blueaetherr

[blueaetherr]

carragher insinuating that afcon isn’t a major tournament and then scoffing when being corrected on sky sports who then removed the clip from youtube loooool the disrespect towards non european football is genuinely institutional. and people are jumping in to defend him as well saying that wasn’t his point and that afcon doesn’t have the same pedigree as the euros or the world cup ‘hence why no african country has won the world cup.’ be serious! african nations have produced so many top footballers with a mere fraction of the facilities (especially west) european countries have. legitimately have a day off man

[blueaetherr]

Me: racism is bad, stop sending my friends and mutuals racial abuse

Trent girls:

[blueaetherr]

marcus rashford just assisted twice to take aston villa to a win over chelsea while ruben amorim’s manchester united football club are 15th.

[blueaetherr]

they say us black girls are suffering yet they the only ones always bringing this up and complaining about it (which they caused in the first place)

also they do realise such “disagreements” said to black writers also extends to black readers too right??

We can disagree on this, but I don't like how you changed most people's minds to leave the Trent fandom. You constantly make yourself the victim of disagreements between T fans and act like it's such a big thing when it's just that - a disagreement. You also caused writers to stop writing for him. If you didn't like him anymore, you could've just stopped talking about him and could've ignored asks that clearly just want to trigger you.

Now everyone is suffering. And you like to conveniently forget that there are black girls in the Trent fandom as well. They're also suffering, not just us. But you had to make it about you and influence others to switch to different fandoms. I still think we could've had more writers if you just deleted asks that are clearly just trying to irritate you. I don't think it's fair that we (everyone in T fandom) gets a bad reputation, just because you stopped liking him.

Babe...it's been months.

First off, Trent is a huge celebrity, a major footballer, playing for a major club - you seriously think I have the magical power to single-handedly bring down his Tumblr following? 🤣 You really think everything was perfect and I somehow, single-handedly, with my little old blog ruined it all? 🤣 you really give me too much credit.

It wasn't a disagreement. It was abuse and racism (examples will be linked). If you are okay with just turning a blind eye to racism that's you but I am not like that.

About your "I should just delete". I can do whatever I want and answer what I want. If you think I have the power to bring down an entire fandom that maybe in your opinion had no concerning behaviours with just my inbox well...idk what to tell you.

Re: "there are black girls in the Trent fandom as well. They're also suffering," . I know you can't be trying to make me believe you have sympathy for Trent fans who are black girls when you just called blatant racial abuse "disagreements". You should've deleted that paragraph. It makes your argument weaker.

If you think Trent fans have a bad reputation now why do you think that is all on me and not on what the trent fans were saying? You said I should have just deleted...but you didn't say they shouldn't have said what they said. Is it that you think I should have excused bad behaviour in order to spare you the reality? I'm sorry to break it you who but my world doesn't revolve around you.

Tumblr is free, anyone can write, anyone can post. Trent is not some banned substance. I am just another blog in this massive space. I get you must be angry that your fav may not be what it used to be (idk I don't go there anymore) but maybe try get involved in what you like and build it to what you want rather than trying to blame me.

Since you forgot what the disagreements actually were about : Link one Link two link three link four link five

[blueaetherr]

ᯓ catching flights; a.tchouameni

──one shot

pairing ➜ aurélien x black!fem!reader

word count ➜ 1k

warnings/notes ➜ none

summary ➜ rich boyfriend misses girlfriend, so rich boyfriend gets on a jet and flies from madrid to new york on a random tuesday.

it's almost 3 a.m. in madrid when aurélien gives up trying to sleep.

he's been restless, tossing and turning—the pillows on his king-sized bed seeming much too uncomfortable, the sheets that are usually soft and cozy now feeling much too cold, and the bed itself feeling far too large.

you're in new york. a work trip, two weeks, one of those things you'd both agreed to since you've been together long enough to respect each other's careers. and normally, aurélien is good with that. he'll text you, call you, maybe a video call here and there when time zones align. but tonight? tonight's different.

he rolls over again, checking the time, swearing under his breath at the glowing digits on his alarm clock. his team doesn't have training until later in the afternoon tomorrow, so it's not like he needs to be in bed right now. still, he knows better than to disrupt his sleep schedule. but everything in him is pulling towards you, toward that feeling of home you carry with you even when you're thousands of miles away.

and so, he grabs his phone, scrolling through your messages. the last one from you was a photo of a gloomy sky from your balcony, captioned with something insanely cheesy about how even the stars seem a little dimmer when he's not around. there's a time difference, sure. it's evening in new york, maybe 9 p.m., but he figures you're probably still up. so he sends a text.

"can i come over?"

he waits, fingers drumming against the side of his phone. twenty seconds later, you reply.

"baby... i’m in new york?"

aurélien smiles at the screen, imagining you sitting somewhere in your hotel room, maybe in bed, scrolling aimlessly through social media or flicking through channels on the tv.

"and?"

and. like it's that simple.

"and you're in madrid🤨. shouldn't you be asleep? you have practice tomorrow, no?"

he hesitates. because technically, yeah, he does have practice. but he also knows he can make that work. what's a little jet lag when it means seeing you? his mind is already racing ahead, planning the logistics, because this isn't just some passing feeling. no, this is him knowing that he needs to be with you tonight. and being aurélien tchouaméni — rich, successful, not exactly short on resources — he can make that happen.

"yeah. but i was thinking about coming to see you."

the series of question marks you send back make him laugh, but also, he knows you're going to try and talk him out of it.

"um, no. that's insane. you're insane."

he rolls his eyes, already pulling up the number for his assistant. a few strings pulled, a jet chartered, and it won't be long before he's on his way to you.

"maybe. but i miss you, and i need to see you.”

you don't respond for a minute, and he's worried he might've pushed a little too hard, that you'll tell him he's being unreasonable, that you're fine and he should just wait. but then, your message comes through.

"i’ll leave the door unlocked then."

he doesn't need to be told twice.

—

the sky is a dark purple when the jet lifts off. madrid's city lights flicker below as aurélien leans back in his seat, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, everything feeling like it's falling into place now that he's on his way to you.

he lets out a breath, long and heavy, as if the weight of missing you has been pressing on his chest since you left. and yeah, maybe this is impulsive. maybe he could've waited. but something about today—something about right now—makes him feel like he shouldn't have to.

by the time the jet touches down in new york, the sky is a deep, endless black. the city is alive, even in the dead of night, and aurélien can't help but feel a surge of energy when he steps out onto the tarmac. it's a little colder than madrid, a crispness in the air that bites at the edges of his jacket as he waits for his car to pull up. but he doesn't care. none of that matters because you're here, in this city, somewhere not far from him.

you're not expecting him to get there as fast as he does, so when the knock comes on your door just before midnight, your heart stumbles in your chest. you shuffle to the door, glancing through the peephole just to be sure, and there he is — standing in your hallway with a louis vuitton duffel bag slung over his shoulder and that familiar smile on his face.

you pull the door open and he steps inside before you can even register it, strong arms pulling you right into his chest. his lips brush your temple as he exhales deeply, and for a second, the rest of the world falls away. there's no work trip, no distance. just you and aurélien.

"hi baby," he says, so casually, as if he hadn't just flown halfway across the world in the middle of the night just to see you.

you pull back, looking up at him with that smile, the one that makes his knees weak, and he grins down at you. he doesn't wait for you to say anything before he's leaning down, kissing you like he's making up for every second you've been apart, like his body's been starved for the taste of you.

and maybe you roll your eyes at him after, maybe you'll scold him later for the wild impulsiveness of it all, but right now? you just kiss him back, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you lose yourself in him. because maybe you needed this too. maybe this wasn't just about him missing you, but about you missing him just as much.

