#Jude had his chance and lost it

[itsfootballbih]

Boyfriends.

[latin5mamii]

never again

summary: Neither a break can separate you from Jude...

genre: Jude bellingham x reader smut.

warnings:smut, suggestive talk, 'make up' sex

author's note: hope you like it🙏🏻 (sorry for the third pic…)

It had been two agonizing weeks since you and Jude decided to take a break. Two weeks of convincing yourselves that time apart was what you both needed, that you’d be better off focusing on your own lives. But despite your best efforts to stay busy, to bury yourself in work, Jude was all you could think about.

Every day, you fought the urge to pick up your phone and text him. You’d type out messages, pour your heart into them, and then delete them just as quickly, afraid that reaching out might push him further away. 

Little did you know that Jude was doing the exact same thing. His phone would light up with your name, and he’d stare at it, aching to tell you how much he missed you. But he held back, not wanting to burden you with his feelings.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight, the loneliness was unbearable. A bottle of wine sat half-empty on your kitchen counter, and the warmth of the alcohol coursing through your veins gave you the courage you lacked before. You grabbed your phone, hands shaking slightly as you typed out the words you’d been holding back for too long.

“I miss you.”

The moment you hit send, a wave of panic washed over you. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if you’d made a mistake? But there was no taking it back now.

You stared at the screen, watching the three little dots appear, then disappear, and then reappear again. Each second felt like an eternity, and your heart pounded in your chest.

Then, his reply came through.

“I’m coming over.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the screen, rereading the words as if to confirm they were real. He was coming over. The minutes that followed were a blur as you rushed to tidy up and make yourself look presentable.

Then came the knock on the door. You froze for a moment, your hand hovering over the doorknob, your heart pounding in your chest. But when you finally opened it, all hesitation vanished the moment your eyes met his.

Jude didn’t give you a chance to speak. The second the door swung open, he was on you, crashing his lips against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if the two weeks apart had been unbearable.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he groaned between kisses, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. “I couldn’t fucking stand it.”

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled as his tongue swept inside, claiming you with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you pressed your body against his.

“I missed you too,” you managed to whisper when he briefly broke the kiss to catch his breath, only to dive back in, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Two weeks without touching you, without tasting you,” Jude murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Never again.”

Before you knew it, he was leading you backward, his hands and mouth everywhere, desperate to make up for lost time. You barely registered the bedroom door closing behind you before he was lifting you off your feet, placing you on the bed with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes.

“Take this off,” he commanded, his voice low and rough as he tugged at your clothes, his own quickly following. “I want to see you.”

You obeyed, your hands trembling as you shed your clothes, leaving you bare before him. The way he looked at you, eyes dark with lust, made you shiver with need.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Jude groaned, his hands roaming over your body, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your veins. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue teasing yours as he settled between your legs, his erection pressing against your thigh.

“Tell me how much you missed me,” he demanded, his voice a husky whisper against your lips. He shifted, his cock sliding against your wetness, teasing you just enough to make you whimper.

“I missed you,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as he continued to tease you. “I missed you so much, Jude. Please…”

“Please what?” he asked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he rocked his hips, the tip of his cock just barely entering you before pulling back.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “I need you.”

Jude grinned, a dark, wicked smile that made your heart race. “That’s my girl,” he murmured before thrusting into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, your back arching off the bed as he set a relentless pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice strained as he pounded into you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “So fucking tight”

“Yes,” you cried out, the pleasure nearly too much to bear. 

His pace quickened at your moans, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his peak. You could feel the coil tightening in your belly, and his thrusts became sloppier.

That was all it took. With a cry of his name, you came undone, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. Jude followed moments later, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he found his release.

“We’re not having a break ever again, understand me?”

[lovemomhatepolice]

jude bellingham nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Oh, Jude is very adhesive after sex. He likes to cuddle with you until you both fall asleep. He places gentle kisses on your head, shoulders and arms, in fact wherever he can. He always talks to you for a long time, whether everything was okay, how you feel, if you need anything…. Well, Jude is a great guy

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Jude is well aware that he is damn handsome. And not since he started being famous, oh no, Jude was already aware of that before. However, what he likes most about himself is his face, I think. He really likes the fact that he is similar with his family, which is so important to him, and he likes his looks. He is very fond of his dark brown eyes and his lips, which, according to him, have the perfect shape (to kiss you!!). As far as you are concerned, I think Jude is definitely an ass man. Of course, he loves your breasts, but your ass is definitely something Jude always looks past when he sees you. He loves to squeeze it, kiss it, everything, really. He always has his hands on her when you're somewhere together, and he's not ashamed to show it. Unfortunately, on the contrary, sometimes you have to correct him so he doesn't get caught up. And besides, he loves your whole face. He thinks everything matches perfectly - your nose size, eye color and lip shape, ay, this boy is drowning.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Jude Bellingham looks like a total creampie fan. I think he repeatedly stopped his seed at your entrance to watch it mix with your juices and slowly leave your body. But I also think he's too delicate to let his cum linger on your face, which is why he's not a fan of it. Even if you asked, there's no chance he'll let himself cum in your face

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) I think he likes it when you take the initiative. He often does a lot on his own, but the sight of you having fun with him in a way that no one else has ever done before, god. Jude is already on his knees and begging for more

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Nah, Jude is not very experienced. Well, after all, he's only 21 years old and hasn't scored any major ones on his relationship record. Therefore, everything you experience together is quite new to him. It was with you that he lost his virginity and began to discover what he likes and what he doesn't quite like But nevertheless he is a fast learner, he has become so skilled that if you met him for the first time, you would not be able to say that he is a fresher in these matters

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Jude likes to have you on top. Really, that's why the cowgirl position is just right for him. He likes you to take the initiative, however, alone from below he can also do a lot, especially since compared to him, you are in his hands like a feather. Another option is standing up - as I mentioned before, Jude is a fan of sex in the shower, so the standing option had to be practiced to perfection to make both of you comfortable and perfect

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) It depends on the moment. Jude is hardly a person who is against any jokes in bed or giggles, on the contrary, it even happens to him often. However, when your sex is heavily geared towards romance and the heat rising around your bodies, he rather tries to be serious and committed to the situation

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I think Jude is not completely shaved, but it is trimmed so that it is neat and not too much. He has dark curly hair, so I'm betting he has that all over his body too, so it might be hard to eliminate it. As for you, I think similarly. Either completely shaved or trimmed so that everything is neat and not too much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Bellingham can be truly romantic. He may not look like it, but he loves to plan your entire evening. First take you out for an expensive dinner with wine, then prepare you a joint bath with petals of your favorite flowers, followed by the intense sex you've both been waiting for all day. And then long conversations in bed and gentle touches...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) This often happens to him - mainly due to the fact that you often don't see each other through his constant trips to matches and life in other countries. He's not averse to pornographic movies, but since you've been together, he tends not to watch them. You prefer to connect together on the webcam and experience it from a distance, or he copes by simply thinking about the fact that you could be you next to him…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Honestly, I can't find any sensible kink to match Jude. He does not seem to be a person who is drawn in any particular direction. Maybe a creampie? Hm, I think he could watch with fascination as your shared juices of fulfillment come out of you…. Oh, and combined it with breeding kink? Well, what? He's young, but he can definitely see you with a pregnant belly in your future home together in Madrid

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Shower. Jude Bellingham shouts shower. Or possibly a bathtub, but definitely something on the toilet. I honestly don't know why, but it's what I associate with so damn much. Sex after the game? In the toilet. Sex with romantic candles and rose petals? In the bathtub. Sex without any occasion? In the shower. Well, don't say no. Jude definitely looks like a man who loves to take a bath together with you, and the opportunity to get close is even better

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) After the match. I don't know why. It's just that after a match, Jude is always, and I mean always, somehow more horny, and that's when you turn him on the most. Whether it's won or lost, Jude just needs to have his girlfriend in his arms after it Or the other option that turns him on is you in mini dresses. Well begging, the boy is already on his knees in front of you (or rather, behind you too)

A/N: next part will be here soon! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[trentsgirl]

pairing: jude bellingham x girlfriend!reader

synopsis: you’re a bit crazy when your boyfriend pisses you off.

notes: suuuper short, just something i came up with in like five minutes. srry for not updating, life is crazyy

playing: it’s okay, i’m okay by tate mcrae

masterlist.

“and then she goes, in the absolute nastiest tone, ‘well, you had plenty of time to do it,’ and i’m just sitting there like, what? you see what i mean? she’s so self-centered, she doesn’t even stop to think that people have lives outside of work!” you vented, your frustration spilling out as jude listened.

the two of you were sprawled out on the bed after a long day apart—him coming back from training, you from work. it had become your nightly routine, sharing the highs and lows of your day with each other. he lay back with his head resting on the pillow, while you propped yourself up on your elbow, turned toward him, still mid-rant about your impossibly annoying boss.

“how much time did you have?” jude asked casually.

“a week, but—”

“then she’s right. you did have plenty of time.”

his words hit you like a slap in the face. your eye twitched. was he… not taking your side? he was supposed to back you up! instead, it felt like he’d just shoved a metaphorical knife into your back and twisted it. how could he?

you sat up abruptly, glaring down at him with narrowed eyes. “she’s right?” you repeated, slow and deliberate, as if giving him a chance to backtrack. maybe you’d misheard. maybe the world wasn’t crumbling around you after all.

but no. jude nodded, sealing his fate.

“wow…” you muttered, your voice dripping with disbelief. “do you hate me?”

the abrupt question made jude’s brows knit together in confusion. “what? what are you talking about?” he asked, his tone baffled.

you shook your head, refusing to meet his eyes. “you hate me… my boyfriend hates me,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, though loud enough for him to hear.

jude blinked at you like you’d lost your mind, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “are you serious right now?” he asked, staring at you like you were the most dramatic person alive.

“don’t talk to me,” you muttered, almost theatrically, as you slid off the bed. “i need some time alone… to process what just happened.”

jude watched you go, biting back a laugh. he knew this routine all too well—your flair for the dramatic, the way you needed to make a scene before inevitably calming down. shaking his head with a silent chuckle, he let you have your moment, fully expecting you’d be back soon enough, probably with an even more dramatic follow-up.

15 MINUTES LATER…

caption: i don’t want him anyway, girl take him 🖤

comments:

judebellingham: baby, as much as i don’t like telling you what to do, please take this down.

urbestfriend1: oh what did he do this time? 🙄

urbestfriend2: slay and girl power, but all that stuff aside, what the hell? 😭😭

jobebellingham: i always thought you were too good for him.

[moviestarmartini]

la playa - jude bellingham x reader

" yo te lo hice a ti en la playa / justo al frente de la orilla / ella y yo no somo' nada pero solo entre comilla "

pairing: jude bellingham x latina!reader

summary: situationship!jude asked to spend the summer vacations with you. he's been looking at you with something other than his hungry eyes for some time now.

wc: 2.0k

warnings: really short instagram aus at both the beginning and the end, situationship where they both clearly fell for each other but won't discuss it, pet names in spanish, NSFW, semi-public sex, soft dom!jude if you squint, teasing, p in v, praise, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all), creampie, cockwarming, fluff (aka two big goofs in love).

A/N: i haven't written a fic in more than a year but i'm on break from uni and this man has been plaguing my every thought UGHH i'm also tired of january, it should be spring break already so i'm manifesting that energy into both this fic and the new year !! reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :>

now playing... la playa by myke towers

yourusername verano contigo 🤍

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, settling your phone down after the content had been uploaded.

You met Jude by spare chance. You’d been living in Madrid for a bit more than a year, occupied with your studies by the time the star boy reached the promised land. Jogging in Valdebebas at six thirty in the morning and having a black car pull up next to you was the way you were sure you were leaving this earth, instead finding a footballer asking for directions at the other side of the rolled-down window.

You easily discover the real reason later on. He was not lost, but had seen you around the residential complex; he’d only gotten the courage to talk to you after taking a big jug of coffee that morning, or so he claimed.

You’d noticed he had been staring at your glistening skin as you tanned your backside, but decided against commenting until the cheeky smile started to blossom. “Nothin’ “ He shook his head, but a tiny smile was half hidden behind his plush lips, giving away other intentions. The sun was so bright it was dazing, you’d sat under it for a while now hoping to darken your skin. The heat felt funny inside your tummy, similar to how Jude made your guts churn whenever he hooked your legs over his shoulders. “You’re sitting too far. C’mere.”

“Jude, mi rey, we’ve been holding hands the whole time I’ve been tanning.” You replied shortly, looking at him from behind your shades.

“Not close enough.” He practically whined, tugging at your arm with need, coercing you to get up and sit on his lap under the shade.

“Better?” You asked from your newfound place in his crotch, warm bodies coming in contact as you settled. You noticed him nod, his arm wrapping your waist in a way his forearm rested against your bare abdomen covering your belly button.

“Why won’t you post me?” His lower lip puckered out, eliciting a laugh out of you as you turned to face him briefly before turning towards the vast ocean in front of you. A small groan left his lips at the innocent movement.

After analyzing the vivid memory of his face, and thinking through your words, you spoke up. “Didn’t know if you wanted me to.” Once again, got comfortable in his lap. A sigh followed, coming from the man behind you.

“Have I ever told you how much I like that bikini on you?” Jude spoke after a minute or so of comfortable silence. You felt him toying with the drawstring of the bottoms. You could also feel something poking at your bare ass. “But not as much as I like you…”

“I think you’ve mentioned how you wanted to take it off.” Your voice barely came out; a mumble almost, ignoring the last sentence. Your heart thud against your chest, louder than it had done before when he questioned his presence— or lack thereof— in your vacation post. You peered around the area, only to find the waves crashing close to your beach beds’ location, and pearl-ish white sand spread for miles on end— just the two of you.

You felt him nod again, his chin brushing against your shoulder. Though he confirmed your suspicions of his true intentions, Jude’s hand didn’t undo the strap that held together the skimpy bikini. Instead, his fingers trailed the hem of the swimsuit, barely touching the warm skin. “Can I?”

The tone of his voice was low, the manner only brought goosebumps down your spine. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being eager, or at least the stupor of the hot day didn’t allow you to nod fast enough for you to look desperate. “You don’t know how happy I am to get you like this…” His hand sneaked under the piece at a painfully slow pace. Even though you knew what was going to happen, your breath got stuck in your throat.

“You always get me like this whenever you please.” It could be a complaint coming from anyone else, but it was just the reality of the situation. The relationship between you and Jude was… unclear. Feelings had been owned up to, but a title hadn’t been discussed. In fact, this was the first trip you tagged along; he asked you personally to do so. But you still decided against reading too much into it.

“You were saying, love?” Jude chuckled with malice, smirking at the way your skin prickled up at his touch applied to the bundle of nerves between your legs— which also spread involuntarily to give him better access. The way your words morphed with the moans and delirious sighs brought only further satisfaction to the British national.

“Don’t get all sassy with me.” You complained through a breathy laugh, eyes falling shut. His other hand trailed upwards your torso, to rest against your breasts and get straight into the task of cupping the left one first. The circles to your clit were steady, too steady for your liking. But still good enough to enjoy, and your moans let him know he was doing a stellar job. As per usual.

“What do you want, amor?” You managed to ask. Jude could’ve internally cursed, you knew him too well. A little too well for his liking. Instead of providing an answer, he pressed harder against your clit, the pressure catching you off guard, doubling down the attitude too.

“You,” Jude replied after what seemed years after he couldn’t take any more of your squirming. “Just you, all for me.” You could feel his stubble brushing against your shoulder before his lips pressed onto the length of your neck. It was all too much for you; the heat, the bright sun, the dryness settling in your tongue, his hands touching your body, his hard, clothed cock pressing against your backside, and the coil tightening in your lower stomach.

But he stopped.

Almost bewildered, you gasped, at the same time he undid the bunny ears that kept your swimsuit together. A smile crept onto your face as you turned to face him, thighs on either side of his hips. “You’re looking at me like that again.” You noted humbly, undoing the string of your bra. He couldn’t even formulate a response at the sight of your bare body, eyes scanning every inch, adoring the fresh tan lines.

“How could I not? You’re perfect.” Jude breathed out, leaning forward to catch his lips in yours. It was slow, but oozing with need and passion. You felt a pressure built up in your stomach, sparks, but you hesitated if he ever felt those around you.

