyways.
your team had sprung on you a last minute appearance at nyu, and it wasn't like you could cancel. beside, you really enjoyed talking to younger crowds, and meeting potential fans, so you were excited, even.
it wasn't supposed to go past 3:30, but that still meant that your hour long shower would have to be cut down to thirty minutes, but you would live.
it, however, absolutely did surpass that time, believe or not - by over two hours.
a few questions turned to many, stopping to chat to a few fans afterwards turned to talking to a horde of them, and before you know it, your in the car back to your apartment, stuck in peak hour traffic, nervously drumming your hands into your thighs, checking your phone ever twenty seconds to check the time.
judes plane landed at three, and he was supposed to pick you up at 6:30 to take you to your favorite restaurant - this was a disaster.
okay, a lot has changed since you left madrid in july.
that morning in the coffee shop, you and jude had to have a really hard conversation. you had to face yourself with all the problems your seemingly perfect relationship held, and you had to figure out a solution.
you're coffees had both gone cold.
the cafe began to fill in a bit as time passed, the early morning risers ready to start their days, but the atmosphere remained fairly quiet and easy.
you and jude had been sitting in silence for a long moment as you both contemplated your next words.
not the heavy silence that you had grown accustomed to during your last month together in februrary, but a thoughtful one. one that said that you both didn't want to get this conversation wrong, that you wanted to say everything possible that had building up between you.
"we have so much we still have to...i mean, i have so many things i want to say."
he nodded instantly along. "same. fuck, same. theres so much, i..." he swallowed, leaning forward even further. "i mean, fuck, babe, where do we even start?"
you let out a shaky breath, a hopeful glint in your own gaze mirrored across his. "maybe at the beginning?" you offered.
but where even was that? if you were honest, it went way past februrary, because wasn't that just when the problems started surfacing?
"when i got to new york, i had no idea what do to with myself," you admitted softly, breaking the silence.
his gaze that was glued out the windows snapped towards you at the sound of your voice. he shifted a bit in his seat, eyes narrowing as he focussed in on you, as if readying himself for this conversation. he gave a small nod. go ahead.
you let out a shaky breath. "i spent the first week holed up in my apartment, sitting miserably around. i...i think i thought it would be easier to get back into my old routine, and y'know, when i actually did it was, but the real struggle wasn't that." your eyes are trained on your hands, fidgeting gently on the table. "it was being away from you."
you don't have the nerve to look up and see judes expression - likely scrunched in concern, an edge of hurt circling his iris. a moment passes. "why didn't you tell me?" he asks, devoid of any real anger, but that direct questioning of his was enough to make anyone scramble.
"i...i guess i was embarrassed," you confess, shrugging a bit as you look back up. "i didn't want to be one of those girls who...just forgets how to be alone, and exist without their boyfriend. i didn't want you to think i was one of those girls."
he doesn't interrupt, letting you speak, letting you express what must've been heavy in your mind for a while now. he simply nods again, encouraging to continue.
"the truth was that, well, maybe i had? it's not that i didn't like my job, or that i didn't like my own individual life, but..." you shake your head, shifting again in your seat. "i couldn't...i didn't know how to function normally without you there. it was like i was so overwhelmed by my love for you, that i had no idea what to do with myself."
it was hard to admit this out loud, let alone to yourself. you watch his expression, waiting for judgement, or annoyance, but it stays rooted in understanding, brows furrowed in concentration.
so, you go on. "after the first week, i started to actually work, and go to the studio and everything. and jude, i mean...i completely forgot how much i really loved it," you express, your own chest lightening a bit at the topic. "i forgot how much fun it was, how good i would feel leaving the studio every day, how accomplishing it felt."
he nodded along once more, his lips tilting up a fraction.
"and when it was time to come back here...i think i started to panic, a little," you explain, your expression hardening a bit, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "i don't think i understood that there could be a balance, and that there was a way to maintain it. that i could be with you, and also be by myself."
his lips part to let out a soft breath. your hands reach forward for your cold mug, and you let the brief moment of silence fall between you. you look around to see the scene around you - an older couple sitting in the corner, sharing a pastry, a man in a suit typing on his computer, a few people waiting for their to-go cups. in a way, it was grounding, reassuring - knowing that all these people had likely faced hardships like the one you were faced with now, and had moved on. had been able to get out of bed, go to work, and keep moving.
you look back at jude to see his gaze already on you. when your eyes meet, you give a soft nod. your turn.
he lets out a breath from deep in his chest, and leans back, his hands still around his mug, his gaze falling down to it. his lips part for a moment, preparing to speak, before the words come out.
"when it was getting time for you to come back...i was really nervous," he confesses. "i spent the whole time you were gone missing you, wishing you were still here. and i think i felt...guilty, that i felt like that?"
he shakes his head softly, eyes flickering up to yours to see your expression - as if he was checking for assurance - before continuing. "you were always so good at being by my side, and i didn't want you to think i wanted you to sacrifice your passion for me, so i 'spose i was glad you went back, but...fuck, i missed you like crazy."
theres a slight crack in his voice towards the end, and it makes you want to reach over and hold him. it makes you want to lay your head on his shoulder, whispering all the love and adoration you have for him into his skin so he never forgets it. you stay rooted to your seat, but lean a bit closer instinctively.
he sighs, leaning forward on the table. he squints a bit, head turning to his right to look out the window for a moment. "and i got a bit in my head, didn't i? proper crazy," he laughs a bit at himself. "i think i was scared that you liked it better back home, that you wouldn't want to be here as much. i mean, we hardly talked that much while y'were away. i thought that meant you were close to done, if m'bein honest."
your heart clenched a bit, and you reached over, a hand threading through his as you looked intently into his eyes. "nowhere near, jude."
he sighs softly, squeezing your hand, looking back at you. "i know. i know that now. but then...i was just a right idiot," he shakes his head softly, eyes narrowing a bit in frustration. "i knew you'd be home, and i knew that i should've said no to the boys, but...like i said, i was scared. things were changing and i wasn't ready to face it. i didn't want us to be different. i liked the way we were."
you nodded along. "yeah," you say through a breath. "yeah, me too. i think maybe that was our issue, y'know? i think...its really normal for relationship dynamics to change as they grow, but maybe we took that as if it was a bad thing?"
"yeah, i s'pose," he agrees gently, squeezing your hand softly. "i...i just wanted you to be happy. and i was so worried that being here with me wasn't making you happy anymore."
you heart squeezes at the sentiment, because it's just so jude - empathetic, that inherent need to make the people he loves happy, that familiar self-sacrificing to ensure it.
that was the jude you fell in love with.
you swallow down the rising emotion, nodding softly, looking down to the table. "being with you did make me happy. i just...i needed to also be able to be happy by myself. and that wasn't your fault, and i guess it wasn't really mine either."
his voice comes out quiet. "yeah, i guess me too. i needed to trust that your feelings for me, and our relationship, was stronger than the distance. i guess i was just actin' a bit like an insecure dickhead, wasn't i?"
you shake your head, thumb smoothing over the back of his hand. "we both made mistakes," you correct softly. "us breaking up isn't just one of our faults."
its quiet for another moment. your ears pick up on the gentle jazz humming through the speakers of the shop, the quiet chatter filling up the silence between you and jude. you feel the callouses in his hand, the subtle up and down movement of his leg bouncing under the table.
"what now?" he murmurs questioningly. his gaze on you is intense, but so filled with that longing affection. you wonder if he was itching to reach forward just as much as you were.
what now? you had no idea. you had gotten to the root of the issues, taken accountability, adressed where you went wrong - but what now? talking about the issues doesn't erase them. it doesn't take back all that has happened. you knew it would take more than that.
you softly bite down on your lip. it wasn't like you could just jump back to where you left off - as much as you longed to, it wouldn't be the same, and it wouldn't be healthy. you would just end up exactly where you left off when you broke up - exactly where you're sitting now.
it would take more than that. but you were willing to do whatever it took - thats how much you had faith in him - in him with you.
your gaze flickers across his features with an air of quiet resignation, yet gentle fondness. "i think...i think we take it slow. like, really slow," you answer quietly.
a slightly shaky breath leaves your lips. "i'm...i'm going to go back to new york," your voice cracks a bit towards the end, nerves shaking your initial gentle composure. "and you're going to stay here."
you watch as judes features harden, brows inching inwards. you rush to finish yourself before he assumes the worst. "and we're going to be okay."
it would be hard - you knew it would be hard. it was easier to try to ignore the jude-sized hole in your heart when you were still a bit angry, when you were busy and not talking. but it would be different this time.
you would wonder where he was, and try to suppress that need to contact him at all times. if he was out celebrating a win with the team, you would have to push down your insecurities, push down the made-up image of another woman all over him in your mind.
he roughly inhales. "how...how is this time any different?"
you timidly shrug. "i'm not sure it will be," you admit. because you didn't - you could very well still be a mess without him, wondering if he still loved you as much as you loved him, wondering if you were worth all the distance and drama. and he could still
"but i love you enough to try," i softly utter. "and the only way to solve the problems is to confront them. and the issues aren't with each other - they're with ourselves."
jude knew that every word that left your lips was reasonable, true, even. but it didn't make it any easier.
he just got you back - and now he has to let you go again?
"am i..." his voice cracks towards the end, and your fingers squeeze him tighter. "am i allowed to talk to you?"
his voice is akin to a little boys, and it makes your chest clench and eyes glass over. you sniff slightly. "of course, jude. anytime you want," you assure. "but we...we can't..."
he nods, a hand coming up to wipe at his eyes, leaving the skin around them red. "i know. you're right, babe."
he leans over the small table, brushing some hair behind your ear, and you rest your cheek against his palm, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. he looks at you intently. "i love you. and i love you for loving me enough to stick it out, because this might be difficult."
you nod, a hand coming to his inner upper arm, needing more contact between the two of you. "probably," your lips tilt up a bit, self deprecatingly. "but it'll be worth it."
he lets out a heavy breath. "i hope so."
you did as you both said you would do - you flew back to new york, and jude stayed in madrid.
and you were right - it was hard.
you did what most girls in their 20s living in new york did. you went out with friends, bought a pilates membership, spent late afternoons sitting in a west village restuarant with an aperol.
you spent a lot of time with your friends and family, especially in the beginning. it was a bit hard - okay, really hard - to be alone at first, so you stayed at your sisters townhouse on the upper west side for a whole week, then bounced between your friends apartments for a bit.
you wrote, every now and then when you felt like it - it kept you busy. you even released a song for an upcoming movie.
you missed jude greatly, but it was different this time.
instead of suffering in the silence of your insecurities, this time, the two of you talked. you made as much room as possible for catch ups over the phone, and you were honest about what you were feeling in those moments.
"it's still really hard to be alone."
"i had a rough day today. i wish you were here."
"i had trouble sleeping last night. i almost didn't tell you, because i wanted you to have fun while you were out, but i couldn't shut my brain off."
as time passed, you stopped wondering where jude was all the time, if he missed you.
it wasn't because you cared less - it was because you knew that jude loved you, and that was all that mattered.
and that knowledge didn't come from yourself alone. it came from his constant reassurance, his words of adoration and care.
"i don't care how many times i have to say it," he had one time expressed through the phone speaker after you had been particulalry hard on yourself. "i'll say it as many times as i have to for you to understand that im serious about us, and that nothing is going to change that."
you also had to reassure him, it wasn't a one way street - jude often wondered if your devotion to him was causing you more harm then good. that classic self-sacrificing bs that was so endearing, yet so frustrating, still kicked into action often. you did a pretty good job and kicking it back to sleep.
after five months, the two of you were in a really good spot.
so when jude suggested tentatively that he buy a ticket out to new york, you didn't hesitate to say yes - you probably should've, but you couldn't help but be excited by the prospect.
the idea of seeing him after re-establishing the trust, after building up a friendship with the promise of more - it was everything you've been waiting for.
"its about time i come to you," he murmured tiredly over the phone that night. it was early in the morning in madrid, and he had made sure to be up to catch you before you went to sleep. "after all of the months of you coming to me. i think its only fair."
and it was supposed to go perfectly - but you were late.
when the car finally rolled into your street, you hurriedly thanked the driver and practically jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut as you hopped onto the sidewalk. your heart dropped when you saw what stood by the doors of your building.
jude.
looking perfect.
you were too late.
he was leaned against a pillar, looking at his phone. for a moment, you were to overwhelmed by the joy filling your chest at the sight of him, that you charged towards him.
"jude," you breathed, the single announcement of his name filled with a tone of relief and deep affection. he looked up, eyes lightening as you crushed into his chest, arms wrapping around his back. his arms easily held you, fitting himself back against you like it's muscle memory.
he said your name with his chest, and it sounded like coming home. you pull away and see the slight twitch in his brows, portraying his confusion. "what-"
"i'm so sorry," you blurted out, the events of today rushing in. "i got forced into doing this q&a thing at nyu today, and it was supposed to be long done by now, but it totally went overtime, and we got stuck in rush hour traffic, and i was supposed to look perfect and everything was supposed to be perfect and-"
"woah, woah," jude chuckled under his breath a bit, cutting off your ramblings with a steady hold of your upper arms. "slow down, s'alright, yeah?"
"no, it's not," you shake your head, hands coming up to cover your face. "you came all the way here and i'm a mess and it was supposed to be-"
"let me guess - perfect?" judes tone with lightly amused. "no offense, love, but since when are we perfect?"
your heart flutters faintly and the pet name, and the corners of your lips lift just a bit. you let out a huff, crossing your arms, a weak attempt at defiance. "i was at least supposed to be showered."
"y'can do that still," he promises, reaching down to scroll on his phone. you furrowed your brows. "what are you doing?"
"cancelling the reservation," he replies bluntly, and your face falls. "no, jude, what-"
"we're not gonna make it," he shakes his head. "and we don't want to spend the little time we have rushing."
his words made sense, but you still stubbornly wanted to stick to the plan. "but jude -"
"no buts," he directed. "you're going to go upstairs and show me your apartment, shower, get all comfy, and we're going to order in dinner."
you huff. "but jude-"
"and its going to be perfect." his voice is lightly teasing, his eyes widened in that way that meant he was poking fun at you with that harmless, boyish charm that you missed so much that you couldn't help but let your lips lift.
you roll your eyes half-heartedly, but nod. "fine. but make another reservation for tomorrow, the rigatoni there is insane."
and just like that, the two of you managed to effortlessly slip into your old groove, without even thinking about it.
you pull him inside when you see someone squinting over at the two of you, clearly trying to place where they know you from.
you took the elevator up and showed jude around your apartment. he made little comments throughout the short tour that made you secretly glad that you had forgone your reservation after all.
"oi, i remember taking this photo. when'd you put it up?"
"this just feel so much like you. i love it."
"if i were you, i wouldn't even need a bed, this couch is proper comfy."
having jude in your space for the first time was a bit surreal - in these walls, you had spent so much time missing him, and here he was.
you left jude to his own devices as you made you way to your room, slipping into the bathroom and showering. it wasn't quite as long as you had planned, but you were too entirely aware of judes presence in the next room that you could hardly wait to rejoin him.
once the drama of your reunion was forgotten, you finally processed it - jude was here. in your apartment. after five months of not seeing him.
this was something the two of you had waited on for far longer than five months, though. since your devastating breakup in februrary, since he dropped you off at the airport the december before that - the two of you have waited to be here again.
you were only just a bit terrified of his being here. after all the work you both had done to get here, the last thing you wanted to do was ruin it.
it could all be for nothing - you could both realize that you aren't right for each other anymore, that you don't work, that you've outgrown this relationship. but you were willing to take the risk.
you stepped out of the shower, drying off and stepping into a pair of cotton sleep shorts and throwing a tank top over your head. you brush out your wet hair, apply some lotion over your skin, then step back out.
jude had made himself at home, resting back on the couch as he watched some game on the tv. soccer, or football, whatever, definitely. seeing him so casually in your space was a little breathtaking that you paused in the entryway before making your way over to the couch.
he looks up as you sit in the corner of the couch, not far from where he's sat, and reaches for the remote, turning down the volume. "hey, how was your shower?"
"nice," you answer simply, smiling softly over at him.
you felt an odd sense of ease. you had expected to be much more nervous in this moment, but you supposed the circumstances of your reunion quickly broke the ice.
"good," he smiles back. "i ordered in some food - hope you don't mind, i went through the drawers of your kitchen and found some takeout menus. chinese okay?"
you nod, lips staying in that easy smile. "yeah, thats perfect."
you adjust a bit to reach for a throw blanket, laying it over your legs. "so, how was the flight?"
he shrugs, leaning into the back couch cushions. "not too bad, yeah. a little punk decided to kick my chair half the time, but otherwise it was alright."
you snicker, nudging his knee with your outstretched foot. "you probably antagonized him first."
his jaw drops in offense, though his smiling eyes gave him away. "no, i did not! i was perfectly well behaved."
"sure you were," you tease, shaking your head.
the two of you chat back and forth easily, catching up on details you managed to miss in phone calls this past week. you missed watching his game last night because you had dinner with your manager, so he gave you a recap, passionately retelling the events of the match, with you hanging on to every word.
when the food arrived, the two of you sat on the carpet, eating the takeout chinese off the coffee table. it felt so much like the old you and jude that your heart almost burst at the domesticity of it.
still, you didn't want to cross any lines. while the two of you had easily fell into a familiar rhythm, nothing inherently romantic or intimate had occurred. you were both skating around it, waiting for the other to strike first.
the sun quietly began to set past your windows, the late afternoon sun washing over jude in the most beautiful way that you sometimes paused in conversation to stare. he would eventually notice, eyes tilting knowingly, lips tilting up before nudging you gently. "you were saying?"
"where the rubbish?" he asked after you both had finished, picking up the empty takeout containers as he rose to his feet.
you scrunched your nose, looking up at him from your place on the ground. "the rubish is next to the sink in the kitchen," you direct through a teasing smile, copying his accent.
he rolls his eyes, "accidentally" bumping into you as he reaches down for some more containers. "sorry, love, trash," he mocks in an american accent.
you let out a laugh through your nose, turning to watch him bring the discarded boxes over to the trash, seeing as he shakes his head to himself, a fondly amused smile playing his lips.
when he returns, the sun has mostly set, the channel moved on to something random, given the game had ended long ago. you got up to light some candles to overpower the lingering scent from the food, and gathered some more blankets to warm the two of you up. early january in new york was not pretty.
you remembered that you had some old clothes of his that you had "borrowed" between trips, and offered them to him so he was more comfortable. he accepted, and travelled with you to your room as your sorted through your closet.
when you returned with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, you found him standing by the doorway, eyes trained on a photograph framed on your dresser - one his mom had took that christmas you spent in stourbridge. it showed the two of you sitting on the patio in a swing seat, mugs of hot chocolate in both hands and a shared blanket on your lap, grinning big with red-chilled cheeks at the camera.
you swallowed, handing the clothes to him with a small smile, before pointing towards the bathroom.
you sit back in your spot from before on the sofa, and a few moments later, jude returns, sitting just a bit closer this time.
after both of you get cozy under a few blankets, a moment of silence passes. not awkward, or heavy, just aware.
it's you who speaks first. "can you believe its almost been a year since we broke up?" you ask, you voice quiet, holding a certain softness that wasn't present before.
he shakes his head, a deep breath leaving his lips. "no, not really. but, at the same time, kind of. it...it feels like its been a long time, since we..."
since we were dating, were the words he had wanted to say, but were a bit too complicated. because in all your discussions about fears, and insecurities, and emotions, there had never been one specifically labeling if you were official or not.
while there was a blatant understanding that you belonged to the other, that there was no one else either of you were entertaining, your relationship status to others was simply described as "its complicated," or, "we're....together?"
at the end of the day, it didn't really matter, it only had to make sense to the two of you. but, sometimes you wondered how else to call it, if not a relationship.
"yeah, i know what you mean," you reply gently. because it did - it felt like forever since he's really fully felt like yours.
jude places a hand over the blanket covering your knee, and when you meet his eyes again, they're swirling with that heart-clenching gentle care that makes you want to throw caution to the wind. "i'm glad i'm here."
his words are simple, yet they made your heart beat just a bit faster. the tension in your features ease, and an easy smile pulls your lips.
"i'm glad you're here, too," you all but whisper back.
"and," he continues, swallowing. "i know we probably still have some things to talk about," he addresses, his features tensing just the slightest. "but i just want to...exist with you, just for tonight, if thats all right. we can figure the rest out later, yeah?"
you nod as he finishes speaking. "yeah, i'd like that."
you can't remember the last time you had just existed in judes space.
he nods in response, features softening again. you prop your elbow against the back of the couch, resting the side of your head into your palm as you gaze over at him. the warmth of his hand is still felt on your knee from over the blanket. "so," you start, eyes glazing over with a soft playfulness. "hows the weather in madrid this time of year?"
jude chuckles, shifting a bit to match your position. "cold, but not as cold as here."
"i remember that. has it snowed yet?"
"not yet," he answers, maintaining you eye. god, you forgot how hard it could be to make eye contact with him. "but it will."
you hum, eyes falling down to his hand on your knee. you hesitate just a moment. "do you remember that one time it snowed? it was like....january, 2025? we just got back from you parents?"
recognition crosses over his eyes, and something slightly darker. he clenches his jaw and nods, hand flexing a bit against your knee. "yeah, i remember."
how could he not remember? the snow coating his yard, the two of you cozying up by the fire, the way he looked at you as he took you right in front of it...
you look back up at him, observing his features. were your crossing a line? should you not be bringing this up? though his eyes were just a bit harder, the memory clearly present, he was looking at you with this open intensity that you took as a green light.
"thats one of my favorite memories, you know," you quietly tell him. "it was one of those ones that i had to put in a box after we broke up. too...perfect to remember when you're trying to forget about someone."
your smile is a bit crooked, a bit self deprcating, but jude simply nods. "i know what you mean."
you bite down on your lip. "maybe thats why i wanted tonight to be perfect as well, or whatever. i had this image of what it was supposed to be, you know, basing it off of the past," you shake your head, brows furrowing a bit. "but what made it perfect was that we weren't trying. it just turned out that way."
he looks at you thoughtfully, then down at his hand. he slightly moves it, back and forth, in a soothing motion, before looking back at you. "i think this is pretty perfect," he comments quietly, looking at you intently.
you smile softly, nodding in return. "yeah, i think so too."
when did the two of you get so close? had you both subconsciously scooted closer, or had he done it on purpose? were your bodies just naturally drawn to each other, that you just naturally magnetized?
one of his hands comes up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze a perfect mix between intimate and intense. your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your eyes falling briefly to his, full and plump, and suddenly just inches from your own.
for a moment, he looks conflicted, his thoughts surely mirroring yours - is this too fast? should we slow down? should we wait?
but you had been playing by the rules for so long, been playing the long, waiting game, all to get to here. you supposed you could afford a rule break, especially when it felt as right as this.
it was a soft brush at first, more a question than a kiss - is this still okay? can it still feel like this? but when you leaned in further, he deepened it, like a secret - or assurance - passed from lip to lip.
a sharp intake of air left your lips - you're not exactly sure what elicits it, whether its the blissful feel of his lips on yours again, or his hands moving up from your knee along your thigh.
your hands stabilize on his waist, fingers dipping between the waistband of his sweatpants and hem of his shirt, sliding across the skin there. a flash of pride comes through you when you feel his grip on your leg tighten in response.
a few slow brushes of your lips deepens when his free hand cups your jaw, pressing himself closer.
the ripple that passed through your chest told you everything you needed to know - it was warm, and slow, and so terrifyingly right. just like you and jude.
the pace quickens just a bit, your hands coming up to his shoulders and shifting over to sit on your knees when you feel the need to get closer. catching your new desire, he subtly nods against you, shifting so he's sitting back against the couch cushions, pulling you over to sit in his lap. you let out a noise of appreciation in return.
he kissed you like it was a promise. firm, unshakeable, filled with things he wasn't sure he could say out loud just yet. i've been waiting for you. i've missed you, i still love you so much it scares me i'll ruin this again.
and you kissed him like you believed every word hanging off his lips - because you did. you did now, and you would as long as he would speak them, and probably even past that.
you had almost forgotten how intoxicating it was to be with him like this - how intensely he flooded your sense, making your brain go foggy with all other thoughts but him. you wondered if he would still be able to do that, the answer clearly a glaring yes.
you press yourself against his chest, keeping your hands on his shoulder - behave, you instructed yourself through the fog. don't take it too far.
his hands take a possessive hold on your lower back, fingers slipping under the hem of your tank top to simply rest on the skin. you wonder briefly if he also itched to take it further.
"okay?" he breaths past your lips, parting for just a moment.
you nod instantly, eyes flittering to his. "mhm."
at your approval, judes lips tilt, nose brushing against yours. "fuck, babe, missed this."
you hum out a sigh, smile matching his, reaching your hands around to the nape of his neck to play with dark coily curls there. "probably not more than me."
he raises his brows, amusement dancing in his irises. "ya think?"