"i can't believe you actually came," you say, voice muffled against his chest as he pulls you closer, his goatee brushing against your bonnet.

he chuckles softly, the sound echoing through you. "missed you too much."

he pulls back just enough to look at you, thumb tracing your jawline before he leans in again, stealing another kiss, softer this time, as if savouring the feeling of being right where he's supposed to be.

because consequences be damned — all aurélien knows is that when it comes to you, he'll always find a way to close the distance. no matter how far.

and later, when you're curled up in bed together, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you to sleep, aurélien lies awake for just a little longer. the city hums quietly beyond the hotel window, and he knows he's got a long day ahead of him when he flies back.

but none of that matters right now.

because you're here and he's here, and that's enough.

it's more than enough.

[blueaetherr]

ᯓ three of us; j.bellingham

──one shot/smau

pairing ➜ dad!jude x mom!reader

word count ➜ 1.1k

warnings/notes ➜ none

summary ➜ waking up to roses, a penthouse suite, and your baby girl’s sweet giggles—jude has valentine’s day planned to perfection, just like he always does.

valentine’s day has never been small with jude. you know this. he’s never been the type to half-ass anything when it comes to you, and God knows he loves a reason to go all out. so when you wake up to the smell of fresh roses thick in the air, when your sleepy eyes blink open to a room flooded in all shades of pink, you’re not even surprised.

a soft giggle pulls your attention, your heart melting before your eyes even land on her. your daughter. your baby girl. sitting right there on the bed between you and jude, still in her pyjamas, soft curls all over the place, chubby fingers wrapped tight around a plush teddy bear nearly bigger than her. the same bear you watched jude pick out himself a week ago. ‘it’s cute, yeah?’ he’d asked, stuffing it into the shopping cart even when you told him it was way too big.

and now there she is, sitting up straight, the bear nearly swallowing her whole as she grins wide at you.

“mama, wake up!” her voice is all sugar, sticky sweet with that innocence only babies have. “daddy say surprise.”

you shift onto your back, glancing to your right, finding jude already watching you with that lazy, smug smile. leaned up against the headboard, one arm resting behind his head, the other wrapped tight around your daughter’s tummy, like she might just float away if he lets go.

“morning, princess,” he murmurs, voice all soft and sweet.

you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or her. probably both.

the place is quiet except for the sound of the city humming outside the windows. jude always books a hotel for valentine’s day, just to switch things up, just because he can. this time, a penthouse overlooking madrid. a ridiculous suite in a ridiculous hotel, the type of place with staff that knows your name and an elevator that only opens with a special key. the type of place only someone like jude can make feel like home.

“you got my baby waking me up early for a surprise?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes, fighting back a yawn.

jude smiles, eyes gleaming. “she wanted to wake you up an hour ago,” he says, ruffling her curls. “had to bribe her with cartoons.”

your baby giggles, snuggling into jude’s side, tiny hands still gripping that bear for dear life.

“you ready?” jude asks, tilting his head, watching you carefully.

you stretch your arms above your head, the silk sheets slipping down your body, exposing bare skin and the delicate lace of the lingerie jude had peeled off you just hours before. his eyes darken slightly, flickering over your figure, but he keeps himself in check.

barely.

“where we goin’?” you ask, lips curling.

he just smirks. “you’ll see.”

but before that, before the extravagant plans, before jude even lets you leave the bed, there’s the first gift.

the one sitting up on her knees right beside you, her tiny hands behind her back, rocking side to side like she’s holding the best secret in the world.

“mama!”

“yes, baby.”

“close your eyes!”

you do, because what else can you do when she’s so excited, when her little voice is bubbling over with joy? you feel movement, the slight shift of the mattress as she crawls closer, jude’s deep chuckle somewhere to your right. then something soft, pressed into your palm.

“open!”

you blink down. a card, hand-decorated with uneven hearts, stickers, glitter smudged at the edges. in the middle, written with the careful grip of a child still learning her letters, it says:

happy valentines day, mama. love you.

the handwriting wobbly. messy. perfect.

your throat tightens.

you look up at jude. he’s watching you, both hands resting behind his head now, mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a smile.

“she picked it out herself,” he says. “even wrote it too, didn’t you, baby?”

your daughter nods, curls bouncing. “daddy helped me!”

“barely,” jude shrugs. “she’s a little genius, just like her mom.”

you should say something, but your heart is too full, your throat too tight.

“you like it?” your daughter asks, voice small, uncertain.

you shift onto your side, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her into you, kissing the softest part of her cheek until she giggles.

“i love it, baby. it’s perfect.”

she beams. jude leans over, pressing a kiss to your temple, warm and lingering. you turn your face into his, brushing your lips over his jaw.

you could stay like this forever.

but you don’t, can’t, because almost immediately after, jude runs you a bath.

insists, actually.

there’s petals floating in the water when you step into the massive marble tub, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sitting on the edge, a new chanel robe waiting for you on the vanity. jude is annoyingly good at this.

he’s already dressed when you come out���black trousers, a matching prada button-down, sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone, the gold chain you bought him for his birthday resting against his collarbones. he looks good, unfairly so.

“you’re staring,” he says, amused, adjusting the tiny bracelet on your baby’s wrist as she sits on the bed.

you roll your eyes. “shut up.”

he just grins.

you finally look around.

boxes stacked neatly on the dresser. dior. prada. fendi. chanel. birkins in every colour you can think of, jewellery in cases so beautiful they could be gifts themselves. an unnecessary amount, but that’s jude.

“jude.” you give him a look.

“what?” he shrugs, feigning innocence, lifting your daughter onto his hip. she immediately buries her face in his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck. “you know how this goes, baby.”

he’s right. this isn’t new. but still.

you shake your head, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his warmth through the fabric. “you didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, tracing a finger over the chain around his neck.

“i know.” he leans down, lips brushing your temple. “but i wanted to.”

you exhale, eyes closing for a second.

“open your stuff,” he nudges, stepping back, adjusting your baby on his hip. “then we’re going.”

“going where?”

he just smiles.

—

you soon find out.

a private brunch. a rooftop, a view of the whole city. live music, candles, a ridiculous amount of food.

your baby in her own little chair between you and jude, a plate full of mini pancakes, her curls tied up in two tiny puffs.

jude feeding you bites of fruit, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

the sun warm on your skin. the softest breeze. the quietest moment.

and then, jude, watching you, soft eyes, softer smile.

"happy valentine’s day, my love," he murmurs, reaching across the table, fingers sliding through yours.

you squeeze his hand, your baby giggling between you, syrup on her cheeks, happiness in her eyes.

"happy valentine’s day, baby," you whisper back.

money can buy a lot of things. but this? this is priceless.

ynusername

liked by tolami_benson, renee_downer and 791 835 others.

ynusername just a girl and her gorgeous flowers (bought by her equally gorgeous man).💐

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wag: stunner🫦

username: nah i’m hating

username: jude 🤝🏽 single-handedly keeping florists in business

username: you think you’re better than me?🤨

username: bellingham is such an unbelievably shit footballer but he's dating yn so he just wins even when he loses

ynusername

liked by camavinga, trentarnold66 and 2 693 748 others.

ynusername valentines weekend dump (the PG version).💞☺️

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username: OH?!

judebellingham: my favourite girls.🩷

username: oh brother, baby #2 otw

jobebellingham: choosing to ignore what the caption implies. my niece is growing up too fast 🥹

username: bitch– RELEASE THE TAPE!!