“My perfect girl.” He breathed against your lips, hands holding onto your hips as he watched you undo the string that held his swimsuit tighter to his waist. He helped you pull the item down, barely resting at his upper thighs.

He leaned forward once again to catch your lips on his, letting out a tiny groan as you leaned further, just to tease him. “Kiss me,” Jude whined, stomach tightening at the firm grip around his shaft.

“Tranquilo, mi rey.” You cooed, working him up by rubbing his swollen tip on the warm and wet hole before finally sinking down his length. A pair of harmonious groans left both of your lips once you sat in his lap again, hips circling to get accustomed to the stretch.

“I can’t calm down when I’m obsessed with you.” Jude breathed out, large hands helping you steady the pace of your hips. He watched hypnotized by the way his cock disappeared in and out of your warm walls. His eyes were set, as though he wanted to train them to imprint the image in the back of his mind.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance. “Eyes up here, big boy.” The friendly banter defined your relationship; you often wondered if putting a label on things would make that disappear. But it was all just a wall to hide behind the adoration you felt for him, using it to dodge every compliment, in fear that none of his words were sincere. You could tell he wasn’t disappointed in the slightest when meeting your eyes, and the look you couldn’t pinpoint for the whole afternoon reappeared as he tangled his fingers in your hair and drew you right in for a kiss.

A kiss fierce enough to make you weak in the knees.

It was the perfect opportunity for Jude to accommodate his stance to start thrusting upwards, the sweetest noise he managed to squeeze out from the back of your throat was worth the tension in his core. Instantly, your back arched to give him the perfect angle. “I want you like this all the time…” He moaned into your mouth, hands on your hips to pin you down.

“Jude…” You mewled, the sound of skin coming into contact filling the empty air, harmonizing with the waves crashing near the beach spot you both occupied. You could feel your orgasm building rapidly, and Jude wasn’t foreign to the squeezing that built-up with every frantic thrust.

“C’mere doll, you’re doing so good f’me. Cum all over my cock, c’mon.” His voice was soft, the encouragement overlapping with his own groans of pleasure. He drew you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. Jude resisted the usual drawn-out teasing and mocking, now finding satisfaction in babying you as he slammed deep into you.

The string of incoherent babbles left your mouth shortly after his praises reached your ears. Jude closed his eyes to both contain himself from releasing at the way your pulsating walls were milking him so deliciously, but to also cherish the way your moans turned up the octave, nails digging into the sweaty skin of his bicep. Yet again, the heat you’ve been withstanding for the entirety of that morning hazed you, making a fantastic team with the warmth of Jude’s strong arms and the faded smell of his cologne mixed in with the salty air.

But all it took to push you right off the edge was a kiss. A single kiss pressed to your shoulder.

Your release consisted of a cocktail of your orgasm and a wave of realization crashing over you. You were head over heels with the man who was currently squishing your face against his buff chest, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he held you down. Groans and chants of your name replaced your meek moans and sighs, his cum filling you up. You allowed him the luxury of doing so every once in a while, and the dream-like stupor that enveloped your mind currently created the desire for him to do so.

The sounds of waves crashing filled the air once more, overshadowing the heavy breathing you shared. You stayed put, even cuddling closer to him as soon as the tremor left your legs. Time seemed to slow down, and you wondered how difficult the task of pulling away from him would soon be.

“Can I post you?”

Jude broke the silence, he’d been busy brushing your hair strands back into place upon the comfortable silence you’d set on. There was an arm still wrapped along the width of your waist. You pulled back to look him in the eyes, expecting to see playfulness in them, but finding a completely serious stare in return. “Since a certain someone won’t post me…”

“Oh, stop it!” You laughed, cheeks flushed at the idea. “If you think it's that great on an idea…” You puckered your lips while replicating his tone, cupping his face and planting a peck on his lips.

Jude smirked, licking his lips to chase the taste of you. But his eyes were soft, full of adoration. That look. It would blossom by just admiring your presence, or during one of his favorite activities– making you happy. “All I have are great ideas. Amazing, even.” He stole a peck off from you. You giggled, and a smile subconsciously peaked from behind his lips.

His heart flipped in his chest for the hundredth time that trip.

Jude, lost for words, just shook his head and reached for his phone. He started to wonder how a person could compete so easily with the grandiose, warmth and shine of the sun above.

But one peek down at you, snuggled up against him, answered all his questions.

judebellingham summer with you 🤍

A/N: used @ keilanilizbeth on instagram as the fc

and that pic on the left has me wishing i could match sambas with jude 😞😞

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

hii! could you write a fic where you and kids are at the club with friends and some guy is bothering you and jude steps in being all protective🤭

maybe some of the other boys like trent can be there too helping the reader out!

a/n: there you go! I didn't know what you meant by kids and I think I wrote something different, but I hope you like it! (I don't know why, but I really enjoyed writing this story)

SAVIOR

jude bellingham x reader

warnings: a creepy man who makes unwanted touching and may contain some mistakes.

summary: A fun night out with friends takes an unsettling turn when a drunk man repeatedly tries to approach you. But don't worry—Jude and your friends step in to ensure you're safe and sound.

The neon lights of the club pulsed rhythmically, casting a wash of color over the buzzing crowd. You were tucked into a plush VIP booth with the England squad, or at least part of, celebrating after a week of intense matches. The night had been perfect so far—filled with laughter, dancing, and a few too many drinks passed around. The music was loud, but the familiar rhythm had everyone swaying, lost in the moment.

You glanced around the table, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched your friends enjoying themselves. Jude Bellingham was seated across from you, his signature playful grin never far from his face as he bantered with Trent Alexander-Arnold, who was lounging next to him with his drink in hand. Next to you, Bukayo Saka was trying to pull Tolami Benson, his girlfriend, onto the dance floor, but she was having none of it, shaking her head and laughing at his enthusiasm.

You had been friends with these guys for what felt like forever. You met them through Trent, whom you had known since you were little. They always made you feel like part of the crew—especially Jude. There had always been something a little different with him, though neither of you had ever talked about it. There was an unspoken closeness between you two, a connection that felt deeper than friendship, though it remained undefined. Tonight was no different; his gaze would occasionally flicker to you through the crowd, and whenever it did, your heart would skip just a bit faster.

“Come on, dance with me!” Bukayo was still pleading with Tolami, tugging at her arm while she shot you a look of mock desperation.

“Help me out here,” Tolami leaned into you, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Can you tell him he needs to stop embarrassing himself?”

You chuckled, leaning back in the booth, your drink cool in your hand. “You might as well give in. Your man’s relentless.”

“No chance,” Tolami replied, shaking her head firmly, but her grin betrayed her affection for Saka. She finally relented and stood, leading him onto the dance floor as he grinned triumphantly and you laughed loudly over the music.

Everything was perfect, and the night was exactly what you needed—a break from life’s stresses, surrounded by people who made you feel at home.

You leaned forward, your elbow resting on the sleek table as you took another sip of your drink, enjoying the fizzy, sweet burn on your tongue. Trent was next to you, casually talking, but your focus kept slipping, drifting to Jude seated across from you. Every now and then, his knee would brush against yours under the table, just enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. Each time, he’d flash you that familiar grin, the one that always seemed to say more than his words ever did.

That beautiful grin softened, and he raised his glass in your direction, a silent toast, though the meaning felt deeper. You smiled back, a little more knowingly this time, wondering if he felt the same unspoken bond that lingered between the two of you. Trent interrupted your thoughts, nudging Jude’s arm, clearly telling some joke that you couldn't hear over the music but that made Jude throw his head back in laughter.

However, the looks you gave the Real Madrid player, made Trent aware of the tension, because after a while, his eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement tugging at his lips. He smirked, raising his drink. “You know, I think I’ll hit the dance floor—gotta show these amateurs how it’s done.”

He winked, pushing himself off the booth, giving you a knowing look before heading toward the thrumming mass of bodies. You laughed, watching him go, but the air between you and Jude immediately shifted once Trent was gone.

Jude leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours, his voice a little lower than before. “Tolami is going to hate us when she sees herself in the middle of Trents and Bukayos dance moves. Maybe we should go…”

You smirked, rolling your eyes at him. “Maybe we should later. Can’t a girl have a peaceful night?”

Jude chuckled, his arm resting casually along the back of the booth, fingers brushing the side of your shoulder. The simple contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you couldn’t help but glance at him. His eyes locked onto yours, lingering for a second too long. There was that look again—the one that made your heart race, the one that always hinted at more than either of you ever said.

“Peaceful?” Jude leaned in, his voice smooth and low, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “You? I don’t believe it.”

You laughed softly, raising a brow at him. “Perhaps you’re just not paying attention.”

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” he said with a smirk, his hand subtly grazing your arm, playful but enough to send a ripple of excitement through you.

But your good mood faltered when you felt it again. That strange sense of being watched, of someone’s gaze—not Jude’s—looking at you. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was—the same guy who had tried to approach you earlier in the night. He was standing by the bar now, staring at you. You had brushed him off twice already, but it seemed like he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Earth to Y/N…?” Jude brought you back to the conversation, his breath warm against your cheek.

You laughed, but the way the man stared made you feel unsettled. Without missing a beat, you forced a smile to hide your discomfort. “You were right, let’s dance,” you said suddenly, standing up and grabbing his hand.

Jude’s brows raised, surprised but pleased as he followed you onto the crowded dance floor, his grip tightening slightly as if sensing your shift in mood. You didn’t look back toward the bar, instead focusing on the music, the flashing lights, and Jude, who was now right in front of you, close enough to chase away any lingering unease.

The music pulsed through the dance floor, a heavy beat vibrating in your chest as you and Jude found a rhythm together. His hands rested on your waist, fingers lightly pressing into the fabric of your dress, guiding you closer with each step. You could feel his breath against your neck, his movements smooth, matching yours effortlessly. Every subtle touch, every brush of his hand sent warmth rippling through you, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Around you, Bukayo was spinning Tolami in a playful circle, both of them laughing as Trent danced nearby, his usual smooth moves showing off. It was a perfect, carefree moment shared with your friends, yet your earlier unease still nagged at the back of your mind.

As Jude leaned in to whisper something teasing, his lips dangerously close to your ear, your eyes caught movement near the bar.

The man’s presence unsettled you, and his persistent attention kept your nerves on high alert. You tried to brush it off, focusing on enjoying yourself and ignoring him. But each time you glanced away, there he was—eyes locked on you. His gaze followed your every move, every part of your body, a silent weight that sent chills racing down your spine, the kind that only faded after another sip of your overly sweet drink.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your friends, trying to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. Maybe he’d finally give up and move on, you hoped. But even as you laughed along with the others, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that he was still there, hovering just out of sight.

Trying not to draw attention, you leaned over to Tolami when she passed by you, her hand brushing yours as you quickly whispered, “That guy from earlier—he’s still watching me.”

Tolami’s smile faltered slightly as she shot a glance toward the bar, immediately spotting him. Her expression tightened, protective and concerned.

“Want me to deal with that git?”

You smiled at her fierce loyalty, even though part of you felt bad for involving her. “Nah, I think he’ll get bored eventually.”

Tolami didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, squeezing your hand reassuringly before returning to Bukayo. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling. Jude’s hand slid around your waist again, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, pulling your focus back to him. He didn’t seem to have noticed what was happening.

As the night carried on, you found it harder to stay focused on the music and laughter around you. Your gaze kept darting toward the bar, each time hoping the man had moved on, but he hadn’t. He was still there, staring, an unsettling smile playing on his lips that disappeared when he took another sip of his drink. Despite your efforts to shake off the discomfort, the weight of his deep eyes made it impossible to fully enjoy the moment.

Jude’s strong arm remained securely around your waist as you danced, his touch gentle, comforting. Yet, he seemed to sense something was off, his eyes flicking to your face, a crease forming between his brows. Without saying a word, he glanced toward Trent, tilting his head slightly in your direction. Trent caught the gesture, raising an eyebrow as if to say, what’s up?

Jude mouthed, “She’s off,” while giving a subtle nod toward you.

Trent’s eyes narrowed with concern as he looked between the two of you, clearly picking up on Jude’s silent observation. He didn’t say anything, but his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was filing away the information for later.

The persistent feeling of being watched gnawed at you, and despite the music thumping in your ears, that man’s smile kept cutting through the sound. It was unnerving, and even though Jude’s presence was reassuring, it wasn’t enough to push the discomfort away.

After a while, Trent, Jude, and Bukayo decided they had enough of the dance floor, pulling away to head back to the plush VIP booth. Jude shot you a glance as if silently asking if you were okay to stay, but you gave him a nod and a forced smile, not wanting to ruin the vibe for anyone else.

“Come on, Tolami, let’s stay a bit longer,” you said lightly, holding onto her hand. She smiled and agreed, both of you swaying to the beat as the boys returned to the reserved area. It was nice to have a moment with her, and for a second, you managed to relax.

But the moment was short-lived.

The man saw his chance. With the boys no longer close by, he pushed off from the bar and began walking toward you. His eyes never left yours, that unsettling smile still fixed on his face. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as he approached, weaving through the crowd with a clear, unwelcome intent.

The man moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate as he navigated the crowded dance floor. Your heart raced, your body instinctively tensing as he approached. Tolami was by your side, but you felt exposed without the group nearby. You exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with her, and her smile immediately faltered as she caught sight of the guy coming toward you.

Before you could react, he was standing right in front of you, much closer than he had any right to be. His presence was invasive, and the smell of alcohol clung to his breath as he leaned in, brushing against your shoulder. His hand grazed your arm, sending a wave of disgust through you.

“I told you earlier,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “I don’t want a drink. I don’t want anything from you.”

He ignored your words, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. “Come on, don’t be like that. Just one dance,” he slurred, his hand lingering on your arm as he moved closer, his body pressing against yours.

Tolami stepped in quickly, trying to push him away. “She said no, git. Get lost,” she demanded, her tone firm but her smaller frame struggling against his weight. The guy didn’t budge, his attention entirely focused on you, his hand gripping your waist now, tighter than you wanted.

“Get off me,” you said, panic rising in your voice as you tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. Tolami tried again, pushing harder against him, but he swatted her arm away with a dismissive laugh.

Fear surged in your chest as you looked around for help, the crowd oblivious to what was happening. It felt like everything slowed down in that moment—until you caught a glimpse of someone moving quickly through the mass of people.

Jude.

At first, he was calm, trying not to make a scene, his presence almost casual as he slid between you and the man, his signature grin in place, though there was a dangerous edge to his voice. He took the guy´s hand out of your waist before he said, “Mate, she’s not interested. No need to ruin a good night.”

The man glared at Jude, clearly not willing to give up, his smile turning into an annoyed grin. “Relax, dude. We’re just having a little fun. Why don’t you go find a girl for yourself? This one’s already taken.”

He grabbed your arm again, and squeezed possessively, making you whimper.

And that’s when Jude’s demeanor shifted entirely.

His polite tone dropped, replaced by something cold and unyielding. His eyes hardened, his jaw clenched as he took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Let go of her. Now.”

For a moment, the man hesitated, sensing the change in Jude’s energy. But when he still didn’t back down, Jude’s temper flared. “I’m not gonna say it again, you fucking idiot. Let. Her. Go.”

By then, Bukayo and Trent had noticed the situation, quickly making their way over. Bukayo’s face was tight with anger, and Trent didn’t bother hiding his irritation either. They flanked Jude, their presence a clear warning. Tolami moved beside you, standing protectively in front as Jude glared down the man who still hadn’t released you.

The guy’s eyes flicked between the group, realizing he was outnumbered and had no chance of winning this. His grip on your arm finally loosened, and he took a step back, muttering something under his breath. Jude didn’t take his eyes off him.

"Walk away," Trent said, his voice cold. "Now."

The man faltered, his cocky demeanor faded as he looked around, clearly second-guessing his decision to push his luck.

But Jude had already ran out of patience. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the man, and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerous. “I’m not going to ask again. Get the fuck out of here, or we’ll make you.”

That did it.

The man’s bravado crumbled under the combined weight of their stares, and he finally took a step back, muttering something under his breath as he retreated into the crowd. You watched as he disappeared into the sea of people, the tension in your chest finally easing.