"mhm."
"hmm," he hums, hands sliding over to squeeze at your waist again. "think i can change your mind?"
his husky voice causes your stomach to flutter, and you softly bite down on your lip. "you can try."
"i can do more than that," he says against your lips, before reconnecting them.
he shifts so the two of you are laying down against the couch, heads cushioned by your couch cushions, reaching over to cover you with a larger throw blanket, all while staying connected to your lips.
this time, the kisses were slower, and deeper, and thicker - like he really was trying to prove just how much he missed this. while the kiss isn't anything overtly sexual, it's sensual, and elicits a content yet needy sound to leave your lips.
his hands shift from your back to your hips, holding you tight against him as your legs find their place tangled between his legs. you can feel his warmth even more in this position, both of your heats trapped with you under the blanket, though you're hardly complaining.
his tongue reaches out to tentatively brush against yours, and at your receptive moan, he takes it as his sign to repeat the motion, deepening the kiss even further.
"you shaved," your murmur suddenly against his lips, hands momentarily reaching up around his jaw. you can't believe you just realized this, that the absent feeling of his stubble brushing against your chin was what gave it away.
a sigh leaves his lips, and he lets out a breathy laugh like sound. "um, yeah, i did."
your brows pinch just a bit. he wasn't shaved earlier this week when you watched his match, meaning he did it recently - had he done it just for you?
you simply meet his lips again, hands coming around his back to press him closer to you, pulling up his shirt to feel his skin against your palms.
you're not sure how long you spent like this - held in his arms, lips meeting adoringly, making casual conversation when your breaths get too labored or hands get to needy - but you know you fall asleep in that position, far too happy to ever let him leave your side again.
⭑⭑⭑
2 months later
⭑⭑⭑
you were really nervous to be here.
you weren't sure why - the two of you had already gone through most of the hard motions of rekindling, this was just another one. though, that being said, most of said motions weren't actually hard at all. in fact, most were pretty nice.
when you told your friends and family that you and jude had officially gotten back together, everyone was decidedly elated for you. after you had admitted to your friends about your slip-up back in july that actually ended with a productive conversation and plan, they began to slowly thaw to the idea of you and jude getting back together. lucky for them, they had five months to get used to it.
your sister didn't seem surprised - she was the one who had looked at you so knowingly at her own wedding, who had observed your mutual devotion to the athlete, joking quietly about how it would be the you in that dress one day, so sure you and jude would last.
your parents, on the other hand, were both surprised - bless their hearts, they may be the only ones - but were thrilled. they both had loved jude, and loved how happy he made you when you were together. jude called you the night after you told them over lunch that your dad had already texted him with a promise to fly out to watch a game in person, and your mom had also messaged him with sweet words of approval.
his friends and family were the same - many of judes friends had become your own throughout your relationship, and while you kept distant contact with most, it was nice to finally be able to really see them. when you came back to madrid to visit, you had dinner with a few of his closest friends on the team, and you couldn't stop smiling all night, wrapped around jude like some dream you had in the depths of your despair.
you got dinner with just denise on that same visit, and it was just so warm and easy that you came home to jude and cried by how happy it made you.
over the few days jude was in new york, you both slowly came to the conclusion you were ready to go full in. he officially asked you to be his girlfriend on your fire escape at sunset the night before he left, and you tackled him by climbing over and peppering kisses all over his face as you agreed.
that night he group called his parents from your living room, fresh out of the shower after celebrating your re-upgraded titles, and they answered after a few respective rings.
"jude, darling, how's new york?" you heard his mother ask.
judes eyes flicker over to where you were standing in the kitchen - wearing only his shirt - and his lips tilted up. "yeah, great, mum. can't complain."
"are you at the hotel right now?" his dad questioned, squinting at the screen.
a small, breathy laughs left his lips, and he looked back over to you, silently beckoning you over. "nah, nah, i actually have a surprise for you both."
standing behind him on the couch, you peeked down to the screen, smiling nervously. "hi guys, how are you?"
the wide grins that took over their features soothed your worries instantly. "oh, darling! this is such a nice surprise! how are you?" denise gushed.
"i've been good, thank you. great now that your sons visiting me."
"he seems to be doing pretty great himself, doesn't he?" mark teased from his corner of the screen, causing the three of you to laugh.
he called jobe right after, and his younger brother shook his head with a big smile. "i should've known, you slimy git. can't help himself. right pathetic, innit?"
so, the friends and family aspect? that part was by far the easiest.
figuring out the logistics was a bit less. you and jude 2.0, while being a lot stronger and a lot more secure, still wanted to see each other as much as possible.
even though, career wise, it isn't particularly busy for you right now, you didn't want to reverse all the work you put in by just running off into the sunset with jude again. so, you still spent most of your time in new york, which jude understood wholeheartedly. "i spent a basically year without you," he had expressed. "i can handle a few weeks at a time."
when you weren't in new york, you were back in your second home, madrid. you were so happy to be back, that you spent a whole day alone just going to all of your old favorite spots while jude was at practice on your first visit back.
sometimes, it was still hard, especially the first month. you still had to have a few serious conversations, still had to work through some kinks, but as more time passed, the easier it got.
so that leads to now - you sitting in the front seat of denises car as she drove to bernabeu to attend your first game since your broke up.
you initially didn't know why you were so nervous. you never really cared all that much about public perception when it came to you and jude, especially given that most of it was positive, so why did it matter if the world knew you were back together?
but, as you had talked it out with jude the night before, it began to make more sense.
"i guess..." you had started, sat next to him in bed, wearing your black, slip nightgown. "i'm worried it will pop the bubble."
"pop the bubble?" he questioned, hands behind his head as he laid beside you in nothing but his boxers. talk about distracting.
"yeah," you huffed a bit, lips tilting. "everything has just been so nice these past few months, and i think i'm a bit worried that...i don't know, i guess it doesn't really make much sense."
"no, it does," he assured, leaning over to place a hand on your knee. "you're worried that if the world knows, then 'reality' kicks in, and this all fades."
a flash of guilt passed over your features. you slumped over a bit, laying down against the pillows, scooting closer. "it doesn't mean i don't have faith in us, i just..."
he shushed you with his hands on your waist. "i know, love, i know that. and i get it, we've been living in this 'bubble', and it feels too good to be true. but it's real, and i promise i'm not going anywhere."
you nodded softly, hand coming around to wrap around his back.
"and if you're not ready, you dont have to come to the math tomorrow. i wont be hurt."
"thank you," you murmured softly. "but i want to come. i've missed seeing you play."
even though he said he wont be hurt, you still wanted to be there for him. you wanted to show him that you're always going to stick it out, even when it's scary. thats the whole point of you and jude 2.0.
"i'm glad you're here, sweetheart," denise smiles warmly at you from the drivers seat as she pulls into the vip parking lot.
you smile back, letting out a small breath. "me too. i'm a bit nervous being back here after so long, and, of course, the media and whatever, but its been so long since i've seen jude play in person so, i'm excited."
shes hums in response. "yes, well, that makes sense." a heavy sigh leaves her lips. "the media can be a nuisance, but what was always so strong about you and jude was that neither of you paid it any mind."
you nod in agreement, eyes softening. "yeah, that's true."
the two of you make your way up to the box, being led by staff through a root when you wouldn't be seen just yet. when you got there, you were greeted by mark and jobe, as well as a few other friends and family you were finally reuniting with.
you were much calmer now that you were surrounded with familiar faces, and thinking back on both your conversations with jude and his mom almost completely quelled your anxious thoughts.
you hardly thought about the cameras on you as you stepped onto the balcony with jobe, talking casually as you took your seats a few minutes before the game starts. you simply waved with bright smiles at a few fans when you noticed their attention, before continuing your conversation with judes brother.
the rest of his family came to join soon, and you all settled in to watch the match. when jude came out on the field, he instantly turned to the box, squinting up to where you are. when he spots you, his whole face lights up, pride washing over his features. he blows you a kiss and a wink, and you grin down at him, blowing him a million tiny kisses back.
"whats bellingham lookin' at?" a commentator questions to his companion.
"looks like the family box," his co-worker conspires. when the footage pans to you, he chuckles. "ah, must be the missus."
"well, thats his ex-missus, innit?"
"i guess not anymore. looks like bellinghams got his happy ending before the game even starts."
ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ (part 1.5) ₊ ˚ ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊
read part one:
⭑in which, you and jude get cozy by the fireplace...maybe a little too cozy....
⭑contains, suggestive content, smut (MDNI), fluff, early relationship cuteness, p in v, mutual masturbation, soft dom!jude, light dirty talk, fireplace smut, basically (?) secret relationship, teasing
⭑a/n, can be read as a standalone!!! a little flashback one shot while we wait for the full part two!! had so much fun writing this <33
it was early january of 2025.
you and jude had just gotten back to madrid from his childhood home in stourbridge, after spending the holidays with his family. you had been nervous going into it, given your relationship was relatively knew, but the warmth the bellinghams offered you easily quelled all nerves pretty quick.
jude was technically still of on break, not expected at practice until sometime next week, and your next tour stop wasn't scheduled until mid january, so you were existing inside a moment of bliss for the time being.
tonight was a specifically special one. after you flight landed late last night, you and jude had instantly passed out, tangled around each other in his increasingly familiar bed. you had then slept in until 11 - something that you can't remember doing since high school - and had the kind of morning thats slow, and easy. no particular rush or intention to be anywhere but in each others arms.
when you finally got up, you made some coffee and ordered in breakfast, eating at the dining table, gaze every now and then glancing outside at the clouded sky - it was supposed to snow tonight. you chatted easily about random things, your feet in his lap as he smoothed his hand along your lower leg and ankle, looking at you with that foggy, smoldering expression he carried when he was still hazy with sleep.
you were still getting used to it - and to not melting every time he spoke in that raspy, deep morning voice.
you then had a brief joint shower. jude gently washed your hair, taking care to not rush around the knots, making sure each spot was covered and detangled. you pressed small kisses against his slippery skin, in a way that was so casually affectionate that it made your heart stutter in that funny way its begun to do around him. the kind that had you biting your lip, words with too deep of a meaning itching to be uttered too fast.
you laid in his bed the whole afternoon, binge-watching star wars after his blasphemous confession over breakfast that he had never seen the saga. you started at the prequels, going in timeline order, only making it to revenge of the sith by dinner time.
music hummed from the speaker placed in the corner of his kitchen as you danced around it, concocting a meal for the two of you. jude sat at the counter, asking every other moment if you needed help. no, you had assured. you wanted to take care of him, to let him relax before going back to the season - and this, you supposed, was one of the only ways you knew how.
it started to snow as you finished eating, and your eyes lit up - snow, you were familiar with. after surviving a lifetime of new york winters, snow was common - but in the city, it was often dreaded. snow meant inconvenience, ice you had to parkour around every time you left your house, piles of slush turning gross with trash and waste after just a few days.
but here, the snow was beautiful.
you were sure out in the more urban areas it would be similar to the snow you're used to, but in the villas slightly isolated location, the snow simply coated the grass and surrounding trees, turning judes yard to a temporary winter wonderland.
in a classic winter fashion, the two of you converted his living room into a cozy snow escape - worked together to push the coffee table back, placed layers of blankets and pillows on the carpet, turned off the lights and lit the fireplace as the sun dimmed further beyond the snow clouds, casting the sky into total darkness, apart from the falling snow lit by the faint outdoor lights. it was something out of a dream.
you had been sitting, eyes trained on the fire place jude had lit just moments ago before going off to make some hot chocolate. your fingers lightly played with the soft blanket covering your lap, watching as the fire danced and cracked before you.
your boyfriend returned with two mugs, squatting down beside you, placing his on the table behind you and yours gently in your held out hands. "careful," he instructed. "it's pipin' hot."
you nod softly, taking a small sip before placing it behind you like he had. you softly shift to make room for him under the blankets, the two of you adjusting to get comfortable. you inch closer, his arm easily falling around your shoulders as you make yourself at home on his chest. "its good," you murmur.
he hums, his fingers scratching light at your upper arm and shoulder. you feel his head tilt down to yours, his other hand coming over to brush some hair off your chest. "m'glad."
you had moved the speaker over into the living room, the playlist from before still sounding quietly in a corner. the atmosphere was just perfect.
a slight chill runs through you at his gentle touch, his warm hands contrasting with your cold skin. you think he must notice, because he shifts a bit closer, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head.
your head tilt up in reply, your nose brushing against his neck before leaning further to press a few, slow kisses into his skin. a warm noise comes from his chest, and his hand on your shoulder comes down to wrap around you hip, squeezing lightly.
after a few moments of your lips on his neck, you lean up, nudging his jaw with your nose teasingly, a faint smile playing your lips. he takes this as his cue to look down at you, the corners of his lips tilting up, brows furrowed in faux annoyance. you look back, beginning to beam up at him, eyes flicking down to his plump lips before looking back up.
his head jerks up and down subtly, a barely-there-nod, before leaning down to connect your lips. you breath into him, a hand coming up to cup his sharp jaw to deepen the kiss.
your lips move lazily against each other, softly continuing their exploration. throughout the past four months of knowing jude, this had been one of the funnest parts - learning each other.
you thought back to your first kiss - one out on the street in front of a nightclub in madrid after they had won a match. it was risky, reckless, even - anyone could've noticed you. but it was just so magical of a moment, the thought hardly crossed your mind.
at first, he had barely touched you. it went from a simple moment, laughing as you stumbled out of the strobe lights, escaping from the crowd, leaning up against the side of the building as the streets moved around you. his hands had found your waist, in that casually affectionate way that shone through, especially when he's intoxicated.
it moved on to a whisper of lips, a brush during conversation, easily blamed on close proximity, but couldn't be passed off by the intensity in both of your eyes.
when you leaned up to match your lips to his, you kissed him like you had something to prove. you supposed you both did.
he met yours with an aching need - one that told both of you that you held out to long. that the weeks of flirting, of getting to know each other, of trying not to rush into it proved futile.
you remember your lipstick was still fresh, but he hadn't seemed to care. he kissed you like he wanted to wear your mark in front of the world. it was enough to make your knees buckle.
even since then, you've learned more and more about the ways to kiss jude - the lazy kisses that were un-rushed, that held a different kind of affection and care. the hot and heavy kisses, filled with passion and clashing lips, the air thickening with the intensity. the slow ones, that were intimate and needy, the kind where he would stop and look up at you with that boyish grin, the distraction never quite being able to ruin the moment, instead, making your heart ache in need for him just a bit more.
kissing jude was your new favorite thing. it was a topic you could happily write songs about for the rest of your life.
when jude shifts you over to straddle his lap, you let out a surprised, pleased sigh into his mouth, and he swallowed it with his tongue pressing against yours. your senses began to overwhelm you - his hands traveling around your body, trailing goosebumps, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, the sounds of his heavy breaths and occasional content hums, the smooth music furthering the ambience in the background. he was overtaking you in every way, and you would happily lay and let him forever, if he would have you.
his hands slid under your top, splaying against the small of your back. you shiver slightly, pressing your chest further against his in response. you feel the ghost of a smile tilting his lips up against your, and you match it, causing your teeth to briefly clash and small laughs to leave your lips.
he kisses your smile away, another small gasp leaving you when his hands travel south, gripping the globes of your ass and squeezing, pulling your further into his hips. the noise that leaves his lips closely resembles the one that left yours.
his eyes meet yours as your lips part, his hungry blown out pupils and kiss-bitten lips telling you exactly what was on his mind. your expression must've been similar, because he experimentally tugged on the hem of your top, and you nodded, biting down on your lip as you lift your arms for him to slide it off.
since it was still early days in your relationship, you always wanted to look pretty for him - so naturally, of course you were wearing a matching black lace set. you watched as his gaze fell to your chest, and his tongue subconsciously coming out to wet his lips. feeling his attention causes you to squirm just a bit, whining softly as you reach down to begin to lift his own shirt.
he lets out a surprised laugh, leaning up from the pillows placed against the table or a moment to help you remove his shirt, his eyes finding yours again. "eager, are we?"
the playful tilt in his accent has you almost dripping. you huff beneath your breath. "just didn't want to be the only person undressed," you narrow your eyes at him, filled with fake judgement. "cocky, are we?"
he blows out a breath, leaning back again, causing your hands to fall from his shoulders to his chiseled chest. his hands are steady on your hips, his eyes rake down you unashamedly, unapologetically. "can you hardly blame me, when i've got you on my lap?"
a shiver uncontrollably runs down your spine, and you bite the inside of your cheek, lips tilting up almost shyly. god, he looked good like this - the fire lighting up his features just right, showing off his chisled structure, eyes hungry and filled with raw want, lips tilted up appreciatively - he oozed natural confidence, this easy sex appeal that most people had to learn.
you lightly shove his chest, before leaning down to meet him. "shut up," you murmur, connecting your lips again.
you feel the rumble in his chest before you hear the soft chuckle let into your mouth, and you're sure your cheeks are hot. you blame it on the fire.
you hum appreciatively when you feel it - the growing hardness concealed in his sweatpants, the way he wants you to feel it, bucking up his hips every time you gently pass over it.
your purposefully grind a bit harder down into him, enjoying the audible hitch in his breath and tightening of his hands around you. his hands come back down to your ass, sliding under your thin sleep shorts to guide you against him.
your breaths both pick up to pants at the blissful sensation of your clothed parts moving against each other, tingles traveling up to your stomachs. jude pulls away, shifting to lay you down against the layers upon layers of blankets, cushioning your back as he climbs over you, forearms bracketed on both sides of your head as he leans back down, connecting your lips.
his hands come down to wrap around the waist band of your shorts. "lift up," he murmurs, and you do as he says, hips momentarily leaving the ground as he slides the cotton fabric down your legs, pulling them off your feet and tossing them to the side, removing another layer between you and where you want him the most. he eagerly leans back down, taking your mouth against his once more.
one of your hands rest on the nape of his neck, while the other slowly travels down his stomach, nails leaving an invisible trail as you reach his sweatpants. you hear his breath hitch as you halfheartedly slip your hands beneath the fleece, scratching against the neat hair there, before coming back out, instead inching over his bulge. one of you favorite things you had learned about jude so far - he hardly wore underwear with sweatpants.
"fuck," he hisses, pressing himself further against your hand. "s'that what y'want?"
you nod, eyes hooded as you looked up at him through your lashes. "mhm," you hum, biting your lip as you palm him, eliciting a small groan from him.
he hardly hesitates, reaching down to slide your panties down the way he had done to your shorts moments before. he doesn't even have to ask this time, your hips are already lifted.
when he sits up to remove his sweatpants, you follow, reaching around your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall down your arms and off to the side. you lean back on your elbows, biting your lip as you watch him remove the final barrier between you, your eyes almost comically lighting up when his dick is revealed - you somehow forget how large he is every time.
jude grabs a condom from the front pocket of his pants before pushing them to the side, and watches as you raise your brows at him. he shakes his head, lips turning up as he places a hand beside your head, his other lightly tossing the condom somewhere not far. "oi, don't look at me like that. gotta be prepared for moments like this."
you snicker softly, your hand coming up to your lips as you spit, then reaching down between the two of you to wrap around him. your marvel at the way his features tighten just a fraction, his brows narrowing at the sensation of your warm fingers on his dick. "what, like this?"
he lets out a breathy laugh, forehead falling against yours, his other hand coming down on the other side of your head. "exactly like this."
his leans forward further, pressing sloppy kisses into your neck, even allowing himself to suck on the skin slightly. the two of you had both confessed how hot you found hickeys, but given your careers - and the fact that your relationship was not yet public knowledge - you had both avoided giving or recieving them, except for unseens places.
you loved it when you were away from jude, and you spotted a love bite on your thigh in the shower, or against your ribs in bed. he had expressed the same.
lucky for the two of you, you both had nowhere to be for a while.
your strokes on his cock were slow - a gentle up and down, a simple twist of your wrist, a teasing passover of your thumb across his tip. your core twists each time his breaths come out shakily against your skin, each time little moans and groans leave his lips.
your movements speed up a little, and one of his hands leaves the blankets below you, shifting over a bit to reach down gather your wetness against his middle and pointer finger. you let out a gasp of your own, movements stuttering, and jude smirks subtly, eyes flicking up to yours before his two fingers enter you, slowly curling up.
you bite down on your lip, mostly undeterred - though a part of you would like to just sit back and let him have his way with you - and continue to stroke him, grip hardening just a bit.
it was almost like a competition of who could give in first. of who could admit the other was causing them so much pleasure that they couldn't take it anymore.
when your thumb ran over his tip the next time, his started circling your clit, his thick, long fingers still sliding in and out of you. you bite down on your lip to conceal your whimpers, and you can tell jude is doing the same, the focussed arch of his brows portraying his concentration on your pleasure rather than his own.
your gazes both flickered from the movement going on between you to each others eyes, sharing the awe of the pleasure passing between you. you felt the heat of the fire on the side of your body, but it was nothing compared to heat cultivated between you.
you can feel the coil tightening in your lower stomach, so you let out a pleased breath, your hand leaving his dick to brace against his chest. his fingers still inside you, eyes coming up to yours. your breaths were both labored, eyes glazed over with want.
you buck up against him, gasping when the lower side of his dick brushes against your core. "jude, please," you whine softly. "wanna feel you."
his eyes darken even further. "yeah?" he asks, his coaxing, almost mocking voice furthering your need. "this isn't enough for you?"
you whine against, fingers dragging down his hands. "no. need you inside."
his fingers leaves your hole, causing you to clamp down a whine at the emptiness, as he reaches past your head for the condom, ripping the wrapper open before handing the rubber to you.
you flush a bit at the action - jude had quickly caught on to your strange affinity for putting on the condom for him. something about it felt like affection, like doing that small thing for him showed your thanks. he didn't mind it - in fact, he thought it was the hottest thing in the world, the sight of your concentrated features as your small hands slide the rubber along his dick, pinching the tip to allow space for his cum.
once you've done so, judes hand replaces yours on his cock, lining up with your entrance. once he is, his gaze remains locked on your features, watching each dip of your expression, each widening part of your lips as he slides himself further and further into your gaping, desperate hole.
every step of the way you are squeezing his biceps, gasping at how warm he feels, how full he makes you. your wetness allows him to enter without much fight, those his largeness still made it a bit of a struggle - you were still getting used to his size.
when he bottomed out, you squirmed a bit against him, letting out small sounds of pleasure at his fullness. his pubes lightly scratched at your clit, causing you to squirm a bit and arch up into him.
"shit," he cursed under his breath, marvelling at the way your pussy wraps so tightly around him. "so fuckin' perfect, babe. can't believe how tight y'still are"
a small whimper leaves your lips, and you hips lift a bit, meeting his. "so good, jude, holy shit."
he lets out a low hum, slowly lifting up, before coming back down. the noises that left his lips were so intoxicating, always spurring you on further. somehow, everything he did manage to be hot.
the warmth in your stomach continued to build as he pushed himself in and out of you, your arousal undeniable by the lewd squelch at every lift and needy noises leaving your lips.
he left you with gentle praises and comments that made your toes curl. "good girl." "this all f'me?" "shittt, keep squeezin' me, baby, so good."
you were convinced, so sure of it - that jude had officially ruined sex for you with any other person. you had become a moaning mess as soon as he entered you, completely rendered dumb by his dick. you swore it was magic.