[blueaetherr]

writer bitches be scrolling on tumblr knowing damn well they need to finish those drafts.

[blueaetherr]

My husbands are hot 🤍🤍

[blueaetherr]

ugh i love kylian mannn

[blueaetherr]

[blueaetherr]

love me some eventual fluff 🤭 this was too good 🤎

✩ scoops of doubt; 

         aurélien tchouaméni ────── 

     grabbing ice cream after a meal is a cherished tradition for the two of you, but the sweetness fades when a single comment sends your emotions over the edge.

⭑  wordcount : four thousand four hundred sixty-seven.

⭑  notes : not sure if you guys will like this fic as it is more sensitive, but i wanted to write about a topic that everyone struggles with to some extent: body image. everyone’s body is beautiful and comes in different sizes; as for this story i picked a reader on the chubbier end and will be diving into some insecurities that they could face. i tried my best to display this topic in an appropriate manner and and as always, my dms are open if you ever need someone to talk to, though i'm not a professional. <3

warning : body image struggles

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Going out with Aurélien was always special, and tonight was no exception. You both enjoyed taking turns picking places for your date nights, and no matter where you dined, you always ended up at your guy’s favorite ice cream shop afterward. This summer evening, it was his pick—a hidden gem that his teammate, Federico Valverde, had strongly recommended. After just a few bites, it was obvious that the footballer had made the perfect choice.

The night was filled with the usual tender smiles and exchange of dishes. Each of you stealing bites from one another and debating whose choice was the superior one. It was silly, but it made the meal feel more like an adventure in itself.

“Okay, so I definitely picked the best dish this time,” Aurélien grinned, as he leaned over to offer you another bite of his meal. “I knew you’d love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh really? Are we going to keep a tally of who picks the better dish? Because, overall, I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You definitely think you are, don’t you? But you can’t deny that this is a strong contender.”

You pouted, taking the bite he offered. "Fine, you win this round. But next time, I’ll make sure to pick something even better."

He leaned back, giving you a playful, mock-dramatic look. “This is war, then. Prepare for the next round.”

You both laughed, enjoying the easy rhythm of the conversation. The little games you played over shared bites of food made the whole experience feel so much more fun.

“So,” Aurélien started, swirling his wine in his glass. “If I win this little food battle we’ve got going, what do I get as a prize?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, what kind of prize do you think you deserve?”

He leaned in with a teasing smile. “A kiss, obviously.”

“A kiss, huh? ”Your lips curling into a playful smile as you raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you teased, a flirty spark in your eyes.

Aurélien leaned in close, a teasing smirk on his face. “Come on,” he whispered.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, playing along, and your thumb grazed his cheek as you leaned in like you were going to kiss him. But, just before your lips met his, you quickly swiped your thumb across the side of his mouth, wiping off the sauce he’d missed earlier. His eyes widened, and he groaned in disbelief, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept back on his face. 

A mischievous laugh escaped your lips as you watched him, his mock frustration only making the moment more delightful. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the amused sparkle in his eyes. It was as if you guys were in your own bubble of happiness.

You savored the moment, the rich flavors of the meal dancing on your tongue as you made your way through the courses. Aurélien’s rants about training filled the space between you, his voice blending with the clink of silverware against plates. It felt almost dreamlike—the way the world outside faded away as you both sank deeper into the rhythm of each other’s company. You both finished your plates slowly, savoring the last few mouthfuls, reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy Italian place. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick before we head out.” Your boyfriend stated as he squeezed your hand to signal his departure.

You nodded, watching as Aurélien stood and melted into the crowd, his tall frame effortlessly disappearing toward the restrooms. Left to your own thoughts for a moment, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drift around the warm ambience. As you glanced over the dessert menu, you pondered your options. You knew you’d both end up at the ice cream shop later—it had become a tradition—but maybe you could share something here first. It seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, the idea of a sweet Italian pastry was tempting. A crisp cannoli? Or a velvety tiramisu? You couldn’t decide, so you waved down the waiter, hoping for a little guidance.

“Excuse me, could you help me choose between the cannoli and the tiramisu?” you asked, flashing a smile. “Which one do you recommend?”

“Oh, another order?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Well, the tiramisu is world-class, but after all that, I doubt you’d even fit in your dress anymore.” He chuckled as he answered you.

The words hit you instantly, meant to be playful but coming across with an edge that caught you off guard. You froze, a flush creeping up your neck as the comment sank in. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. 

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and instead of anger, you felt a rush of awkwardness. Was that really necessary? You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Uh, yeah... can I just get the check, actually?" you said, offering a tight smile as you reached for your drink, hoping the awkwardness would pass. 

The waiter nodded, clearly unaware of the effect his words had, and turned to go. You sat back in your chair, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You shook your head slightly, trying to push the feeling aside. You felt silly for letting the situation impact you like this. Nothing had seemed overtly wrong. Just… a bit strange. But then again, it could have just been in your head.

Although the waiter left, it felt like every eye in the room was suddenly fixed on you, each gaze heavy with judgment. Of course, you knew this wasn’t true—logically, you understood no one was staring at you—but that didn’t stop the feeling from washing over you like a cold wave. Your body suddenly uncomfortable in the chair, too much for the space around you. The fabric of your outfit felt suffocating now—clinging to you in ways that highlighted every inch. You wished you could just disappear.

Your stomach twisted, the pressure growing unbearable, the feeling of nausea even crept in. Every breath felt like too much effort, too loud, as if just being alive was drawing in too much attention. Your arms crossed over your torso instinctively, hoping you could somehow hide yourself from the world. But nothing helped, the ache was deeper than anything you could physically conceal. Your thighs pressed against the seat, and you could swear they expanded under the weight of your thoughts, a cruel trick of perception that only fed the panic rising inside you.

The heat clung to you, pressing down on your chest, its weight making each breath feel shallow and strained. It was like being trapped inside the very furnace that had just baked your pizza, the warmth heavy and stifling, consuming everything in its path.

You managed to steady yourself before Aurélien returned, but the floor beneath you betrayed every shift. Each small movement sent a sharp creak reverberating through the silence, an intrusive sound that seemed to echo your every restless gesture.

As Aurélien came back, the waiter dropped the check off. Your boyfriend’s focus immediately shifting to it, his hand instinctively reaching for his wallet. He sat down across from you, as he placed down his card. 

You tried to hide the faint tremor in your hands and the nervous habit of tugging at the hem of your dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was a silly plea when you considered the fact that Aurélien had been trained on the pitch to detect even the smallest shifts in movement—to read the slightest twitch of a muscle or the faintest change in posture. It was second nature to him, a skill honed over years of relentless focus.

So, of course, he noticed.

“You okay, mon amour?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t pushing, just offering you a space to speak.

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mhm, just tired,” you muttered. 

Aurélien didn’t press further, but the eerie quiet between you lingered once he stood up from the table as he thanked the waiter. He reached for your hand as you both moved toward the door, his grip warm and steady, though his fingers tightened slightly, as if sensing something was still off. You followed him outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement.

As you approached the car, Aurélien opened the passenger door for you, his usual confident smile back in place, though there was something in his gaze that seemed to weigh you down even more. You sat down staring out the window, the city passing by like a blur as he drove, you hoped for a reprieve from the heavy feeling in your chest.

With dinner finished, the next step in your routine should have been a trip to the charming little ice cream shop nearby, a tradition that had started on your first date. It was a small, unassuming parlor where, with complete confidence, he had declared he could figure out your favorite flavor just by looking at you. Of course, he was wrong—but his confidence had made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, and in the end, you picked that flavor as your new favorite.