Jude turned to you immediately, his expression softening as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, the anger from moments ago completely gone.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah… thanks. I didn’t think he’d actually… you know.”

Jude’s hand slid down to your back, pulling you into a reassuring side hug and kissed your temple. “I’ve got you.”

Tolami gave you a tight smile, clearly relieved the situation hadn’t escalated further. “That guy was a total creep. You alright?”

“Yes, now I am, thank you guys,” you said, though the lingering unease hadn’t quite left. You glanced around the group, grateful for their support. Bukayo gave you a small nod, his arms crossed but his expression soft, and Trent offered a light pat on your back, his usual teasing grin reappearing as the tension faded.

“Guess that’s one way to end the night,” Trent joked, though his eyes still held concern.

Jude kept you close as the group slowly made their way back to the VIP booth, his arm still around you as if he wasn’t willing to let go just yet. The warmth of his presence, the security of having him there, chased away the last traces of fear.

As you settled back into the booth, Jude leaned in, his voice soft and only for you. “Next time, just say the word, and I’ll deal with it sooner.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I know. Thanks, Jude. Really.”

[rmadridcore]

Through the Jazz

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: A charming and mysterious encounter at a jazz club leaves Jude captivated by someone who doesn’t recognize him, sparking his excitement for what’s next.

Word Count: 3.3K

Author’s note: Thank you anon for this request, it was so fun writing it, hope you enjoy! 🤍🤍🤍

“God, this lighting makes me want to rethink every selfie I’ve ever posted,” your friend joked, leaning over the table to adjust her hair, her face glowing faintly under the warm red lights of the jazz club.

You chuckled, taking in the ambiance. The room felt like it belonged to another time — dim crimson lighting casting a sultry glow, the hum of a live jazz band serenading the crowd with soulful melodies, and the murmur of quiet conversations blending with the occasional clink of glasses. People swayed in their seats or danced with languid grace, lost in the music and each other.

This was your ideal night out, no thumping bass, no deafening music that made conversations impossible, no rowdy strangers trying too hard to impress. Just you, your girls, a round of delicious cocktails, and a playlist that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

Across the room, seated at a table with a few of his friends, Jude couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He’d come here seeking the same thing as you, a relaxed evening to unwind after a taxing week. This jazz club was one of his sanctuaries, a place where the world’s noise dimmed and the rhythm of the music matched the beat of his heart. Most nights, he came for the music, a drink or two, and easy conversations with his friends.

But tonight was different.

The moment he spotted you, every reason he’d had for coming here evaporated. The music became a soft blur in the background, the drink in his hand forgotten. His friends’ voices barely registered as his focus locked onto you.

You, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware of the attention.

Jude wasn’t used to this. Normally, his natural charm and status worked without much effort. A glance, a few clever lines, and he could start a conversation with ease. But tonight, he found himself overthinking every move. Something about you demanded more than the usual routine — more finesse, more thought.

At first, he assumed you’d noticed him and were playing coy, but after a few more minutes of watching you sip your cocktail, laugh at your friend’s jokes, and sway your leg subtly to the music, it became clear. You hadn’t even seen him.

And Jude liked that.

“She hasn’t noticed you yet?” one of his friends teased, nudging him.

“No,” Jude muttered, his eyes still on you.

“Why don’t you just walk over there and buy her a drink? Easy.”

“I can’t just interrupt her,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. He sounded calm, but inside, his nerves were alive. “She’s with her friends, and I don’t want to come off as... I don’t know, pushy.”

“She’s not going to notice you if you just sit here.”

Jude knew that. But you seemed... different. Sophisticated. Like the kind of woman who’d appreciate something thoughtful and intentional. Charging over with a cheesy pickup line wasn’t going to cut it.

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” your friend asked, gesturing toward your empty Espresso Martini glass.

“Mhm.” You nodded softly, savoring the lingering flavor of the cocktail. It was exactly what you needed tonight — smooth, rich, and just a little indulgent.

“I think I’m going to get another one,” you announced, already craving the next. With your friends’ glasses still mostly full, you decided to head to the bar alone. Sliding onto a stool, you ordered another Espresso Martini and rested your hands on the sleek wooden counter, taking a moment to soak in the cozy hum of the jazz club.

Across the room, Jude saw you stand. His heart gave a subtle leap as you made your way to the bar. His friends exchanged knowing glances, one of them nudging him with a grin. Without hesitation, Jude rose from his seat. This was his chance.

“Wish me luck,” Jude murmured, adjusting his sleeves as he crossed the room.

As you waited for the bartender to finish your drink, the faint, woody scent of cologne caught your attention, drawing you to the presence beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone taking the stool next to yours. He didn’t face the bar; instead, he angled himself toward you.

“Is it just me, or do they really make you earn your drinks here?” His voice was warm, with a playful edge.

You turned toward him, your gaze meeting a boyish smile that was entirely too charming for its own good. He had an easy confidence about him, and you wondered, just for a moment, what his face looked like fully lit by that smile.

“That depends,” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “Did you charm your way up here, or are you next in line to complain?”

Jude chuckled, surprised by your quick wit. He’d been right, there was something different about you.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he said, his grin widening. “Figured I’d give it a shot. Worked better than waiting for someone to serve me.”

There it was — the full smile you’d been curious about. And it didn’t disappoint. His face lit up in a way that made you momentarily lose your train of thought.

“You’re bold,” you said as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “What’s next? Going to critique my cocktail choice?”

Jude leaned slightly closer, inspecting your glass with exaggerated interest. “Let’s see… Espresso Martini?” He paused, feigning astonishment. “No way, I was about to order the same thing!”

The obvious lie made you laugh softly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Okay, you caught me,” he admitted with a low chuckle. “But I’d say it’s a solid choice. Smooth, refined, just the right amount of kick. Kind of like you.”

You gave him a mockingly skeptical look but couldn’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Are you always this focused when you’re people watching, or am I just lucky to be in your line of sight tonight?” he asked, his tone teasing but not overbearing.

“People watching? Bold of you to assume I even noticed you.” Your words were playful, but they were also true. You hadn’t noticed him until now, and that realization seemed to intrigue him even more.

“Well, I noticed you,” Jude countered smoothly. “So either you’re exceptionally good at hiding it, or I’ve just got really bad luck.”

“You’re too smooth for your own good,” you said, sipping your drink. “Do girls actually fall for this?”

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his grin never faltering. “You tell me — are you falling?”

“Hm, not yet,” you teased, holding his gaze. “But you’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Not persistence, love,” he said, his voice dropping into a lower, silkier register. “Just good taste.”

You let out a soft laugh, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “Good taste, huh? Is that what brought you to a jazz club of all places?”

“Good music, good atmosphere,” he said, gesturing to the band. “And apparently, good company.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Do you come here often, or is it just my lucky night?”

“That depends,” Jude replied, matching your playful tone. “Are you always this charming, or is it just the jazz talking?”

“Oh, I’m always like this,” you said with mock seriousness. “You’d better keep up.”

“Who said anything about keeping up?” His voice softened, his words carrying an unmistakable weight. “I’d much rather keep you close.”

His eyes never left yours as he spoke, the intensity behind them making your breath hitch slightly. The flirtation was steady but not overwhelming, his tone perfectly balanced between confident and inviting. There was no rush, no pretense — just an undeniable connection.

The bartender offered Jude a drink. He shook his head politely, refusing it.

“Are you not going to order that Espresso Martini, or was that just a throwaway line?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m actually not supposed to drink much in the middle of the season,” he admitted, leaning back slightly against the bar.

You tilted your head in confusion, your curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, middle of the season? Season of what?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, realizing how casually he’d let that slip. “You know, because of my job.”

You blinked at him, nonchalantly taking another sip of your drink. “What do you do?”

The question was so casual, so devoid of the recognition he was used to, that it hit him like a curveball. For the first time in years, someone his age didn’t seem to know who he was. He swallowed his initial surprise and decided to lean into it, enjoying the novelty.

“I… well, nothing too exciting,” he said, scrambling for something to say. “I run. And stuff.”

You stared at him for a moment before letting out a laugh, the sound light and melodic. He’d been wondering what your laugh might sound like, and now that he’d heard it, it surpassed even his wildest expectations.

“Run and stuff?” you repeated, chuckling. “Is that an official job title?”

He smiled sheepishly, mentally kicking himself for the ridiculous answer, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep hearing you laugh. It was such a beautiful sound, and knowing he’d caused it made his chest swell a little.

Jude had never been the type to flaunt his status, but this was new. Girls usually knew exactly who he was and often used it as their icebreaker. He wasn’t used to this kind of blank slate, and honestly, he loved it. With you, there was no pretense, no assumptions, and no expectations. He couldn’t lean on being Jude Bellingham, the star of England and Real Madrid. He couldn’t impress you with his accolades or fame. Instead, he had to charm you the old fashioned way — with wit, humor, and his own personality. And he found it refreshing.

For once, he wasn’t a star athlete; he was just another guy in a bar.

As he glanced at you, a thought flickered across his mind, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you in silence for a moment.

“What’s the look for?” you asked, squinting at him with playful suspicion.

He grinned softly, his gaze never wavering. “Just wondering how someone like you ended up in a place like this.”

“Someone like me?” you repeated, your curiosity rising.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice calm and sincere. “Someone who could make the whole room disappear.”

The compliment landed like a quiet ripple, subtle but powerful. You felt your cheeks grow warm, flustered by the easy way he said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You quickly brought your glass to your lips, hiding your reaction behind one of the final sips of your Martini.

“Alright,” you said with a smirk, setting your glass down. “That one was good. You get points for creativity.”

Jude’s grin widened as he caught the faint blush still lingering on your face. He could tell his words had affected you, and he loved that he was starting to crack through your calm exterior.

“Creativity?” he repeated with mock offense. “I was just being honest.”

You shook your head with a cheeky smile. “Honest or not, I’ll give you credit. But don’t let it go to your head.”

He laughed lightly, the sound warm and genuine. Complimenting you felt effortless to him. In fact, he could have gone on for hours, listing all the things he was already drawn to about you. But something told him to take his time. If tonight was any indication, there would be plenty of opportunities in the future.

“Does that mean I’ve earned a dance?” he asked, his tone cheeky yet hopeful, his grin widening as he met your eyes.

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… how about I come back in two minutes, and I’ll let you know if you’ve earned it?” you replied, finishing your drink and setting the glass down.

“I’ll take that,” he said, leaning back slightly as you stood, grabbed your purse, and excused yourself to the bathroom for a quick touch up.

Once inside, you gave your reflection a final once-over, ensuring your hair and makeup were flawless. There was something about the way Jude looked at you that made you want to bring your A game.

Meanwhile, Jude let out a deep breath. He’d gotten the green light, but now the real challenge loomed: dancing. Dancing was not his forte, but he was willing to risk it. He glanced over at his friends, who were watching him with knowing smirks. Shaking his head with a soft laugh, he adjusted his shirt and waited. His nerves weren’t focused on you possibly rejecting him but on whether he’d embarrass himself by stepping on your toes.

When you returned, you moved to settle your bill, but the bartender stopped you with a polite smile. “It’s already been taken care of,” he said, gesturing subtly toward Jude.

You turned to him, a playful smirk on your lips as you approached. “So…” he began, his tone laced with anticipation.

“I think you’ve earned a dance,” you teased, pausing for dramatic effect. “But only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

Shit.

Jude let out a nervous laugh, pretty uncertain about the promise.

“Deal,” he said with a grin, holding out his hand.

As he led you to the dance floor, the soft notes of John Coltrane’s My One and Only Love filled the air, a perfect melody for a slow dance.

The space wasn’t crowded, leaving the two of you plenty of room to move freely. He placed his hands gently on your waist, and you looped your arms around his neck. As your eyes met his, he felt the world shrink to just the two of you. The soft glow in your eyes, the delicate flutter of your lashes — it was all so simple yet so captivating. His heart skipped a beat, and a strange realization struck him: he didn’t even know your name, but you already felt special.

You moved together with an ease that surprised both of you. The initial clumsiness he feared melted away as you found a rhythm, the music guiding your steps.

“You’re not bad at this,” you said, breaking the silence with a small, teasing smile.

He chuckled softly. “Not bad? Careful with the compliments, or I might start thinking you like me.”

You laughed, a sound that sent a pleasant warmth through him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re doing okay… for now.” Your head tilted slightly as you gave him a soft, playful look.

“Okay,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, his expression more serious yet still teasing. “This is the best I’ve gotten all night. I’ll take it.”

The proximity between you felt charged. His cologne, woody and fresh, was intoxicating, as was the quiet power of his presence. There was a depth to him you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it intrigued you.

Jude found himself entirely lost in the moment. Being with you felt so different, so exceptional. You didn’t know who he was, and that was precisely what made this connection so meaningful. For once, he wasn’t Jude Bellingham the football star; he was just Jude — a guy trying to impress a beautiful stranger.

And it worked.

He could see it in the way you smiled at him, the way your body moved easily with his, the way you laughed at his jokes. You liked him for him, not for his fame or the life that came with it. It made him feel proud of himself — proud that he could charm you just by being genuine. As the song played on, he wished it would never end.

It did end, unfortunately to him, and as it did, neither of you moved at first, lingering in the intimate space you’d created on the dance floor. Jude wasn’t ready to let go, and for a moment, it seemed you weren’t either. But to his dismay, you were the one to step back first.

Your eyes flicked toward one of your girlfriends across the room, and with a subtle nod, you silently communicated your readiness to leave. She got the message, standing and making her way toward the exit with the others. You turned your attention back to Jude, your charming smile softening the blow of your departure.

“Well, mystery man, this was fun. Thanks for the drink and thanks for the dance,” you said gently.

“That’s it? You’re leaving?” Jude tried to mask the disappointment in his voice, but the slight edge in his tone betrayed him. He didn’t want the night to end — not yet, not like this.

You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye. “What can I say? I’m spontaneous like that.” And just like that, you turned and walked away, leaving him no chance to respond. As you joined your girlfriends at the door, you didn’t look back, disappearing into the night and leaving Jude standing on the dance floor, disappointed yet utterly captivated.

Jude was floored.

You were beautiful, witty, flirtatious, and effortlessly intriguing.

There was a magnetic pull about you, an undeniable charm that made him want to unravel all the mysteries you seemed to carry. Most of all, you made him feel like himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was just a guy — one who was utterly enthralled by someone who didn’t even know his name.

Usually, when Jude approached women, he was bold, direct, sometimes even audacious. But with you, it was different. He found himself holding back, wanting to show you his best side, wanting to prove he was a good guy while still keeping his natural charisma intact. You had him walking a fine line between flirtation and respect, and he loved every moment of it.

Returning to the table, Jude was greeted with knowing smirks and playful jabs from his friends.

“So, when’s the first date?” one of them teased, clearly sensing how smitten he was.

Jude froze. His stomach dropped. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t even know your name.

The realization hit him like a brick wall, and his stunned expression sent his friends into fits of laughter.

“Wait, you didn’t even get her name?!” one of them managed between chuckles.

Jude groaned, running a hand down his face. Usually, he’d fire back with a quick retort, but this time, his friends had a point. He had been completely out of his element, letting you walk away without so much as a way to find you again.

On the way home, Jude replayed the night in his head, trying to figure out how to fix his mistake. He refused to let this be the end. He’d start by asking around at the jazz club, see if any of the regulars knew you. If that didn’t work, he’d make it his weekly ritual to stop by in the hope that you’d show up again.

When he got home, still brooding over his missed opportunity, he tossed his keys on the counter and reached into his pocket for his phone. Instead, his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar.

Pulling it out, he found a folded napkin. His heart raced as he opened it, revealing a note written in elegant handwriting:

For the guy who runs for a living, call me if you need any cocktail recommendations.

Beneath it was your number, complete with a lipstick mark stamped beside it.

Jude couldn’t help the wide grin spreading across his face. His heart pounded as he bit his lip, a mix of relief and excitement flooding through him.

You’d left him with just enough to keep the connection alive — your charm lingering even in your absence.

Yup. He was definitely calling for some cocktail recommendations.

[insidekatmind]

A Chance Encounter~Jude Bellingham

The sun reflected on the wet streets of Madrid, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. You were waiting your turn in a small café, lost in your thoughts, when you heard a deep, familiar voice behind you.