"jude," you gasp, hands coming to his chest, the pleasure beginning to climb to its peak.
he groaned in response. "i know, baby. y'can take it, atta girl."
your head tosses back, eyes closing in pure pleasure. jude leans forward, placing hot, open mouth kisses against your chest, moaning softly into the skin. "thats it," he muttered. "there we go, keep takin' it."
his words of encouragement only took your further, the corners of your vision going white as you get closer to your peak. your lips part, opening your eyes to meet his, features scrunched in pleasure. "jude, please," you beg, though your not sure for what - to take you there, to not dare stop.
you're not sure when, but his fingers had been circling your clit, the pleasure all mixing and mumbling up into one. you watch as he nods. "go ahead, babe, right behind you."
at his encouragement you lay back, letting the euphoria wash over you - the tightening and loosening of that coil in your stomach, the sensation of the pressure building then releasing, his dick filling up your walls so perfectly like the missing piece of a puzzle.
his fingers don't deter as you release, but his pace slows just a bit when he cums, groaning so prettily, looking down at the two of you with parted lips and furrowed brows.
you lift up to your forearms for a moment, and you almost moan when you see the white rings around his condom-covered dick, causing your pussy to tighten around him one last time, pulling another ragged moan out of his, and another rope of cum into the rubber.
you lay back against the blankets, your eyes shutting as your chests rises and falls, slowly catching your breath. you feel as jude full exists you, your pussy contracting and pulsing around the sudden emptiness.
you feel the faint brush of his lips against your cheek and hear the sound of him slowly getting up, footsteps padding towards the kitchen.
you flutter your eyes open when he returns, to see him back in his sweatpants, the condom now clearly discarded. you sit up, watching as he reaches down to grab his shirt, tossing it over to you. you throw it over your shoulders, pulling your hair out from under the back.
he lets out a pleasant groan as he lays down on his side, rearranging some pillows to rest more comfortably. you lay back, your heartbeat beginning to steady. jude leans on his forearm as he looks down at you with that gentle look in his eyes, that causes your chest to stutter.
he brushes some hair out of your face with his free hand. "good?" he asks in a soft mumble.
you nod, smiling easily up at him. for no reason at all, your hand comes up to his chest, above his heart, feeling the steady rise and fall. "i'm good."
a glint passes over his eyes, and he leans down, placing a chaste kiss against your lips. as he pulls away, a hint of mischief passes over his gaze. "sure are, aren't ya?"
you roll your eyes, half-heartedly pushing his chest. "shut up," you mumble through a smile, but lean forward to pepper a few kisses to his lower sternum. you feel him hum, a hand coming to cup the back of your head, tilting you up as you pull away to press a few short pecks against your lips, after whispering, "gladly."
when you pull away, the two of you share a look - a heavy yet light look, that said many things you weren't quite ready to verbalize yet. an acknowledgment that whatever is passing between you is special, once in a lifetime, special. that you enjoy each others company more than you ever planned.
it holds the knowledge of those funny three words that hold the weight of the world, yet don't seem so scary, the more they pop into your thoughts - the understanding that they exist, that they are there when you need them. that they aren't so far out of reach.
you fall asleep to the rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, the faint beat of his heart sounding in one ear, and the music still lowly humming from the speaker in the other.
the next morning you sit up, looking out the sliding doors just 10 feet past the couch, showing judes yard covered in snow. you feel his hand sliding around your waist, and him sitting up as well behind you, pulling you onto his lap.
"looks like we have to say inside again today, huh?" he murmurs into your shoulder, voice hoarse, playfully nipping at the skin revealed by his oversized shirt covering your toros.
your smile is cheezily wide as you turn around in his arms. your eyes are light, the kind of lightness that comes with the knowledge that you don't have anywhere to be, you have anyone to appease, theres no expectations to live up to, nobody to impress. you nudge your nose against his, a glint passing over your eyes. "what are we gonna do with ourselves?"
warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, teasing, dirty talk, oral (m and d receiving), fingering, hair pulling
pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader
summary: whatever you had with jude, you’d ended it. it was too much for the both of you, but all of that went out the window the second his match finished.
masterlist
y/n had watched the match, of course she had.
she’d watched jude kick the ball to the back of the net twice in one game, the screams and cheers of the england fans blaring through the tv.
she watched as the interviewer shoved a microphone into his face after the match, asking question after question.
she caught the rasp in his voice after the relentless game, his tired smile that hardly reached his eyes.
it had been over a month since y/n had ended whatever they had going on.
neither of them could put a label on it, really.
no dates, no sweet moments.
just late-night texts, hotel rooms, and sex.
they’d both agreed to stop before someone got their heart broken. that had been the plan anyways.
y/n’s phone buzzed on the table just as she lifted her mug of hot chocolate to her lips. jude.
you watched?
her stomach dropped. she stared at the message for a full minute before she started typing back.
yeah. two goals ain’t so bad.
the typing bubble appeared almost instantly after her message.
come see me.
y/n didn’t respond, staring at the message. she could’ve laughed at the absurdity of the situation. the bubble appeared again.
one drink. that’s all i’m asking.
she should’ve ignored it. instead, forty minutes later, she found herself standing outside the private entrance to the hotel, telling herself she’d leave after ten minutes.
it was just like before.
sneaking into hotel rooms, but this time, she promised herself she wouldn’t succumb to that throb in the pit of her stomach every time he flashed his golden smile.
the walk down the corridor on the sixth floor felt longer than it was.
y/n swallowed, before she lifted her hand, knocking on the door. it swung open almost immediately.
jude leaned against the frame, fresh from a show, hair still damp. a fitted black t-shirt clung to him, sleeves tight round his biceps.
his grey joggers sat low on his hips, and he looked exhausted - though somehow it only made him look better.
his gaze settled on her, slow and deliberate, before a crooked smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“knew you’d come,”
“you’re confident,” she moved passed him as he stepped aside.
“nah,” his voice was rough, the rasp from the match still lingering beneath his accent, “just know you,”
y/n walked past him into the suite, catching the clean scent of his shower gel mixed with whatever cologne he always wore.
it was familiar enough to make her chest tighten.
neither of them spoke as jude wandered to the small kitchenette.
“red or white?”
“now you’re a gentleman?”
he laughed, a quiet sound. “don’t push it,”
he reached for a bottle of red, already sitting open on the counter, pouring a generous glass before holding it out to her.
the glass looked tiny in his hand.
“the hotel wine’s crap,” jude said, “but it’ll do,”
their fingers brushed as she took the glass, his gaze lingering on her face.
“you watched the match,”
“i said i did,”
“mm,” he took a sip from his own glass, eyes never leaving hers over the rim, “knew you would,”
“you’ve got an ego,”
“scored twice tonight,” his shrugged, “i’m allowed one,”
her grip tightened around the stem of the wine glass, “i came for one drink,”
“‘course,”
his voice stayed infuriatingly even, that rough edge from the match making every word sound lower than she remembered.
y/n took a slow sip of wine, refusing to look away. she could stand her ground too.
“y’always think y’know what i’m thinking,”
“don’t have to think,” jude set his glass down on the counter with a quiet clink, “i remember,”
“remember what?”
“you,”
the room felt smaller as he took a step closer, not enough to touch, just enough that she caught the warmth radiating off him.
“if you think y’already know how tonight ends-,”
“i know how every other one ended,” he leaned forwards, eyes darkening.
“that was before,” she whispered.
“was it?” jude took another step forward, close enough now that she’d have to tilt her chin to keep his gaze.
she could smell his breath - minty, crisp.
his eyes were darker than she remembered, fixed on hers with the same maddening patience he’d always had.
“you’re trying very hard to convince yourself it was a mistake,” jude said, voice low.
“because it was,”
“then leave,”
he ask it so simply that it caught her off guard.
“door’s right there, darling,”
jude’s eyes flicked to the wine in her hand before settling back on his face. “thought so,”
y/n let our a breath through her nose.
“you’re a prick, jude,”
the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.
“your prick,”
y/n should’ve rolled her eyes.
should've shoved past him, walked straight back out the door and never looked back.
instead, she closed the gap herself.
their foreheads nearly brushed, and for a second, neither of them moved.
“tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
his hand came up slowly, fingers grazing her jaw with a touch so light it almost wasn't there.
y/n leaned into it before she could stop herself.
that was all he needed.
their mouths met with weeks of restraint behind them - nothing gentle.
the kiss was messy, his hands cupping her face, pulling her impossibly closed as his tongue delved into her mouth, pushing into every corner and crevice.
her hands were pushed flat against his chest, nails dragging over the thin material as she bit down on his bottom lip, swallowing his groan.
jude’s hands dropped from her face, moving down past her chest and to her waist, squeezing at the flesh of her stomach, pulling her even deeper onto his lips.
“jude, fuck,” y/n gasped as his hands dropped down to her thighs, lifting her up and hooking her legs round his waist.
“missed you so fuckin’ much, pretty girl,”
her hands dragged down his chest, tugging on the loose material of his t-shirt.
jude’s lips dragged down her jaw and neck, peppering wet, hot kisses along her skin, walking back towards the bed.
he pulled her down her down against his bulge, half-hard in his joggers, jumping her against it as she moaned.
“don’t do that,” y/n hissed, subconsciously tilting her head to give him better access.
“don’t tell me what to do,” jude rasped, cock twitching in his trousers as he dropped her on the bed.
she bounced once as he stepped back, tossing his t-shirt off quickly.
she watched, eyes tracing every line of his body as he dropped his joggers. no boxers.
“like what you see?”
“fuck off,” y/n rolled her eyes, looking to the mattress instead.
his hand moved to her face, pulling her chin back, gaze fixed on her pretty face.
“keep your eyes on me, alright?”
she nodded.
jude let go of her chin, taking his dick into his hand, pumping himself as he watched her.
he caught the way y/n’s lips parted, staring at his pretty, swollen tip, leaking pre-cum. he spread it over the head, down his shaft, his dick painfully hard.
“c’mere, pretty,”
jude’s hand came to the back of her neck, leading her to sit up, breath hot on his dick.
she wrapped one hand round his shaft, letting jude guide his head onto her tongue.
he bulged inside of her mouth, hot and twitching as he groaned, head leaned back.
the muscles of his neck went taut, lips parted as his hand came to the back of his head. “that’s it baby, suck harder f’me,” he groaned again as she did what she was told.
the room was filled with the wet sounds of her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick.
“alright, that’s enough,” he pulled out of her mouth, a string of slick salvia and pre-cum connecting her swollen lips to his dick.
“jude,” y/n whined, his voice light and airy as he pushed her down onto the bed.
“get these out my way,” jude pushed her hands down out the way, pulling her legs apart.
there was something so…hot about jude when he manhandled her.
she moaned again as he knelt down, breath hot against her core. his fingers hooked under the waistband of her underwear, yanking them down to her ankles and throwing them off.
“still regret it?” he rasped, her legs over his shoulders, “comin’ all this way?”
y/n shook her head, almost desperate.
“i don’t, please, i d-don’t,”
jude moved forwards, knees pushed right up to her chest, her pussy on show for him.
“so pretty,” he moved forwards, breath ghosting over her before he leaned down, licking a long stripe between her lips.
the moan she let out, a mix of a mewl and a whine, filled his ears as he groaned into her, letting the sound vibrate against her.
his hand came to her stomach, thumb rubbing messy, sloppy circles into her clit as he lapped at her arousal.
“jude, fuck, it’s s’good,”
he hummed, pushing the tip of his long index finger against her hole.
“need to open you up to fit me,” he murmured, pumping in and out of her as she moaned.
that was one thing about jude bellingham.
he was big, he knew it, and he had no problem in reminding y/n every time he opened her up for him.
“tastes even better than before,” he added another finger, doing a scissoring motion inside of her as he lapped at her juices, “tastes like heaven,”
jude held her legs apart so she couldn’t hide either, lapping at her sweet pearl.
the third finger hurt, but he made it work, inching into her tight hole.
“been so long since we last did this,” he watched as his fingers pumped in and out of her, “y’sure you can still take it?” his voice was challenging and low.
“it’s not as big as you think,”
yes, it was a lie, but his ego was insane.
and then- thwack!
“jude!”
his hand came down in a slap, not too hard, right against her sensitive cunt as he pulled his dripping fingers out.
“mm?” he cocked his head, false innocence all over his face as he pushed one finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue round it, lapping up her sweet juices, before moving onto the next.
the sight was downright sinful.
“stop being an ass,” she pushed herself up, legs dropping back down, “or i swear, i’ll walk right out this-,”
“you won’t,”
y/n blinked up at him, his middle finger still in his mouth.
“y’know you won’t, don’t act thick,”
his stupid accent was maddening.
jude pulled his finger out of his mouth with a wet, slick pop, hands moving to her waist to pull her down the bed, bending her over the edge.
“just do what you do best and take my cock, okay?”
y/n scowled at that.
“takin’ it from the back so you don’t have to see my face?”
jude stopped at that. god, y/n was going to be the death of him.
“just. stop. talking,” he pushed her down onto the bed, her chest pressed to the mattress, skirt bunched up over her waist as he pushed his tip between her lips.
“well-,”
his large hand reached round her, two long, thick fingers pushing into her mouth and pressing down on her tongue as she gagged.
that was one way to make her stop.
“you’re so fuckin’ annoying sometimes,”
jude guided his head into her, her moans muffled as he pushed one finger against her warm, wet tongue.
as soon as he had enough of him inside her, he pulled on her waist, inching into her hot pussy.
their moans complimented each other, ringing loud in the room, jude’s head thrown back.
his dick inched into her, filling her to the brim.
“jude, wait-,” y/n gasped, voice muffled into the duvet, his cock half buried inside her warm cunt.
“‘s alright, you can take it,” he pushed down on her tongue again, rocking his hips gently back and forth, each thrust getting longer and deeper.
“so tight, fuck,” jude groaned, pulling his fingers from her mouth to push down her head.
he kept his rhythm til his tip slammed into her cervix, setting a quick, deep pace in and out of her.
the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin and their moans, mixed together.
“fuck- yes, yes, yes-,” y/n gasped, his hips snapping against her ass.
it felt like he was splitting her in half on his dick, her body burning with pleasure.
his hands moved down her body, grabbing her waist to pull her hard against him.
“missed you so fuckin’ much,” jude rasped, slamming into her, “that pretty face, those gorgeous little moans,”
his hand came to her hair, pulling her head up, his lips against her ear.
“every time i’d finish a match, y’know who i’d be thinkin’ about, hm?”
he gave her hair another soft tug, making her moan as he slammed into her again.
“m-me!” y/n gasped, lips parted in pleasure.
“you,” jude whispered, voice low and deep, “just thinkin’ about makin’ sweet, sweet love to my girl,”
y/n moaned as he angled his hips so he could slam into that spot that made her whine louder, a pretty, lewd sound.
“c’mere,” she felt jude’s big arms round her middle, pulling out of her for a split second before he turned her round and buried his cock back into her pussy, holding her up with his arms.
a muscle in his jaw ticked as he held her, their chests pressed together, her legs wrapped round his waist.
“takin’ me so well, pretty,” he groaned into her ear, jumping her up and down on his cock, her nails dragging down his biceps.
“jude, ‘m so close, please,” y/n gasped, cheek on his shoulder.
“i know, love,” he swallowed, “me too,”
his dick slammed into her sweet spot, once, twice-
y/n felt her whole body let go, shuddering as her orgasm ripped through her, vision going white.
jude fucked her through her orgasm, peppering wet, hot kisses down her neck and chest.
he groaned, biting down into her neck as he finished, face flushed, his thick, hot cum spurting inside of her.
“fuck,”
his softening dick twitched inside of her for a second as he held her, legs slightly shaky, her nails buried into his biceps.
“…y’alright?”
y/n nodded against his shoulder as he swayed gently from side to side, pulling out of her softly.
she could feel a mix of her juices and his cum dribbling down her thigh as he rocked her gently, walking back towards the bed.
jude was surprisingly gentle as he put her down on the bed, grabbing a towel from the side and gently wiping away the remnants of their activities.
“can do it myself,” she mumbled, reaching for the towel.
“don’t,” he moved his hand away, “it’s alright, okay? i can do it,”
it felt this every time. the sex was otherworldly and afterwards she just felt…emptier than before.
like their bodies were addicted to each other but their hearts? nothing.
“‘m gonna shower,” jude moved back, tossing the towel into the laundry basket, “coming?”
god, every time that happened, it ended the same.
they’d end up tangled together, y/n on her knees in the shower, or jude with a leg hooked over his shoulder, tongue lapping at her pussy.
“i’m alright,” she swallowed, pushing her skirt back down and stepping back into her underwear.
jude nodded.
every night went the same; sex in the room, sex in the shower, then ending up tangled asleep together.
y/n didn’t know if her heart could handle it this time.
she was a mess, her makeup (which she may have spend a few extra minutes on) messy from tears, her hair dishevelled from being pulled.
after his shower, jude swallowed.
he looked at the mirror. he looked fresh, in nothing but joggers now.
his broad chest was shining from the shower and post-sex glow, joggers hung low on his hips.
he’d spent the whole shower thinking about her, and he’d finally planned what he wanted to say. how he wanted to tell her that he wanted more.
that he wanted to date her, and spoil her, and love her.
that he’d always wanted that, but he’d been scared to tell y/n, so he settled on…whatever they had now.
with a sigh, he opened the bedroom door. he’d just blurt it out, and hope it made sense.
Jobe Bellingham as your cutie patootie bf! ⋆.˚ 18+ | part one & two note: last part mwah
bf jobe! who sighs heavily just to get your attention. he looks at you at first, trying to get you to look at him but when you don’t he just sighs quite loudly. And if that doesn’t work? He’ll go for the oldest method in the book, which is crawling into your personal space and kissing the skin on your shoulders while whining a soft “love.. i need you to look at me.”
bf jobe! is good at everything he sets his mind to on god. when you two are out on a little date, he tries to impress you BIG time and it always ends up a success (because you love him so much and he isn't even trying to act adorable– he’s just naturally like that)
bf jobe! steals your food when you aren’t looking. cheeky little brat this one. he has his own meal in front of him but when yours looks a little too good? His sneaky fingers takes a salmon avocado sushi roll from your plate and pops it into his mouth. And when you turn your head and see one is missing you exhale tiredly but he takes no offense and briefly stops chewing to smile sweetly at you. You can’t even be mad because that’s your baby boy.
bf jobe! face time's you like a bazillion times when he knows he won't be seeing you during hardcore training days. when he's halfway across the country, you reassure him that you're fine and doing well and that's what he likes to hear! but honestly.. he’s just so you-pilled that he needs at least your voice to function. if you aren’t there physically then he has to resort looking through photos of you and him on his phone like an ex omg.. (he only ever calls you a lot in a single day when his schedule isn't as packed)
bf jobe! who sticks closer when he sees another guy walk beside you intentionally or looking at you in a way that doesn’t sit right with him. even when you don’t notice it, he always does. just because he's on his phone does not mean he’s distracted– he’s got an eye for these things! his arm is already sliding over your shoulder and he’ll gently nudge you close enough to show you something funny on his phone so the guy can piss off.
bf jobe! who’s just so big everywhere. from his thighs to his ass and his arms… it’s insanity how he walks around sometimes even shirtless just to get your attention. he notices the blush on your cheeks and the way you try to look the other way but hey, remember that he’s a cuddler so he’s gonna be cuddling you fully naked if he has to. one thing he thinks that’s cute is how flustered you get when he’s just in his boxers, your eyes drifting down past his stomach to the bulge behind his underwear and you just get all shy and scrambled because of him. he’ll make a good note of that for later..
bf jobe! sometimes cries into your chest from being overwhelmed by a game or when people put him down for not “leveling” with his brother. his usually large and protective body becomes so small and vulnerable when he’s crying in your arms and your heart begins to ache seeing him this way. he’s honest about his struggles and after he’s done, he’ll hide into your neck until his tears run dry. he trusts and loves you so much, please tell him that he’s the most talented and important person ever :(
bf jobe! who loves praise. praise him during and after a match. praise him for training well during his pre-game routine. praise him for being able to get his shit together despite everyone’s discouraging words of him not "being able" to be on par with jude. His family and you are literally the only reason he’s still on the pitch trying. he’s doing it for you and the team. well, it’s mostly ‘cause his beautiful and cherished girl is watching him play the entire time on the field.
bf jobe! had this memory ingrained in his head when you put on lipstick which was a dark shade of red for fun and you drew him closer by his hoodie strings to kiss his face all over. up his forehead, chin, cheeks, nose and even down to his neck and throat were filled with your lip stained kisses and he found that equally cute and so incredibly sexy.
bf jobe! who wakes you up with little kisses when he has to go for training once more. if he isn’t training that day he stays in bed waiting for you to wake up. he’s an early bird and takes a moment to admire you even in your sleep. it’s a free day so he’ll just curl up to spoon you from behind (his long legs tangled with yours and his torso pressed close to your back) while he buries his face into your hair.
bf jobe! who does this silly little thing where he plays a slow song on his phone and does a side to side dance movement with his shoulders as he approaches you with a big grin on his face. his eyes shining with mischief as he pulls you closer by your hands while gently swaying both your bodies while the song plays out. he twirls and dips you like a romantic before kissing your cheek, whispering a sweet “love you.”
and when you don’t say it back immediately just to tease him, he acts offended, “i said i love you–” but then he notices your playful expression, so he just tickles you for being a brat. two can play at that game!
bf jobe! who fucks you sweet when you're good to him and hard when you're bein difficult. mostly though, he lays you down all nice on the bed and eats you out while fingering your wet pussy over and over until you soak his sheets. you're so plaint underneath him, truly. but he's aching for your touch too, “fuck.. touch me. y-yeah.. right here baby.." he melts when you suck him and take him real deep past your gag reflex and he always comes so well after you're done with him.
bf jobe! stares at you when you aren't looking his way. he admires the way you speak, dress, how you present yourself and how you talk about certain things that interests you. sometimes he even catches himself staring a bit too long that he forces himself to look away.
bf jobe! who literally listens to every single thing you say to him. you tell him to pose for a picture randomly ‘cause he looks cute that day? his hand is already forming a thumbs up at the camera. “jobe, baby– hi. pose for me real quick, okay? you're so cute in that big fluffy jacket.” and he does just that, smiles all cute that his little dimple forms on his left side and he clings to you so you both can stare at all the pictures you've taken of him, you suppose he's your very own adorably stunning super model.
Jobe Bellingham as your cutie patootie bf! ⋆.˚ 18+ | part three
bf jobe! who ties your shoelaces when they’ve come undone. he sits you someplace with shade and his body would shield the sun away from your face so he can bend and re-tie them.
bf jobe! who once jacked off in the locker room to you when he was missing you so much :c his fingers pumping his length were not as good as how your warm pussy feels. he’s never satisfied with jacking off but at least he can visualize how’d you’d look like when stuffed full of his cock.
bf jobe! loves resting his head in between your boobs. no matter the size, he lives for them anyway. If they’re big, he’ll use those as his pillow and if they’re little, he sucks various love bites into your skin, liking the way your flesh bruises a pretty shade of red.
bf jobe! who never gets tired of hugging you. he buries and rubs his face into your shoulder like an oversized cat and sniffs you delightedly, feeling that little smile on your skin. always pressing soft kisses to your neck as well since you always smell so good to him he just can’t get enough.
bf jobe! has inside jokes with his favorite girl. just because you both are dating he doesn’t make it any different with how limited his jokes can get.
bf jobe! holds you close in a crowded area. likes to hold and intertwine his fingers with yours as if to attach himself to you. if that’s not enough, he interlinks his arm with yours or just lets you walk in front of him with both his hands gripping your hips.
bf jobe! who carries you when your legs are tired from walking. sure it’s the bare minimum but sometimes you insist that he doesn’t have to but he just chuckles at that. you don’t want his arms wrapped around you? how about his hands underneath your thighs to hold you close and secure? or when he tucks your head into his solid chest as he kisses your forehead whispering sweet words into your ear? the longer you resist, the more you want.
bf jobe! stands behind you at ALL times. anywhere and everywhere he’s your personal bodyguard. he stands tall (6’3) so he uses that as an advantage to protect you
bf jobe! back hugger. yup. hugs you from the back and just fully drowns you in his body. wraps his long sturdy limbs around you just to snuggle and to annoy you (because holy shit he’s heavy!)
bf jobe! who falls asleep on you during movie marathons. usually he can keep his eyes open no problem but when his favorite girl is beside him all warm and cute, he’s the type to just lay his head on your shoulder or if he’s really tired, he buries his face into your lap.
bf jobe! who covers your body when you bend down to pick something up, only for him to turn and look at your ass with a shy little grin on his face. another thing where he has to bend his knees to talk to you because of the height difference and cheekily caresses your cheek with his thumb because you laughed at one of his jokes.
bf jobe! secretly has a size kink. all over you and in bed, it gets pretty obvious. he sees you wearing one of his jerseys which was one too many sizes on you? instant turn on. or when your pretty eyes begin to water slightly when he tries to fit his cock into you, his favorite part is when he sees the little bulge peeking over your lower tummy. don’t be mad if he cums on the spot, you’re just so fucking hot to him.
bf jobe! who clings to you during a horror attraction LMAO he gets all jumpy and scared but swears he can protect you (and he will, he’s trying!), “s-shit! why’s that even there–” before he can finish another stage actor frights him which sends his heart leaping out of his chest. all he can do is hold you while walking down the horror house alert with a nervous smile on his face.
bf jobe! who’s actually introverted and when you do all the talking outside while he’s on his phone, he just admires you when you order a drink for the both of you (he’s paying duh) but when everything you do turns him on so pathetically, it’s hard not to be hard.
Hiii, can you please do a jobe bellingham fic where him and his girlfriend have been together for a little while now but he's keeping it a secret from everyone, but his family start to pick up on things like him smiling at his and finding girly stuff at him apartment etc and then one day they catch them together red handed
a.n: i love this idea so much i got so carried away :D
Jobe hadn’t exactly meant to fall in love as he moved back home for off season, really he’d just wanted to put his head down; get back in the gym and read books about life. Things his dad told him to do, the stuff that supposedly made you a real man.