Yet tonight, the thought of ice cream twisted your stomach in a different way.

“Aurélien… I’m not really feeling it tonight,” you said in a hushed voice, trying to sound as neutral as possible. 

Aurélien shot you a glance, brow furrowing. “Not feeling it?” he echoed, as if the words themselves were foreign.

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get any ice cream”

His face fell slightly, a small frown tugging at his lips, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

Instead of heading toward the ice cream shop, he smoothly made a U-turn at the next light.

“Wait, did you not want anything either?” you asked, blinking at him.

He glanced over at you with a half-smile. “It’s okay. Ice cream doesn’t taste nearly as good unless I’m sharing it with you.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “I mean, have you ever tried chocolate chip cookie dough all alone? It’s just... sad."

You let out a soft chuckle, your shoulders relaxing a bit. "You’re ridiculous."

He just shrugged, eyes still on the road. "Hey, I swear the flavor will grow on you one day."

You looked back out the window, resting your head against the cool glass, feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts lighten just a little. 

Then, his hand reached for yours, his grip warm and steady. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a quiet, soothing motion—one that seemed to soothe something deep inside you, though he was unaware of what.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you, opening his mouth as if to say something. But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he could voice his concern.

“I’m gonna go change,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t wait for a response, slipping out of the car and into the house, where the warmth should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.

Aurélien lingered in the entryway, watching you disappear up the stairs, his frown deepening. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t just a passing mood. This was something deeper, something festering just beneath the surface, something eating at you from the inside out. And he knew. He always knew. 

But he also understood you wouldn’t talk until you were ready. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the doorframe, dragging a hand down his face before slowly removing his shoes, giving you the space he knew you thought you needed.

Upstairs, you hurried to the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind you—or so you thought. You barely noticed it remained slightly ajar, too preoccupied, too desperate to strip yourself free from the weight clinging to you.

Your dress pooled at your feet, as if even the fabric was eager to rid itself of you. Shedding you like an old skin—but unfortunately, this was no simple transformation. You didn’t even spare it a second glance before tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Your heart hammered in your chest, beating so fast you could feel it in your throat.

Your hands reaching for one of Aurélien’s shirts—the one that always offered solace in ways nothing else could, especially when he was away, swallowed by the distance of football and travel. But just as you were about to pull it fully down on yourself, your gaze flickered to the mirror.

And everything stopped.

The reflection didn’t greet you with kindness. It didn’t soften its edges, didn’t smooth out the harsh truths you spent so long ignoring. 

It stared back, merciless, cruel in its honesty, dragging your eyes down the lines of your body like an artist outlining every flaw with deliberate strokes. As if it’s not just your body that feels burdened, but your mind too.

Your stomach—softer than you wanted, pushing outward when you wished it would vanish instead. The skin stretching slightly, smooth with a few faint lines marking where it met your waistband.

Your chest—felt fuller than before, both physically and emotionally heavy. The discomfort pulling at your spine, making every movement feel strained. 

But worst of all? Your thighs.

You let your shirt slip, falling softly over your figure as your hands instinctively found their way to your thighs. Your fingers pressed into the warm flesh, grasping, as if to test reality. You felt the resistance of how they refused to shrink, to yield, no matter how desperately you willed them to. Each inch of flesh that you grip only deepens the chasm between who you are and who you wish to be. There’s a sense of helplessness in the way your fingers meet the soft curve of your thighs, like you’re at war with your own skin. 

You want to recoil, to pull your hands away, but they stay, as if your own touch has become a punishment. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the reflection in the mirror, but even with your lids shut tight, it’s as though the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids. The feeling doesn’t go away, not even in the dark. It lingers, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome shadow that refuses to leave.

You wanted to sever off the parts that wouldn’t obey. 

Your breath hitched, nausea pooling in your stomach. The mirror made a mockery of you, highlighting every insecurity, every whispered doubt, every cruel thought that lurked beneath the surface. You crossed your arms over yourself, dread curling around your ribs like barbed wire. A sickening thought sank its claws into you:

Why would he want you when you look this way?

The thought struck without warning, a tightening coil cutting off the oxygen to your lungs.

Would he still trace his fingers over your skin with that same reverence? Still hold you, still love you, when you felt like nothing but a burden too heavy to carry? If you couldn't even love yourself, then how could anyone else?

The faint sound of movement drew your attention, and a chill swept through you. You spun, and there he was—Aurélien Tchouaméni, standing in the doorway, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn't quite place. His heart silently shattering as he watched the person he loved more than anything crumble beneath the unbearable weight of their own reflection.

He had seen everything.

Your arms yanking down the shirt, a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from his gaze, but it was too late. His expression was no longer just concern—it was heartbreak. For you. For whatever cruel battle you were fighting inside your own head.

“Mon amour,” his voice was quiet, hesitant, as if afraid to startle you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat had closed up. Embarrassment burned through you, hot and suffocating. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the worst way, like every insecurity you tried to hide had been laid bare for him to see.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I—I’m fine…really I—"

“Amour…” he interrupted gently, stepping inside the room, closing the distance between you both. “Please, don’t try to hide from me.”

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head harder. “Please... just give me a minute. I don’t want you to look at me when I’m like this.”

Aurélien’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as the hurt on his face became undeniable. He reached out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?” he asked, stepping closer, his heart in his eyes. 

“Like this— I’m a mess,” you whispered, gesturing at yourself like your own body was something disgusting, something shameful. “Like—like I take up too much space. Like I’m too much. I—I don’t feel like—"

The footballer sighed, stepping back, running a hand over his head. His jaw clenched, and his whole body tensed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who made you feel like this?” His voice was quiet, his protectiveness beaming through.

“Who?” he asked again, not taking your silence as a response.

You could hear the barely veiled frustration underneath, but not at you—never at you. It was anger at whoever had planted this seed of doubt in your mind, at whatever had made you believe that you were anything less than extraordinary.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Well the waiter,” you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He made some stupid comment, but… it’s not just that.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, his posture stiffening.

You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I wish I was.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If I’d heard it—” he exhaled sharply, reigning in his anger. “I would’ve said something.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But it’s not just about what he said. It’s how I’ve been feeling for a while actually.”

Aurélien exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before stepping closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face. His thumbs caught the next tear before it could fall. "Amour… I love you so much," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just talk to me about it."

The weight of his words unraveled something in you, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free from your throat. Your knees buckled slightly, but Aurélien caught you as you stumbled, his arms scooping you up, strong but delicate. His warmth enveloped you entirely, and for the first time all night, you felt at ease as you laid in bed.

“I hate that you feel like this,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “I hate that someone made you doubt how incredible you are.”

You let out a choked laugh, but it held no humor. “It’s not someone, it’s me,” you admitted, voice trembling. “It’s how I’ve felt for a bit.”

His hold on you tightened, his jaw tensing against your hair. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Still, I wish I could just make it all go away. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. I’ll carry it with you.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. His lips brushed over your skin in the softest, most reverent way. But then his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, kneading them as if committing them to memory. His fingers traced over the softness of your stomach, his grip both possessive and tender.

“Mon amour,” he whispered, voice husky, thick with emotion. “Do you know how perfectly you fit against me?” 

Like you were made to be there, pressed into him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer conviction in his voice, the way his hands never wavered as they caressed you, he was worshiping every inch. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I love being suffocated by your thighs,” he murmured, nipping playfully at your skin, earning a startled laugh from you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

You swatted at his arm, pushing at his chest. “Aurélien!”