“Excuse me, is the line always this long?”

You turned around and saw him: Jude Bellingham, with his disarming smile and curious gaze. At first, you thought you were imagining things, but he was really looking at you.

“Well… yeah, it usually is,” you replied, trying to mask your nervousness.

Jude chuckled, a warm and contagious sound. “Well, I guess that’s a good sign. Any chance you can recommend something? I’m new here.”

Your heart began to race. “It depends… Do you like something sweet or more of a classic coffee?”

“Sweet,” he said with a grin, “but not too much. Got the perfect suggestion?”

You pointed to the menu, explaining the best options. When it was his turn, Jude ordered exactly what you recommended. Then, to your surprise, he turned back to you.

“Want to sit with me? It’d be boring drinking alone.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking, but you agreed. The two of you sat at a small table by the window, and from that moment, time seemed to fly. You talked about everything: his experiences in Madrid, your dreams, the little coincidences of life. Jude kept looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

“It’s rare to find someone I can talk to like this,” he admitted at one point. “You know, football can make you feel a bit isolated. But with you, it’s… different.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Maybe it’s because I don’t only talk about football.”

He laughed. “Yeah, and that’s what I like about it.”

Hours passed, and when it was finally time to leave, Jude seemed reluctant to let you go.

“Before you leave… would you like to meet again? Maybe not at a café next time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Sure, why not?”

Jude smiled, pulling out his phone to exchange numbers. “Perfect. This has been the best part of my day. And I hope it’s just the beginning.”

In that moment, you realized that maybe, in the chaotic city of Madrid, fate had decided to gift you something special.

[judeswhore]

a lil cute fluffy piece bc i lurv him bad, this is a longer version of this <3

“uhm.. tree?” jude sounded unsure, voice trailing a little higher at the end as the word came out more of a question than a statement. it had you snorting, palm flattening over his back and brushing across as though erasing the imaginary word you’d just written out with the tip of your finger.

“tree? seriously?” you propped yourself up a little further on your elbow, continued running your palm up and down jude’s back, his skin soft and warm against your own. he was laying on his stomach beside you on the bed, one arm under his head to act as a pillow, his other spread out across the mattress. he was facing away from you, eyes closed as he basked in the feeling of your hands on him. he was more than a little tired from training and you were slowly lulling him to sleep.

“it wasn’t tree?”

“no,” you muttered, retracing the same word in slower movements right in the centre of his back. “it was your name.” you heard his soft scoff and just knew he was pulling a face, your own lips tilting into a smile. you tip toed your fingers over his shoulder, fascinated by the goosebumps that rose in their wake.

“you’re full of shit, that was definitely tree.” he argued and you had to laugh at his tone, flicking softly at his ear. jude was terrible at being wrong, it didn’t matter what he was wrong about, he hated it, often refusing to accept it and it never failed to amuse you. there was something ridiculously adorable about how worked up he got over the smallest of things.

“it wasn’t.”

“do another one, and go slow. you’re going fast to confuse me.” he was more than a little demanding and it had you rolling your eyes, huffing out a sigh and shuffling in a little closer. you rubbed his back slowly while trying to think of a word. you’d traced five other words into his skin in the last ten minutes and he’d gotten them all wrong, you weren’t sure he was going to get any right at this rate. to be honest you were convinced he was half asleep and just wanted you to keep touching him.

for a few seconds you simply ran your hand up and down his back, smoothed over his shoulder and down across his waist a little lost in how strangely attracted to his back you were. the skin was smooth and soft, the only marks a couple of lines scratched into the skin just above the waistline of his boxers. your doing and the sight of them made your body hot, tummy knotting as you tried not to get distracted by thoughts of how they’d got there.

given how badly jude had done with the previous rounds you had very little hope he’d be any good at the rest and so decided to be a little more daring with your writing. you leant forward and kissed his shoulder first, smiled softly at the little hum he let out in reply and then pressed the tip of your finger into the centre of his back.

I LOVE YOU

it was slow, slower than any of the other words you’d traced out and as soon as you’d finished you let your arm settle across his body. silence filled the room and you dropped down from your elbow, pressed your face into his skin as though to hide away. you and jude had been dating for a few months and i love yous hadn’t been uttered yet.

you’d thought the words so many times, when he kissed you in the morning, when he brought you dinner during your breaks at uni, when he scored a goal and flashed you that dazzling smile. because you were in love with him. heartbreakingly so. you had no idea however if jude was at that level yet, had no idea if the words had ever been on the tip of his tongue and a part of you hoped he couldn’t recognise the words on his skin.

he’d gone unnaturally still beside you and it made your heart thump unsteadily, worry starting to gnaw at your insides. before you had the chance to fully panic your boyfriend was shifting, rolling onto his back and wrapping his fingers around your wrist. he didn’t meet your gaze but he had that soft smile on his face, the one that always had you melting at his feet and it had your pulse kicking up. with his grip on your wrist he held your arm in front of him, pressed the tip of his finger against your skin and began to write.

I LOVE YOU

he stopped at the crook of your elbow, smile a little wider and your heart stopped, heat rushing over you as a giddy feeling trickled through your blood. for a few seconds you simply stared at him, your eyes locked on his face, his locked on your arm as though he could physically see the words. you drew in a breath and he finally looked over at you, eyes full of adoration.

“yeah?” you sounded breathless and a little like you didn’t believe him, eyes searching his face for any signs of a lie. but his gaze was open and loving, soft and gentle and you had to swallow back the sudden rush of joy that was about to spill out of you.

jude propped himself up on his elbow and shifted onto his side so the two of you were face to face, his free arm reaching out so he could press his palm to your hip. “yeah.” he sounded so sure, so adamant as he slipped his hand around your back and tugged you closer. close enough that he could bump his nose against yours. “i love you.”

a kiss was pressed to the corner of your mouth and then your chin, his lips warm against your already hot skin. your heart felt like it was about to fall out of your chest, a blinding smile lighting up your face as you blew out a breathless laugh. you curled your arm around jude’s neck and pulled him over you, pressed your own kiss to his lips.

“i love you.” you mumbled against his cheek, nosing at his jaw as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his back. you pulled him a little firmer against you when he started trailing kisses over your jaw, heading straight for your ear. he nipped teasingly at the lobe.

“say it again.” you did. you spent the rest of the night pressing the words into his skin over and over, branding them into all your favourite parts of him. jude returned them with teasing scrapes of his teeth and gentle laps of his tongue, muttered them over and over until he was certain you understood just how much he loved you.

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fic)

Chapter 10

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. Mature Language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

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Jude was coming back from the international break today. England had qualified for the Euros, with matches to spare. And he had been the shining star of both the games. Scoring a goal and winning a penalty.

Ananya was so proud of him. But ten days apart felt like forever this time. They spoke everyday, sometimes twice a day, and exchanged messages throughout. It just wasn’t enough though, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with him.

Jude came straight to her apartment from the airport, lifted her by her waist & swung her around like a madman. Legs bumping into the furniture of the living room. She giggled away merrily, while trying to keep them from tumbling over.

‘Easy there, tiger.’

His eyes glinted with mischief.

‘Ooh do I finally get a nickname?’

‘Maybe. You like it?’

He nodded eagerly, & she kissed his nose.

‘Okay then. Dinner is ready, tiger.’

‘Are you on the menu? Coz I’d rather have you.’

‘Maybe for dessert.’

She winked as she untangled herself from his hold. While he stared after her, replaying what she had said & the way she said it. Something had been different about her lately & he was loving every bit of it.

‘Oh my god you are backkk.’

Roma emerged from her room and Jude pulled her into a bearhug too.

‘Gosh you rocked in both the games.’

‘I know right?’

He shrugged smugly and both the girls rolled their eyes at him.

‘So the modesty is only for the cameras, is it?’

Roma quipped, and Ananya chuckled from where she was setting the table.

‘Now don’t gang up on me, you two. It’s my day. Heck its my week.’

‘When is it not?’

The girls said together, looked at each other & burst out laughing. Jude pouted for a second, but joined in the banter later, sitting next to Ananya on the table. His palm never left her thigh throughout dinner.

She had cooked his favourite pasta. Exactly how he liked it. The way his mom made it. 

He leaned over & kissed her cheek, earning a sweet smile. Jude loved it when she remembered the little things & spoiled him like that.

Conversation flowed easily between the three of them, as always. Jude spoke about the new tiny Italian town he discovered where they had their camp, and the girls made plan to visit there. Roma joked about the posters the Italian fangirls carried in the match, saying ‘Marry me Jude’ or ‘Be my boyfriend’. The cameraman had some fun with it, popping it on the screen a few times. Some of the players on the field had noticed it too, & it had become quite a joke in the post match pressers as well.

Jude smiled sheepishly, while looking at Ananya from the corner of his eye.

‘Yeah, some of them came to our hotel too.’

‘Excuse me?’

Ananya’s head whipped in his direction, while Roma wondered if she had opened a pandora’s box.

‘Honest, they did. Just wanted some photos & merch. Then we hung out for a bit.’

‘Define we.’

‘Me & them. And some other lads.’

‘This is not funny.’

‘Wanna see some photos?’

Ananya just stared at him, and he lost the will to carry on the charade.

‘Jeez I left, dove. I just clicked some pics and left. Though I think the girls weren’t too happy about that; lads told me later, honest.’

The smugness & cockiness was on full show. Coupled with a dashing smile.

‘Such a heartbreaker, aren’t you?’

‘Like you aren’t one.’

Roma mutterred from her seat, sipping her third glass of wine, only realising the slip up when she felt the full force of Ananya’s glare.

Jude looked between the two, trying to decipher their code language. Failing miserably.

‘What’s going on, girls?’

‘Just had too many of these, should stop now.’

‘Yes. Yes you should.’

Ananya said pointedly. Roma took her leave soon after. She was supposed to go to a house party though something about the moment felt odd. But Jude was too happy tonight, so he let it go.

He grabbed her waist from behind as Ananya was clearing the table.

‘How about my dessert now?’

His mouth started trailing down her neck & shoulder as he pushed her towards the bedroom.

‘There is choco-fudge brownie in the fridge, your fav.’

She really had gone all out for him today. His lips curved into a smile against the crook of her neck.

‘Can I eat it off you?’

Before she could even process his words, he sat on the edge of the bed & pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs.

His hot mouth was on hers in a flash, & she forgot her last lucid thought, losing herself in his frenzy.

His hungry, sloppy kisses left a wet trail all over her face, neck & exposed cleavage.

‘Oh I missed you. All of you.’

His hands moved under her butt, kneading them with force, making her yelp into his mouth.

‘Did you miss me? Miss this?’

She threw her head back as he bit along her jaw. Everything about their intimacy hit deeper today. Like their bodies knew they were at a pivotal juncture.

‘Yes. So much, Jude.’

It was true. She had missed his touch like hell, feeling empty & starved without it.

Her breathless response spurred him no end. His large, warm hand slid up her fitted top, cupping one of her breasts. 

This was unchartered territory between them. Her eyes flew open instantly, & met his dark, hooded ones. He held her gaze, squeezed harder, making her mewl & tremble in his arms.

‘I thought about these babies every night. Touched myself thinking about doing this.’

His fingers circled the centre of her clothed boob, finding the nipple & rolling it with intent. In no mood to stop. The continued assault made her fall forward, clutching his shoulders.

Tonight was supposed to be the night where she told him she was ready for more. Ready to be fully his. The longing she felt while he was away made her see it even more clearly. 

She had planned this to the T - his fav meal & dessert, his fav fitted top on her, his fav lip-colour on her, leaving her hair open the way he liked, keeping the apartment to themselves tonight. She had spent hours in the salon too, wanting to look pretty for him. She knew he noticed & appreciated these things, & cleaned up well himself for date-nights. 

But she was fast losing control of the situation. He was taking over, with his hot & frenzied moves, dragging her along. Did he read her mind or her mood? Or was he in a mood of his own? She couldn’t tell. But his touch felt firmer tonight, his gaze more intense, filled with purpose. The spark between them more charged.

Her body was responding to him fully, but her conscience kept messing with her head. She had to tell him. Now. Before anything happened. He had the right to know. 

But does it even matter? It’s inconsequential. Why bring it up now?

She tried to debate with her conscience but it was a losing battle. It won’t be inconsequential to him. And if the roles were reversed, she would most definitely want to know this. The start of something special between them could not be done with a heavy conscience.

‘Ju-de.’

Her voice was barely a whisper. He was too occupied with her curves to register that. She spoke louder.

‘Jude…wait.’

He looked up, his hands still continuing his ministrations.

‘Whyyy?’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Now?’

His pleading puppy eyes tried to sway her, but she knew it was the right thing to do. 

Ananya gave him a few moments to compose himself. His hands came down to loosely wrap around her waist, and hers cupped his cheeks. Still in his lap, straddling him.

Jude searched her face, a sudden unsettling dread buildingin the pit of his stomach. He could tell something was coming, something unpleasant. 

She decided to let it out quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

‘Remember our office party last Friday, the one where we all dressed up in ethnic wear?’

‘Yes.’

He already didn’t like the direction where it was going.

Ananya looked down, unable to meet his eyes for this, feeling a weird sense of guilt.

‘That night, Arjun proposed to me. I didn’t see it coming but you were right about this. About him. I-I thought you should know.’

Jude was still as a rock. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. She looked up to his face. It had gone cold. No expression. His eyes were shut - as if wanting to process this in some privacy.

Slowly, his arms dropped from around her, gripping the edge of the bed. Leaving her feeling empty.

She desperately wanted to pepper kisses all over his face, to make him look at her, to show him how none of it meant anything, but she wasn’t sure if any intimate touch would be welcome right now.

So she just stroked his face slowly with her fingers, waiting for him to open his eyes. He did open them, but looked behind her, almost through her.

‘How did it happen?’

His voice was cold, distant. Unfamiliar.

‘I..I don’t understand your question.’

‘When he PROPOSED to you, what did he do? What did he say?’

Her face contorted in discomfort, unable to understand why he wanted these images in his head.

‘We were dancing together and..’

‘You were dancing with him?’

His voice & tone were even but she knew his emotions were anything but that.

‘No. We were all dancing individually, but in a group. 5-6 of us. He was next to me, said he wanted to talk to me, we stepped aside and then he….then he….’

She looked at him pleadingly, to stop this torture, but he wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy right now. Defeated, she continued. 

‘He said I was looking beautiful in that sari & that he….has had feelings for me…for a while. And if I’d like to go on a drive with him.’

‘A drive? Sure, that’s all he wanted that night.’

Jude scoffed mockingly. Unable to shake the image of that leech checking her out, wanting to whisk her away to put his hands on her. 

Facing Jude seemed like such a difficult task suddenly for Ananya. Maybe coz his eyes were screaming bloody murder. And her own conscience kept making her feel like she had wronged him somehow. But she hadn’t. How was this her fault?

‘What did you say?’

Her whole body jerked at his question. He really needed to ask?

‘I-I obviously said no, Jude. Told him I’m not in the right headspace for a relationship, just wanna focus on my work.’

His accusing glare again bore a hole through her, as if this was the wrong response too. As if he expected her to say something else. But they had discussed this before. He knew this is what she was telling people.

She could tell how hard he was trying to keep a lid on his agitation, for her sake. How hard his hands were gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles going white. A volcano simmering inside him, ready to erupt any moment. 

Wanting to comfort him, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing the side of his face. His hands didn’t move from the bed. 

‘Why was I not told immediately?’

‘You were away, baby.’

‘We spoke twice everyday. This was 7 days ago. Why didn’t you tell me that night itself?

‘You were playing Italy next day.’

‘So?’

‘So how could I tell you something that would mess with your mind? When I knew how important that match was and how hard you were training for it? How could I be the reason to meddle with that? I know football comes first for you.’

‘Oh don’t you throw that in my face. Don’t use that against me. Football coming first doesn’t mean I should be kept in the dark about other important things.’

‘Kept in the dark? I am telling you the first time we are meeting in person after that. How is that keeping you in the dark?’

He wasn’t the only one agitated now. Her guilt had made way for a fair bit of irritation. Everything seemed to be blowing up in her face, despite her best efforts to make the right call for everyone. 