He wouldn’t have even bumped into you if the neighbour, who had been 80 for his whole life, hadn’t asked if he could walk her dog. She’d knocked on the door of his parents’ house one morning, complaining about her back and how ‘Luna-bear’ was just too energetic.
“Ah! No worries love, Jobe will take her round for ya.” his dad had smiled, calling for him and sending him round.
And to his surprise he was met with a doberman, cropped ears and tail, panting in excitement next to the fragile, old woman Susan was. His face barely held together as a wave of shock struck him, though he took the rope of a lead and began walking down the block.
Jobe thought he was strong, surely he had to be. His head really was put down, discipline on point. He’d skip his own birthday if it meant he would’ve missed the gym. Though the dog was mad, dragging him down the path like he had places to be.
“What the fuck man!” he cursed, trying his best to tug back on the lead like he’d seen in those dog training tiktoks, ‘assert your dominance’ or whatever the fuck.
Though, lining along his luck, Luna-bear lurched forward, the rope burning across his palm causing him to let go. And as he clenched a fist in pain, the dog bolted down the street. “For fucks sake.” he cursed lowly, jogging after the dog before he had to buy flowers and apologise to Susan for letting the dog get hit by a fast moving vehicle.
“Ah! Who’s a good girl!” a voice sounded from the end of the street, allowing Jobes pace to slow as he watched.
A girl, crouched down next to the dog and patting its head. She wagged her tail, releasing small howls that the girl answered to with soft laughs, subconsciously wrapping the rope around her palm. “You’ve not knocked Susie over, have you?” he heard you ask the dog with furrowed brows like you expected an answer back.
“Nah, it’s my fault.” Jobe spoke up, clearing his throat as he stepped closer, only just catching a view of your face. And suddenly his mind blanked.
The sun hit your face just right, even as you stood up to greet him. Hair framing the artwork of a face you held. And your smile, fuck, he still thought about it. The small laugh you let out as you tilted your head and introduced yourself, handing the dog back over and offering to walk back to Susans with him.
And he’s never been so proud to admit he stuttered out a ‘yes’, because by the end of it he’d earned your number.
Turned out you also helped Susan with the dog numerous times, she was something like a distant family member to you — truly Jobe couldn’t remember what your exact words were because he could only stare as you both walked back.
And he saw you again the next time he visited his parents, the smell of his dads roast dinner wafting through the vents. Jobe had sat outside on the front door step, on facetime to Jude as he was still stuck in Madrid. But then you walked past.
Jobes words trailed off, eyes not flickering between the road and Jude like they, very nosily, had been, instead watching as you walked further across the pathway. Headphones plugged in and a neutral expression to your face like you were deep in thought or just had no reason to try cast an expression. And you looked so good doing it.
“You alright mate? Your time hasn’t come, ‘as it? The light that bright?” Jude joked, sipping a mug of coffe through the screen though Jobe remained fixated on you, especially when you looked up and made eye contact with him.
A smile graced your face at the sight of the man, pulling a headphone out of your ear and giving him a wave. “Hi Jobe!” you sung, not literally though Jobe could’ve sworn you were some angel with a harp.
He stuttered a wave back, a soft smile sitting on bis face with the tips of his ears turning red. “You alright?” he nodded, watching as you took one or two steps into the drive, almost like you were testing the waters of the threshold.
You nodded a few times, “Yeah! Great! Susans out tonight, she’s found herself a boyfriend or something so I’m house sitting… you could…” you started, words trailing off as your boldness vanished, a pink cast settling over your cheeks. Arguably stronger than Jobes ears. Though with the quirk of his brow, finger blindly finding the mute button on his phone, she continued. “Maybe you could come over if you’re not busy, hot chocolate on me. Or we could walk to the corner and get a chocolate bar or something... if that is something you wanna do.”
And disgustingly so, Jobe felt a sweet smile spread across his face, dimples poking out like they had something to prove. “Yea, I’ll come get a galaxy with you, love.” he teased with his own bright smile. You rolled your eyes, waving a temporary goodbye leaving Jobe smiling like a fucker before remembering he was on facetime.
“Who was that?” Jude prodded, brows furrowed deeply as his face was suddenly very close to the screen as though he’d been trying to lipread.
Jobe shrugged, wiping the smile he displayed — not so successfully. “Just Susan being… a character.”
And since the long night at Susans house, spent close on the sofa with one too many cans of coke and maybe a glass or two of wine from her cupboard. Majority of topics of conversation covered, even reaching vulnerable talk as two am neared — before sealing the night with a promise of a date.
The date went well, Jobe was gentlemanly. Pulled your chair out for you and pushed you back in. Made sure you were comfortable, read your order out for you, paid even with a generous tip on the side. Along with giving you a pound coin for those twisty machine, recieving a soft squishy in a plastic ball.
And he remembered your words, because amongst dinner you’d both mentioned what type of dates you each prefer, and you mentioned you would be more than happy with some cheesy, indoor date. Whether that be a movie or painting each other.
So you made your way into his space, picked a place on his sofa as you bonded over some shitty TV show that had aired more than ten years ago, almost unmoving from your place until you leant in.
And he only returned the favour. Hands cupping your face as he pulled you in, soft and slow like he was afraid he’d scare you away. But you only smiled into it.
Exchanges went on for round two and a half months before he asked you to be his girlfriend, showing up to your door with sorta squashed roses and a guilty smile. “I’m so sorry, I accidentally sat on them, but I think I managed to save them, and I’m gonna say this really quickly before I pussy out… but can I please be your boyfriend?”
You laughed softly at the sight of the crumpled flowers, taking the plastic bouquet into hand before looking at him with that forever soft look you held. “Yes Jobe, you can be my boyfriend.”
And it hadn’t exactly meant to become a secret, but Jobe couldn’t bear the thought of the constant teasing he’d receive from Jude or the questions from his mum — and on an even more truthful note, he liked having something to himself for once.
It seemed you always had to share everything in life, but this, the soft romance he’d manage to spring himself into? All his. You’re all his, he’s all yours.
And some part of when his dad caught him smiling made it all better. You’d sent him a cheesy text, something that he shouldn’t actually find funny but he could hear the way you’d say it.
“Who’s in there?” his dad asked, nodding to his phone as he looked up. An eyebrow raised, because Jobe was never the most expressive boy — towards any emotion at that.
Jobe shrugged, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Just a friend.”
And he knew he wasn’t slick, because his dad had definitely relayed the information to Jude who had began to call him at random times in the day — always a facetime, always wanting to catch him in the act.
Then his mum came over to the flat he’d been renting as he was still yet to go back to Germany. The forever caring woman, she wanted to help him with housework, making sure the fridge was full. Though she began to talk, and began to hit the nail just a tad too close to the head.
“Jobe?” she asked, rearranging his small pantry, earning a hum from the boy who was texting away to you. “Have you seen that beautiful girl whose been helping Susan out? You should ask her for her number.” she mused, thankfully with her back to him as he could’ve sworn he almost shat himself.
“Nah… not seen her…” he trailed off, closing his phone and slowly placing it on the countertop as he watched his mum move throughout his kitchen. She took the laundry basket into his room, coming back out with a pink hairbrush in hand.
Fuck.
“Why do you have this?” she rose a brow, handing it back over to Jobe.
His mind racked ideas, excuses, the possibility of just telling her even though he had just lied to her fave about not knowing who you are. “Saw it in the shops; wanted to try it.” he shrugged, placing it on the countertop quite roughly — making himself flinch incase he broke your things.
“Jobe, that won’t work on my hair, let alone yours.” she tutted, going back to helping him with housework.
Then like clockwork, Jude came knocking on the door. No prior warning, still in his fixation of catching Jude out. Jobe was sure Jude didn’t know what secret he was looking for, instead just looking for one cus dad had said something.
“What you doing here?” Jobe laughed, bringing his brother into a hug, thanking every high power that you had just left his flat ten minutes ago.
Jude shrugged, eyes scanning the place. “Can’t come see my little brother now? I also know you don’t get pussy, surprised you ain’t lonely.” he laughed, kicking his trainers off only to be faced with slippers, an embroidered cat face on them.
Slowly, Jude faced Jobe who noticed the sight as well — forgetting to chuck them in the airing cupboard after you left. The small stains of you across his flat couldn’t be helped, because you had grown to become apart of his space more often than you weren’t — the luck he held with him within these home inspections from his family members was pure gold.
“You got something to tell me?” his older brother asked, a grin of a smile sat on his face like it was supposed to lure the truth from him.
Jobe turned towards the living room. “Got ordered to here on accident, opened them thinking it was for me, now tryna send them back.” he fabricated quickly, reaching down for the remote to switch the channel because you’d been watching some romcom and that was not him.
Lunch between the two of you had settled to become some type of game. Either a rummage through the cabinets to see what could be salvaged or creating your own recipe as you walked around the closest shop.
So after creating the routinely mess in the kitchen, you both sat on the couch. Homemade avocado and tomato paste pasta with mozerella metled over sat in a bowl, a scrunch on both of your faces as you settle over your first loss.
Then Jobes phone rang, and he pressed it to his ear. Pressing a finger to his lips at you before saying “Hi mum.”
You didn’t have an issue with the secrecy he played with, instead you found the joy of when Jobe would call, telling you about the close call or what item of yours his dad had found. Or even the other week, when there was one too many specs of glitter lined against his jumper and his mum had kept wiping it away with a questionable look.
“Housesit? Yea… could do that.” he nodded along, your ears perking up with a questionable tilt of your head before you fell against his chest.
His hand found its way to your hair, softly moving through the locks and always finding the one place that itches that slightest bit. “Yea… I’m good, you?… Okay, I’ll be over for five, love ya.”
And with that he hung up the line, looking down at you before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Mum and dads house is empty tonight, you fancy a housesit?”
Jobe drove the two of you over in pyjamas, ‘accidentally’ running late to avoid the clash of seeing each other. He told you he’d drive you back to yours before it could get too late to avoid any confrontation in the morning, so with a plan settled, the both of you settled.
He lay back on the couch; legs hooked over the back as he skimmed through what Netflix had to offer. You stood in the kitchen, eyeing all the photos lining the fridge, held up by magnets from all different destinations.
One stood out to you the most. Jobe and Jude in the same back garden, a ball between them both though they were both hundred over in contagious laughter. It looked ever so pure and candid, colours lining the garden with flowers and spring time bunting.
As your eyes skimmed the next picture, a large pair of arms slipped through yours to wrap around your waist, Jobes nose pressing into your neck as he observed the scene with you. “I was a propa ugly kid.” he mumbled, causing you to scoff and softly hit his hand.
“Liar, you were cute.”
“Were?”
“You are cute, always have been.” you grinned, turning in his arms to face him, your teeth pulling at your lip. A soft blush of course settled on his ears, saving himself from your eyes as he pulled you into a gentle kiss.
Which manovered to the kitchen counter, his hands lifting your thighs up to sit against the cool stone. Your hands slid to cup his jaw, encapsulated in the kiss as his hand pressed your thighs apart, thumb running soft circles into the flesh before he found your waistband.
And the night ended, not with you safely returned home — but instead deep asleep, in his arms, in an old tshirt he had found from his old room upstairs. He was melted into the sofa, limbs spread widely as you only curled ontop of him. A soft throw blanket draped over the two of you with daytime television playing.
His mum walked back in first, and she cooed at the sight of her youngest son asleep on the sofa, until she noticed a lump ontop of him. She stepped hesitantly closer, your face appearing in the early morning light, and a recognition flashed in her mind.
“Don’t know her?” she hushed a sharp whisper, pursing her lips as she turned to Mark who dropper their overnight bag on the floor. She pointed at the sight of the two tangled together.
Mark chuckled to himself lightly, instantly snapping a picture and sending it to their family groupchat for Jude to see and Jobe to wake up to.
Jude
I FUCKING KNEW IT
a.n: this was so much, so much, i got so carried away.
but jobe is lowkey my baby so i had to, just imaging that cute lil smile and laugh everytime he nearly gets caught.
ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ₊ ˚ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊
⭑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.
In your defence, kissing Jobe Bellingham had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. It's the waking up in his bed with absolutely no recollection afterwards that's proving to be the issue.
WARNINGS ◦ alcohol use ◦ mention of a one night stand ◦ friends to lovers ◦ they all suck at feelings i'm not proud of it lol ◦ a tiny bit of angst ◦ mention of kissing and making out in public spaces ◦ jobe is the only mature one on this lmfao ◦ description of hangovers and overall a pretty light read ◦ consent talks ◦ love confessions!!!
6,141 ━━━━━ oneshot jobe bellingham x reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , first time writing for my '05 twin, kinda nervous. HOW THE HELL IS THIS MAN SO FINE AND NOT MINE. sorry. anyways, enjoy this jobe drabble whoever finds this <3
━━━━━ read on ao3
You wake to the low, steady hum of the ceiling fan circling overhead, each lazy rotation stirring the air just enough to brush across your skin. This ceiling is smooth and white, unmarked by the faint water stain that greets you most mornings in your own flat. Your mouth feels coated in something stale and bitter, like cheap vodka and broken decisions, your head throbs in time with it, a deep, insistent pulse that radiates from your temples down through your jaw.
For a long moment you lie perfectly still on your back, eyes closed, simply cataloguing the wreckage: the pounding in your skull, the uneasy roll in your stomach, the vague but growing certainty that something has gone very wrong.
You know this room, the realisation settles slowly, like sediment in still water. The faint trace of cedarwood and fresh laundry in the sheets, the old Sunderland poster taped to the far wall, edges curling from years of loyalty he’s never quite outgrown, a pair of grass-stained boots kicked carelessly near the wardrobe door.
Jobe’s room. At his parents’ house.
You keep your eyes shut a little longer, as if that might delay the rest of it, but the bed shifts under you with the smallest movement and the truth presses in anyway.
The mattress dips more than it should on his side. The body next to you takes up space, has always taken up space actually, even before the professional training sculpted him into the tall, broad-shouldered athlete he is now. You can feel the warmth radiating from him without looking, the duvet is pulled low across his body, and when you finally turn your head on the pillow, the sight hits you fully.
Jobe’s lying on his back, one arm flung loosely above his head, snoring lightly in that soft, unconscious way he’s done since you were kids sharing tents on family camping trips. He is only in dark briefs, the fabric clings to the solid lines of his hips and thighs, the kind of quiet power built from endless drills and matches, his chest rises and falls steadily, the muscles there defined but relaxed in sleep, skin still carrying the faint tan of training pitches under brighter skies.
He fills the bed, not just occupies it. One of his long legs has slipped out from under the duvet, foot hanging off the edge, the space between you feels suddenly too small, too intimate, too dangerous.
You glance down at yourself and the world narrows to the soft black fabric pooling across your lap. One of Jobe’s old training shirts, faded from countless washes, the collar stretched just enough to slip off one shoulder, drapes loosely over you, the hem skimming the tops of your thighs.
The material is warm from sleep, carrying the faint, familiar scent of his detergent and something undeniably him. No bra. Just the thin lace of your underwear beneath, a stark reminder that you are wearing almost nothing in a bed that is not your own. Your bare legs rest shyly against the dark sheets. One knee is slightly bent, the other stretched out, toes curled against the cool air.
You take it in slowly, piece by piece, as if cataloguing evidence at a scene you don’t fully remember joining. The shirt is enormous on you, sleeves swallowing your hands when you lift them. It used to hang off him differently—broader shoulders, longer torso—back when he was still growing into the professional frame he carries now. Your dress, the one you’d chosen for the family party yesterday, lies in a pathetic heap near the door. One thin strap is torn or slipped free, the fabric wrinkled and stained with what looks like spilled vodka, a single heel pokes out from underneath it, abandoned.
The details settle heavily, you are in Jobe’s bed, in his shirt, half-dressed. And he is right there beside you, all six-foot-something of him, long limbs and quiet breathing filling the space like he was always meant to take up that much room. The duvet has slipped low on his hips, revealing the defined cut of his abs and the sharp line where his training shorts usually sit.
For several long seconds you simply stare, letting the pieces hover without quite connecting. This is Jobe, the boy who once raced you on bikes down the dead-lock, the teenager who sat beside you at your cousin’s funeral and didn’t try to fill the silence, the young man who sends you memes at odd hours from Germany and asks how your week is going like it still matters. Family, in every way that counts. The thought lingers, warm and familiar at first, before the colder edge creeps in.
Your pulse begins to pick up. You become aware of the faint ache in your muscles, the dryness in your throat, the way your hair is tangled against the pillow. What exactly happened after the walk home? The kiss flickers back, his mouth surprised but yielding, the taste of gin and laughter, but the rest is fog. How did you end up here? How did the clothes come off? Did you…?
The panic arrives then, not all at once but in a slow, cold bloom that spreads outward from your chest.
You’ve known Jobe your entire life, he is safety and history and the kind of uncomplicated love that comes from years of shared Sunday lunches and inside jokes. Ruining that, crossing a line neither of you had ever even glanced at, feels like the worst possible outcome.
You press the heel of your hand hard against your forehead, willing the spinning to stop, but the memories keep flashing anyway.
The family birthday party yesterday afternoon, Denise pulling you into one of her enveloping hugs the moment you walked through the door, hands on your cheeks as she asked, for the third time that month, whether you were eating enough. Mark in the kitchen making terrible dad jokes while flipping burgers. Jude winding Jobe up across the table with stories from Madrid, the two brothers falling into their easy rhythm while you watched with the same fond exasperation you’d felt for years.
Then the club later with the old childhood group. Rounds of drinks, embarrassing stories traded like currency, the walk home under the orange streetlights, just the two of you after the others peeled off. Jobe’s arm slung casually around your shoulders when the pavement felt unsteady. The sudden, surprising press of his mouth to yours—warm, not rushed— and then more kisses after that, your hands in his shirt, his quiet laugh against your lips. Then… nothing.
A blank wall where the rest of the night should be.
You sit there for a long moment, heart hammering against your ribs, the duvet still pooled around your waist. The panic is real now, but you don’t move. You just breathe through it, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of your childhoon bestfriend's chest, waiting for the courage, or the disaster, to break.
But the silence stretches too long, and the not-knowing becomes unbearable. Your hand moves before your brain catches up, you reach over and shake his shoulder, gentle at first, then more insistent when he only murmurs something incoherent.
“Jobe,” you whisper. No response. “Sam." Another shake, harder this time. "Sam, wake up.”
He stirs properly this time, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his eyes flutter open. For a second he looks lost, still half-lost in whatever dream he’d been having. Then his gaze lands on you, really lands, and the confusion sharpens.
You shake him one more time for good measure, inconvenient and frantic. “Fucking hell, Jobe, wake up.”
“Fuck off,” he mumbles, voice gravel-rough with sleep. His hand comes up automatically, large and warm, closing gently around your wrist to still your shaking. He doesn’t open his eyes right away, just lets out a low, annoyed groan and turns his face into the pillow for a second, clearly battling his own hangover. “It’s too early for this, princess. My head is killing me.”
You shake his shoulder again anyway, persistent. “Jobe Samuel. I’m serious.”
He cracks one eye open, squinting against the light filtering through the curtains. The annoyance is still there, brow furrowed, mouth turned down in a classic Jobe scowl that you’ve seen a hundred times when he’s tired or hungover or both. He looks properly rumpled: hair messy, a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow, the full athletic frame of him taking up most of the bed like he’d grown into it overnight years ago.
“Christ,” he mutters, pushing himself up onto one elbow with another groan. The duvet slips lower on his hips, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “You’re relentless even when I’m dying. What’s got you—?”
He finally looks at you properly. The annoyance flickers, then fades as his gaze travels over you: his oversized shirt slipping off your shoulder, the way you’re sitting bolt upright with panic written all over your face, the crumpled dress on the floor.
Realisation clicks in slowly behind his eyes, the memories from last night start filtering back—the club, the walk, your hands on his face, the taxi, the stairs.
He sits up fully now, back against the headboard, and runs a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep and hangover away as best he can.
“Alright, darling,” he says, voice lower and gentler now, the gravel still there but wrapped in warmth. “What’s the rush about? You trying to kick me out of my own bed or something?”
You stare at him, equal parts horrified and irritated that he’s already slipping into banter mode while your entire world feels like it’s tilting sideways.
“This is serious, Jobe,” you snap, voice cracking with frustration. “I’m literally having a breakdown here.”
He pauses, the sleepy smirk fading as he really looks at you. The hangover is still written across his face, the slight wince when he moves his head, the slow way he blinks, but the teasing drains away. He shifts a little closer, the mattress dipping under his weight, and rests his back more firmly against the headboard.
“Alright,” he says quietly, more awake now. “Are you hurt?”
The question hangs there, a beat of heavy, awkward silence stretches between you. Jobe is watching you, waiting, clearly trying to figure out why you look two seconds away from bolting.
You take a shaky breath, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. “Did we sleep together?”
Jobe’s brow furrows. He stares at you for a second like you’ve just spoken another language. “What?” The word comes out half-laugh, half-confused. “Princess, what are you on about?”
You gesture wildly between the two of you, the panic bubbling over into a rushed, embarrassed rant.
“Look at us! I’m in nothing but your shirt and my underwear. You’re practically naked, my dress is on the floor looking like it lost a fight, I woke up in your bed with zero memory after we were kissing on the way home. I’m not crazy, this looks exactly like the morning after something happened!”
Your voice cracks a little on the last part. You feel ridiculous even saying it out loud, but the evidence is right there in front of you, impossible to ignore.
Jobe listens without interrupting, his expression shifting from confusion to quiet understanding as you speak.
Then a quiet, low laugh escapes him, not at you, but the gentle, fond kind he’s always had when you work yourself up over something.
“Darling, relax,” he says, warm and patient. He reaches over and gently tugs the hem of his shirt down a little more on your thigh, a small, thoughtful gesture. “We didn’t sleep together, slow down."
He leans back against the headboard again, rubbing his temple with two fingers like the hangover is still punishing him, but his eyes stay on you.
“You were proper gone last night, we both were. But I got you upstairs, helped you change because your dress was covered in vodka, gave you water, and made sure you didn’t fall down the stairs trying to go back down. That’s it, nothing else happened.”
You narrow your eyes at him, the sharp edge of panic now tangled with pure irritation at the faint trace of laughter still lingering in his voice. The morning light filtering through the curtains casts long, soft shadows across the room, catching on the faded posters on the walls and the scattered clothes on the floor.
“Stop fucking laughing, Jobe. This is serious.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” he says, though the small, amused grin is definitely still tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts against the headboard, the mattress creaking softly under his weight. “It’s just… you look proper traumatised and I’m trying not to die from this headache.”
For a moment the two of you just stare at each other. You can see the hangover weighing on him, the slight tightness around his eyes, the way he squints against the light. You shove his shoulder, not hard, but enough to make your point. His skin is warm under your palm.
“We were kissing,” you insist, voice rising. “At the club and on the way home. Don’t act like that’s nothing.”
Jobe winces, a proper grimace this time as he drags a hand slowly down his face. He leans his head back against the headboard with a quiet thud, eyes briefly closing as if the memory itself is painful.
“Well… fuck,” he mutters. “Yeah, we did that.”
“See!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, the oversized shirt slipping further off one shoulder. “You kissed me first, you idiot.”
His head snaps toward you, eyebrows raised. “C'mon, darling, there's no need to lie here.”
“Yes, you did!”
“No, princess,” he says, fighting a smile now, the banter flowing easily even through the hangover haze. “You were all over me, c’mon.” He gestures loosely with one hand. “You kept grabbing my face and telling me my ears were cute. My ears.”
The words hang in the air for half a second. Something inside you snaps, half embarrassment, half fond frustration. You snatch the nearest pillow and swing it at him. Once. Twice. The soft thuds echo lightly in the quiet room, he doesn’t even try to block it properly, just lets out a low, rumbling laugh and takes the hits, shoulders shaking slightly with each one, as if this kind of ridiculous morning scuffle is the most natural thing in the world between you two.
“Promise me nothing happened,” you demand, hitting him again for good measure, the pillow making a muffled whump against his chest. “Promise me, Jobe.”
He’s still letting you whack him, patient and oddly cute about it, one arm resting lazily across his knee, until your voice cracks on the last “Promise me.” The playfulness in the air shifts almost instantly, the laughter fades from his face.
That does it.
He catches both of your wrists gently but firmly with one large hand, stopping the pillow mid-swing. He doesn’t squeeze, his grip is warm and steady, just enough to still you. His expression turns serious as he looks straight at you, hangover or not, the morning light catching the side of his face.
“I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that,” he says, voice low and steady, eyes locked on yours. “I promise. Nothing happened.”
The words came without hesitation. They weren't defensive, they weren't offended, they sounded almost confused that you could even think otherwise.
You stared back at him, your breathing still uneven. "We were drunk."