He grinned against your skin, placing one last kiss to your temple. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

You sniffled, hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fingers. “I just don’t feel—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted gently, cradling your face again so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were burning with something fierce, something unshakable. “You are enough, mon amour. You always have been. And if you can’t see it right now, that’s okay—I’ll remind you every single day.”

A broken sob escaped your lips, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness alone. 

It was from the overwhelming love, the sheer depth of what this man was offering you. A love so pure, so unwavering, that for the first time, the voice in your head telling you that you “weren’t enough” quieted.

Aurélien exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if we have to stay up all night, but I’m not letting you go until you understand how much I love you.”

You let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “That might take a while.”

His lips quirked up, but his eyes were still serious. “Then I hope you’re comfortable, because I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Another moment of silence passed, your ears pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, then smiled—this time lighter, with something familiar in it.

"You know what we need?" he asked, his voice soft but certain.

You blinked up at him, still sniffling. “What?”

“Ice cream.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I just said I didn’t want any.”

“And I just decided that’s unacceptable,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, but he simply grinned ear to ear. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A small smile broke through your haze of sadness. “Fine. But no more strange flavors!”

-

The drive to the ice cream shop was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of the music playing in the background. Aurelien’s hand never left yours, his touch a steady reassurance, grounding you in the present. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if he were silently reminding you that you weren’t alone.

When you stepped into the familiar little shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, the weight pressing down on your chest lifted just a little. The warm scent of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

Aurélien made a show of examining the menu, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think… I’m going to pick for you, just like our first date.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you challenged him. “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll get it right this time?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I know you, mon amour.”

A few minutes later, Aurélien handed you a cone with a knowing grin. The flavor he picked wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Honey Vanilla Bean.

“You know, I really wanted to go with blueberry,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “But I figured… you deserve something like you. Sweet, comforting, a little bit of warmth when everything feels cold.” He paused, feigning exasperation. “Also, I really didn’t want to get yelled at over an ice cream scoop.”

You shook your head in disbelief, holding back a grin. “Alright, fine. You win.”

His grin was smug as he bumped his shoulder against yours. “So, can I get my prize now?”

With a playful glint in your eye, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled him in, pecking his lips. The moment was brief but full, the sweetness  melting between you as his fingers brushed your waist, holding you steady.

Hand in hand, you wandered outside and settled onto the curb, the cool night air wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. Aurélien pulled you closer, his warmth a contrast to the gentle chill. 

Aurélien nudged you with his elbow, holding out his own cone. "Here, try some of my chocolate chip cookie dough. I even got star-shaped sprinkles on it."

Rolling your eyes as you leaned in, ready to taste it, but just as your lips parted, the ice cream dripped on to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as he burst into laughter.

Before it could roll off your body, Aurélien leaned in without hesitation, licking the ice cream off your face before pressing a brief, puckish kiss to your lips.

“There, crisis averted.” He announced smugly, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You shoved him away with a mix of laughter and disbelief. "Eww Aurélien, what is wrong with you?!"

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Oh, plenty, but you still love me."

You rolled your eyes, but as you looked at him—at the man who had spent the last hour trying to hold you together when you felt like you were falling apart—you felt your heart flutter.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into his side.

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely in his arms as his cheek rested against your hair. “Good. Because I love you more. Every single part of you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually believed it.

© gul4bjamoons

[blueaetherr]

✩ a heartfelt departure; 

         omar marmoush ────── 

  when a hidden football contract reveals an unsettling reality, it challenges your relationship like never before.

⭑  wordcount : three thousand eight hundred seventy-seven.

⭑  notes : this was supposed to go up earlier but rashford news had me distraught

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Omar Marmoush had been evading this conversation as if it were a death sentence. Every time the thought of telling you crossed his mind, he batted it away—like a ball teetering on the edge of the touchline, just before it went out of bounds. He left it there, untouched, clinging to the fragile hope that somehow it might find its way back into play.

Plus, the transfer deal was not even finalized—still suspended in the ether, his agent caught up with the final negotiations. Atleast, that was the excuse he clung to, a half-truth in an attempt to justify his silence. But the truth was, the deal wasn’t the only thing suspended in the air; so was his courage.

And yet, the truth always found a way to come to life.

It hadn’t been some dramatic unraveling of secrets. No, it was simply another ordinary day, the kind that slipped quietly into the rhythm of your life. The scent of his cologne mingled with the stale traces of coffee, clinging to the apartment. The floor was a reticent battlefield—abandoned socks, crumpled notes, and the occasional stray jersey lay scattered in a trail only he knew how to navigate. You had become used to these remnants of his world, the carefully disguised chaos that bled into yours.

You had lost count of how many times you had asked him to pick up after himself, but his promises were as fleeting as his presence, always swallowed by the game. Still, he found his own way of making amends, in the form of tender gestures: a breakfast in bed served with an apologetic smile. 

In a distrait attempt to tidy up the clutter, you grab a stack of papers teetering on the edge of the table, your fingers grazing the cool metal of his open laptop. The glow of the screen bathed your skin. You hadn’t meant to look. Just to put it on charge.

But then—

Finalizing Transfer to Manchester City: Urgent Matters to Discuss.

The email screamed at you in blaring letters, though your mind refused to register them at first. A mistake—surely? 

But then the room constricted, the walls pressing in, suffocating you with reality. Your breath hitched, chest tightening as if the very air had betrayed you.

Your fingers trembled as you clicked the email, eyes darting over the words, each sentence slicing deeper. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy, not at all. But somehow, before you could even think it through, your hands acted on their own, moving faster than your brain could catch up.

It wasn’t happening at the end of the season.

Not months from now.

Days.

The illusion of time shattered at your feet. You knew this was inevitable. It was Omar’s dream. But knowing it didn’t soften the blow of losing him.

Your pulse roared in your ears, the cursor blinking at you like a silent countdown. Urgent Matters to Discuss. As if love could be filed away in a folder between contracts and logistics. As if everything you were to him—everything he was to you—had been reduced to paperwork and negotiations.

Not love.

Not promises.

Not you.

-

You sat there, your thoughts scattered, hours slipping away unnoticed. The faint sound of keys jingling at the door snapped you out of your haze. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Omar. His presence filled the room, like it always did.

"Hey," Omar called out, his voice cheerful, ranting about his teammate. "You won’t believe what Tuta said earlier—"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes locking onto yours. You swallowed, your mouth dry. The laptop was still open, the email glaring between you like an exposed wound.

"How long were you going to wait to tell me?" Your voice came out quieter than intended, but the weight behind it was anything but small.

"Wait—" His voice faltered. "You went through my mail?"

You shot him a look, a silent challenge, like that was the least important thing in the room right now.

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed. "I was going to tell you."

A dry laugh escaped you—sharp, without humor. “Oh, yeah? When? On the way to the airport? After you signed? Or maybe just a text from Manchester?” 

Omar ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, the tension in his shoulders like a knot you could feel from across the room. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Your voice rose, anger and hurt finally spilling over the edges of your restraint. “You can’t just leave me hanging, Omar.”

He exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his hand reaching out toward you like he was trying to calm a storm he’d set in motion. “I was going to tell you, I just… I needed to get everything sorted first. No point in worrying if it fell through.”

“Of course,” you snapped, the words coming fast and bitter. “You were trying to protect me. Not keep me in the dark. Not treat me like an afterthought.”

His eyes darkened, and you saw the edge of something vulnerable, something that made your heart ache despite your anger. “You are not an afterthought.”

“Then why does it feel like I am?” Your voice cracked.