‘Would you have told me if Roma hadn’t blurted it out?’

Jude had finally put two & two together on the heartbreaker comment. He understood that exchange now, and why Roma left so quickly after that.

‘Do you seriously believe I would have kept this from you?’

Her voice was small now, filled with hurt.

‘I don’t know. I never thought you of all people would ever hide something like this from me for so long, but you did. So now I don’t know anymore.’

He said honestly. Matter of factly. She was supposed to be different. Jude didn’t think there was an iota of deception in her. So how could she talk to him the whole week & pretend everything was ok? 

It hit her like a truck. Because she could see it was coming from his heart. And she knew he didn’t use any filters in his closed circles. 

She clutched his shirt tightly, trying to shake him. It didn’t make a dent. 

‘Jude, please, look at me. It meant nothing. It means nothing. It’s done. I genuinely thought it was the best thing to do, I couldn’t bear it impacting your performance. That’s the only reason I delayed telling you. There is nothing more to it. Please, try to look at it from my POV.’

Jude laughed a dry little laugh, which sounded almost cruel to her.

‘Your POV? Ok, let’s do that. How would you have reacted if the situation was reversed? If I had kept something like that from you.’

She was stumped. Unable to come up with a response that could further her case.

‘You would have been out of that door by now. I would have gotten zero benefit of the doubt. Guilty on sight.’

She looked down at her hands. Coz he was right. She would take taken this badly. 

‘Because you are you - above any reproach. And I am me, the quintessential slut. Right?’

Ananya shook her head in pain, covering his mouth with her palm.

‘Don’t say that, baby. Please, I can’t.’

She reached out to caress his cheeks but he flinched. The rejection felt worse than a slap in the face.

‘I should leave.’

Jude muttered in a cold voice, almost to himself, as he lifted her out of his lap, placing her on the bed.

She felt numb. Shocked at the turn of events. Broken with the hurt in his voice. 

Coming to life only when he tried to get up.

She clutched his elbow with both hands, placing her head on his shoulder. 

‘Stay. Please. Don’t leave me like this.’

Jude sighed audibly, looking at her trembling form. Fighting every bone in his body that was yearning to hold her. Comfort her.

‘It’s for the best, Ananya.’

She clutched him tighter. Her own name never sounded so foul, so bitter to her. She had gotten so used to his terms of endearment. 

‘I’ll do something, or say something I’ll regret. It’s best I leave right now.’

How did things come to this? What was this game god was playing with her? How did she hurt this precious man so much that he couldn’t bear being in her company? Couldn’t bear looking at her face without flinching? Why did it have to happen now, when she was ready to give her all to him? 

No, she couldn’t let him go like this. She wouldn’t. 

‘Say what you have to say. Don’t bottle it in. It’d be worse.’

‘You won’t be able to handle it, Ananya.’

The cold & mocking tone was back. There was only one way to get it all out of him now. Confrontation.

‘Don’t patronise me. I am a big girl.’

His head whipped in her direction. 

‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me.’

She could see her provocation had had the desired effect. Jude jerked his arm away from her hold and paced around the room.

‘Oh you are quite something, aren’t you? You refuse to listen to reason. You refuse to admit you are wrong. And I am patronising? Jesus fucking Christ what a joke.’

His tone was cutting through her but she needed to get this out of him. Else they would fall into a bottomless pit of misunderstanding.

‘That fucker - I told you from day one. I told you he wanted you. But no, you didn’t listen. Coz you think you are smarter than me. Well in many things you are. But it some things I know better. Especially when it comes to men. I am one of those men. I know what guys want when they look at girls a certain way. But you were too stubborn to admit it. You made it a matter of your independence, like I was trying to dictate your life, to control you, by asking you to stay away from  that leech. You took his calls in the middle of the night, let him bring coffee for you, calling it all harmless, when I told you repeatedly it wasn’t. YOU LET HIM THINK HE HAD A SHOT, ANANYA. When you knew, you knew I hated his guts.’

He lifted her by her upper arms, making her stand in front of him.

‘He didn’t just want to take you on a drive, he wanted to fuck your brains out. To rip that sari off of you. When it should have been me. Only me. To get to picture you like that. To get to do that to you. Just me.’

He pulled her closer for a rough kiss, pouring his frustration into her mouth. When she started moving her lips to his tune, he broke the kiss abruptly.

‘Makes me wonder if you want him as your side-squeeze.’

‘W-hat?’

She choked out, still reeling from his kiss.

‘Makes sense, doesn’t it? Why you always defend him. Why you took this week to maybe think about his proposal, before telling me. What is he, a safety net? If things don’t work out between us? Is that why you have been keeping me away, not letting me have you?’

She stared at him in disbelief. Debating whether or not to really slap him - anything to get him out of this madness spree he was on.

‘You are out of YOUR FUCKING MIND if you think like that.’

‘Oh really..’

‘SHUT UP. You idiot. Fine I fucked up by not telling you sooner. But if you, even for a moment, believe that I want anyone else but you, then you are an even bigger dimwit than I thought. And then you say you can tell these things. Can you not see how I look at you? How you make me feel? The effect you have on me, CAN YOU NOT SEE ANY OF IT?’

Jude was quiet now, this rant had been unexpected. She found herself unable to stop. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

‘I spent days trying to make today perfect. Your fav meal, your fav music, and all of this.’

She pointed to herself, head to toe. All the effort she had made to doll up for him.

‘And this.’

She grabbed a paper bag from her dresser and shoved it in his arms. He looked inside, finding an RM jersey. HIS jersey. HIS name. HIS number. Something he had always wanted to see on her. Something she had said he needed to earn.

‘Any distance between us was not coz of Arjun. Or my ex. It was me. It was us. Like I always told you. And tonight….I wanted to wear this for you. Just this.’

She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to. He got what she meant. 

But Jude was unhinged tonight, letting out every thought unfiltered.

‘Pity sex? Guilty sex? That’s what I get? After waiting for ages, that’s what I get?’

’Sometimes I forget how immature you are.’

Jude grabbed her arms, locking them behind her back, caging her in his hold. Towering over her, leaning down to stare into her eyes.

‘And you are the queen of maturity, right? While I am a juvenile?’

‘When it comes to matters of emotional complexity, of adult relationships, YES.’

‘Who has more experience between us?’

‘SEX is not relationship experience.’

‘Dealing with women is experience.’

‘Dealing? Or stringing them along? Or toying with them? Or sleeping with them once & never calling them back? Or using them just for sex? I AM GLAD I don’t have that experience.’

‘Didn’t know you were making a documentary on my sex life. Is that all you do in your free time?’

‘I don’t get much free time. Given I have to deal with a child like you.’

‘And you’re so proper aren’t you? With all your rules, and do’s and don’ts for anyone to be with you.’

Ananya squirmed in his grip, wanting to break free, to smack his pretty face that was spewing garbage non-stop. Rules. He had the gall to talk about rules. 

‘Let me go.’

Jude tightened his grip further. Sure to leave bruises.

‘Make me.’

‘If you hated the rules so much, who asked you to chase me, huh? I didn’t force you to wait. To give up all the amazing sex you were getting. Didn’t force you into this celibacy. I told you it would take time, I told you on Day 1. Then what fucking rules are you moaning about, huh? Don’t tell me you didn’t indulge in these 45 days. That you didn’t look elsewhere. That you weren’t tempted. Don’t fucking tell me that.’

“I WAS TEMPTED. But I didn’t act on it. Fuck I even stopped the Insta likes. AND I wouldn’t have been tempted at all if I HAD YOU.’

‘Sex. It’s just all about sex with you.’

‘Really? I haven’t touched you in 45 days and THATS WHAT YOU THROW IN MY FACE?’

‘And you aren’t used to that, are you? Jude Bellingham isn’t used to waiting for any girl, is he? Because he always gets what he wants, whenever he wants it. However many times he wants it. Because women just fall at his feet left, right & centre.’

‘When did you become so filthy, so nasty?’

‘Since I met you.’

Jude let her go abruptly, stepping away from her. She rubbed her wrists, trying to soothe the reddened area.

‘Maybe you were right. Maybe this is too complicated. Too hard.’

The haze lifted, and she felt her heart sink to her stomach.

‘Maybe.’

Jude had his back to her now. He rubbed his temple repeatedly, questioning his life choices. Maybe this relationship thing was not for him. Maybe Jobe was right, he wasn’t ready. He had tried with sincerity, but still fallen short. Or maybe they were just not right for each other.

She stayed still, waiting for his next move. Waiting for him to look at her again. He didn’t.

‘Umm…I should probably head back.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Jude picked up his phone from her desk, paused at the door of her bedroom, torn, but eventually walked out. She heard the main door slam on his way out.

That’s when the tears finally started. She fell on the bed face down, letting it all out.

In hindsight, not a single argument had been worth fighting over. It just escalated like mad, due to both their faults, and ballooned into a point of no return. 

Was it that, a point of no return?

She buried her head in the pillow as reality slowly started to sink in.

But she didn’t have to stay there for long. The door flew open two mins later, and there he was.

Jude had tried to storm out but ended up just pacing around the living room. Unable to walk away. He had never been good at letting her go.

No words were needed. She ran to him ecstatically. And he caught her as she jumped into his arms. Pressing her against the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Their lips crashed together - nipping, sucking, kissing with abandon. A clash of teeth and tongues. He won eventually, invading her mouth at will. Both gasping apologies in between kisses.

Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging & pulling, as he continued to wreck her mouth, her face, her neck. 

‘Lets not fight like this again.’

‘Done. And don’t ever walk out on me again.

‘Done.’

They went back to the frantic kissing, but she to break for air a few moments later.

‘Jude - I should have told you earlier about him. Should have listened to you. I am sorry.’

His face suddenly turned all serious, and she wondered if she had walked into a hole again.

‘Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’ll tell him you’re seeing someone, that you’re practically living with someone. That the person is famous, so you want to keep it low profile. And then, you will stay away. No conversation outside of work. No messages. No calls. No social get togethers. I don’t want him in a 5 mile radius of you outside of work. AND, if after this, he still doesn’t get the message, you’ll come straight to me & then I will deal with him my way. And you, dove, will stay out of it. I don’t wanna hear a peep from you then. Understood?’

The absolute authority in his voice left no room for disobeying. She nodded instantly, and was rewarded with a fierce kiss.

‘Now…go & get ready for me.’

‘Huh?’

She couldn't’ think straight, with his tongue still in her mouth.

‘I was promised you in my jersey. Just my jersey.’

She had completely forgotten all else after their fight, but he hadn’t. His eyes glinted suggestively, as he set her down on the ground & patted her ass, nudging her towards the washroom.

‘Don’t keep me waiting. I have plans for you tonight.’

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Phew! I posted ahead of time, yayyy!

This was meant to be angst plus smut but the angsty piece itself went on for 4.4k words. Too much fun :)

You can guess what's gonna happen next. That is the next chapter :)

As always, would love to hear your thoughts / comments / feedback. They keep me going :)

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 10 - A Little Lost | ‘Act II’

word count - 10k

Since the day you left Madrid, Jude had been carrying a small notebook with him everywhere he went. At first, it was just a place to spill his thoughts, a space to process the whirlwind of emotions he didn’t know how to navigate. But as soon as he wrote the first sentence, he realized that every thought, every feeling, was meant for you. The notebook became his way of speaking to you when he couldn’t, of telling you everything he had kept inside for far too long. It started with small things—mundane moments that he would’ve shared with you if you were still in his life. He wrote about away games, detailing flights that were rough with turbulence, knowing you would’ve hated them. You’d always been nervous during flights, especially when the plane shook, and he could so vividly imagine holding your hand, comforting you in that quiet, intimate way only he knew how. He wrote about a brand event he had to attend, the kind you would’ve loved. He pictured you in a stunning dress, his hand instinctively resting on the small of your back as all the people in the room transfixed on your smile and envied him. He missed the way your presence made even the dullest of events shine. But as time passed, the pages of the notebook filled with more than just small anecdotes. They became love letters—confessions he hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud. He wrote about his dreams, both the silly ones and the ones that left him aching. He told you about the night he dreamed of you in his arms, just like before, and how waking up without you felt like losing you all over again. He confessed to arguments with his teammates, like the one he had with Toby, and how in the heat of it all, he had just wanted to call you and vent, knowing you’d calm him down. He wrote about his mum, how she missed you. How she’d bring you up every now and then, asking if you were doing okay, her voice full of concern. His heart would clench every time because he didn’t know. He didn’t know if you were okay, and that uncertainty gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. But most of all, the notebook became a testament to how much he loved you. Page after page, he poured his heart out in ways he never had the courage to do while you were still together. He wrote about how he should have told you how much you meant to him when he had the chance. How he regretted every fight, every misstep, every moment he let you slip away. He described the exact moment he realized he was in love with you—how it hit him like a freight train, and how terrified he was of it. And yet, despite his fear, the feeling never left. If anything, it grew stronger with every passing day, every page he filled. There were entries where he simply wrote your name over and over, as if seeing it on the page made you feel closer to him. Others were longer, detailing his apologies—how sorry he was for everything. For not being brave enough, for letting his insecurities come between you, for pushing you away when all he wanted was to pull you closer. And then, there were the moments when his love for you spilled out uncontrollably, when he wrote about how much he still needed you. How he missed your laughter, your voice, the way your presence made everything feel right. He missed the feeling of your hand in his, the sound of your breathing when you slept next to him, the way you’d nudge him playfully when he teased you. Every small detail that made up your relationship was etched into those pages—his heart laid bare, vulnerable, and raw. Jude carried the notebook like a lifeline, as if each word he wrote to you was a tether, keeping him connected to you in some way. Even though he wasn’t sure if you’d ever read them, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop writing to you, telling you all the things he should have said while you were still his. There was one night, after a particularly bad game, where he sat alone in his hotel room, staring at the notebook. His hands trembled as he picked up the pen, the words spilling out faster than he could think. ‘I love you,’ he wrote, the words stark on the page. 

'I love you more than I know how to explain. And I’m terrified I’ll never get the chance to tell you that now. In my dreams you’re touching my face and asking me if I want to try again.'

It was the truest thing he’d ever written in that book. As the days passed, the notebook filled with his deepest fears, his sincerest apologies, and his undying love. And every time he flipped through the pages, he could feel you there, even though you were so far away. Even though you hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever. It was the only way he knew how to keep you close, even as the distance between you grew wider with every passing day. He just hoped, somehow, some way, that you’d feel it too. That maybe, one day, he could find the courage to give you the notebook, to let you see how much you had always meant to him. But for now, it was his silent confession, his love letter to the one person he couldn’t forget. There were nights when Jude found himself staring at the ceiling, the quiet of his room almost suffocating. He had the notebook nearby, as always, full of the thoughts he wished he could share with you, the words he never got to say. But tonight, it wasn't enough to just write. He missed you physically, emotionally, in every way imaginable. And though he had been longing for the closeness that came with sex, it wasn't just about that. It was the intimacy, the connection, the way your body pressed against his felt like home. The way, in those quiet moments, it was more than just physical-it was how you anchored him, how you made him feel understood and whole. Tonight, though, one memory in particular replayed over and over in his mind.

It was just after your holiday in Greece, the first time you came with him to Madrid. Everything had been easy then, carefree. Nothing had happened yet-none of the arguments, none of the jealousy, none of the heartbreak. In retrospect, Jude realized he should've known even then how special you were to him, but at the time, it had all seemed so light, so effortless. He remembered the day like it was yesterday. The sun had been scorching, golden light spilling over the back garden as you lounged by the pool, the scent of suncream and chlorine in the air. You were glowing in that tiny bikini, the one that had him doing double takes every time you moved. But it wasn't just the way you looked-though you were undeniably stunning-it was the way your laughter filled the space between you. The way it made his heart skip a beat every time you smiled, the kind of smile that reached your eyes and lit up your entire face. You'd been teasing him, like you always did, a playful gleam in your eyes as you suddenly jumped up and ran, your laughter trailing behind you. Jude remembered watching you, a mixture of joy and something deeper-something he couldn't quite put into words yet-bubbling up inside him as he chased after you. The way your skin shimmered in the sunlight, turning a different kind of gold, made his breath catch. He remembered how his hands finally caught your waist, pulling you close, your laughter turning into something softer as you pressed your lips to his neck. It was in that moment, as he held you close by the pool, your bodies slick with water and heat, that Jude had felt something shift inside him. He hadn't known what it was then-maybe he had been too afraid to name it—but he could feel it now. The way your lips on his skin felt like a fire he would gladly burn for. A fire he would willingly let consume him, over and over again. He hadn't realized it then, but it was already happening.