"I know."
"So how can you be so sure?"
“Because it’s you,” he says finally. “You’re family. Mum trusts me with you, do you think I'd do something like that? Hurting you like that — especially when you’re not even fully there — would never cross my mind. With anyone, really."
Silence settled between you again, broken only by the slow whir of the ceiling fan above. Your eyes drifted down to the shirt hanging off your shoulder, to the rumpled sheets pooled around your legs, before returning to him.
You look away toward the window, throat tight. The panic isn’t just about the possibility of sex anymore, it’s about the fear that you might have destroyed the safest relationship you’ve ever had.
"You don't get it," you murmured, your voice much quieter now. "If we'd actually..." You swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. "God, Jobe... I'm so sorry."
Something softened across his expression. "Now why are you saying sorry for, princess?" He let go of your wrists then, giving you the space to breathe, but he didn't move away. "Breathe, darling."
He leaned back against the headboard and watched you with that same patient expression he'd worn ever since you were children crying over scraped knees or broken friendships.
"I helped you upstairs," he starts carefully, piecing the night together out loud more for your benefit than his own. "Your dress was soaked in vodka because you'd somehow managed to spill half your drink down yourself." You look up at him through your fingers that were previously hiding the embarrassment in your face. "You kept saying you were fine while tripping over your own feet." The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "I found one of my old shirts, made you change into it, gave you water, spent ten minutes convincing you not to sleep in your makeup..."
"And then?"
His smile grew a fraction wider. "And then you kept trying to kiss me like when we were in the club."
Heat rushed to your face immediately. "No."
"Mhm."
"Jobe."
"We did kiss," he admitted more quietly, his eyes dropping briefly to the duvet before finding yours again. "A few times."
You felt your stomach sink.
“I kissed you back,” he admits, voice low. “For a bit. I wanted to. But after a while you were barely keeping your eyes open, so I stopped.” He shrugs one shoulder, simple and honest. “That’s the truth.”
The confession hangs between you, understated and raw.
You feel your chest tighten. “Did I… make you uncomfortable? Did I ignore you when you said no? Did I put you in a shitty position?”
Jobe’s expression softens further. He leans forward slightly.
“No, darling, you didn’t. You were just… you. Drunk and affectionate and a little bit chaotic. You kept asking if Germany was really that far away, told me you missed me more than you say when you’re sober. Tried convincing me to stay in England.” A small, fond smile touches his lips. “You also told me my eyelashes were trustworthy. That one’s going in the permanent record.”
You groan and hide your face in the pillow for a second. When you peek out again, he’s watching you with that patient, steady look.
“I was worried about you last night,” he continues more seriously. “You were all over the place. Strangers kept trying to talk to you at the club. It scared me, thinking how easily someone else could’ve taken advantage. So yeah… don’t get that loose when I’m not around. Please, not because I’m trying to control you, because I care what happens to you.”
The silence that follows feels different now, heavier, but warmer. You’re still clutching the pillow. He’s still close, one hand resting near yours on the duvet. Neither of you seems ready to name what shifted last night, but the air between you feels undeniably changed.
Sunlight has crept further across the floor, catching dust motes and the faint scuff marks on the wooden boards, Jobe’s thumb makes one absent pass over the edge of the duvet before stilling. You watch it, hyper-aware of every small movement, every shared breath in the quiet space.
Eventually you find your voice again, small and hesitant. “So the kissing… that part really happened.”
Jobe exhales through his nose, a long, thoughtful sound, he doesn’t look away from the window at first. When he does turn back to you, his expression is calm, almost thoughtful, like he’s turning the night over in his mind piece by piece.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “It did.”
You wait. The silence stretches again, comfortable enough that you don’t feel the need to fill it right away. You pull the duvet a little higher over your legs, fingers tracing the soft edge of the fabric, Jobe shifts his weight against the headboard, the mattress dipping slightly under him, and rubs a hand over his jaw.
“I kept thinking about it on the walk home,” he continues after a moment, voice low. “Watching those lads at the club come up to you. It bothered me more than I expected. Not in some big dramatic way. Just… I didn’t like it.” He lets out a small, self-aware huff, almost surprised at his own admission. “Didn’t realise how much until I said it out loud just now.”
You glance at him. He meets your eyes steadily, no deflection, no attempt to soften it into a joke.
“Why did you kiss me?” The question slips out quieter than you intended, but it feels important.
Jobe doesn’t rush to answer, he looks down at the space between you on the bed for a long beat, then back up. His voice is even, confident in that understated way he has when he’s decided to be honest.
“Because I wanted to,” he says. “The alcohol probably made it easier to stop overthinking it, but it didn’t create something that wasn’t already there, at least not for me.”
The words settle between you like the dust in the sunlight. You feel your chest tighten again, but this time it’s not panic.
“We kissed before I got too far gone,” he adds, as if reading the next question on your face. “On the walk home, a few times. I wanted that part, I don’t regret it.” His gaze holds yours. “I only stopped things later because you weren’t really there anymore. Both of those things can be true at the same time. I wanted to kiss you… but I’d never take advantage of you.”
You let that sit for a while. The fan keeps turning, somewhere downstairs a door opens and closes softly — Mark, probably, moving around the kitchen. The ordinary sounds of the house feel strangely grounding against the weight of the conversation.
“I don’t think they were a mistake,” Jobe says after another long pause, his voice quiet but certain. “The kisses. If you decide you regret them, I’ll respect that completely, but I’m not going to lie and say they meant nothing just because that would be easier.”
You look at him, really look. The boy who grew up beside you, now a man taking up space in his childhood bed, speaking with the kind of steady honesty that makes your throat feel tight. No grand speeches, no sudden declarations, just Jobe, being Jobe.
A small, surprised laugh escapes you, shaky but genuine. He smiles in response, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar way.
“I’d quite like to kiss you again,” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather. “When we’re both sober this time.”
The laugh between you feels lighter now, shared and easy. You shake your head, still half-hiding behind the pillow, the fabric soft and familiar against your cheek. Jobe’s smile lingers, small and unhurried, as he watches you from his side of the bed.
The morning light has shifted again, warming the walls and catching on the edges of old trophies lined up on a shelf across the room. Everything in here feels suspended between childhood and adulthood — the Sunderland poster, the boots, the faint scent of grass still clinging to them.
You lower the pillow slowly into your lap, fingers tracing one of its worn seams. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it is full. Ordinary sounds that make the conversation feel strangely intimate, as if the rest of the house is politely pretending not to exist.
“Fuck Jobe,” you say after a while, voice quieter now, almost testing the words. “We really kissed. That part was not just some blurry half-memory.”
Jobe nods once, his gaze drifting briefly to the window before returning to you. He scratches the back of his neck, a small, habitual gesture you’ve seen a thousand times when he’s thinking something through.
“Yeah,” he says again, simpler this time. “We did.”
You let that sit between you. You pull the duvet a little higher over your legs, suddenly aware of how exposed you still feel, even though the worst of the panic has eased. Jobe doesn’t rush to fill the quiet, he simply waits, one hand resting loosely on his knee, the other near yours on the bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth but not quite touching.
He exhales through his nose, a thoughtful sound. His eyes drop to the space between you on the mattress for a long moment, as if he’s replaying pieces of the night in his head, the club lights, the walk home, the way the streetlamps had cast long shadows across the pavement.
When he speaks, his voice is low, almost like he’s surprising himself with the admission.
“I spent most of the night at the club trying to convince myself I was just looking out for you,” he says. “The way I always have. But every time another bloke came over, bought you a drink, tried talking to you… it bothered me. More than it should have.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating huff. “Didn’t realise how much until I was walking you home and suddenly it wasn’t just protectiveness anymore.”
You glance at him. He meets your eyes steadily.
“What happens now?” you ask eventually, voice soft.
Jobe thinks for a moment, then smiles again, small, genuine, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar way.
“I’d quite like to do this properly,” he says, casual but certain. “Take you on an actual date. No hangovers. No blurry memories.”
You let out a soft laugh, the sound mixing with his own quiet one. The tension in the room eases further, replaced by something warmer, lighter, hopeful in the most ordinary way.
“And yeah,” he adds after a beat, eyes meeting yours with that same quiet confidence, “I’d quite like to kiss you again. This time when we’re both completely sober.”
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The conversation had reached that strange point where silence no longer felt uncomfortable, only necessary. Too much had been said in too short a space of time, each admission quietly rearranging something neither of you had realised was capable of moving. The panic that had seized you when you first opened your eyes had long since dissolved, leaving behind the dull ache of a hangover and an unfamiliar awareness every time your eyes wandered back to him.
Jobe seemed content to let the quiet settle. He rested his forearms across his knees, staring absent-mindedly at the floorboards, his fingers loosely linked together as though he were still replaying pieces of the previous night in his head. The room looked exactly as it always had, childhood trophies gathering dust, old football posters refusing to be taken down, boots abandoned near the wardrobe after yesterday's kickabout with family friends, but somehow none of it felt quite the same anymore.
The spell finally broke with the unmistakable crash of a cupboard downstairs. A second later Mark's voice floated faintly through the floorboards. "How've we managed to lose every bloody mug in this house?!"
Jobe shut his eyes for a second before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose.
"Dad's up."
"So it would seem." You smiled despite yourself.
His eyes met yours.
"I should probably..." you started, gesturing vaguely towards the bedroom door.
"Yeah."
Neither of you moved.
The hesitation almost made you laugh. It wasn't awkwardness exactly, more the quiet reluctance that comes after a conversation neither person had expected to have before breakfast.
Eventually Jobe pushed himself to his feet with a low groan, stretching until something in his back cracked. "Christ..."
"You sound about fifty."
"I feel about eighty."
You watched him shuffle across the room to retrieve yesterday's clothes, scratching lazily at the back of his head before tossing you your handbag from beside the desk. Your dress was another matter entirely.
You picked it up between two fingers, frowning at the dried splash of vodka staining the front. The fabric felt stiff and slightly tacky under your touch, a small, ridiculous reminder of how the night had unravelled. Jobe glanced over from where he stood near the wardrobe, his expression softening with the kind of easy familiarity that had always existed between you, even in the middle of this strange morning.
"It'll wash."
"It absolutely won't."
"It might."
You held it up for him to see more clearly, the morning light catching the faint sheen of the stain. He studied it for a second, the faint crease between his brows deepening before he gave an exaggerated wince that carried no real weight, only the gentle teasing that had always been part of your rhythm.
"...Yeah, alright."
You looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised in the quiet challenge that needed no words. He sighed with theatrical resignation, running a hand through his messy hair as he turned back toward the wardrobe.
"I'll replace it."
"Damn right you will."
"There goes next week's wages."
"You play professional football."
"I know."
"So don't act like you're struggling."
He laughed softly, the sound low and warm as he disappeared briefly into the wardrobe, emerging with a clean shirt.
The conversation slipped back into the rhythm it had always known, easy teasing filling the spaces where sharper embarrassment had lived only minutes before. It struck you, somewhere between complaining about your ruined dress and watching him wrestle the T-shirt over his head, the fabric stretching across his shoulders in a way that felt both utterly ordinary and newly aware, that nothing about speaking to Jobe had changed. Everything else had.
You changed in the bathroom while he made the bed, not perfectly, because he had never learned how Denise liked the hospital corners folded, but well enough that nobody would immediately assume two twenty-year-olds had spent the night tangled in it. By the time you wandered downstairs together, still rubbing the last traces of sleep from your eyes, the smell of fresh toast and brewing tea had drifted through the hallway, grounding the morning in something comfortingly familiar.
Mark stood at the kitchen counter with a mug in one hand and the morning paper in the other, the sunlight from the garden window catching the steam rising from his drink.
"There they are."
"Morning," the two of you answered together, voices overlapping in that unconscious way people do when they have shared years of the same spaces.
"Hm."
He folded another page of the paper with a quiet rustle, his gaze lifting only briefly over the rim of his mug. The kitchen felt warm and lived-in around you, the faint clink of dishes in the sink and the low hum of the fridge creating a soft backdrop to the ordinary exchange.
"You alive?"
"Barely," Jobe muttered, already reaching for the coffee pot, his shoulder brushing yours as he moved past.
Mark hummed in response, a dry, knowing sound that carried no judgment, only the quiet amusement of a man who had seen far worse mornings in this house.
"Bin's outside."
Jobe frowned slightly, pouring himself a mug as the rich scent of coffee filled the space between you.
"What for?"
"You'll work it out."
There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched just long enough for realisation to settle. Your face disappeared into both hands as the memory flickered back, hazy but mortifying.
"Oh, no..."
Jobe looked between the two of you, confusion still clouding his features as he set the pot down with a soft clink. "...What?"
"You threw up in Mum's roses."
His expression froze for a moment, the full weight of it landing as Mark delivered the line with the same understated dryness he always carried. You laughed suddenly, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly and forcing you to lean against the kitchen island for support, the cool surface grounding you. Jobe stared at his father in complete disbelief before groaning into both hands, the sound muffled but genuine.
By the time breakfast was finished, the morning had settled into something comfortably ordinary, the dishwasher humming quietly in the background and the faint scent of toast still lingering in the air.
Mark had disappeared into the garden to inspect the alleged crime scene, muttering something about hopeless youngsters under his breath, while Jobe wandered through the house collecting forgotten glasses from the night before, his movements unhurried and familiar. You found yourself lingering by the front door, bag resting on one shoulder, fingers curling loosely around your car keys as the warmth of the day pressed gently against the windows.
"I should head off."
He looked up from the hallway, the light catching the side of his face and highlighting the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"Yeah."
Again, neither of you seemed particularly eager to be the first to move. Jobe reached for the front door instead, pulling it open before standing back to let you through. The warmth outside wrapped around you immediately, carrying the familiar smell of freshly cut grass from somewhere further down the road and the distant sound of a neighbour mowing their lawn. He followed you out onto the drive without either of you acknowledging that he was doing it, the gravel shifting softly under your feet.
For a moment you simply stood beside your car, the metal warm from the sun. It wasn't awkward. It just... wasn't familiar yet. You looked at him, studying the face you'd known for almost your entire life, and realised it was somehow both exactly the same and completely different in the bright daylight.
"I suppose," you said eventually, "this is the bit where everything gets weird."
He frowned slightly, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his joggers as he leaned against the side of the car.
"Does it have to?"
"I don't know."
"I'd rather it didn't."
You smiled, the expression coming easily despite the new undercurrent running beneath everything.
"So would I."
A comfortable silence settled again, the kind filled with the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the faint hum of traffic in the distance. He looked down the street for a moment before speaking, his posture relaxed but his gaze steady when it returned to you.
"I meant what I said upstairs."
"I know."
"I'm not expecting an answer today." Your eyes found his again, the connection lingering in the quiet space between you. "Or tomorrow."
Another small smile touched his mouth, softening the lines of his face.
"I just... think we've spent enough years pretending we're only one thing because it's easier."
The sentence landed gently, no pressure behind it, only honesty earned from years of shared history. He shrugged one shoulder, the movement casual yet deliberate.
"So..."
"So?"
"When I get a free weekend..." His expression softened into something almost boyish despite the quiet confidence he'd carried all morning, the sunlight catching in his eyes as he looked at you. "...let me take you out."
Not because last night had forced the question, but because, for the first time, neither of you had any reason left to pretend you didn't want to. You smiled before you even realised you were doing it, the warmth of it spreading through your chest as you unlocked the car door.
"I think," you said, the words feeling right in the ordinary brightness of the driveway, "I'd quite like that."
His own smile answered yours immediately, easy and genuine, the kind shared between two people who already knew each other better than anyone else ever could. No kiss. No dramatic goodbye. Just the quiet understanding that something had shifted, and for now, that was enough.
As you pulled away a minute later, the engine humming softly beneath you, you caught one last glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror, still standing on the drive with one hand shoved into his pocket, the other lifting in an absent wave. For the first time since waking in his bed, you weren't trying to remember what had happened the night before. You already knew. Instead, your mind wandered somewhere much simpler. You found yourself wondering what Jobe Bellingham was actually like on a first date. And somehow, after a lifetime of knowing him, that felt like the newest question of all.
author's note — it's time to admit: i've replayed that video of him running on the treadmill a thousand times since i saw it #respectfully. also, i got major vibes of woman worshipper with this man i swear, A MAN A MAN A MAN-AN-AN.
You only meant to spend the morning doing absolutely nothing. Your boyfriend, however, has other plans—and apparently no shame whatsoever when it comes to making out with his girlfriend on his parents' sofa.
WARNINGS ◦ sfw content ◦ slow morning makeout with jude there i said it ◦ established relationship bc i'm a lonely bih ◦ detailed descriptions of making out ><
2,892 ━━━━━ drabble jude bellingham x reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , this is my official ballblr debut... please be kind 😔 i've been spending way too much time on wc twitter lately and those people know how to appreciate fine men, so if this exists... blame them 😝😝
━━━━━ read on ao3
A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.
You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.
A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.
After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”
You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”
“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”
You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”
“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.
The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”
You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.
Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.
Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”
You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”
He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.
You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".
His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.
You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”
Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.
He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.
“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.
One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.
Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.
“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.
You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.
Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.
You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”
He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”
Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”
The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”
The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.
“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.
You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.
“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.
He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.
You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.
Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.
Jude's hand never really stopped moving.
It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.
You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.
For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.
He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.
author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>
Jude Bellingham being jealous is almost impossible to catch in the moment, it hides behind slow kisses, careful hands and a smile that never quite disappears. You don't realize something's changed until he's already decided to carry you home with him.
WARNINGS ◦ club scene ◦ alcohol use ◦ protective!jude (let him live) ◦ jealousy themes ◦ drunk!reader ◦ reader cannot hold her liquor to save her life ◦ making out ◦ slight suggestive content ◦ i'm convinced jude deserves financial compensation for this evening
5,473 ━━━━━ oneshot jude bellingham x reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , this started because someone asked for jealous jude and somehow i managed to make a 5k words fic. to the lovely anon who requested this: i hope you don't mind that i took a few creative liberties. 😭 i just couldn't picture jude as the loud, territorial type, so i tried writing the kind of jealousy i personally think suits him better. thank you for inspiring this one bae xo <3
━━━━━ read on ao3
The private booth in the upscale Madrid club felt like an extension of the celebration itself—velvet seating curved around a low table already scattered with chilled bottles, delicate glasses catching the warm light from overhead fixtures, and a small reserved card that had your name on it.
The first hour unfolded slowly, unhurried. Congratulations blended into easy conversation as fresh drinks replaced empty glasses almost without anyone noticing. Stories from work drifted into football, football into travel plans, someone ordering another round before the waiter had even collected the previous one. Every so often another toast interrupted the conversation, glasses clinking across the table while your friends insisted on celebrating "one more thing."
It wasn't until your glass had been topped up for what must've been the third time that you realised you'd hardly moved from the spot you'd claimed beside Jude all evening.
You sat nestled against your boyfriend's side, his arm draped casually along the back of the booth behind your shoulders. The fabric of his black shirt was smooth under your fingers whenever you reached for your drink, and the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the faint citrus from the cocktails.
Your girlfriends arrived in waves of laughter and hugs, their partners trailing with easy handshakes for Jude. Congratulations came in steady, warm increments, each time someone raised a glass or leaned across the table to toast your new contract, Jude’s hand would find your knee or lower back, giving a gentle squeeze. “Told you she’s brilliant,” he’d say, voice carrying that expressive pride without ever sounding performative.
His eyes would find yours across the small space, holding for a beat longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. You felt yourself glowing under the attention, the champagne and cocktails sliding down easily, warming your chest and loosening the long day’s work tension from your shoulders.
Time stretched comfortably, conversations wandered: one of your friends recounting a disastrous event from last month, Jude chiming in with a dry comment about how football dressing rooms had nothing on event logistics chaos.
You laughed, the sound brighter than usual, and reached for another sip. The alcohol settled in gradually, first a pleasant buzz in your limbs, then a softer haze that made the lights seem a touch warmer and the music more inviting. Jude noticed, of course.
His thumb traced slow patterns on your shoulder, and when your laugh turned a little too loose he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Pace yourself, darling. You want to enjoy yourself until later, right?”
The words were affectionate, not scolding, carrying the same quiet reminder he'd given you more than once before.
You smiled into your glass almost immediately.
He wasn't trying to stop you from drinking. If anything, Jude loved seeing you like this—lighter, louder, laughing at things that probably weren't as funny as they seemed after two cocktails. But the two of you knew exactly where your limit lived, mostly because you'd crossed it enough times to recognize the warning signs. You were a spectacular lightweight, and every celebration seemed to end the same way: waking up the next morning trying to piece together the last hour of the evening while Jude filled in the blanks over breakfast.
Somewhere along the line, you'd been the one to ask him to step in before that happened. Not to stop you, just to slow you down enough that you'd still remember the night you'd spent weeks looking forward to.
The club filled slowly around your booth. What started as a refined, spacious atmosphere grew denser with bodies and voices. Jude’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly at first, his arm stayed around you, but his gaze began flicking toward the growing crowd more often, tracking the flow of people near your table.
When someone bumped the edge of the booth reaching for a passing waiter, Jude’s body angled slightly, creating a subtle barrier between you and the movement. He didn’t say anything about it, just continued listening to the conversation, nodding along, fingers still playing idly with the strap of your dress on your shoulder.
You were too pleasantly tipsy to register the full shift, the way his easy usual energy had quietly layered into something more protective.
Eventually the music began to drown out the conversations around the table. One of your friends disappeared toward the dance floor first, dragging her boyfriend after her with surprisingly little resistance, while the second couple followed not long after, laughing as another round of drinks arrived just as everyone seemed to be abandoning the booth.
Jude stayed where he was for another minute, one arm still resting lazily along the back of the seat behind you as he watched the small exodus with quiet amusement. His fingers rolled the condensation around his glass while the conversation naturally dissolved into smaller pockets, people getting to their feet one by one without much urgency.
Clubs like this had their own rhythm. There were no phones held discreetly under tables, no whispered excitement when someone recognisable walked past. Famous footballers, actors, musicians, old-money families and business owners drifted through the room with the same quiet anonymity, everyone seemingly understanding that the point of the place was to leave one another alone. Privacy wasn't advertised; it was simply expected.
It was one of the few places where Jude could disappear into the crowd despite standing well over six feet tall.
He finished the last sip from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink, turning towards you with the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Come on."
His hand found yours before you even had the chance to answer, giving it a gentle squeeze as he stood. You followed with a quiet laugh, letting him pull you effortlessly to your feet, the room tipping ever so slightly from the champagne before his free hand settled instinctively at your waist to steady you.
"Easy," he murmured, smiling to himself.
Together, you slipped away from the booth and into the growing crowd.
His hand remained wrapped around yours as you left the booth, weaving between clusters of people without ever really having to think about it. Every now and then someone stepped into your path—a waiter balancing a tray of drinks, another couple laughing too hard to notice where they were going—and each time Jude adjusted instinctively, his hand slipping from yours to the small of your back for a second before finding it again once there was space.
The dance floor was fuller than it had been earlier, though it still carried the same restrained elegance as the rest of the club. Nobody was trying to outshine anyone else. Groups drifted together and apart beneath the warm lights, expensive dresses catching the glow as conversations dissolved into music.
One of your girlfriends spotted the two of you from somewhere near the middle and lifted her glass in the air with an exaggerated cheer before disappearing back into her own little world.
Jude laughed under his breath. He stopped just before the crowd thickened, turning to face you properly for the first time since leaving the booth. His hands settled naturally on your hips, thumbs resting lightly against the fabric of your dress as though they'd found their usual place without either of you thinking about it.
"There she is," he murmured, the grin on his face widening as you immediately caught the rhythm. "Closing deals by day..." You laughed before he could even finish. "...Owning the floor by night."
"Oh, shut up."
"I'm serious." His answer disappeared into a quiet laugh as you gave your hips an exaggerated sway just to prove a point, he watched you for half a second before shaking his head. "I'm really proud of you, you know that?"
You felt your own smile falter into something smaller, warmer.
"You worked your arse off for this." He gave you the gentlest squeeze before pulling you a fraction closer again, as though the words themselves weren't enough. "You deserve tonight."
Without thinking, your arms slipped up around his neck, fingers lacing loosely together as they rested there. The music carried on around you, people moving past in blurred flashes of light, but for a moment it felt as though the two of you had quietly drifted into your own little pocket of the room.
"Thank you," you said, the words coming quieter this time.
Jude frowned ever so slightly.
"For what?" His smile showed that he had no clue what you were referring to.
"For being here." You leaned in just enough to steal a slow kiss, unhurried and familiar, lingering for a heartbeat before your forehead brushed lightly against his. "I know you've been exhausted."