A silence stretched between you, thick and overwhelming. Omar stood frozen, as if trying to gather the right words, the right explanation. 

“I thought once I told you, it would make it real.” He trailed off, swallowing. “And if it was real… then I’d have to leave. And I didn’t— I don’t want to leave you. But I couldn’t…” 

You shook your head, tears threatening to burn behind your eyes. “But you are leaving me, Omar. And I—” You choked on the words. “I know you want this, I’ve always supported you. I want it for you too. But you… you didn’t give me the chance to even process this. You made me think it would only happen in the summer, but suddenly it’s here, and you’re practically gone now. You’re leaving me, and I—”

You paused, taking a deep breath, like you were trying to hold yourself together. “I’m here, Omar. I have a life. You know I can’t just pick up and leave in an instance.”

He stepped closer, but you drew back. “No. I need space, Omar. You could have at least told me there was discussion going on between the clubs.”

His hands hovered in the air, unsure where to place them, like he couldn’t find a way to bridge the space between you. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I was just so scared—terrified of you not being there with me. And I’m sorry. I really never meant to hurt you.”

“I know…” you whispered, finally turning to look at him. “I just... I need some time to process it, Omar. That’s all. Please understand.”

His eyes were soft, but the pain in them was clear as he nodded.

A tear slipping down your cheek before you quickly wiped it away. 

His heart clenched at the sight, aching to reach out, to kiss your worries away. But he knew he couldn’t—he can’t fix this with just one touch.

You pulled the door open and stepped out, a cold breeze captured your face. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him standing in the quiet, shattered by everything you hadn’t said and everything he hadn’t given. Omar Marmoush was lost, and this time, he wasn’t sure if there was a turning back.

-

It felt like a lifetime since he had spoken to you, though it hadn’t been long at all. 

Omar had been stressed, a suffocating weight pressing on him. He knew you had been happy for him—of course you had. You loved him, and you wanted him to succeed. Especially now since the deal had been confirmed. But that didn’t erase the hurt. The sting of betrayal from finding out the way you had, left in the dark about something so huge, something that should have been shared with you. 

After giving you some space, he had tried reaching out—calls, texts, any way to make contact. But all he got were short responses, distant replies. You weren’t shutting him out completely, but you weren’t letting him back in, either. And that hollow space between him and you was becoming more unbearable with every moment that passed.

So he showed up at your door.

You had just finished tidying up when the gentle knock on the door startled you. For a moment, you froze. You weren’t expecting anyone. But then, you opened it, and there he was—Omar.

He stood there, holding a small box in his hands. The familiar scent of chocolate wafted through the crack of the door before he even spoke.

“I brought your favorite ones,” he said, his voice strained, as if the words were weighing him down. He lifted the box, offering it to you, a small, guilty smile playing on his lips. “I know it’s not enough, but… hopefully it’s a start.”

You glanced at the chocolate and then back at him. “Omar…” you whispered, your heart aching. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the box in his hands, as if it might give him the courage to say what he needed to. When he finally spoke, his voice fragile. “I’ve been a wreck without you. I know I didn’t handle things the right way. I gave you space like you asked, but… I was hoping we could talk now. If you’re okay with that, of course.” He let out a shaky breath. You nodded as you noticed his eyes flickering with regret.

“I’m sorry for keeping the transfer from you. I should’ve told you sooner. You had every right to know and deserve so much more than that.” His eyes fell to the ground for a moment before they lifted to meet yours again. “And I want to do better for you. I can’t stand this... I’ve been going insane without you.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound filled with both sadness and a touch of relief. “You’re not the only one losing it,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve been going crazy too, Omar. Not knowing, not having you here like before. It’s been really hard.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “I hate that I hurt you. I really do. I know I messed up, but I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make it right. To prove to you that I won’t ever make that mistake again. I care about you more than anything, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath, holding his gaze as you stepped closer. “I love you,” you said quietly, your voice full of sincerity. “And... I never want you to do that again. We share everything, okay? No more secrets.”

Omar’s face lit up, his relief palpable. “Of course not.” He said, voice filled with both promise and gratitude. “I swear, I’ll never do that to you again.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance between you both. His eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Slowly, gently, he cupped your face with his hands, and you leaned into his touch.

Without saying another word, he kissed you. It was as if the weight of the past had to be washed away in that single moment. It was everything, all at once—apology, forgiveness, love.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled. “Every day until I leave,” he whispered, his voice low and tender. “I’m yours. All yours.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him, “So, you’re not mine after you leave?”

His face faltered for a second, and he quickly shook his head. “No, no... that is not what I meant” he laughed, though it was a nervous chuckle. “I’ll be yours forever.”

You grinned, still teasing. “Maybe... maybe you’ll have to get used to me being around more often. Like when my job is finished in the summer... maybe I’ll move in with you?”

He looked at you, stunned for a brief moment, before his grin widened. “Wait, what?” he exclaimed, trying to keep the surprise in check. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, your smile growing into something more intimate. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

Omar’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and cupped your face as he kissed you passionately.

-

The days in Germany blurred into one seamless memory, each moment shared between you and Omar wove into the fabric of a love that had only deepened with time. He was determined to show you, in every quiet, unspoken way, just how much you meant to him. 

Every morning, he arrived at your door with your favorite coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as he grinned, his eyes promising more than words could express. He stayed up late, not to sleep, but to listen—to hear every detail of your day, no matter how small, and to be there for you in ways you hadn’t even realized you needed. When your exhaustion weighed on you, he would create perfect evenings, dim lights and gentle music, offering you refuge in his presence. He listened and shared everything with you—his worries, his hopes, his fears—instead of retreating. Slowly, the distance that had once grown between you faded, replaced by something stronger, something irreplaceable.

And then, before you guys knew it, the final day in Germany arrived.

The morning came quietly, a hush over the world as if it, too, understood the gravity of what was about to unfold. You woke up wrapped in Omar’s arms, the warmth of him seeping into you. You held him a little tighter, not wanting to face the inevitable goodbye that was waiting just beyond the horizon. 

“Let’s make today count,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple. 

So, you embraced the day fully, savoring every fleeting moment.

The two of you wandered through the streets of Frankfurt, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, as if leaving a trail of memories behind with each step.The city, this city, was a part of you both—its streets lined with memories, its corners kissed by moments of joy, love, and growth. 

You stopped at the little bakery where you had sat together after his first big win with Eintracht Frankfurt. The same corner table by the window, bathed in the soft morning light, was waiting for you. For a moment, you both sat in silence, enjoying your pastries. The past seemed to weave itself into the present with each quiet glance, every shared laugh. His fingers brushed against yours, and the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you—together.

Later, Omar took you to the stadium. The once-thrumming heart of his life now stood silent, a giant of steel and stone, its stands empty, its seats still. He stood at the edge of the pitch, his gaze sweeping across the field as if trying to capture every last detail, imprinting it in his memory. 

"It’s strange, you know?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. “After the last game, everything felt so... surreal. The energy in the stadium, the crowd—they were alive, feeding off each other. It was the perfect ending. But now... it’s all still. Just me, this field... and the memories.”

You stood beside him, your fingers intertwined, sharing the weight of his words. “What was it like?” you questioned.

He exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. “It was... everything,” he said, his voice full of nostalgia. “I couldn’t have asked for a better game, a better farewell. But now, standing here...” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the stands, taking in the emptiness, the ghosts of the past. “It feels like I’m leaving a part of myself behind. This place, these people... it’s all been so much a part of who I am. I’ll miss it, more than I thought I would.”