As he lay in bed, Jude dropped his head back into the pillow, the weight of that memory making his chest ache. He wished he could go back to that very moment-to feel the simplicity of it again, to hear your giggle echoing in his back garden as you tried to escape him, only for him to catch you and pull you back into his arms. He wanted to be back there, in the sunshine with you, before everything became so complicated. Before he messed it all up. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, frustrated at the fact that you were so far away. He missed you more than he knew how to express, and on nights like these, he felt that loss in the deepest parts of himself. It wasn't just the physical distance-it was the emotional chasm that had grown between you, a gap he didn't know how to bridge. As the memory faded, Jude reached for the notebook again, flipping to a blank page. He began to write, the pen moving across the paper as he tried to capture that feeling, that moment with you, in words. Maybe one day he'd find a way to share it with you. Maybe one day, you'd know how much that memory meant to him, how much you meant to him. But for now, it was just another secret confession, scrawled in ink, tucked away in the pages of a notebook that was quickly becoming a record of everything he was too late to say. He closed his eyes, the image of you in that bikini, laughing as you ran from him, still fresh in his mind. The ache in his chest lingered, wishing for just one more chance to hold you, to feel your warmth, to make you laugh again. He laid there for a moment and as much his heart was aching… something else began to ache. Jude couldn’t get the image of you in that bikini out of his mind. He couldn’t get the images of him taking it off you out of his mind. 

As the scorching Spanish sun beat down on the pool in the back garden, laughter and desire intertwined.  You found yourself in a playful mood, donning a skimpy bikini that showcased your gorgeous figure—a sight that immediately captured Jude's attention. He stood tall by the pool, his athletic build glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His tanned skin, a golden hue, contrasted beautifully with his deep brown eyes, which at the moment were fixed on you with unapologetic desire. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you teased him, running around the pool deck, your laughter echoing across the garden. The game of cat and mouse began, and Jude, eager to catch his prey, gives chase. You giggled as you darted between the sun loungers, feeling the warmth of the stone beneath your bare feet. His footsteps closed in on you, and just as he reached out to grab you, you let out a playful squeal. Jude's strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you found yourself enveloped in his embrace. He pulled you close, your bodies pressing together, the heat between you intensifying. You wiggled playfully, feeling the hardness of his muscular body against your soft curves. His hands roamed freely, exploring your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"Gotcha, angel!" Jude whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending a delightful tingle down your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, a perfect mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins. He tightened his hold, lifting you effortlessly off the ground and carrying you towards one of the plush pool loungers nearby. Gently, he laid you down, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze sent a jolt of arousal through your body. You reached up, running your hands over his hair, gripping it, pulling him closer for a kiss. His lips claimed yours passionately, and you responded eagerly, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm. As the kiss deepened, Jude's hands wandered, He untangled the ties of your bikini top with skilled fingers. He pulled away slightly, his eyes sparkling with lust, and then slowly he moved his lips down your body, using his teeth to untie the knot, sending a thrill through you. Your tits spilled into his waiting hands. He worshiped them with his touch, squeezing and caressing your sensitive nipples. Moans of pleasure escaped your lips as his skilled fingers worked magic, driving you to the brink of ecstasy. He lent down, replacing his fingers with his warm mouth, suckling your nipples and leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. Your hands grasped his shoulders, urging him closer, craving the feeling of his skin against yours. Jude's hands traveled lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms. He hooked his fingers and slid them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze and the Madrid air. The cool breeze brushing against your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise. His name fell from your lips in a hoarse moan the moment you felt his fingers running through your wet folds. With his fingers between your legs now, you were practically dripping for him. You looked at him with your jaw slacked and lidded eyes. He unraveled you with each movement.  His fingers making quick work sinking knuckles deep inside you. His fingers hit the perfect spot inside you with every thrust and curl of their tips. Your back arching uncontrollably. A puddle on the surface of the chair you were laying on formed, your juices running down his hand. The way his breath felt against your sin as he kissed it and the force of his fingers, it all had you rushing towards your orgasm. You whimpered with gasps of air. Your pussy was absolutely soaked but you couldn’t think, your mind had gone blank.  

“Let go, baby. Be a good girl f’me. Cum f’me.” Jude said sternly instructing you and you wasted no time at all. Your orgasm was never ending. He persistently kept his fingers at work inside of you, slowing slightly but drawing your high out.  “Good girl. So fucking good f’me.” Jude cooed as you attempted to hold onto his muscular arm to prevent him from moving any more. He gave way and removed his fingers as he kissed your lips with his before he drew away and forcefully pushed his thumb in between your lips. You willingly opened them for him and looked at him doe eyed and desperate for more. He kept your lips agape as he slowly spit into your mouth before hungrily kissing you again. Jude wrapped your legs around his waist. He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your soft core. You arched your back again desperate, inviting him to take what felt rightfully his. With one swift motion, he entered you, filling you with a delicious fullness. The sensations were overwhelming as Jude began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. His eyes never leaving yours, and you could see the raw desire reflected in their depths. He sets a relentless pace, his body pounding into yours, each stroke eliciting moans of pleasure from both of you.

"Oh fuck, Jude," you cried out, your voice hoarse with passion. "Yes, right there!" The pupils in his dark eyes dilated when he felt his cock pulse inside you. Every movement was slow, deep, and intentional. His lips curled into a smug smile hearing that he was doing a good job. You dragged your ankle down his back muscles. He was finding out quickly exactly how to touch you, how to drive you wild. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, ensuring every thrust hits your sweet spot. The sounds of your pleasure fill the outdoor air—moans, gasps, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin. As the tension builds, you can feel another orgasm approaching, a tidal wave of sensation ready to crash over you. Jude could sense your impending release and quickened his pace, his own breath becoming ragged.

"Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice thick with lust. You moaned pulling him down to you more by the back of his neck dragging your nails harshly down his muscular back. He rested his forehead against yours sweetly as he continued to rail into you.  “Cum one more time f’me baby. Feels so good. Doing so well f’me.” He whispered between the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy. His thrusts sped up, rolling his hips into you as he chased his own orgasm. Your body tightened around him, and you cried out his name as the waves of pleasure washed over you once more. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you rode out the pulsating orgasm, your body trembling with its intensity. He thrusted harder, faster, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the bliss. He sunk his teeth into his perfect lower lip. You silently begged him to cum. His head tilted back. With a final powerful stroke, he emptied himself deep within you. Ropes of his cum filled the velvety inside of your pussy. He pumped you full gradually and slowly stilling. Your pussy continued to flutter as you panted beneath him. Your chest rising and falling. He softly stroked your hair and gently kissed you. “Did so good f’me.” He breathed, his voice filled with admiration. You smiled breathlessly as he kissed you again in a way that Jude prayed you could feel just how much he adored you with each one. In the aftermath of your passion by the pool, Jude collapsed onto the small space on the lounger, moving you to be on top of him now, both of you sweaty and satiated, keeping your bodies intertwined. You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As you stood, fingers grazing over the delicate fabric on the rack inside the department store, you let out a heavy sigh. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, and the artificial high of retail therapy wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. You thought the expensive price tags and shiny new outfits would mask the ache, but instead, it all felt hollow.Winnie came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist in a gentle hug. She giggled softly, trying to lift your spirits. 

"At least you'll have an amazing top to wear when you're ready to get back out there," she teased lightly. But the words, meant to comfort, only made you feel worse. Your eyes welled with tears, and you sniffled, turning away from the clothes.

"I don’t want to get back out there, Win," you whispered, voice trembling. "I don’t want to show off for anyone else. I don’t want any other eyes on me… it’s not the same." You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away before it could fall. Winnie turned you gently, her face softening in concern.

“Hey, it’s okay to feel that. You’re hurting, and no amount of shopping is gonna fix that.” You sighed, blinking back more tears, your throat tight. 

"I just… I only want to look good for him. Jude. He’s the only one who made me feel alive, you know? I used to get dressed up and know he’d look at me like I was the only person in the room. Now… I don’t feel like that anymore. I feel dull, like nothing will ever be the same without him."  Your hand fell from the hanger, the top you were about to buy suddenly meaningless. Shopping couldn’t fill the void Jude left behind, no matter how many racks you combed through. Winnie squeezed you tighter, trying to ground you as your words hung heavy between you. She rested her chin on your shoulder, feeling your pain as if it were her own.

 “I know, babe,” she whispered, trying to soothe you. “It’s okay to feel this way, you know. You don’t have to be ready to move on. It’s okay if all you want is him.” You shook your head, blinking back more tears as you stared blankly at the clothes in front of you, the vibrant fabrics and trendy designs suddenly feeling meaningless.

 “I feel so stupid,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should be mad, right? I should be out there, showing him what he’s missing, living my best life. But I can’t. I just… I can’t.” Winnie turned you around in her arms, forcing you to look at her.

“You’re definitely not stupid. You’re in love. That’s not something you just get over in a snap. And you’re allowed to feel how you feel, even if it’s messy or complicated.” You sniffled, biting your lip as your eyes darted to the ground.

“But it’s more than that, Win. I wish I wanted to go out, find someone else, let some random guy sweep me off my feet, make Jude jealous. Hell, I wish I wanted to go fuck someone else but I don’t. I really don’t. The thought of someone else… It makes me sick. The idea of anyone touching me the way Jude did… it’s not even a comparison.”  Your voice cracked as the weight of your feelings pressed harder on your chest. “I tried that. I just want him,” you admitted, your heart breaking with every word. “I want to be in his bed, wearing his t-shirts, listening to him laugh at something stupid I said. I don’t want to go out and meet anyone new. I don’t want to pretend like I’m okay. I just want… him.”  Winnie sighed, her face soft with sympathy as she watched the tears finally fall. 

“I get it. I do. And I wish I could say something to make it all better, but I can’t. Only time will help… or maybe Jude will come to his senses and fix this… would you want him to?” She paused, her eyes searching yours, as if she was trying to find some glimmer of hope within you. You pouted at her, giving her the obvious answer that of course you did.  “Well, until then, you’ve got me. And we’ll get through this together, okay?” You nodded weakly, but the ache in your chest didn’t lessen. You pulled away from Winnie slightly, looking around the store, your heart heavy. 

“I just don’t get it, you know? I used to love coming to Bergdorfs. I used to get so excited to find something new, to go out and show it off. But now… now it feels like none of it matters.” You ran your fingers over a top you had been eyeing earlier, the fabric soft beneath your fingertips, but it didn’t bring you the same joy it once would have. “I don’t even want this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Winnie. “I know I sound dramatic but none of it means anything without him. What’s the point of getting dressed up or going out if he’s not there to see it? If he’s not the one taking it off at the end of the night?” Winnie’s arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, as if she could shield you from the pain with her embrace. 

“You don’t have to do it for anyone else,” she murmured. “If you don’t want to go out, don’t. If you don’t want to move on right now, don’t force it. It’s okay to miss him, and it’s okay to still want him. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Even if it’s hard.” You sighed heavily, the exhaustion of everything catching up with you.

“I’m trying,” you said softly. “But it’s like… suddenly, New York isn’t home anymore. Nothing feels like home without him. The city feels empty, cold. And I’ve never felt so far away from him… from myself.”  Your voice cracked again, and Winnie’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not far from yourself,” she said gently. “You’re just hurting. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to grieve this, to feel lost. But you’ll find your way back. Whether that’s with Jude or without him, I know you will.” Her words brought a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remained.

“It just doesn’t feel like home without him,” you repeated, more to yourself. “He is my home, and now I don’t even know where I am anymore.” Winnie pulled you in tighter, her heart breaking for you.

 “I know, babe. But we’ll figure it out. Whether that means getting back to him or finding your own way again. I’m here, and we’ll figure it out.” For a moment, you just stood there, holding onto her, the weight of your heartbreak pressing down on you. You wanted to believe her, that you’d find your way back to yourself, but right now, all you could think about was how much you missed Jude. How much you still loved him, even after everything. You sighed again, pulling away from Winnie and running a hand through your hair.

 “I don’t want to meet anyone else, Win. I don’t want to move on. I just want him.” Winnie nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. 

“I know. And that’s okay. You don’t have to move on. But maybe… maybe you should tell him that.” She sympathetically smiled at you. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the black sheer lace dress you had bought on a whim clinging to your body like a whisper. You could see your underwear beneath the fabric, and you almost laughed at how absurd this all felt. Yet, you couldn’t help but indulge in the fantasy for a moment, wondering what it would be like if you did go to Aurelian’s party. The new clothes from your shopping spree with Winnie sat scattered around you in your wardrobe, a reminder of how hard you were trying to distract yourself. An hour and half a bottle of Dom Pérignon later, you were sitting on the floor of your wardrobe, staring at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen. The bubbly had loosened something in you, making you braver—or more reckless, depending on how you looked at it. Without thinking too much about it, you picked up your phone and shot off a flirty text to Aurelian, switching to French. 

‘Qu'est-ce que je suis censée porter à ta fête si je viens? Quoi qu'il en soit, je me sens déjà un peu sous-dressée…’ [What am I supposed to wear to your party if I come? Though, I already feel a little underdressed]

You pressed send before you could stop yourself. Your heart raced as you waited for a reply, feeling a strange mix of excitement and guilt swirl in your chest. When Aurelian’s response finally came through, you bit your lip as you read it, his words making your cheeks warm. 

‘Je ne t'ai jamais vue sans être magnifique. Je suis presque sûr que ce n'est pas les vêtements qui comptent…’ [I’ve never seen you look anything but magnificent. I’m pretty sure it’s not the clothes that matter.]

His implication was clear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself smiling at his smooth compliment, your heart beating a little faster. You could feel the tension in the air between you, even through a phone screen, and for a moment, you wondered if you should let yourself lean into it.  Aurelian's next message popped up with an innocently enough question. 

 ‘Alors, à quoi pensais-tu?’ [So, what were you thinking?]

You stared at the text, the decision looming large before you. You could send him a photo right now—show him the drunken, seductive mess you were in this dress, the dress you probably wouldn’t have worn for anyone but Jude in the past. A part of you wanted to flirt, to let Aurelian see you this way, to forget for just a moment how much you missed Jude. 

But as you sat there, the phone still in your hand, you sighed. You couldn't shake the ache inside you, the ache that had nothing to do with Aurelian. It was Jude who filled your thoughts, Jude who made your heart race when you sent those types of flirty, suggestive photos. Jude who you were still in love with, even if it hurt like hell.You let your phone drop beside you, not replying to Aurelian’s message. The thought of sending that picture, or even entertaining the idea of someone else, just didn’t feel right. It didn’t fill the void you were hoping it would. It only reminded you of what you were missing—what you still wanted, even though you had tried to convince yourself otherwise. With a heavy sigh, you rested your head against the a cabinet drawer, the sheer dress now feeling more like a reminder of the distance between where you were and where you wanted to be. You weren’t ready to move on. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You were sitting on your couch, half-watching the cityscape outside your window mindlessly when your phone rang. It was your mum. You answered with a smile, but the moment she mentioned your dad had watched the Madrid match, your stomach twisted in knots. 

"He was so excited, you know? Your dad, watching the game. And then... well, I’ve been feeling like I’m keeping something from him," she said softly but you could almost hear her smile through the phone. "I mean, about you and Jude." You froze, your throat tightening. 

"Mum, we’re not... we’re not seeing each other anymore." You sheepishly admitted hating each word as it came out of your mouth.  

"What do you mean? I thought—" There was a pause on the other end of the line, the confusion hanging in the air like a weight. 

"It’s over," you said quickly, the words feeling foreign, like they didn’t belong to you. "I ended it." With every follow-up question she asked, you felt your resolve crumbling, the walls you had built up to protect yourself beginning to crack. And then, as you tried to explain, your voice broke, a sob you hadn’t expected rising in your chest. Tears slipped from your eyes, and it was like you couldn’t stop them once they started. You never cried, not like this, not with your mum. The moment she heard the hitch in your voice, her tone shifted. She dropped into the familiar comfort of French, her voice soft and maternal. 