His expression barely changed, but you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Pre-season always asked a little more of him than people realised. New tactical sessions, double training days, fitness testing, constant travelling, the expectation of arriving sharper than he'd left. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to spend most of a week working around one another's schedules rather than with them, stealing dinners together at ten o'clock or settling for a FaceTime call when one of you was still in the office and the other had an early recovery session the next morning.
"You've had a rough couple of weeks," you continued gently. "You could've gone home after training and slept for twelve hours."
A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Could have."
"Instead you're here."
His hands settled a little more securely at your waist.
"Where else was I going to be?" The answer was so matter-of-fact that it made you smile. He shrugged one shoulder, almost as if the decision had never really existed in the first place. "My girl just signed the biggest contract of her career, I'm not missing that for shit."
You smiled and kissed him again, the corners of your mouth lingering there even after you'd pulled apart. Neither of you hurried to say anything else, there wasn't much left to add.
The music carried you forward instead.
Another song bled seamlessly into the next, and the two of you simply kept moving. Sometimes it was little more than an easy sway, your forehead brushing his chin as he absentmindedly traced the curve of your waist beneath his palm. Other times one of your girlfriends would pull you into a small circle, laughing as the group attempted increasingly questionable dance moves after another round of cocktails, each fresh drink arriving before the previous one had quite disappeared.
Somewhere along the way you'd stopped counting.
Jude never protested when you wandered off for a minute or two, he'd simply watch with that small, amused smile of his, occasionally catching the eye of one of the other boyfriends as they exchanged the kind of look only people accompanying very happy women seemed to understand. Every now and then one of them would drift over, the conversation between the four men coming and going naturally while they watched the celebration unfold in front of them.
They laughed amongst themselves, nursed the same drinks for far longer than any of you did, and every so often one of them would peel away when his girlfriend came looking for another dance.
He kept that balance for a long while: hyping you with grins and quiet praise, then instinctively shifting whenever the dance floor grew tighter around you. His body would angle just enough to absorb the occasional bump from passing strangers, one arm finding its way more securely around your waist while the other remained loosely tangled with yours whenever the music slowed again.
None of it felt deliberate, it was simply how Jude moved through crowded spaces.
Your group drifted together, then apart again, your girlfriends pulling you into little circles before someone inevitably reached for another round of drinks. You laughed more easily with each passing daiquiri, the pleasant warmth in your chest settling into your limbs until everything—the music, the lights, the conversations around you—felt softened around the edges.
More than once you caught Jude watching you instead of the room. Every time your eyes met, he'd smile without thinking, as if he still couldn't quite believe the night was real.
At one point he reached for you again, drawing you back against him with an easy familiarity before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, taking you in beneath the shifting lights before the corner of his mouth lifted.
"I'm gonna grab another round and use the bathroom," he said eventually, leaning close enough that only you could hear him. His hand gave your waist one last reassuring squeeze. "Don't wander off. I'll be quick."
You nodded, smiling up at him before letting yourself be swept back towards your friends as one of them waved you further into the crowd.
The minutes after Jude disappeared into the crowd stretched a little longer than you'd expected. Around you, the dance floor had reached its evening peak, conversations overlapping with the music as people drifted in loose circles beneath the warm lights.
One of your girlfriends was halfway through dramatically reenacting a disaster from a gala the month before when a man in a tailored navy suit wandered over, lifting his glass in greeting.
“Quite the celebration over here,” he said, raising his own glass in a small toast. “Saw the bottle service. Special occasion?”
Your little circle laughed almost in unison.
"She does," one of your friends answered before you had the chance, pointing enthusiastically in your direction. "Biggest contract of her career."
You groaned, already laughing. "Don't make it sound so dramatic."
"It is dramatic," another one insisted, throwing an arm around your shoulders with considerably less balance than she'd intended. "We're celebrating."
"Fair enough," the man smiled, his attention drifting back to you. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." You smiled politely. "It was a good day."
"What do you do?"
You told him the name of your company, explaining in a sentence or two that you worked in event promotion. Recognition flickered across his face almost immediately.
"Right... I know the name."
The conversation wandered naturally from there. He mentioned attending one of your company's events a couple of years earlier, one of your girlfriends interrupted to argue that yours had been better, somebody else burst out laughing because they'd completely forgotten what they were talking about in the first place, and before long all four of you were speaking over one another in the wonderfully chaotic way slightly drunk friends always seemed to.
The man stayed beside the group, chiming in every now and then with a comment or a question that you answered without much thought whenever there was a gap in the conversation.
Most of your attention, though, belonged elsewhere.
Your stomach already hurt from laughing.
At one point another boyfriend appeared beside your friend with the long-suffering expression of someone who'd clearly been sent to collect her before she embarrassed herself any further. She protested dramatically, insisting she was perfectly capable of standing on her own before immediately wobbling into him anyway, sending the rest of you into another fit of laughter.
You doubled over, clutching your friend's arm as tears threatened to gather in the corners of your eyes. "Oh my God..."
"I told you!" your friend managed between laughs.
"I can't breathe."
Somewhere beside you, the conversation with the man continued.
You answered something, you weren't entirely sure what. Whatever it was seemed polite enough.
Across the room, Jude emerged from the bar with two fresh drinks balanced easily in one hand (water for you). His eyes found you almost immediately, more out of habit than anything else. For a second, everything looked exactly as he'd left it, your friends laughing amongst themselves, music carrying through the room, you smiling so hard your shoulders were shaking.
Then he noticed the man.
It wasn't anything obvious. No wandering hands or exaggerated flirting. Just the way he kept subtly angling himself towards you every time the conversation shifted, waiting for your attention to drift back to him. You, meanwhile, seemed entirely oblivious, answering whatever he asked before dissolving back into laughter with your friends a second later.
Jude stood where he was for another beat, watching the interaction settle into place. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he started across the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with the same measured pace he'd had all evening.
By the time he reached the group, the conversation hadn't changed all that much. You were still laughing, one hand resting on your friend's arm while you tried, and failed, to explain whatever story had just sent the three of you into another fit of giggles.
Jude stepped in beside you as though he'd never left. His free hand settled naturally at your waist, fingers spreading lightly against the fabric of your dress as he leaned in just enough to place the fresh glass into your hand.
"There you go, darling." You looked up immediately, your whole face brightening.
"There you are!" The smile that broke across your face was so immediate, so instinctive, that Jude felt something inside him quietly settle.
"Miss me already?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Mm..." you hummed dramatically, already leaning into his side. "You took ages."
"Seven minutes."
"Exactly."
A quiet laugh escaped him. He bent to press an unhurried kiss against your temple, lingering there for a second before straightening again.
Only then did he acknowledge the man standing opposite, his expression never changing.
"Alright, mate." The greeting was polite, almost conversational.
The man returned the nod without hesitation, glanced once between the two of you and smiled politely. "Congratulations on the contract."
"Cheers." A beat passed. "I'm gonna steal her back."
There wasn't a trace of hostility in Jude's voice, he'd said it with the same easy certainty someone might excuse themselves from a conversation at dinner.
The man understood immediately, wished the group a good evening and disappeared back into the crowd without another word.
Jude didn't watch him leave. His attention had already returned to you, his arm still comfortably around your waist as though it had never belonged anywhere else.
The rest of the night unfolded in that same unhurried rhythm. Jude kept his arm around your waist as the stranger melted back into the crowd, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress in a way that felt more like habit than anything deliberate. You leaned into him without thinking, the pleasant haze of the evening wrapping around you both as the music swelled again.
For a while, nothing seemed different, your girlfriends pulled the group back into a loose circle on the dance floor, laughter rising easily whenever someone missed a step or nearly spilled a drink. Jude moved with you, his hands finding your hips as the beat shifted, pulling you close enough that your back rested against his chest, the warmth of him was steady, familiar.
Another song bled into the next, you turned in his arms, looping yours around his neck as you swayed together. Jude’s forehead brushed yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then, almost casually, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he murmured, “Funny guy, eh? What was he saying over there?”
You blinked up at him, the question landing softly through the tipsy glow. A slow smile spread across your face as realisation dawned. “Oh my god,” you laughed, the sound light and affectionate, pressing your cheek against his shoulder for a second. “Were you jealous?”
Jude’s hand tightened slightly at your waist, but his expression stayed easy, almost sheepish. “Not jealous. Just… curious.” He shrugged one shoulder, eyes flicking down to meet yours as you both continued moving to the music. The crowd shifted around you, but the space between your bodies stayed small and warm. “He seemed pretty chatty.”
You grinned, tipping your head back to look at him properly. The alcohol made everything softer, warmer, and his subtle shift in mood only made him look more endearing. “Baby, I barely remember what we were talking about. Something about the club, I think? One of the events we did last year. I was mostly laughing with the girls.” You reached up, fingers brushing along the back of his neck as you pulled him a little closer.
He watched you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You kissed him then, slow and sweet, tasting the faint trace of his drink on his lips. When you pulled back, your smile was teasing but warm. “My big, strong footballer boyrfriend getting a little worked up over some random guy who probably just wanted free bottle service stories.” You laughed again, the sound bubbling up easily, and Jude finally let out a quiet chuckle of his own, shaking his head as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Alright, alright,” he murmured, but his hand stayed firm at your waist, thumb tracing slow circles as the music carried you both.
The conversation didn’t linger, it dissolved the way things often did between you—into another kiss, then another sway of your bodies, your girlfriends pulling you back into the group for a few chaotic minutes of dancing before Jude drew you close again.
The night continued around you, laughter and lights and the steady pulse of the club, but you noticed the tiny shift in him as the hours wore on. He was still there, still affectionate—his hand finding yours, his lips brushing your temple—but he was quieter than usual, more thoughtful.
His smiles came just as readily, but they settled a little deeper, like he was turning something over in his mind without quite saying it aloud. You knew him well enough to see it, even through the pleasant fog of champagne.
Eventually the group decided it was time. Goodbyes stretched out in warm hugs and promises to text tomorrow, the energy winding down naturally as everyone filtered toward the exit. Outside, the Madrid night air was cooler, carrying the faint hum of the city. Jude’s driver was on the way, so the two of you lingered near the discreet side entrance, the doorman giving you both a respectful nod.
You were deep in that sweet, affectionate stage of being tipsy, everything felt softer, warmer, and Jude suddenly seemed like the most solid, wonderful thing in the world. You leaned your full weight against him without warning, arms wrapping around his middle as you pressed your face into his chest.
“Kiss me,” you mumbled against his shirt, the words coming out a little muffled and demanding in the best way.
Jude’s laugh rumbled low, one arm steadying you around the waist while his free hand came up to brush hair from your face. “You’re a handful tonight,” he said softly, but he obliged anyway, tilting your chin up gently and kissing you slow and deep. His other hand slipped your handbag and phone from your shoulder without being asked, tucking them securely under his arm as he kept you close.
You made a contented sound into the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, growing progressively handsier as the minutes passed and the car still hadn’t arrived. Your hands wandered down his sides, then lower, pressing closer until your bodies were flush.
He indulged for a while, kissing you back with the same lazy heat, one hand sliding up your back while the other kept you steady on your feet. But when your touch grew bolder, he chuckled quietly against your mouth and redirected with effortless care. Instead of pulling away, he tilted his head, kissing slowly along your jaw and down the side of your neck. His lips lingered there, warm and deliberate, before he gave one teasing, gentle bite just below your ear.
You shivered, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head to give him better access. Jude’s hand stayed firm at your lower back, guiding you subtly when you wobbled on your heels, his body strong and reliable against yours. He passed you his water bottle between kisses, murmuring, “you better drink this before getting into bed,” without ever making it feel like a correction.
You took the bottle, still grinning against his neck, and tipped it back for a few long gulps. The cool water slid down your throat, cutting through some of the pleasant haze. When you lowered it, you caught him watching you closely, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved, the faint sheen on your lips. The corner of your mouth curved into something mischievous, the tipsy warmth making you bold.
“You’re so jealous,” you teased, voice low and playful as you pressed closer, one hand sliding up his chest. “Look at you, staring like that while I drink water. What, worried someone else might offer me a sip?”
Jude’s eyebrows lifted, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. His hand flexed at your lower back, keeping you anchored against him as the night air brushed past. “Not jealous,” he said, the words carrying that familiar Brummie lilt, warm and slightly defensive in the most endearing way. “Just making sure you stay hydrated.”
You laughed softly, the sound flirtatious and provocative as you tilted your head, lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Mhm. And you’re taking up all of my space and bossing me around.” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his shirt, pressing just enough to feel the steady beat of his heart. “Very possessive for someone who claims he’s not jealous.”
“I’m not bossing you around,” he countered, voice low, but there was a quiet laugh threaded through it. His free hand came up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you. The streetlights caught the subtle tension still lingering in his expression from earlier, but it softened under your teasing.
“Yes you absolutely are,” you shot back, grinning up at him with bright, tipsy eyes. You pushed up onto your toes—wobbling again—and stole another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, your body leaning fully into his. “Big strong footballer taking care of his girl. Making sure no one else talks to me. Passing me water like it’s an order.” Between kisses you kept the playful pressure on, your voice dropping into something flirtatiously sweet. “Admit it. You hated that guy chatting me up.”
Jude exhaled a quiet laugh against your mouth, the sound vibrating through his chest. He didn’t pull away. Instead he kissed you back, deeper for a moment, then redirected with that same effortless control—lips trailing slowly down the side of your neck again, teeth grazing lightly in a teasing bite that made your breath hitch. “You’re trouble when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin, hand steady at your waist as he kept you upright. His touch stayed sensual, affectionate, but grounded—never letting the moment tip too far while the car was still minutes away.
You hummed happily, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck as you melted further against him. The teasing hung in the air between kisses, light and warm, the subtle undercurrent of his earlier mood still present but wrapped in the easy intimacy of the night winding down.
The minutes outside the club stretched lazily, the cool Madrid night air doing little to temper the warmth still buzzing under your skin. You stayed wrapped around Jude like that for a good while longer, the teasing flowing as easily as the laughter between you. He kept one arm locked securely around your waist, holding you steady while his other hand occasionally adjusted the strap of your bag on his shoulder or passed the water bottle back to your lips.
You drank when prompted, but mostly you used the moments in between to push your luck, wobbling deliberately on your heels just to feel his grip tighten, pressing closer until your bodies were flush, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone beneath his shirt.
“You’re so jealous,” you murmured again, voice syrupy and provocative as you tilted your head up, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. “Admit it. You wanted to drag me away the second he smiled at me.”
Jude huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm against your hair. “You’re winding me up on purpose now.” His hand slid lower on your back, steadying you as you shifted your weight again, one heel catching awkwardly on the pavement. “Careful.”
You giggled, the sound bright and unfiltered, and did it again—just a little wobble, enough to make him pull you tighter against his chest. “See? Bossing me around." Your hand wandered down his side, playful and bold.
He shook his head, but you could feel the smile in the way his cheek pressed against your temple. “You’re trouble,” he said again, lower this time, the words laced with affection. For several long minutes you stayed like that, talking about nothing, really. Teasing him about the way he’d watched you drink the water, giggling when he tried to defend himself, stealing lazy kisses that tasted like champagne and the night air.
He indulged you, kissing you back whenever you asked, sometimes deepening them until your fingers tightened in his shirt, sometimes redirecting with slow trails down your neck that left you shivering pleasantly. The city hummed softly around you, distant traffic and the occasional passing car, but it all felt far away.
When the black luxury van finally pulled up—sleek, tinted windows, the driver stepping out to open the door with quiet professionalism—Jude’s demeanor shifted. He kept his arm around you, guiding you toward the open door, but his voice dropped into something more serious, steady, and low.
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, the words firm but not harsh, carrying that natural authority he slipped into when he needed to be the grounded one. “You keep pushing and I’ll have to put you in your place when we get home. Behave for five minutes, yeah?”
The warning wasn’t a threat, it was Jude, looking after you in the way he always did, serious enough that you knew he meant it, but wrapped in the same care that had defined the whole night. You pouted dramatically as he helped you into the backseat, but the giggle that followed ruined the effect.
Inside the van the world narrowed to soft leather seats, dim ambient lighting, and the smooth hum of the engine as it pulled away from the curb. Jude settled beside you, immediately pulling you close so your head could rest on his shoulder. He took your heels off without being asked, setting them neatly on the floor, then draped his jacket over your lap when you shivered lightly.
You were still giggling at first, tipsy and affectionate, trying to climb into his lap with clumsy determination, lips seeking his again.
“Baby,” he murmured, catching your hips gently but firmly before you could fully straddle him. “Not here.” He redirected you back down beside him with effortless strength, kissing your forehead instead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth—slow, soothing presses that calmed the restless energy without shutting it down completely. “Settle. You're drunk, baby.”
You pouted again, dramatic and sleepy now, but the fight drained out of you quickly. The gentle motion of the car, the warmth of his body, and the long night finally caught up. You melted against his side, head heavy on his shoulder, fingers loosely tangled in the front of his shirt.
“You’re so sweet,” you mumbled, voice softening into something smaller and more vulnerable. “Taking care of me all night… even when I’m annoying.”
Jude’s arm tightened around you, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair in slow, rhythmic passes. “Not annoying,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just happy, I like you happy.”
You hummed contentedly, eyes already drifting shut as the city lights continued to streak past the windows. “I love you,” you whispered, the words slurred with sleep and affection, genuine and unguarded. “So much.”
He pressed another kiss to your hair, holding you closer as your breathing evened out. “Love you too, darling. Get some rest. I’ve got you.”
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, just the low hum of the engine and the steady warmth of him beside you, carrying you home.
author's note — don't even know what to comment i'm sleepy as fuck and my back is killing me. if this sucks blame the pre-season because apparently i suffered through it too.
summary: A week away with Jude's family takes an unexpected turn when his childhood best friend, Charlotte, joins the holiday. As old memories, family traditions and an overheard conversation begin to fuel your insecurities, you're left questioning whether you'll ever truly belong.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, emotional insecurity, crying, anxiety, self-doubt, misunderstandings, family dynamics.
wc: 5k
main masterlist | football masterlist | pt1
Breakfast was louder than usual.
Someone had put music on.
You sat beside Jude, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee while everyone spoke over one another.
Charlotte walked into the kitchen wearing an oversized shirt over her bikini.
Her hair was still damp from an early swim.
She smiled brightly.
"Morning."
"Morning!" Denise smiled.
"Sleep well?"
"Like a baby."
Charlotte wandered over to the coffee machine.
"You still haven't replaced this thing?"
His dad laughed.
"It still works."
"Barely."
She reached up to the top cupboard without even looking.
Straight for the mugs.
Your eyes followed her.
She knew exactly where everything was.
No hesitation.
No searching.
Just...
Home.
She poured herself a coffee before looking over at Jude.
"Still black?"
He nodded.
"Always."
She made his coffee before he could even stand up.
"There."
She slid the mug across the island.
Jude smiled.
"Cheers."
He didn't think anything of it.
Neither did anyone else.
Except you.
Because...
You hadn't even realised he'd stopped taking sugar.
After breakfast everyone decided to spend the day on the beach.
The weather was perfect.
The sea was calm.
Someone suggested paddleboarding.
The younger cousins wanted football instead.
Eventually everyone split into little groups.
You and Jude wandered down the shoreline together.
His fingers were laced with yours.
Every now and then he'd swing your arm gently between you.
"So..."
He smiled.
"What are you thinking?"
"Hm?"
"You've got your thinking face."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't have a thinking face."
"You bite the inside of your cheek."
You immediately stopped.
He laughed.
"There it is."
You rolled your eyes.
"You're annoying."
"But?"
"But..."
You smiled despite yourself.
"I quite like you."
He gasped dramatically.
"Only quite?"
"Don't push it."
He laughed before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
"You know..."
His voice softened.
"I'm really happy you're here."
You looked up at him.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
"I was nervous."
"You?"
He nodded.
"I wanted everyone to love you as much as I do."
"And?"
He smiled.
"I was right."
Before you could answer, someone shouted from behind you.
"Jude!"
Charlotte jogged towards the two of you.
"There you are."
She looked between you both.
"We're setting up a volleyball match."
Jude groaned.
"I'm still recovering from yesterday."
"You'll survive."
She lightly nudged his shoulder.
"Come on."
She turned towards you.
"You'll play too, won't you?"
You smiled politely.
"I'll cheer from the sidelines."
"Coward."
She winked before jogging back towards everyone else.
Jude chuckled.
"She's impossible."
"You've known her a long time?"
"Forever."
He answered so casually.
"Our mums were best friends."
"You've stayed close?"
He shrugged.
"Not really."
"We don't speak much anymore."
"Oh."
"I honestly haven't seen her in ages."
Your eyes drifted towards Charlotte laughing with his family.
If they barely spoke anymore...
Why did she fit so effortlessly back into his life?
The afternoon passed in a blur.
Children screamed as waves crashed around them.
Someone started another football match.
You spent most of it talking with his grandmother while everyone else played.
Every now and then your eyes drifted towards Jude.
He'd score.
Charlotte would cheer.
He'd laugh.
That evening everyone gathered in the kitchen to help prepare dinner.
Music echoed softly through the house.
The smell of garlic and rosemary filled the air.
You volunteered to grab more drinks from the pantry.
"I'll help," Denise smiled.
"No, no."
You waved her off.
"I've got it."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
She smiled warmly before turning back to the cooker.
You disappeared down the hallway.
The pantry was tucked away beside the utility room.
You grabbed a couple of bottles of sparkling water before realising they'd run out of lemonade.
There was another storage cupboard just around the corner.
As you turned towards it...
Voices drifted from the small sitting room nearby.
Denise.
And one of Jude's aunts.
You weren't trying to listen.
You stopped only because you heard Charlotte's name.
"...she's grown into such a lovely young woman."
A soft laugh.
"I know."
Another voice answered.
"I've always adored that girl."
You hesitated.
The cupboard door remained half open in your hand.
Then—
"Do you remember when the four of us used to joke that she'd marry Jude one day?"
Both women laughed quietly.
Your stomach dropped.
"Oh, we were convinced."
"They were attached at the hip."
"I honestly thought they'd end up together."
Silence.
Just for a second.
Your breathing had become almost impossibly quiet.
Then his aunt sighed.
"Life works in funny ways."
Denise chuckled softly.
"It certainly does."
You didn't stay to hear another word.
The bottles in your hands suddenly felt unbearably heavy.
You quietly stepped backwards.
One careful step.
Then another.
Before turning the corner and walking back towards the kitchen.
Your heartbeat echoed in your ears.
No one noticed the tears beginning to sting your eyes.
No one noticed how tightly you were gripping the bottles.
No one...
Except Charlotte.
As you walked past her, she caught your expression.
For the briefest moment...
A slow, almost unreadable smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Gone so quickly you wondered if you'd imagined it.
But somehow...
You knew you hadn't.
The rest of the evening blurred together.
People laughed.
Music played softly from the speaker in the corner.
Plates were passed around the table.
Someone poured more wine.
Someone else suggested cards after dinner.
You heard every voice.
Yet somehow...
None of them.
Your mind kept replaying the same sentence.
"I honestly thought they'd end up together."
Again.
And again.
And again.
You smiled whenever somebody looked at you.
Answered whenever someone asked you something.
You even laughed once or twice.
But you couldn't remember a single conversation.
"You okay?"
Jude's voice pulled you back.
You looked up.
"Hm?"
"You've barely touched your food."
You glanced down.
Your plate was almost full.
"I wasn't that hungry."
He frowned.
"You've hardly eaten all day."
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
You forced another smile.
"I'm sure."
He studied you for another second.
Long enough that you thought he might push.
Instead...
He reached beneath the table and intertwined your fingers with his.
The gesture was so instinctive.
So full of love.
That your chest physically hurt.
Because all you could think was—
Would he have done that if Charlotte wasn't sitting across from us?
You hated yourself for thinking it.
After dinner everyone gathered outside around the firepit.
Someone passed around mugs of hot chocolate.
The sky above the beach glittered with thousands of stars.
Normally...
You would've loved this.
Instead, you found yourself sitting quietly beside Jude, staring into the flames.
Charlotte wandered over carrying two mugs.
She handed one to Jude.
"Thought you'd want one."
"Cheers."
She smiled before looking at you.
"I didn't know if you liked hot chocolate."
"Oh."
You blinked.
"Thank you."
She smiled politely.
"You're welcome."
Then she sat opposite you.
Close enough to join every conversation.
Stories started again.
Always stories.
His uncle laughed.
"Remember that summer Jude refused to come home because Charlotte wanted to sleep on the beach?"
Charlotte burst into laughter.
"Oh my God."
"I completely forgot about that."
"You cried when my dad made us leave."
"I was twelve!"
"You were dramatic."
"I've grown since then."
"Barely."
Everyone laughed.
Jude buried his face in one hand.
"I was a child."
"A stubborn one."
Charlotte nudged his knee with her foot.
"You always did hate losing arguments."