You squeezed his hand, stepping a little closer, your voice faint as you spoke. “You’ll carry it with you, Omar. It’s not really a goodbye.”

He looked at you then, his eyes soft with a tenderness that spoke volumes, far louder than words ever could. As you walked hand in hand around the stadium, his thumb gently brushed over your knuckles, a quiet promise in the simple touch.

Soon, you both went to a nearby restaurant where his Eintracht Frankfurt teammates had gathered around a large table. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just one of their favorite local spots—but there was a warm familiarity to it, a sense of family that filled the room and made everything feel effortlessly right.

They joked, teasing each other about the season’s highlights, recounting moments on the field with a shared fondness, each story more exaggerated than the last. Omar sat back, a soft smile on his face as he listened to the banter. It was clear how much they meant to him, these men who had been by his side through every high and low.

The table fell silent before they raised their glasses together. You could feel the depth of the bond between them—more than just football, it was family. It was simple, but you could sense the weight of it all, knowing this chapter of Omar’s life was closing, but the memories would stay with him—and with them—all forever.

-

At last, the day came to a close, and with it, the harsh weight of reality settled in, a cold, suffocating presence that pressed down on your chest like a stone.

There you were, standing at the airport, the chilly terminal around you only intensifying the heat of emotions swirling within. Your world had gone quiet just for this moment—the moment when you both knew the goodbye was inevitable. The departure gate was looming ahead, its sterile emptiness serving as the grim reminder that time was slipping away, taking him further from you with each passing second.

Omar stood beside you, his suitcase heavy at his side, but it was the grip on its handle that told you everything. It was tight, unyielding, as though he were holding onto more than just a piece of luggage. He was holding onto the life you two had built, fighting against the crushing weight of this goodbye, the uncertainty of everything that lay ahead.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your voice faltering as it left your lips,. Your heart felt like it was breaking in two, and you weren’t sure you could stand it much longer. “I hate that you have to leave.”

His gaze faltered, a sharp ache flickering in his eyes, one that mirrored the storm brewing in your chest. Without a word, he reached for your face, his fingers brushing over your cheeks.

"I know," he whispered, his voice rough, yet somehow soothing, like a balm trying to heal wounds that were too deep to mend. "But we’ll make it work. Just a few more months. After you're done with your work here, you’ll be in Manchester with me. We’ll be together again."

You nodded, though it felt more like you were acknowledging the impossibility of it all. His words, meant to comfort, barely reached you as everything inside seemed to unravel.

“Promise me we’ll be okay?” you pleaded, your voice breaking with desperation. “Promise me you won’t forget about me.”

The lump in your throat tightened, each breath becoming more ragged as you refused to let any tears slip. You needed him to promise you something—that everything would fall into place, that you wouldn’t be left standing here, caught between love and the fear of losing it.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, shaky. “I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

With one chaste kiss, you pulled away. You forced a smile, as he turned to walk toward the gate. Inside, Omar fought to hold back his own tears, his thoughts spiraling. It’s just a little while. Just a few months. he kept telling himself. But no amount of logic could ease the gnawing fear of what might happen when the distance became too much.

You stood there, watching him go, your body rooted to the spot as if it couldn’t bear to move. But eventually, you turned, your eyes scanning the terminal, trying to will yourself to walk away. Yet, as you did, a sigh escaped you, heavy with sorrow. You couldn't help but glance over your shoulder one last time. 

Funny enough, there he was—looking back at you, his face a mirror of your own sadness. His eyes locked with yours across the distance, both of you silently asking the same question.

How do we let go of something that feels like everything?

Without thinking, without a single ounce of rationality left in your body, you ran to him. Your heart was racing, faster than it had ever beaten before, and every part of you screamed to hold on, to not let him go. 

Omar’s eyes widened in shock as you reached him, and before he could say a word, you threw your arms around him, clinging to him like your life depended on it. His bag fell to the floor with a dull thud, but his arms—his arms were there, steadying you, holding you, lifting you off the ground. 

He spun you once, then twice, and for that brief moment, you felt weightless, as if the world had forgotten that you were about to say goodbye. He kissed you then, desperately, urgently, as though he, too, was afraid of losing you, afraid of what would happen when this moment was over.

“I don’t want to let go,” you choked out.

Omar’s eyes were glassy now, the pain in his gaze matching your own. “Then don’t,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the roar of the terminal. 

His knuckles turned white as he clung to you. You buried yourself into his chest, memorizing the feel of him—his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. You inhaled the scent of him, hoping to carry it with you for the months to come, wishing there was a way to freeze this moment in time, to make the clock stop ticking and let you stay here, forever, in his arms.

When he finally set you down, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily, clinging to the last remnants of this fleeting moment. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked as he spoke. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. Soon,” you whispered back.

The announcement for his flight sliced through the air, cutting the moment short. You both exchanged one last glance, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips as he quickly made his way to the gate. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but even with the ache in your chest, that shared look between you offered an unspoken promise—this was not the end.

A goodbye isn’t forever when love is the one thing that never fades.

© gul4bjamoons 

[blueaetherr]

Three years ago today 💙🏆

[blueaetherr]

This is so cute!

[blueaetherr]

btw sam kerr's trial for racially aggravated harassment for calling a cop stupid and white is a really dangerous precedent for police power in the uk.

the facts are this, she and her partner were in a cab, drunk. they threw up, the cab driver locks the door on them and drives them erratically. they're afraid because he doesn't explain and sam's white partner, kristie mewis kicks the window open while she calls the police. they are taken to a police station, where the police officer, a few months after sarah everard, laughs at them and dismisses them and actually says to them did you think a cab driver would take you to a police station to rape you? sam calls him sick. they do not verify emergency services for sam's call to the police. while seated and stressed and as her partner cries, sam holds up her phone. she calls him stupid and white inside a police station. the cop files racist hate speech charges against her. the police don't prosecute initially. she's the star of a world cup. he refiles, the case is taken to criminal court. drama. meanwhile the prosecution is making a case to the jury with stunning arguments like imagine if this indian woman called a black cop stupid and black.

[blueaetherr]

PROLOGUE

“i want something that i know is real”

pairing — judexblack!girl

genres — fluff, slow burn, workplace romance (she’s a pt)

warnings — sexual themes (minors dni)

word count — 1.8k (for prologue)

summary — y/n, a rising physiotherapist, has just been promoted to work with real madrid's men's team. after a difficult breakup, she's determined to keep things professional. but when jude bellingham, the club's charming new star, sets his sights on her, maintaining boundaries becomes harder than ever. can she resist the pull, or will she risk everything for a love she swore she’d never fall for again?

an — so your girl is an idiot and the day before releasing the final chapter of this series, deleted her whole blog. bare with me, i have so many drafts and notes to sort through before posting everything 😭 i am so sorry to those who have to reread this series and wait for the last chapter. also, if you were apart of the taglist please comment and i’ll redo it <3

masterlist

jude bellingham walked through the pristine halls of valdebebas, real madrid’s renowned training facility, alongside carlo ancelotti. the legendary manager had insisted on personally showing him around, a gesture that wasn’t lost on jude. every step he took reminded him that he was no longer in dortmund, no longer in the familiar yellow and black. he was in madrid now, wearing the iconic white, and the reality of it was still sinking in.

as they made their way to the physio room, ancelotti spoke in his deep, reassuring voice. “we’re all very excited to have you here, jude. you’re an important part of our future,” he said, glancing at the young midfielder with a smile. “i know it can be overwhelming at first, but you’ve got a great team around you to help you settle in.”

jude nodded, trying to absorb everything. the weight of expectation, the grandeur of the club, the new language and culture—it was a lot to take in. but this was what he’d always dreamed of, and he was determined to prove himself worthy.

they turned a corner and entered a spacious room filled with sleek equipment, treatment tables, and the smell of antiseptic. the physio room—where he’d likely spend more time than he wanted over the years, keeping his body in top condition.