"Ma chérie, oh non, mon bébé, ne pleure pas. C’est bon, je suis là. Papa et moi, nous sommes là pour toi. Viens nous voir, viens à Paris.” [My darling, oh no, my baby, don’t cry. It’s okay, I’m here. Dad and I, we're here for you. Come see us, come to Paris.] Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, but instead of comforting you, they made the ache worse. You cried harder, the sobs tearing out of you, unexpected and overwhelming. There was something about her offer, the thought of going back to Paris with a broken heart, that made the hurt feel even sharper. Paris had always been your sanctuary, your favorite place on earth. You didn’t want to taint it with the sadness that now clung to you like a second skin. The idea of walking those familiar streets, eating at your favorite cafés, all while carrying the weight of your broken heart—it was unbearable.

"I... I don’t think I can, Mum," you choked out between sobs. "I don’t want to go to Paris like this. I really don’t want to ruin it." You muttered.

"Rien ne peut ruiner Paris pour toi, ma chérie.” [Nothing can ruin Paris for you, my darling.] She soothed, her voice soft and steady. "Paris misses you almost as much as we do." But you shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it.

"I feel so lost. I know I haven’t known him for that long but I don’t even know who I am without him anymore. And if I go to Paris like this, I’m scared it’ll never be the same again.” 

“Tu es forte, mon amour. Plus forte que tu ne le penses. Et peu importe ce que tu ressens maintenant, tu retrouveras ton chemin. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.” [You are strong, my love. Stronger than you think. And no matter how you feel now, you will find your way back. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.] Her words were like balm on a wound, but it didn’t stop the fear from gnawing at you. You hadn’t realized how deep this heartbreak had cut, how much it had seeped into every part of your life. Even the thought of Paris, a place you’d always associated with joy and love, felt tainted now. 

"I just... I don’t know how to do this, Mum. I don’t know how to move on." You wrapped your arms around yourself, the tears slowing but your chest still heavy. Telling your mum you were hurting made you feel like a little girl. 

"Tu n’as pas à savoir maintenant. C’est pour ça qu’on est là. Come to Paris, ma chérie. Papa et moi, on s’occupera de toi." [You don’t have to know right now. That’s why we’re here. Come to Paris, my darling. Dad and I will take care of you.] You cried quietly as she continued to console you, her words soft and loving, trying to bring you comfort in a moment where comfort felt impossible. You knew she was right, that eventually, you’d have to find your way back to yourself. But right now, in the middle of the heartache, it felt like you were drifting, lost and untethered.

After what felt like your and Jude’s denouement you were struggling with the overwhelming weight of your emotions crush your resolve. You couldn’t do this alone—not anymore. The only person you could think or want to call was Whitney. Whitney, who had always been there for you, who understood the unique challenges of loving an English footballer, a man with a similar life as Jude. With trembling hands, you dialed her number.

“Helllooo” Whitney sang. “What’s up?” When Whitney picked up, her voice was warm and familiar, instantly calming some of your anxiety. But you couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped you. 

“Whit… can I come stay with you? Please? Whit…” You whimpered as you began to bawl.

“Of course, you can. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The concern in Whitney’s voice was immediate. You tried to gather herself, but the tears kept coming. 

“I just… I can’t be here. I need to get away. I need to be somewhere safe. I can’t be alone like this.” You wept as your whole body shook of fear and heartbreak.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Whitney assured you. “Just get on the next flight over here. Come be with me. Trent and I are here for you always.” Whitney sympathetically told you. 

By the time you arrived at Trent and Whitney’s house, you were exhausted—emotionally, physically, completely drained. You stood at the doorstep, your heart heavy as you padded in the lock code Whitney gave you. As you opened the door, the alarm bell rang through their massive home that was filled to the brim with love and warmth that made you want to cry upon entry. The other thing that made you want to cry was their sweet little two year old girl, Teddy running towards you. Her bare feet pitter pattering on the flooring.

“Y/N!” Teddy exclaimed, her tiny face lighting up with pure joy. “Miss! Missed!” She giggled as the dimples in her cheeks sank.  You felt your heart swell at the sight of this little girl you loved so much. You dropped to your knees and scooped Teddy up into a tight hug, letting the warmth of the embrace soothe you for a moment. But then, the tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable. Trent appeared at the door next, concern etched on his face. He watched as you clung to his daughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. Without a word, he walked over and gently lifted Teddy from your arms. He kissed your temple softly, offering silent comfort.

“It’s okay,” Trent murmured, holding Teddy close as she babbled nonsense about missing you happily in his arms. “Whatever’s going on. You’re gonna be alright.” He cooed. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Whitney said softly, leading you into the cozy living room after she appeared at your side, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. You settled on the couch, and Whitney handed you a glass of wine. “Talk to me,” Whitney urged gently. “Tell me what’s going on.” You took a shaky breath, staring into the wine glass as if it held all the answers. You knew you needed to talk, to let it all out—but the words felt stuck in your throat. Whitney waited patiently, her presence a steady, calming force. 

“I messed everything up, Whit. I tried to protect myself, and I ended up pushing him away. I don’t know what to do.” You whimpered. Finally, you looked up, your voice trembling. Whitney reached out, placing a comforting hand on your knee. 

“I hardly think you messed everything up. He cares so much about you. I’m here to listen so let’s start from the beginning,” she said softly. “I’m here for you, Y/N. Whatever it is, whatever is best for you, we’ll figure it out together.” As the night went on, you poured out your heart, the tears falling freely as you recounted everything that had happened with Jude. All the things Whitney already knew, all the things Whitney didn’t. All of it, dirty and otherwise. She listened, offering support and understanding in a way only she could. The wine helped to dull the edges of your pain, but it was the kindness and warmth of Whitney and her little family that truly began to soothe the deep ache inside you. After a long, emotional conversation, Whitney noticed your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. But she also knew that you needed more than just one person to lean on right now. With a reassuring smile, Whitney pulled out her phone.

“I think it’s time to bring in another opinion. It’s only right,” Whitney said, giving you a wink as she tapped on her screen. Moments later, the familiar face of Winnie appeared on the screen. Winnie’s bright smile greeting you with her usual energy. 

“Wow, thanks for the invite! I didn’t know you were going over Y/N.” Winnie teased seeing you and Lauren on the same couch but then she paused, taken aback by the expressions on your faces. “What’s going on? Look like you’ve had a good cry.” She asked a bit cautiously.  You managed a small smile as Whitney explained the progression of your situation. Winnie listened intently, her face softening with empathy as the story unfolded. She was rambunctious and fun, but she also had a deep well of understanding that made her the perfect person to talk to when things got heavy. After that night at the club, Winnie had been there for you. Both of these girls always were.

“So let me just recap here.,” Winnie said, leaning closer to the camera as if she could step through the screen to be with you. “You and Jude are head over heels for each other, but you’re both too scared to admit it, so you’re pushing each other away, sleeping with other people and then just not talking about it?” Winnie summarized the situation a bit too bluntly. 

“Win… they’re in love with each other.”  Whitney rebuffed. “Sure, Jude’s been fucking stupid but Y/N now has created distance… rightfully so by the way.” Whitney turned to you, squeezing your leg. “Problem is, now, there’s a chasm they don’t know what to do with. Y/N is trying to weigh what to do.” Whitney sadly smiled. 

“What’s gonna hurt less.” Winnie responded. “But…” Winnie piped up again. “I mean… a little pain isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s horrible but on the other side of it... I think maybe an in person conversation, if you can manage it might be good.”

“I agree. And then if the direction turns you get to decide. You get to call it. You clearly love each other and saying it over the phone just isn’t right. Not when it’s real love.” Whitney ever the romantic cooed. You blushed at the ideas, nodding hesitantly, trying to keep your composure. 

“I really love him… I think.” You pouted at them. Feeling not much better about Jude specifically but much better talking with them. “I’m such a fucking sap now. Whitney, you did this to me.” You whined falling into her lap dramatically. Both girls giggled as you dragged yourself to sit back up.  

“Love is amazing!” Whitney sang kissing your forehead. She had no quam introducing you and Jude. She thought love was great. You usually watched Whitney’s relationship from a distance, thinking it was crazy she was down so bad for a man but now you understood her more than ever. And at the moment you envied her happy relationship more than ever. 

“The make up sex will be amazing!!” Winnie added, mocking Whitney’s tone. Whitney chuckled, shaking her head. Before you could respond, Teddy came bounding into the room, her little feet pattering against the floor.

 “Mama!” she called out, her eyes lighting up as she spotted Whitney. She climbed up onto the couch clumsily, nestling herself into Whitney’s lap, and wrapped her tiny arms around her mother’s neck. Whitney kissed Teddy’s cheek, holding her close as she continued the conversation.

“It’s not easy, Y/N. But pushing him away because you’re scared will only hurt you both more.” You and her both exchanged sad smiles. Teddy let go on Whitney and clumsily flopped onto your lap giving your thigh a hug smushing her face against your leg. She could sense your sadness and even though she probably couldn’t understand why, her silly hug did more than she knew. Just after, Trent appeared in the doorway, looking slightly sheepish. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, running a hand over his hair. “She slipped away from me. She’s quick y’know.” He laughed. You smiled at the sight of Trent, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the normalcy of the scene. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “I could use all the cuddles I can get.” You cooed. Trent chuckled, giving a quick hello to Winnie and then Teddy a playful nudge before scooping her up. Whitney gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Trent plopped onto another seat in the room with Teddy, the two of them falling into their own little conversation. 

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said softly. “But you should be honest with yourself about how you feel, you should ask him point blank how he feels, you deserve someone who will love you fearlessly. Not all this bullshit he’s been doing. At the end of it all, do what is right for your heart, your peace. Just please take care of this girl because she means a lot to me.” Whitney smiled as she pinched at your waist.  Winnie nodded on the screen in agreement, her expression serious and stoic. 

“Exactly. We’re here for you, Y/N. Whatever you decide, you’re not alone in this but also don’t pretend cheap navy polyester blend sheets are ever going to make you feel the way white Italian made Frette sateen do.” She meant it metaphorically but maybe seriously as well about bedroom antics. Whitney shrugged partly agreeing about the bed linen comment. You were a group of three, well four including Teddy, very spoiled girls. You looked at the two sisters and then at Teddy, who was now contentedly playing with the hem of Trent’s top. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so lost. After the conversation with Winnie wrapped up, Whitney decided it was time to shift the mood to something lighter. 

“You know what we need? A Chinese,” she declared, already pulling up the menu on her phone. 

“Whit, baby, you know I can’t have that—I’m in season.” Trent, now lounging comfortably in the corner of the couch with Teddy perched on his lap, raised an eyebrow in protest.

“You’ll survive. Y/N likes the place we order from here so that’s what we’re getting.” Whitney shot him a playful but firm look. Trent sighed, defeated, while Teddy giggled at her father’s expense. 

“Dada no hungry?” Teddy chirped asking Trent, grabbing at his shirt. “Like ‘neese.” She giggled, unable to properly pronounce ‘chinese’ just yet.

“Nah, baby bear. I’m very hungry!” Trent corrected her as he dramatically squeezed Teddy tight to him, locking her in place as he began to nom on her chubby cheek teasingly as she squealed and giggled. You sighed hearing Trent call Teddy his little nickname, a two year olds giggle booming in the room, your best friend watching her family. You felt so lonely in a moment when you couldn’t have been less alone. Soon enough, the smell of takeout filled the house. You gathered around their dining table. Trent’s eyes lingered longingly on the orange chicken, but he dutifully stuck to his more athlete-friendly meal, occasionally sneaking glances at everyone else’s plates.

“Mama, no tanks.” Teddy, still on Trent’s lap, scrunched her nose at the sight of broccoli on her plate. It was simply genetics but there was something funny about watching both Trent, over orange chicken, and Teddy, over broccoli, give Whitney their best identical puppy dog eyes pleading for her approval. 

“Ted, baby,  gotta eat those please. Just a few bites for me, cute girl.” Whitney replied, not missing a beat. “You… “ her eyes flashed to Trent. “Learn some self control. Eat your grilled chicken and set an example for your daughter.”  She giggled. “Eat your broccoli.” She smirked, moving a container more towards them. With a dramatic sigh, both Teddy and Trent picked up a piece of broccoli and nibbled at it. As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally, drifting back to the earlier topic. Trent, who had been mostly quiet regarding the Jude situation, finally chimed in.

“Look, Y/N, I get it. Jude’s been a…” He paused momentarily to cover Teddy’s ears. “He’s been a fucking idiot because he’s scared, just like you are. But being scared doesn’t mean you should just give up on the whole relationship.” He cooed. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth, and you looked at Trent, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. 

“T, Jude and I aren’t even in a relationship. We’re just… I don’t even know what we are. And at the moment really nothing at all.”  You sighed, upset that it wasn’t like you were repairing something with a boyfriend. Jude was nothing to you because you never got to labels and that was the problem. Trent leaned forward slightly, his expression serious but kind. 

“You say that and I know that Jude should’ve fixed exactly that but you’re more than just nothing, that’s for sure. But if you just push it all away and ignore what you want, you’re never going to know what it could be.” He softly smiled at you. Whitney nodded in agreement, giving you a similar gentle smile. 

“I don’t want to pile on because I know it’s hard but T’s right, you know. You can’t let fear control this. Jude should be the one to fix it but if it’s something you want it’s worth maybe at least asking one more time.” Whitney pouted a bit being a hopeless romantic. You took a deep breath, letting their words sink in. You knew they were right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Still, there was something comforting about the way you all sat around the table, talking through the mess of emotions that had been haunting you for weeks. When you finished your meal, you felt a little lighter, as if the weight of your fears had been shared among you all. Teddy, after finally eating her vegetables, grinned triumphantly as Whitney handed her a small bowl of ice cream.

“See? Not so bad. You and Daddy are so picky sometimes ” Whitney teased, running her hand over Trent’s head whilst pressing a kiss to Teddy’s hair. You smiled, feeling a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this confusing thing with Jude. And if you stumbled along the way, at least you knew you had people who would catch you.  As the evening wound down, Whitney guided you to the guest room, a comforting hand on your back. You carried Teddy, who insisted on following you two, her tiny arms wrapped around your neck. When you reached the room, you gently placed Teddy down before flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. The weight of the day, the emotions, and the uncertainty all seemed to catch up with you at once. But the despair was short-lived as Teddy, ever the little bundle of joy, clambered up onto the bed beside you, mimicking your flop with a giggle. The sound was infectious, and despite yourself, you found a smile breaking through. You leaned over and planted a few playful kisses on Teddy’s cheeks, each one drawing more giggles from the little girl. It was moments like these that made everything feel a bit more manageable. Whitney sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a sympathetic smile. She knew you were still hurting, still conflicted, but she also knew that you needed to confront those feelings head-on. 

“You should talk to Jude, Y/N,” Whitney said softly, her tone gentle but insistent. Hearing Jude’s name, Teddy’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Mama, miss Judey!” she exclaimed, her voice bright and innocent, free of the complications that you were grappling with. Your heart clenched a little at Teddy’s words. You hugged Teddy close, pressing another kiss to her cheek. 

“Me too, Ted. Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Whitney watched you, her heart aching for her friend but also hopeful that this might be the push you needed.

“He misses you too, Y/N. Don’t let this slip away without at least trying to fight for it.” You nodded slowly, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to say to Jude, all the things you were too afraid to admit even to yourself. But as you lay there with Teddy cuddled up beside you, you knew that Whitney was right. It was time to stop running, time to face whatever this thing with Jude was—no matter how terrifying it might be. You laid in bed, the darkness of the room doing little to quiet your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, thoughts of Jude filled your head—his smile, his laugh, the way he made you feel both terrified and alive all at once. You watched the hours tick by, each passing minute only intensifying the ache in your chest. You missed him, more than you wanted to admit. 