Your eyes dropped to the movement.
It was tiny.
Harmless.
Probably unconscious.
Yet something about it made your stomach twist.
A little later, everyone decided to walk along the shoreline.
You hung back slightly, letting the others walk ahead.
Jude immediately slowed to match your pace.
He slipped his hand into yours.
"You've been miles away tonight."
"I'm okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I am."
"You don't look okay."
"I'm just tired."
He stopped walking.
The rest of the family continued ahead, their laughter carrying across the waves.
Jude gently turned you towards him.
His hands rested on your arms.
"You know you don't have to pretend with me."
You swallowed.
"I'm not pretending."
"You are."
His voice wasn't accusing.
It was worried.
"I can tell."
Your eyes stung.
You looked away before he could notice.
"I think I just need an early night."
He searched your face.
Then slowly nodded.
"Okay."
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
"We'll go back."
"No."
You shook your head too quickly.
"I don't want everyone leaving because of me."
"They wouldn't mind."
"I would."
He sighed quietly.
"Alright."
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders instead.
The whole walk back, he never let go.
The following morning was the last day of the holiday.
Suitcases lined the hallway.
People wandered around packing towels and chargers they'd forgotten.
The house felt quieter.
Like everyone already knew the week was ending.
You were folding clothes into your suitcase when Charlotte appeared in the doorway.
"Can I come in?"
You looked up.
"Of course."
She stepped inside, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"I wanted to say goodbye properly."
"That's nice."
There was an awkward silence.
Then...
She smiled.
"You know..."
She glanced towards the hallway to make sure nobody was nearby.
"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable this week."
Your heart skipped.
"What?"
She tilted her head.
"I know it can't be easy."
You frowned.
"What can't?"
"Dating someone with this much history."
She looked around the room.
"I've known this family my whole life."
You stayed silent.
She continued.
"Sometimes..."
A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"I forget what it's like for someone new."
You forced a smile.
"It's okay."
"Is it?"
She stepped a little closer.
"I mean..."
She shrugged lightly.
"I've always been part of this family."
Her eyes met yours.
"I suppose it's different when you're trying to find your place."
Your throat tightened.
She smiled again.
Sweet.
Polite.
Almost sympathetic.
"I'm sure you'll get there eventually."
Before you could answer, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Charlotte's smile changed instantly.
"Oh!"
She laughed brightly.
"I was just saying goodbye."
Jude appeared outside the room.
"There you both are."
Charlotte turned towards him.
"I'm stealing one last hug."
She hugged him tightly.
"So don't leave it another three years before I see you again."
"I'll try."
She smiled.
"You'd better."
Then she looked back at you.
"It was lovely meeting you."
"You too."
She walked away.
You stood completely still.
Jude frowned.
"You alright?"
You looked at him.
At the man who loved you.
Who had done nothing wrong.
And for the first time all week...
You almost told him everything.
Instead...
You smiled.
"I'm just going to finish packing."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
The drive home was almost silent.
Jude drove with one hand on the steering wheel.
The other rested on your thigh the entire journey.
Every now and then, his thumb gently stroked absent-minded circles against your jeans.
You stared out of the window.
Watching the coastline disappear.
Watching the sea become motorways.
Watching the holiday fade behind you.
Your chest felt unbearably heavy.
Not because of Charlotte.
Not because of his family.
Because somewhere over the past four days...
You'd started believing there really wasn't a place for you in the life he'd built long before you arrived.
And no matter how tightly Jude held your hand...
You couldn't seem to convince yourself otherwise.
Home should've felt comforting.
Familiar.
Safe.
Instead...
It felt unbearably quiet.
The suitcases still sat unopened by the bedroom door.
Neither of you had found the energy to unpack.
The journey home had exhausted you in every possible way.
Jude had ordered takeaway because neither of you felt like cooking.
You'd picked at a few chips.
Told him you weren't hungry.
He'd frowned.
You'd smiled.
The evening passed in silence.
The television played quietly in the background, though neither of you were really watching it.
You sat tucked against Jude's side on the sofa, your legs draped across his lap while his fingers absent-mindedly traced lazy circles over your shin.
Normally, you'd have been talking.
Telling him about your favourite parts of the trip.
Laughing over his terrible volleyball dive.
Teasing him for how competitive he'd become over the sandcastle.
Instead. You barely spoke.
Jude noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He always did.
"You ready for bed?"
You nodded.
"Mhm."
He kissed the top of your head.
"Come on."
You both showered in silence.
Brushed your teeth in silence.
Climbed into bed in silence.
The room was dark except for the warm glow of the bedside lamp.
Jude climbed in beside you before opening his arms without saying a word.
A silent invitation.
You moved into them automatically.
Your cheek rested against his chest.
His heartbeat was slow.
Steady.
Comforting.
He kissed your forehead.
"Goodnight."
"...Night."
His hand settled against your back.
Slowly moving up and down.
The way it always did whenever he knew you needed a little extra comfort.
Within minutes...
His breathing evened out.
He'd fallen asleep.
You hadn't.
The room was completely dark.
The digital clock on the bedside table glowed softly.
2:43 A.M.
You'd spent almost three hours staring at the ceiling.
Trying.
Trying so hard not to think.
Trying not to hear those words again.
"I honestly thought they'd end up together."
Trying not to picture Charlotte laughing with his family.
Trying not to remember the way she'd looked at you before saying,
"I'm sure you'll get there eventually."
Your chest tightened.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
It didn't help.
The tears came.
Quietly.
One after another.
You rolled onto your side, facing away from Jude.
Pulling the duvet closer to your face to muffle the sound.
You didn't want to wake him.
You just wanted...
For your own mind to stop hurting you.
A shaky breath escaped before you could stop it.
Then another.
Your shoulders trembled.
You pressed your hand against your mouth.
Please.
Don't wake him.
Please...
The mattress shifted behind you.
"...Baby?"
His voice was rough with sleep.
Barely above a whisper.
You froze.
He was awake.
You quickly wiped at your face.
"I'm okay."
Your voice cracked so badly it barely sounded like you.
Immediately, Jude sat up.
The bedside lamp clicked on.
Warm light filled the room.
He looked at you.
Really looked at you.
Your face buried in the pillow.
Your shoulders shaking.
Tears soaking into the duvet.
His expression changed instantly.
Confusion...
To worry.
To panic.
"Hey."
He moved closer immediately.
"What happened?"
You shook your head.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
His voice was impossibly gentle.
"You're crying."
You couldn't answer.
The harder you tried to stop...
The worse it became.
The sob you'd been holding back escaped before you could swallow it.
Jude's heart broke.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
He didn't ask another question.
Didn't demand an explanation.
He simply reached for you.
One arm slid beneath your shoulders.
The other wrapped around your waist.
Carefully...
Like you were something precious that had cracked.
He lifted you into his lap.
Your face disappeared against his neck almost instantly.
The second you felt his arms around you...
You completely fell apart.
Days of pretending.
Hours of holding everything in.
Gone.
You sobbed into his shoulder so hard your whole body shook.
Jude held you tighter.
One hand cradled the back of your head.
The other rubbed slow circles against your back.
"It's okay."
His lips brushed your hair.
"I've got you."
Another sob escaped you.
He closed his eyes.
"I've got you."
You clutched desperately at the back of his T-shirt.
As though letting go would make everything worse.
"I'm sorry..."
The words came out broken.
Barely understandable.
He frowned.
"For what?"
You only cried harder.
"There is nothing—"
He kissed your forehead.
"Nothing..."
Another kiss.
"...you could ever apologise to me for."
You couldn't breathe properly.
Every time you tried to speak...
Another sob interrupted you.
Jude reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table before gently brushing damp strands of hair away from your face.
"You don't have to tell me tonight."
His thumb wiped another tear from your cheek.
"You don't owe me an explanation."
You shook your head.
"I..."
Your voice disappeared again.
He immediately kissed your temple.
"Shh."
His hand found yours.
Intertwining your fingers.
"We don't have to fix anything right now."
He rested his forehead against yours.
"You just let it out."
And you did.
For what felt like forever.
He never once looked impatient.
Never once asked you to calm down.
He simply held you.
Rocking you gently back and forth.
Every few minutes whispering something new.
"I'm here."
A kiss.
"You're safe."
Another kiss.
"I'm not going anywhere."
His hand stroked through your hair.
"I love you."
Those three words undid you all over again.
He held you through every tear.
Every shaky breath.
Every silence.
Until eventually...
Your crying slowed.
Your breathing steadied.
Exhaustion settled over you.
Jude looked down at your sleepy face.
Your eyes were almost closed.
"You exhausted yourself."
You gave the tiniest nod.
He smiled sadly.
"I know."
He brushed one final tear from beneath your eye.
"We'll talk in the morning."
He kissed your forehead.
"When you've slept."
You looked at him through swollen eyes.
"What if..."
Your voice trembled.
"...you don't feel the same after I tell you?"
His heart physically ached.
He cupped your face.
"There is nothing you could tell me..."
He rested his forehead against yours.
"...that would make me love you any less."
Your bottom lip trembled.
He smiled softly.
"So tomorrow..."
He kissed your nose.
He switched off the lamp.
The room fell dark again.
Curled safely against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you finally drifted to sleep.
Morning came quietly.
Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting warm strips of gold across the duvet.
For a long time, neither of you moved.
You were still curled against Jude's chest, one of his arms wrapped securely around your waist exactly where it had been when you'd finally fallen asleep.
His fingers lazily traced circles over your back.
Not because he was distracted.
Because he was waiting.
Waiting until you were ready.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
His voice was gentle.
"But whatever happened..."
He pressed a kiss into your hair.
"...we'll figure it out together."
Your throat tightened.
You nodded once.
"I know."
Silence settled again.
Comfortable.
Patient.
Until eventually...
"I heard your mum."
His hand stopped moving.
"What?"
You swallowed.
"I wasn't trying to listen."
You stared down at the duvet.
"I went to get more drinks from the pantry..."
Your voice cracked.
"...and I heard her talking to your aunt."
Jude stayed completely still.
"What did they say?"
Tears immediately filled your eyes again.
"They..."
You took a shaky breath.
"They said they always thought you and Charlotte would end up together."
The words hung in the room.
Jude blinked.
Then frowned.
"They what?"
You nodded.
"They were laughing about it."
You looked away.
"They said you two were attached at the hip."
Another tear rolled down your cheek.
"And that they were convinced you'd get married one day."
Jude's expression slowly shifted from confusion...
To disbelief.
"...That's what you've been carrying around?"
You laughed weakly through your tears.
"It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"No."
He answered immediately.
"It doesn't."
You looked at him.
"It doesn't?"
He gently shook his head.
"No."
His thumb brushed another tear away.
"It explains why you've been hurting."
You stared at him.
"I thought..."
You hesitated.
"I thought maybe everyone secretly wished it had been her."
His face completely fell.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
He cupped your face.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
He repeated softly.
"Not for one second."
You shook your head.
"You didn't hear the way they said it."
"I don't need to."
"They sounded so certain."
He sighed quietly.
"They were talking about two children."
You frowned.
"What?"
"We were kids."
He smiled sadly.
"Our parents used to joke about loads of things."
"We lived next door."
"We annoyed each other every day."
"We spent every summer together."
He shrugged lightly.
"When you're twelve, adults think it's cute."
"But we never dated."
"Never."
"Not even close."
You searched his face.
"You never... liked her?"
He smiled gently.
"I loved her."
Your heart dropped.
He noticed immediately.
"The way you love someone who's basically family."
His hand squeezed yours.
"That's all."
"You've never been in competition with Charlotte."
"There was never a competition to begin with."
You wanted to believe him.
God...
You wanted to believe him.
But something still sat heavily in your chest.
"There was more."
He nodded once.
"Tell me."
You hesitated.
"Charlotte..."
You looked down at your hands.
"I don't know if she meant to..."
"But she kept saying things."
"What things?"
"She always knew everything."
"How you drink your coffee."
"Where everything was."
"Every story."
"Every tradition."
He listened without interrupting.
"And then..."
Your voice became quieter.
"She kept reminding me."
"Reminding you of what?"
"That she'd always been there."
You looked at him.
"She'd say things like..."
"'You probably don't know this.'"
"'I've always been part of this family.'"
"'I'm sure you'll find your place eventually.'"
You laughed bitterly.
"Maybe she was just being nice."
"But every time she said something..."
"It felt like she was reminding me I didn't belong."
Jude's jaw tightened.
"She said that?"
You nodded.
"On the last morning."
"She came into our room while I was packing."
You repeated every word you could remember.
How Charlotte had smiled.
How she'd told you she'd always been part of the family.
How she'd said it must be difficult dating someone with so much history.
How she'd looked you in the eye before saying...
"I'm sure you'll get there eventually."
Silence.
A long silence.
Jude stared at the floor.
Thinking.
Replaying the week in his head.
Then he looked back at you.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
You burst into tears again.
"Because I thought you'd think I was jealous."
"No."
"I was embarrassed."
"You never have to be embarrassed with me."
"I felt ridiculous."
"You weren't."
"I thought..."
Your breathing became uneven.
"I thought if I said it out loud, you'd realise she was better for you."
Jude's eyes filled with tears.
He couldn't believe you'd spent days believing that.
He reached for both of your hands.
"Look at me."
You did.
"There is not a single person on this planet..."
His voice cracked.
"...that I would rather wake up beside."
He leaned forward until your foreheads touched.
"I didn't choose Charlotte."
"I chose you."
His thumb stroked across your knuckles.
"I choose you every single day."
Another tear slipped down your cheek.
"I don't care who knew me when I was twelve."
He smiled sadly.
"I care who loves me now."
He kissed your forehead.
"And that's you."
You closed your eyes.
For the first time since arriving at the beach house...
You finally believed him.
Three days had passed since that conversation.
Three days since you'd finally told Jude everything.
Three days of him somehow making it his personal mission to prove every insecurity wrong.
He barely let go of your hand.
Every morning he'd kiss your forehead before you were even fully awake.
Every evening he'd pull you into his lap while you watched television, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as though he couldn't quite believe you'd ever doubted where you belonged.
He hadn't brought Charlotte up again.
Because he knew you needed peace before anything else.
The knock at the front door came just after two in the afternoon.
You looked up from the mugs you'd been taking out of the cupboard.
Jude glanced towards the hallway before offering you a reassuring smile.
"I'll get it."
A few seconds later, you heard a familiar voice.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Denise.
Your stomach tightened.
Jude looked back towards the kitchen.
"She wanted to come and see us."
You gave a small nod.
"Okay."
A few moments later, she stepped into the kitchen carrying a small box tied with a pale blue ribbon.
"I brought cake."
She smiled hopefully.
"I thought we could have a cup of tea."
You smiled politely.
"That sounds lovely."
There was an awkwardness that hadn't existed before.
Not uncomfortable.
Just...
Careful.
Jude noticed it too.
"I'll put the kettle on."
"No."
His mum gently touched his arm.
"I think..."
She looked at you.
"If it's alright with you..."
"I'd like to speak to her first."
Jude's eyes immediately found yours.
Not checking whether he agreed.
Checking whether you did.
You nodded.
"I'd like that."
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
"I'll be in the living room."
Before leaving, he quietly squeezed your hand.
One last reminder.
You're not doing this alone.
For a few seconds...
Neither of you spoke.
His mum busied herself pouring tea into two mugs.
You watched the steam curl into the air.
Eventually...
She sighed.
"I owe you an apology."
You looked up.
"You don't have to—"
"I do."
Her voice was gentle.
"But before I say anything else..."
She reached across the table.
Resting her hand lightly over yours.
"I need you to know how sorry I am."
Your throat tightened.
"I never imagined you'd hear that conversation."
You swallowed.
"I wasn't trying to listen."
"I know."
She smiled sadly.
"And I wish those words had never reached you the way they did."
Silence settled between you.
Then she continued.
"When Jude and Charlotte were children..."
She laughed quietly to herself.
"They were inseparable."
A fond smile crossed her face.
"Like so many adults do, we made silly little jokes."
"'Maybe one day they'll get married.'"
She shook her head.
"We were talking about children."
Her smile disappeared.
"We weren't talking about the adults they would become."
You listened quietly.
"I should never have let those old jokes be repeated without thinking about who might hear them. I'm sorry."
You looked down at your tea.
"I just..."
Your voice cracked.
"I felt like everyone already had someone else in mind."
Her face fell.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She moved her chair closer.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully."
You looked up.
"I adored Charlotte."
The words made your chest tighten.
She noticed immediately.
"So did everyone else."
She continued gently.
"She grew up around us. She'll always have a place in our memories."
Then she smiled.
"But memories aren't the same as the future."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
She reached over, brushing it away with a tenderness that reminded you so much of Jude.
"The first time my son brought you home..."
She smiled to herself.
"...he couldn't stop looking at you."
You blinked.
"What?"
She laughed softly.
"I've known that boy his entire life."
"I know every smile he has."
"The polite ones."
"The nervous ones."
"The ones he gives photographers."
"The ones he gives to his grandparents."
She squeezed your hand.
"And then there was the one he gave you."
Your breathing caught.
"I'd never seen it before."
Another tear rolled down your cheek.
"He looked..."
She searched for the right word.
"...settled."
"Like he'd finally found somewhere he could just be himself."
She smiled warmly.
"And do you know what I thought?"
You slowly shook your head.
"Please don't break her heart."
You frowned slightly.
She laughed.
"Not because I thought you would."
She wiped at her own eyes.
"Because I knew, right then, that if he ever lost you..."
"...he'd never quite be the same."
You covered your mouth as tears spilled freely down your cheeks.
"I was so worried you all preferred her."
"Oh, sweetheart..."
She stood, walking around the table before pulling you into a hug.
A proper mum hug.
Warm.
Safe.
She held you tightly.
"We don't love people because they've been around the longest."
She gently rubbed your back.
"We love the people who make our family happier."
She pulled back just enough to look at you.
"And you do exactly that."
Her smile softened.
"You weren't replacing Charlotte."
"You never had to."
"Because nobody was asking you to become her."
"You were always enough exactly as you are."
At that moment, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Jude appeared in the doorway, hesitating when he saw the two of you.
His mum smiled through watery eyes.
"I think she's all yours."
Jude crossed the room in three quick steps.
His hands immediately found your face.
"You okay?"
You laughed through your tears.
For the first time in days...
They weren't tears of heartbreak.
You nodded.
"I'm okay."
His forehead rested against yours.
"You sure?"
You smiled.
This time...
It wasn't forced.
"I'm sure."
He let out a quiet breath, the kind someone lets out when they've been carrying fear they didn't want to admit.
Then he kissed.
His mum watched the two of you for a moment before quietly picking up her handbag.
"I'll leave you both to it."
She paused by the front door.
Turning back one last time.
"Oh..."
The two of you looked up.
She smiled.
"I wasn't joking when I said you belong."
Then she was gone.
The house fell quiet again.
Jude slipped his fingers through yours.
"So..."
He murmured.
"What are you thinking now?"
You looked down at your intertwined hands before looking back up at him.
"I think..."
A smile finally reached your eyes.
"I've been home all along."
He smiled.
The same smile his mum had described.
The one that only belonged to you.
Without another word, he wrapped you in his arms.
This time...
You never questioned whether there was room for you there. Because you finally understood something that fear had made impossible to see. You hadn't arrived too late. The people who mattered had never been asking you to become part of their past. They were simply waiting for you to become part of their future.
summary: A week away with Jude's family takes an unexpected turn when his childhood best friend, Charlotte, joins the holiday. As old memories, family traditions and an overheard conversation begin to fuel your insecurities, you're left questioning whether you'll ever truly belong.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, emotional insecurity, crying, anxiety, self-doubt, misunderstandings, family dynamics.
wc: 3.5k
main masterlist | football masterlist | pt2
The late afternoon sun poured through the bedroom windows in warm strips of gold, catching on the half-zipped suitcase sitting open across the end of the bed. Clothes were scattered everywhere, bikinis draped over the desk chair, sandals abandoned by the wardrobe, three different dresses laid neatly across the duvet because you still hadn't decided which ones to bring.
You let out an exaggerated sigh, holding up yet another white linen shirt.
"I don't know if I need this one."
From the bathroom came a muffled laugh.
"You've said that about six shirts now."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
You rolled your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips.
"I like having options."
Jude appeared in the doorway a second later, his damp hair still dripping from the shower, a grey towel hanging around his neck. He'd already thrown on a pair of black shorts and a plain white T-shirt, looking effortlessly put together in the way that always seemed unfair.
His eyes travelled from the mountain of clothes on the bed to the nearly empty suitcase.
"You've been packing for an hour."
"I've been deciding."
"They're different things."
"They're very different things."
He walked over, nudging your shoulder with his before looking into the suitcase.
"You know we're only going for a week."
You looked at him as though he'd just said something outrageous.
"Only?"
He laughed.
"A week at the beach doesn't require fourteen outfits."
"It does if I don't know what mood I'm going to wake up in."
"You've packed four pairs of sunglasses."
"They all have different vibes."
He stared at you for a long second.
"They're all black."
"They're different blacks."
A grin spread across his face as he shook his head.
"I love how your brain works."
Heat crept into your cheeks.
"You make fun of me."
"I do."
"So why do you love it?"
"Because it's yours."
The answer came so casually, so naturally, that it stole the words from your mouth.
He wasn't trying to be romantic. He wasn't even looking at you anymore, already reaching into the suitcase and pulling out another dress you'd somehow convinced yourself was essential.
"You don't need this."
"I absolutely do."
"For what?"
"In case we go somewhere nice."
"We're staying at a beach house."
"What if we go out for dinner?"
"My mum's cooking every night."
"What if she changes her mind?"
He looked at you.
"You think my mum is going to suddenly announce she's booked us into a Michelin-star restaurant?"
"...It could happen."
He laughed so hard he had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
You couldn't help laughing with him.
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"By who?"
"You."
"Regularly."
He reached for your wrist, gently tugging until you stepped between his knees.
Before you could ask what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against your stomach.
You ran your fingers through his still-damp hair.
"Nervous?"
His voice came out slightly muffled.
"A little."
"You?"
He nodded once.
"It's the first time you're coming on the family holiday."
"I thought you'd be excited."
"I am."
He looked up at you then.
"But I want everything to be perfect."
Your heart softened.
"You know it doesn't have to be."
"I know."
"You've already met my parents."
"They'll be different this time."
"Why?"
"Because now I’m there for a whole week."
He smiled faintly.
"They're going to love you even more."
"You sound very confident."
"I am."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
You tilted your head.
"How?"
"Because they love anyone who makes the people they care about happy." His thumb traced absent-minded circles against your side.
"And you make me happier than I've ever been." Your throat tightened.
"You really know how to make it impossible to argue with you."
"I've had practice."
He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss just above your hip through the fabric of your T-shirt before standing again. "Come on."
He zipped up one side of the suitcase before pointing towards the pile of clothes still covering the bed.
"Choose your favourites."
"I already have."
"No." He gestured dramatically.
"You've chosen every favourite you've ever owned."
The drive to the coast felt like the beginning of summer itself.Music drifted quietly through the car while the motorway slowly gave way to winding coastal roads lined with tall pines swaying in the sea breeze.
One of your legs rested across Jude's lap as he drove, his free hand absent-mindedly rubbing slow circles over your ankle whenever you stopped at traffic lights. Every now and then he'd glance over.
"You alright?"
"Mhm."
"Tired?"
"A little."
"You can sleep."
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
"I like watching you." He smiled without taking his eyes off the road.
"Bit weird."
"You asked."
"I regret asking."
"You love it."
"I do."
Silence settled again. Comfortable silence. The kind that only existed after months of learning each other's rhythms. After another twenty minutes, the smell of salt filled the air through the cracked window. Your eyes widened.
"I can see the sea."
Jude followed your gaze.
"There it is."
A cluster of white houses appeared between the dunes, hidden from the main road by thick greenery. Beyond them stretched an almost empty beach, the waves rolling lazily against pale sand.
"It looks like something out of a film," you whispered.
"My grandparents found this place years ago."
"It's beautiful."
"It is."
He glanced at you.
"Wait until sunset."
By the time you reached the beach house, the driveway was already full of familiar cars. The front door burst open before Jude had even switched off the engine.
He barely had time to unclip his seatbelt before family members spilled onto the front steps, greeting him with hugs, pats on the back, and endless questions about the journey.
He looked back at you almost immediately.
Instead of joining them first, he walked around the front of the car and opened your door.
"You coming?"
You slipped your hand into his. The first day passed easier than you could have ever imagined. Whatever nerves had settled in your stomach on the drive over had disappeared within hours of arriving. His family had a way of making people feel at home without even trying.