“this is where the magic happens,” ancelotti said with a smile. “our medical team is top-notch, and they’ll make sure you’re in the best possible shape. we take our players’ health very seriously.”

jude’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the details. his gaze landed on a young woman standing near one of the treatment tables, adjusting some equipment. she was wearing the real madrid training kit, her warm brown skin contrasting beautifully with the white and navy of the uniform. her braided hair fell just past her shoulders, each braid meticulously done, and her presence was immediately striking.

he felt his breath catch. who is she?

“and this,” ancelotti continued, drawing jude’s attention back, “is y/n. she’s one of our junior physiotherapists. i have to say, she’s quite exceptional. she started as an intern with the women’s team and did such a remarkable job that we brought her over to the men’s team.”

jude blinked, momentarily taken aback. she’s the physio? she looked around his age—young, maybe too young to be in such a prominent role. but if ancelotti was praising her, she must be something special.

ancelotti must have noticed jude’s surprise because he chuckled softly. “i know, she looks young, doesn’t she? that’s because she is. she’s your age, actually. but don’t let that fool you—she’s brilliant at what she does. the women’s team didn’t want to let her go.”

jude couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration mixed with something else, something deeper. y/n was his age and already making waves at one of the biggest clubs in the world. it was impressive, to say the least, but more than that, there was something about her that he couldn’t shake.

as jude approached, y/n looked up from her work, meeting his gaze with a warm, confident smile. her eyes were kind, but there was a spark in them that drew him in. god, she’s beautiful.

“y/n,” ancelotti said, his voice filled with a kind of paternal pride, “this is jude bellingham, our new signing. i’m sure you’ve heard a lot about him.”

y/n extended her hand, her smile widening. “of course. it’s great to finally meet you, jude. welcome to madrid.”

“thanks,” jude replied, shaking her hand. her grip was firm, her skin warm, and for a moment, he was caught off guard by the connection he felt. she’s my age, he thought again, still trying to reconcile that with her professionalism. “nice to meet you too.”

“y/n will be working closely with you to make sure you stay in peak condition,” ancelotti continued. “she’s been with the women’s team, but now she’s part of our setup here. and believe me, she knows what she’s doing.”

y/n’s heart swelled a little at the praise, but she kept her expression neutral. keep it professional, she reminded herself. jude was a world-class athlete, and while she was flattered by ancelotti’s words, she knew she had to prove herself every day. “i’m still learning, but i’m excited to be here and work with you,” she said, her voice steady.

jude nodded, still intrigued. “i can see why they wanted you on the team.”

he’s sharp, y/n thought, catching the genuine interest in his eyes. there was something about him that put her at ease, despite the high stakes of her new role. “thank you. it’s been a lot of hard work, but i’m ready for the challenge.”

as they began the tour, y/n walked beside jude, pointing out various areas of the facility. ancelotti excused himself after a few minutes, leaving the two of them to continue alone. jude noticed the way y/n moved—confidently, yet with a certain grace. it was clear she knew this place inside and out, even if she was still getting used to the men’s side of things.

“so,” jude began, glancing over at her as they walked down a corridor lined with photos of real madrid legends, “how does someone our age end up as a physio for one of the biggest clubs in the world? that’s pretty impressive.”

y/n felt a small blush creeping up her neck but managed to keep her cool. he’s trying to get to know me, she realized, her heart beating a little faster. “well, i’ve always been interested in sports medicine,” she explained. “i started studying physiotherapy in university, and i got an internship with the women’s team here at madrid. it was just supposed to be temporary, but i guess they liked what i was doing.”

jude smiled, clearly impressed. “sounds like you’re a bit of a prodigy.”

y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i wouldn’t go that far. i just worked hard and tried to learn as much as i could. the women’s team was incredible to work with, and i learned a lot from them. but when they offered me a spot with the men’s team, i knew it was an opportunity i couldn’t pass up.”

jude nodded, understanding the drive behind her words. “that’s really cool. i’m just getting started here myself, but it’s nice to know there’s someone else who’s new to this side of things.”

“yeah,” y/n agreed, feeling a sense of camaraderie. “i guess we’re both finding our way.”

they walked in comfortable silence for a moment, and jude found himself stealing glances at y/n. she was beautiful, no doubt about it, but there was something else—something in the way she carried herself that made him want to know more.

“so, you’re from spain?” jude asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“yeah, mostly,” y/n replied. “i was raised here, but my family’s originally from west africa—ghana, specifically. we moved here when i was a kid.”

“ghana, huh? that’s cool,” jude said, genuinely interested. “do you ever get back to visit?”

“not as often as i’d like,” y/n admitted, a hint of longing in her voice. “but we try to go back whenever we can. it’s important to stay connected to where you come from.”

“i totally get that,” jude said, feeling a connection growing between them. “i’ve always thought it’s important to stay grounded, to remember where you started.”

y/n nodded, appreciating the sentiment. he’s more thoughtful than i expected, she mused. “it’s definitely something i try to keep in mind, especially working in a place like this. it’s easy to get caught up in the glamour of it all, but i try to stay focused on why i’m here.”

as they continued the tour, jude couldn’t help but feel increasingly drawn to y/n. there was an ease between them, a natural flow to the conversation that made him forget, if only for a moment, the pressures of his new life in madrid.

“you know,” jude said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as they reached the gym, “if you’re going to be the one keeping me in shape, i might need to get on your good side early.”

y/n raised an eyebrow, catching the flirty tone in his voice. “is that so? well, i hope you’re good at following instructions, because i’m pretty strict about my routines.”

jude chuckled, feeling a thrill at the banter. “i’ll do my best. but you know, maybe you could give me some pointers on how to stay on your good side?”

y/n laughed, shaking her head but unable to hide her amusement. he’s charming, she thought, realizing she was enjoying their interaction more than she expected. “just work hard, jude. that’s the best way to impress me.”

as they finished the tour and walked back toward the entrance, jude felt a sense of anticipation. there was no denying that y/n had made an impression on him, and he was eager to see where their paths would lead. for now, he kept things professional—aside from the occasional flirty remark—but as they exchanged a final smile, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

“good luck with the season, jude,” y/n said as they reached the door. “i’m looking forward to working with you.”

jude turned back, a playful smirk on his lips. “thanks, y/n. trust me, the pleasure’s all mine. something tells me this season just got a lot more interesting.”

y/n felt her cheeks warm at his words, a sudden shyness creeping in. he probably says this to all the girls, she thought, trying to brush it off. but the way he looked at her—like she was the only one in the room—made her pulse quicken.

“just don’t let me catch you falling behind,” she managed to reply, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “i’ll be watching.”

jude chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “i wouldn’t dream of it. besides, with you around, i don’t think i’ll have any trouble staying motivated.”

as he walked away, jude couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. he was undeniably drawn to y/n, but he also knew they’d be working closely together all season. it could get complicated, and he wasn’t sure where the line was between professionalism and…whatever this was. but one thing was clear—he wanted to see where it might go, even if it meant walking a fine line.

as he headed toward his car, he ran a hand through his hair, still thinking about her. this could be trouble, he mused, a small smile playing on his lips. but deep down, he knew he didn’t really mind. after all, some trouble was worth getting into.

next

© PDRIESTA 2024