By breakfast on the first morning, you'd already been dragged into helping set the table, his younger cousins insisting you sat beside them while they argued over who got the biggest pancake. His grandparents had asked you endless questions not in an intimidating way, but because they genuinely wanted to know you. Where you'd grown up. What you'd studied. How you'd met Jude. Denise had smiled the entire time, occasionally reaching over to refill your coffee before you'd even realised your mug was empty.
"You'll fit in just fine," she'd said with a reassuring smile.
Those words stayed with you.
They echoed every time someone included you in a conversation, every time they laughed at one of your jokes, every time Jude looked across the room just to make sure you were okay.
It felt...
Easy.
Natural.
Like maybe this was what people meant when they talked about finding your place. The beach quickly became everyone's favourite part of the day.
After breakfast they'd carry chairs, umbrellas and cool boxes across the warm sand until they reached the quiet stretch of shoreline reserved for residents staying nearby. The water was crystal clear. Children chased waves. Someone always had music playing.
His dad and uncle had started an unnecessarily competitive volleyball tournament that somehow became the family's biggest event of the afternoon.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
You burst into laughter as Jude dramatically threw himself through the sand trying to save the ball. He completely missed. Instead, he landed face-first.
The entire beach erupted into laughter.
"You alright?" you called, struggling to breathe between giggles.
A muffled voice came from the sand.
"No."
His brother clapped loudly.
"Retire while you're ahead!"
Jude slowly pushed himself upright, brushing sand out of his hair with the most offended expression imaginable.
"I slipped."
"You tripped over your own feet," someone corrected.
"I slipped."
"You weren't even moving."
"I appreciate the support."
You doubled over laughing as he walked straight towards you, pretending to glare.
"Oh, you're laughing too?"
"I absolutely am."
"So that's how it is." Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted you over his shoulder.
"Jude!"
You shrieked between fits of laughter, hitting his back as he carried you towards the sea.
"No!"
"You laughed at me."
"I'll apologise!"
"Too late."
The cold water hit a second later.
You resurfaced, gasping.
"I hate you!"
"No, you don't."
He was grinning far too proudly. You splashed him as hard as you could. His family watched from the shore, laughing amongst themselves.
His mum shook her head fondly.
"They're impossible."
"They're perfect for each other," his grandmother replied.
The words reached your ears just as Jude wrapped an arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head while you both floated in the shallow water.
You smiled.
Maybe...
Maybe you really did belong here. That evening the beach house buzzed with the familiar chaos that had already become normal.
Someone was setting the table. Someone else was arguing over which film to watch later. The smell of grilled fish drifted through the open kitchen windows while music played softly from a speaker in the corner. You were helping chop vegetables beside his mum when the front door suddenly opened.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice carried through the hallway.
Bright. Confident. Warm.
Almost immediately, every conversation stopped.
Then—
"No way!"
Someone hurried into the hallway.
"Oh my God!"
Another voice joined in. You frowned slightly, glancing towards the doorway. Who was that?
Jude's mum wiped her hands on a tea towel, her face lighting up.
"Is that really you?"
You heard laughter.
Hugs.
More excited voices. Curiosity got the better of you. Setting the knife down, you followed everyone else into the hallway.
A woman stood just inside the entrance with a weekend bag resting at her feet.
She was beautiful.
Effortlessly beautiful.
Sun-kissed skin.
Long chestnut hair blowing slightly from the breeze outside.
A loose white linen shirt over denim shorts.
She looked like she'd stepped straight out of every summer memory this family had ever made.
The moment she spotted Jude, her entire face lit up.
"There he is."
Before you could even process what was happening, she'd crossed the room and thrown her arms around him.
He hugged her back instinctively.
"Charlotte?"
He laughed in disbelief.
"What are you doing here?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
"I thought I'd surprise everyone."
"Mission accomplished."
"I haven't seen you in forever."
"I know."
She smiled.
"You've gotten taller."
Jude laughed.
"I don't think that's possible."
"I swear you have."
Around them, everyone seemed to be talking at once. His grandmother was holding Charlotte's hands. His cousins were asking her a dozen questions. His dad was already carrying her bag upstairs as if she'd never left. It all happened so naturally.Like she'd always belonged there. You stayed where you were.
Watching.
Smiling politely.
Trying to figure out who she was.
Jude turned towards you then, almost as if he'd only just remembered.
"Oh."
He smiled warmly.
"Come here."
You walked over.
Charlotte's attention shifted to you.
"This is my girlfriend."
His voice softened ever so slightly as he looked at you.
Your cheeks warmed.
Charlotte smiled.
"So you're the famous girlfriend."
You laughed awkwardly.
"I don't know about famous."
"Oh, trust me."
She looked back at Jude with a teasing grin.
"We've heard plenty."
Jude groaned.
"Please don't."
"I make no promises."
She extended a hand.
"I'm Charlotte."
You shook it.
"It's really nice to meet you."
"You too."
There was nothing unfriendly about her smile. Nothing cold. Nothing that should've made you uncomfortable.
Yet...
Something felt strange. Not because of Charlotte herself. Because everyone already knew exactly who she was.
Everyone. Every conversation resumed as though she'd simply returned home. Stories picked up where they'd apparently left off years ago. Someone asked if she still surfed. Someone else mentioned an old camping trip. His grandmother insisted she was staying in her usual room. Her usual room. You glanced at Jude.
He was laughing at something she'd said.
And for the first time since arriving...
You realised there was a whole chapter of his life you'd never even known existed.
As everyone moved back towards the dining room, you quietly fell into step beside him. You tried to sound casual.
"So..."
He looked down at you.
"Hm?"
"Who's Charlotte?"
He blinked.
"Oh."
He smiled absent-mindedly.
"She practically grew up with us."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
He shrugged as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
"Our families were always together when we were kids."
Then someone called his name from across the room.
"Jude! Come settle this argument."
He squeezed your hand.
"One second."
And just like that...
He was gone again.
You stood there for a moment, watching Charlotte laugh with his family as if she'd never been away.
You told yourself it didn't matter. That everyone had childhood friends. That there was nothing unusual about any of this.
So why...
Why did it suddenly feel like you were the only person in the room who hadn't been there from the beginning?
You tried to convince yourself you'd been overthinking it. You really did. Charlotte was simply someone Jude had grown up with. Everyone had childhood friends.
It would've been ridiculous to expect him to tell you about every person he'd ever known. So, by the following morning, you'd decided to let it go.
Or at least...
You told yourself you had.
"You still take your coffee with two sugars?"
Charlotte laughed from across the kitchen island as Jude reached for the sugar bowl.
He looked over his shoulder.
"Unfortunately."
"I used to get told off because I'd put three in yours."
"You definitely did."
His dad chuckled from behind the newspaper.
"You two were absolute nightmares."
Charlotte grinned.
"We were adorable."
"You were loud," Jobe corrected.
"Same thing."
Laughter filled the kitchen.
You smiled into your mug.
Not because you particularly found the conversation funny...
But because everyone else did.
The conversation carried on effortlessly around memories you couldn't picture.
School mornings. Football training.Summer holidays.
The time Jude had apparently broken his arm trying to impress everyone by jumping off a garden wall.
"I told him not to do it," Charlotte laughed.
"No, you dared me."
"I absolutely did not."
"You literally said I wouldn't have the guts."
She shrugged dramatically.
"I still maintain that was motivational."
Everyone laughed again.
You looked at Jude. He looked so...comfortable. It wasn't a version of him you'd never seen before. It was simply a version of him that existed long before you did.
Later that morning everyone wandered down to the beach. Children ran ahead carrying buckets and footballs. His grandparents walked slowly behind everyone, hand in hand.
You stayed close to Jude, your fingers absent-mindedly intertwined with his.
"You alright?"
He glanced down at you.
"Mhm."
"You've gone quiet."
"I'm just tired."
He frowned slightly.
"You sure?"
You nodded with a small smile.
"I'm sure."
He kissed your temple without another question.
It should've made you feel better.
Instead...
It made you feel guilty. The family had a tradition. Every year they built the biggest sandcastle they possibly could.
Apparently it had started years ago when the youngest cousins were toddlers.
Now everyone joined in simply because they'd always done it. Charlotte immediately knew what to do.
"You start digging there."
She pointed towards Jude's brother.
"I'll grab the buckets."
His dad laughed.
"Bossy as ever."
"Someone has to keep you all organised."
Without thinking, everyone fell into place. Like they'd rehearsed it a hundred times. You stood there holding an empty bucket.Unsure where you were supposed to help.
Charlotte noticed.
"Oh!"
She smiled.
"Could you maybe collect some shells?"
You blinked.
"Of course."
"Perfect."
She flashed another bright smile before turning straight back to everyone else. You walked towards the shoreline alone. It was such a small thing.
She hadn't excluded you. She'd given you something to do. So why did it feel like she'd accidentally reminded you that everyone else already knew where they belonged...
And you didn't?
By lunchtime, the sandcastle stood almost waist-high.
Children proudly decorated it with shells and seaweed. Everyone gathered around admiring their work. Charlotte laughed as she brushed the sand from her hands.
"We've definitely beaten last year's."
Jude nodded.
"I think so."
She nudged his shoulder.
"Told you my design was better."
"You've been saying that since we were ten."
"Because I've always been right."
She looked over at you.
"You'll get used to this."
You smiled politely.
"I'm sure I will."
"It's basically impossible to escape."
She laughed lightly.
"Once you're part of this family, you're stuck forever."
The words should've been comforting.
Your eyes caught the way everyone smiled at her.
Like she was already part of the family.
Not becoming.
Already.
That evening everyone gathered around the long wooden dining table outside.
Fairy lights glowed overhead.
The sea breeze carried the smell of salt and charcoal through the garden.
You were about to sit beside Jude when Charlotte appeared carrying a bowl of salad.
"Oh."
She stopped beside the chair.
"I didn't even realise."
You looked up.
"What?"
She smiled apologetically.
"That's usually where I sit."
Silence.
Only for a second.
But you felt it.
His brother looked between the two of you. His grandmother paused halfway through pouring herself a glass of water. Charlotte laughed awkwardly.
"I mean... it's not a big deal."
You immediately stepped backwards.
"No, it's okay."
You forced a smile.
"I can move."
Before you could pick up your plate, Jude's hand gently caught your wrist.
"No."
His voice was calm.
You looked at him.
He pulled your chair back out.
"You're sitting here."
Charlotte blinked.
"Oh..."
A brief smile crossed her face.
"Of course."
She moved to another seat without another word.
Conversation resumed almost instantly.
No one seemed to think twice about it.
But you noticed Charlotte glance over once.
Long enough to see Jude resting his hand on your thigh beneath the table. Long enough for her smile to falter... Before she looked away.
Dinner drifted into late-night conversations and old stories.
Someone brought out faded photo albums.
You found yourself squeezed between Jude and one of his cousins as everyone leaned over the pages.
"There you are!"
Charlotte laughed, pointing at a photograph of two muddy children.
"You cried because I beat you in a race."
"I did not cry."
"You absolutely cried."
"I was seven."
"You were dramatic."
"I still think you cheated."
She gasped dramatically.
"I would never."
Another page turned.
Birthday parties.
Christmas mornings.
Camping trips.
Surfing lessons.
Every photograph had Charlotte somewhere in the background.
Always smiling.
Always beside them.
His grandmother sighed fondly.
"You practically lived with us."
Charlotte smiled softly.
"I think I probably did."
Something tightened painfully inside your chest.You weren't jealous of the memories. You were jealous of the certainty. The certainty that she belonged in every single one of them.
Later that night, as everyone slowly disappeared upstairs, you stood alone on the balcony overlooking the sea.
The waves rolled quietly against the shore below.
You wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself. The balcony door slid open behind you.
"There you are."
Jude stepped outside.
His hands immediately found your waist.
"I've been looking everywhere."
"I just wanted some air."
He studied your face.
"You've been quiet all day."
"I'm okay."
"You sure?"
You nodded.
He searched your eyes for another moment before leaning down to kiss your forehead.
"If something's bothering you..."
His thumb stroked your side.
"You know you can tell me."
You looked at him.
At the man who hadn't done a single thing wrong. Who'd held your hand all day. Who'd kissed you every chance he got. Who'd chosen you over an old seat at dinner without even thinking.
And somehow...
You still couldn't shake the feeling that you were standing in somebody else's place. So instead, you smiled.
"I'm just tired."
He believed you.
Or maybe...
He simply decided not to push. Either way, he kissed you one last time before leading you back inside.
You followed him.
But as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught Charlotte standing at the kitchen window, watching the two of you for just a second before pulling the curtains closed.
For the first time...
You wondered if she was beginning to notice it too. The fourth morning of the holiday felt... different.Not because anything had changed. Because now you were looking for it. Looking for every little reminder that Charlotte had been here first.
Every memory. Every joke.Every tradition.
You hated that you were doing it.
You hated it even more because you couldn't seem to stop.
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hi angels!! quick fic in response to a request i got for the tiktok trend where girls are climbing on their boyfriends in videos to see how they react. had so much fun writing this one!! hope u enjoy <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x influencer!reader
summary: a relaxed unboxing video turns into complete chaos when you randomly climb onto Jude’s shoulders mid-recording, pranking him with the viral TikTok trend he's oblivious to. he's baffled, but just laughs and rolls with it, holding you up with one arm and chatting to the camera like nothing is happening at all.
warnings: suggestive ending referencing f!receiving oral, nothing else. cute + fluffy, whipped boyfriend!jude
wc: 2.5k!
You’d been living with Jude long enough now that he’d become blissfully ignorant to the PR packages that would pile up in your bedroom. Piles upon piles of them – wrapped boxes, fancy bags of products or clothes – would turn up at the door and sit there for weeks, untouched. You travelled with him most of the time, had other things on your plate, and honestly, sometimes you just forgot they existed until the pile got so big it became a slight tripping hazard.
But every month or so, you’d sit down and do a massive unboxing of everything you’d been sent. It had become a bit of a thing on your TikTok. Jude once described it as your “Christmas morning” once a month, where you’d rip open packages like an excited kid and show him and all your followers what you’d been gifted.
Secretly, he loved it. He loved watching the way your face lit up, how genuinely excited you got over the free things even though he’d buy you the moon if you asked for it. He’d sit there quietly most of the time, chin in his hand, smiling softly as you gasped over a new skincare product or a pair of trainers.
You often kept him out of your TikToks, unless it was a brief cameo. Not because he wasn’t the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on, and not because you guys were particularly private either – he loved posting you everywhere. It was half because Jude wanted your career to be your own, but also because he had a habit of completely (accidentally, of course) ruining your videos.
“So i normally use the glazing milk–”
Jude snorts from where he’s sat next to you on your vanity stool, chin propped on his hand as he watches you get ready. He knew you were filming...and that he was slightly in shot. He’d already stuck his head into frame and poked his tongue out like a child.
“Glazing milk? What kinda name is that? Like a donut?”
You put down the product and stare at him, completely unamused. “Jude–”
Jude winced a little, giving you a sweet, apologetic little smile. “Sorry sorry. I’ll be quiet, baby. You look so pretty.”
You huffed at him, charmed but still a little annoyed. “I haven’t done anything yet because you keep YAPPING–”
Another time you’d tried to get him to do one of the couple challenges going viral. He couldn’t grasp it no matter how many times you explained the rules. You tried fifteen different ways and the man was still baffled, looking at you with that adorable confused frown that made your heart do silly things in your chest.
But the unboxing videos were always the exception. He’d ask the sweetest questions, help you wrestle with the tape on stubborn boxes, and genuinely seemed to enjoy watching you light up over the silliest things. The little interactions between you two had quietly become a fan favourite, comments flooded in with “get married already” and “this is the kind of love I want.”
Today was no different. But you had another trick up your sleeve.
The sun was setting beautifully through the long windows of the kitchen in his Madrid villa, casting a warm golden glow over everything. Jude was sat next to you at the big wooden table, various boxes and bags spread out in front of him. You’d received some pieces from an Adidas line he’d been involved in, so it made perfect sense for him to be on camera with you today.
He was excited, you could tell. His eyes were bright and focused, a boyish grin playing on his lips. It was rare you asked him to join one of these, and he always took it as a big deal.
You set your phone up on the tripod and hit record, giving the camera your usual warm smile.
“Hi guys! Today we’re opening some PR packages, with my boyfriend—”
“Hi TikTok,” Jude grinned, giving the camera a little wave and then glancing at you like was that good??
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “Because there’s so many boxes and bags and stuff, Jude is gonna help me open some so this video isn’t seven hours long.”
“Pfft, I know yeah,” he added, leaning in closer to the camera with his usual cheeky energy. “She goes away for a couple months with me for the World Cup and we come back to mountains of boxes she didn’t have time to open. I’m basically the official unboxer now.”
You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “We’re opening them now,” you told the camera, smiling as Jude already started reaching for the nearest box like an excited kid.
The first few were easy wins, some new training gear from Alo that he immediately held up to his chest, pretending to model it for you. Then you pulled out a big Sol de Janeiro bundle, and his face lit up even more.
“Oh, I know this one,” he said proudly, grabbing the body mist before you could. He sprayed a little on his wrist and sniffed it dramatically. “Mmm. This one smells so good on you. Like… coconut and vanilla and sunshine. I always know when you’ve used it because the whole room smells like you.”
You melted a little, watching him.. “You really pay attention, huh?”
“Course I do,” he said, glancing at you with a soft, adoring look that made your heart burst. “My favourite smell in the world. Well… second favourite. After you in general.”
He helped you open the rest of the set, holding up the Bum Bum cream and pretending to read the ingredients like a serious influencer. “This one makes your skin all glowy. I’m telling you, she puts this on and I can’t keep my hands off her. Dangerous stuff.”
You burst out laughing, shoving his arm. “Jude!”
“What? It’s true!” He grinned, completely unashamed, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your temple. “My beautiful girl deserves all the good smells.”
The comments were going to lose their minds. You could already picture the edits and the “they’re so cute I’m sick” replies.
Jude’s next box was the Adidas one. He pulled it closer with an excited little grin, already knowing what was inside. There were various t-shirts and shorts, some Real Madrid merch, and a couple of pieces from his own personal line with his logo on them. He held them up proudly for the camera, unfolding a black tee with his signature celebration silhouette printed on the front.
“Adidas were nice enough to send my girlfriend more things that have me or my name written all over it, so…” he said, voice full of playful pride as he showed off the stack.
You giggled, reaching over to take one of the T-shirts from him, holding it up against yourself. “Explain your logo to them, babe.”
Jude grinned and shrugged, a slightly bashful smile appearing as he looked at the camera. “It’s just my signature and then a silhouette of my celebration, innit? I dunno, I thought it looked cool. Simple but… me, you know?”
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder for a second. “Well I like it. Can’t wait to wear it everywhere.”
“We can match,” he chuckled, folding one of the shirts up neatly before passing it to you like it was the most important task in the world. “You in my logo, me in my logo. Power couple shit.”
“Oh yeah? Are you gonna walk around with your own logo on yourself like a walking billboard?” you teased, bumping his knee with yours.
“Yeah, course,” he said without missing a beat, turning to look at you with a bright, mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Best marketing, am I right? Especially if I get you to do it with me. My favourite model.”
You laughed, the sound light and happy, and he immediately leaned in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. The camera caught every little moment. The way his hand found yours under the table, the soft way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, the easy banter that made being in front of the camera come so naturally to the both of you.
A few boxes later, Jude pulled out some Glory Blue Superstars that had his name written on them and his logo embossed into the leather. He held them up proudly for the camera, turning them slowly so the viewers could see every detail.
“Okay, so these are sick, if I do say so myself,” he smiled, clearly proud. “They’re clean.”
You were already moving. In one smooth, completely ridiculous motion you started climbing onto him, one leg swinging over his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Yeah well they’re uh… they’re uh…” Jude froze mid-sentence, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he stared at the phone screen recording you both. What the fuck is happening? His brain was trying to catch up with what you were doing, whilst also trying to stay somewhat professional for your TikTok. One second he was showing off trainers, the next second his girlfriend was attempting to mount him like a climbing frame.
“They’re dark blue because– Jesus Christ – they’re dark blue. Yeah. And uh, my signature is on the leather so that’s nice…”
You nodded along like nothing was happening, one leg already hooked over his shoulder, your ass comfortably resting on his bicep. He didn’t even wobble. He could hold your weight with one arm easily, but that wasn’t the point in Jude’s mind. The point was why was this happening right now?
“Did you have much say in the design or?” you asked nonchalantly, thumb gently stroking his cheek like you were just having a normal conversation.
He hesitated, tilting his head awkwardly to try and look up at you without dropping you. Is she serious? Am I being pranked? Is this a new TikTok trend I wasn’t told about?
“I… I don’t understand what we’re doing?” he said slowly, voice laced with gentle confusion.
You didn’t address the fact that you were now fully climbing on him. Instead you cuddled his head closer, still stroking his cheek affectionately. “You’re helping me do an unboxing?”
“Are you— are you okay?” he asked, one hand instinctively holding onto your thigh to keep you steady while the other moved some of your hair out of his face. He was trying so hard to keep a straight face for the camera, but his eyes were wide with bewilderment. She’s actually doing this. On camera. In the middle of my fucking shoe segment.
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” you replied innocently, swinging your other leg over his other shoulder until you were properly perched on him like he was a throne.
Jude was very conscious that he didn’t want to ruin your video, but he was also very aware that his girlfriend was now sitting on his shoulders like a child at a music festival. He tried to carry on talking about the shoes, voice slightly strained as he adjusted his posture to keep you balanced.
“You… what are you— right. Okay, yeah well I think Superstars are good everyday shoes. I wear them all the time. They go with everything…”
Whilst he was talking, you’d managed to fully settle on his shoulders, both legs draped over him, hands resting on top of his head like he was your personal lookout tower. He let out a quiet, baffled laugh, shaking his head slightly.
“You’re actually mental,” he muttered under his breath, but the smile on his face was huge and fond. He adjusted and reached up with one hand to hold your thigh securely, the other still trying to hold the trainers up for the camera. “This is what I get for agreeing to be in the video, innit?”
You giggled, leaning forward a little so your chin rested on top of his head. “Best assistant ever.”
Jude huffed a laugh that made his shoulders shake gently beneath you. “Yeah, yeah. Happy to be of service. Just don’t fall off and break my neck before the season starts.
The video caught all of the adorable chaos, his confused but completely whipped expression, the way he kept one hand protectively on your leg the whole time, and the massive smile he couldn’t hide even while pretending to be normal.
You finished the unboxing and carefully climbed off him, legs a little wobbly from laughing so much. The second you stopped recording, Jude wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you straight back into his lap, holding you close like he’d missed you even though you’d only been on his shoulders for a few minutes.
“What the fuck just happened?” he laughed, lips brushing your cheek as he buried his face in your neck. “One minute I’m showing off trainers, the next my girlfriend is using me as a climbing frame on camera.”
“There’s a new TikTok trend where girls climb on their boyfriends to see if they say anything,” you giggled, threading your fingers through his curls. “Your little face! You looked so confused but you just went with it. I was dying trying not to laugh.”
“I was so confused,” he admitted, rolling his eyes but still smiling his beautiful, bright smile that made your stomach flip. “I didn’t wanna fuck up your video so I was just… carrying on like it was normal. Meanwhile I’m thinking ‘is she okay? Did she hit her head? Is this some new yoga thing?’”
You burst out laughing again, leaning into him as he held you tighter, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back.
“You did so well though,” you teased, kissing his cheek. “Best shoulder ride I’ve ever had. Very steady. Five stars. We'll have to use that move at Coachella when I can't see.”
He huffed another laugh, the sound warm against your skin. “Yeah, yeah. Next time give a man some warning. I nearly dropped you and the trainers trying to figure out what you were doing. My brain was buffering so bad.”
You stayed like that for a while, cuddled up on his lap, his arms wrapped around you while he quietly replayed the moment in his head, occasionally shaking his head and laughing to himself.
“You know what though?” he smirked after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you properly.
“What?”
“We should try that, but I hold you up the other way.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, a little confused at the position he meant. “What do you mean?”
“You know…” He grinned, a cheeky, dangerous glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, voice dipping so low you could feel it on your spine. “You put your legs over my shoulders…but i hold you in front of me. Not on my back. Easy access for me to fuck you with my tongue—”
“JUDE!” you squealed, shoving his chest as your face heated up.
He laughed loudly, bright and happy as he pulled you back against him, refusing to let you escape. “What? It’s a good idea! Very efficient. Arm workout as well.”
“Fucking hell Jude! You're shameless,” you groaned, hiding your face in his neck even as you smiled.
“Yeah, but you love me,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “And you know I’d hold you up for hours if you asked nicely.”
tags : @chabelitalace @thesizzler @hvnsinureyes @harryskissies @hamilton-here @prettysadtoday @thatxxdarling @wobblewobble822 @03den @rikchic @readerhahahaidk (lmk if u want to be added/removed from the taglist)