You accompanied Whitney to one of Trent’s Liverpool matches. After the game, you two along with Trent and his brother, Marcel went out for dinner. You didn’t feel happy per se but you felt relaxed and just comforted by their normalcy and the layer of wine rushing through your system definitely helped lighten your mood. As Whitney excused herself to the bathroom and a fan engaged Trent in conversation, you felt a sudden charge of freedom wash over you. It was like a door had opened, offering a brief moment to do something reckless. Marcel's arm had found its way around your shoulders, and what started as an innocent gesture quickly shifted into something more intense, at least in your mind. In Marcel’s mind it was more in a platonic friend way steadying your drunk movements. You leaned in closer, feeling the alcohol take hold of your thoughts, pushing boundaries you might not have dared cross otherwise. Your thumb brushed over Marcel's lips, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of them with a glint in your eye. You were testing the waters, watching for his reaction, letting the thrill of mischief spark through you. Marcel smirked despite himself, recognizing the shift in energy, the subtle tension that had bloomed between you two. His heart raced momentarily, tempted by the familiarity of this dynamic. You had hooked up before, and that memory lingered, pulling at the edges of his resolve.

"You have really nice lips," you murmured, eyes flicking down to them and then back up to his face, the challenge implicit in your voice. Marcel chuckled, his hand gently closing around yours as he pulled it away from his lips.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said, with a soft laugh.His tone light but cautious. "They get the job done." He cooed. You giggled, flashing your eyes down to his lips again, emboldened by his response. The banter felt dangerous, electric. There was a fire in your belly that only seemed to grow as you watched his smirk soften into something more serious. The thrill of pushing the line, seeing how far you could take it, was exhilarating. You felt like you were barreling toward something you couldn't quite control, but instead of stopping, you let yourself teeter closer to the edge. The energy between you two was shifting fast, spiraling into something much more charged. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would hurt but craving the rush of it anyway. You felt alive in a way you hadn't since things with Jude fell apart, and it felt dangerous, intoxicating.

“I know.” You cooed with a a smug smile. For a split second, you let yourself imagine it—the temptation, the thrill of crossing that line again with Marcel. You were flirting with danger, and a part of you loved the recklessness of it. But Marcel wasn't moving. He hadn't leaned in. He hadn't taken the bait. You could see it in his eyes, the internal battle he was fighting, the temptation wrestling with his conscience. The way his gaze flicked away from yours, the way he gently squeezed your hand as if to ground himself, it all told you he wasn't going to let this go any further. Not tonight. For a moment, you felt the excitement drain, leaving behind a hollow ache. You weren't really after Marcel. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really.

“Lucky you,” he teased, playing along with the joke you started, but there was an undertone of seriousness as his gaze lingered on you a little too long. Marcel’s soft laugh echoed in your ears, his casual response almost distracting you from the sting of rejection you felt coming. You giggled, but the sound was empty, your heart heavy with the weight of what you knew was coming. You sighed, the giggle fading, and pouted without meaning to, feeling childish but unable to stop yourself. The alcohol had lowered your guard, and now, there was nowhere to hide from the vulnerability that was surfacing. Marcel noticed the shift in you, and instead of pulling away, he turned to face you fully. Gently, he lifted your face from where it had been resting against his shoulder, cupping your cheeks with his hands. His touch was soft, tender even, as he looked directly into your eyes. “Listen, it’s not that I wouldn’t,” he began, his voice low but steady. “Or that I’m not interested. You’re gorgeous, and trust me… I hate that I’m saying no. That the right thing is no.” He paused, watching the way your eyes searched his, needing more from him, something to fill the emptiness you’d been carrying. “But you don’t actually want this.” You felt the weight of his words settle over you, sinking in as tears began to form on your lash line. You blinked, trying to hold them back, but it was no use. He was right, of course. Deep down, you knew you didn’t want this. Not really. Marcel wasn’t the person who filled the aching void in your chest. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really. Still, the rejection hurt. Your cheek leaned further into his hand, seeking comfort in his touch. You nodded, unable to form the words to admit the truth aloud, and Marcel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the warmth of his embrace. You pulled away from the hug, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. You managed a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes as you glanced up at him. You blinked, the haze clearing just enough for reality to settle back in. You felt a pang of regret. Not for what almost happened, but for the emptiness that made you chase after it in the first place.

“Would you, though? If things were different?” The question slipped out, your drunken state loosening your tongue. It wasn’t a fair question to ask, but you needed to know, needed some kind of validation that you still had ‘it.’ Marcel chuckled softly at first, but then his face grew serious. His eyes darkened, his gaze holding yours as he leaned in closer, his hand sliding down to your waist, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. He whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Y/N… You know the answer.” He smirked. “We’ve lived that answer so trust me…you have no idea,” he said, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “If things were different, you wouldn’t still be sitting at this table.” The confession sent a rush through you, a sense of relief flooding your system, like a validation you hadn’t realized you needed. It was a reminder that you still had ‘it,’ that you were still desirable. But as the relief settled in, so did something else—a deeper realization. You didn’t want ‘it’ with Marcel. You didn’t want to be here, chasing after validation from someone who wasn’t the person you truly wanted. You wanted Jude. You wanted the warmth of his arms around you, the sound of his voice telling you that you were the only one for him. No matter how good it felt to hear Marcel’s words, they weren’t enough to fill the void. With a sigh, you pulled away from Marcel, giving him a small, grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, unsure if you were thanking him for the compliment or for stopping you from making a mistake. Marcel just nodded, his expression soft, understanding. 

“You’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “You’re just... a little lost right now.” And he was right. You were lost, but maybe, just maybe, you were starting to find your way back. As Whitney returned and Trent's conversation ended, the moment dissolved into the background, just another part of the night. But the lingering feeling stayed with you, a reminder of how far away you still felt from the person you used to be-and the person you wanted to be again.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 11 - Go xx

[anadiasmount]

being at a party w boyfie jude and u run into ur ex who still thinks they have a chance and jude puts him his place 🤭🤭🤭

“swear to god if he keeps sending drinks to you-” jude curses, sending daggers to your ex boyfriend across the room. your ex had been sending your favorite drink for the last few hours and it was pissing jude off. making a scene in front of everyone by pulling you into his lap and giving you messy kisses.

he got to the point where he even crawled you to the dance floor and made it known who and what he meant to you. “relax jude, he’s just trying to make you mad and you’re letting him,” you reassure leaning down to place a kiss on his lips, seeing a frown form on his face.

“i don’t like it. he clearly knows your taken? can’t he see the promise ring, and you on me? if he sends one more drink over i’ll throw it on his face,” jude warns making you roll your eyes playfully. “you won’t.”

“watch me,” jude tried to stand up but you refused, telling him it wasn’t the right time or place for a scandal. “stop it. it’s not worth it. what are you going to gain out of it?”

“y/n. the fact he’s here alone is irritating the fuck out of me. who the fuck does he think he is?” jude extends his hand out when he talks, his brows furrowed and eyes squinted, clearly pissed off and jealous. “do you want to go?” you softly ask, knowing it was bothering your agitated boyfriend.

“no baby. i wanna stay, i won’t let him get to me anymore,” he ushers you, pulling you closer into his lap, his hand on the side of your thigh, peppering kisses on your shoulder. “what did you even see in him?”

you giggle, “you know what i can’t even tell you because i don’t even know.”

time passed and he stopped sending drinks over, you had excused yourself to go to the restroom, jude giving you a messy kiss and smirking as your ex saw the whole thing. jude looked around lost in the club, people watching as it became a thing for him since he met you.

he quickly stood up ignoring the pleads and voices to sit down and let it be, watching your ex get near the booth y’all we’re in, holding your favorite drink. “go. get out,” jude pointed to leave with a angry look on his face.

your ex laughed, swirling the straw around before handing over the drink to jude, who crossed his arms, and angry look on his face. “gives this to y/n for me, looks like she’ll need it after all that show you put on,” he says making jude clench his jaw. “did you know it was her favorite? oh god she would make me order this all the time when we went out!”

“such a pretty girl. the way she laughs, talks, shit even that sexy walk she has drives me insane,” your ex said with a ‘phew’ at the end, making jude’s palms twitch in jealousy, almost punching him to shut up.

“she used to beg for it-” jude quickly cut him off, his face inches away from his scowling, making your ex smirk. “go away. leave us alone,” jude tried to control his anger but it was becoming difficult. “she’s with me now. she doesn’t have to ask or beg, she knows what she wants and how to get it. she’s my girlfriend, the one you lost to some bimbo who clearly carried something,” jude spits out in fury.

you laughed walking back to the booth, your friend stopping midway as she looks straight ahead. jude holding your poor ex by his shirt clearly yelling at him as your ex struggled to pull away. you huff and roll your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t drop it.

jude’s friends tried to intervene, but knowing how short tempered he was it was hard. “stay the fuck away from us and especially her. if i even see you standing close or hear you’ve been seen with her, i’ll make sure everyone knows the type of person you are and what you carry,” jude threatened letting your ex go.

“fuck you and your bitch,” your ex exhaled patting down his shirt that had your drink spilled on him. “jude drop it,” he heard the commotion around him, getting pulled back immediately. he lost sight immediately of his, removing his friends hold on him, “let me go”.

you watched with an amused look, leaning on the wall with a bottled water in your hand. jude coming over to you as if nothing happened, “really?”

“i wasn’t going to sit there and pretend like he didn’t exist. he was asking for it and the nerve to come to our table with him yapping? no i wasn’t going to let it go,” jude defend himself, grabbing your hand and walking you out to a small private patio in the back. “what did you say to him?”

“doesn’t matter… i put him in his place. he will know not to come around anymore.”

[lustrexia]

im definitely interested in the Jude and Pablo drabble... please post it😫

tw: nsfw, size kink, hate sex, rivalry, rough oral sex, minors dni.

— “Size does matter” Jude Bellingham and Pablo Gavi

It’s probably not his fault. Not entirely, anyway, it’s just that it’s too obvious. Too noticeable.

Pablo, he means. Barcelona’s golden boy. The title didn’t mean too much to Jude, he already won that award last year, pretty easily so if his ego permitted him to admit. Madrid’s marketing did really go far long, didn’t it?

But that wasn’t really what made Jude feel bad, really. It’s Gavi’s height. And his body. And everything.

It became almost overwhelming to him when he noticed it; Pablo was really small. Hell, he could totally beat him up and the guy wouldn’t stand a chance, but that’s not what he really wants to do with him.

It’s almost funny, Jude notes. He’s so small, but so full of energy and will, it’s like his body was made of seventy percent determination and twenty percent water, albeit one or two percent of that had a little bit of poor emotional regulation.

Maybe that’s what made Gavi so endearing to half of the population. That he wore his heart on his sleeve, that he presented himself quite authentically, just as he was on the interior.

His chest too small for his big heart to fit into. It’s not saying much though, Jude snorts dryly, Gavi was really small. Wasn’t even like the guy was skinny or anything, the barcelonista stole the attention of his eyes plenty of times, his body was toned and his skin seemed just so soft.

But he wasn’t thin at all, even Pedri was way thinner than him.

Maybe he’s overthinking. Obsessed with the entire image of Pablo’s body even. He shouldn’t even be thinking about another man like that, he’s got a career and priorities that he has to take care of, like his younger brother throwing a little bit of a fit because of some girl. Or the fact that he just lost the European Championship to Spain.

He can’t. He can’t stop thinking about it. Because that’s all his male brain spits at him when he sees Pablo at the other side of the stadium, celebrating his win.

Smiling, like he ever did something to deserve that happiness.

He avoids Cole Palmer’s look when the blond straight up ignores his handshake. He’d talk about it later, when his own emotional block stops and he can start actually feeling anything other than ‘void’.

Jude walks just beside the trophy, that’s already decorated with Spain’s ugly colors, just tacky red and yellow. His steps feel heavy, even breathing is hard for him. He can sense his own lungs contracting and letting loose one again.

Losing takes the form of a bitter taste on his tongue. It’s ugly, it’s accompanied of despair and it’s everything he didn’t plan for.

It’s everything that Pablo Gavi isn’t feeling at that moment. He can almost taste the victory from the pretty boy’s mouth, and now he’s getting closer and closer. Jude feels in a trance, he can’t make something of whatever Pablo is saying at him, some bullshit about second place in Spanish, probably.

He doesn’t care. He never cared for what being a madridista meant for the blaugrana men. He’s English, he recognizes that he doesn’t feel the rivalry as his own, but he can empathize with the fear of losing, so there’s that.

And it’s so stupid, how Pablo looks at him triumphant, like this is such an important moment for him, like this means something. Like he’s Cristiano at forty with his career ending right now. He’s not. He’s a talented twenty something with lots of projection for the future. Gavi is a failure of La Masía, injured and barely walking like a normal person.

Jude is getting mad, mainly at himself for not hating the gorgeous boy that’s looking at him through his lashes, teasingly demeaning him with an adorable Spaniard accent. He should be disgusted, should push him to the green hard ground of the field.

He doesn’t. Jude looks at him in the eye, with curiosity, like he’s watching some scientific experiment with a really stupid rat lab, fixating on every move that Gavi makes.

“And you’re second! I can’t believe it! Joder, que te hemos ganado!” He says, his hazel eyes glowing in the artificial light of the stadium.

Jude feels drunk in a bad way, time is slowing down like he smoked something thirty minutes ago and Pablo’s monologue is getting slurred.

He can’t stand it. Not like this. Not with how easy he could grab Pablo’s arm and throw him around like he deserves to. Jude’s sanity is clearly disappearing, he can feel it sliding down his spine, pinching him. Gavi’s densely annoying rich boy accent doesn’t help him either.

It’s not his fault. Pablo is annoyingly pretty, and totally crushable, like some insect he can get rid off easily with the sole of his expensive sneakers. It’s childish, but the need is clearly there.

So he indulges into it, posing his big hand on the back of Pablo’s neck, pushing him to walk forcefully at his side, like they were friends; resembling a bond that was not there, just for the cameras.

He could see how Gavi tensed and changed his facial expression to something a little bit uncomfortable, his eyebrows were almost knitted to each other and his lips formed a nervous curved line.

And it was exactly as he thought so, Gavi was weaker than him, couldn’t fight or back off even he was in serious danger.

“M’sorry” Gavi said, “I was just teasing, it’s just banter, sorry”.

Fucking brat, Jude didn’t respond. He just continued to guide Gavi’s body towards the hallway of the stadium, searching for somewhere more private.

The cameras didn’t even flinch at them disappearing, the public was more focused on celebrating the win or just taking pics of the actual players on the pitch.

Jude scanned through the doors and stairs of the space, finding in some barren corner a door with the ‘storage’ sign in a foreign language. Fucking Germans and their weird wording.

He lowered his hand now that the cameras weren’t looking, placing his calloused fingers on Gavi’s waist. So tiny. Jude heard the other man’s breathing hitch almost whimper airily.

So this was affecting Pablo at the same intensity as it was affecting him. News flash. The insanity of this exclusive situation altered the cute midfielder too.

God, so maddening. He squeezes the curve of his waist, reminding him of how useless fighting back is going to be. Someone of his size couldn’t possibly get him off in a real struggle. Gavi whimpers, biting his lip.

“Whore” He whispers into Gavi’s ear, his hot air hitting him. “I’m going to break you in half”.

He’s almost sure Gavi is pretty entitled and possibly did refuse to learn English in the past, but he can see that he understood what Jude told him right there. His face, now totally bewildered, exploded in pretty pink colors. He was blushing.

They entered the storage room, it was small, closet-like, just enough space for the two of them to breathe in each other’s faces. He pushed Gavi’s body towards the cold surface of some shelf, looking down at him, noticing just how frail he really was.

It made him so hungry. Like he was king starved and now there was a big plate of his favorite meal in front of him, just waiting to be sexually cannibalized on. The air hung heavy on them, the realization of what they were really going to do was now crawling under their skins.

He pushed through it, through whatever this meant for Pablo. It wasn’t his place to care for it, he just had an itch he needed to scratch badly.

“Take your jersey off” he commanded to him, already pissed off at how red looked amazing on Gavi.

White would look more elegant. More classy.

Gavi did, he took off the garment, not breaking eye contact if possible. Venomous.

Jude aggressively took his own jersey off and grabbed Gavi’s neck with just one hand. His long fingers made a good collar for the barcelonista’s neck, pressing lightly. Pablo moaned, his eyes half closed, full of incomprehensible lust.

“Put it on, quickly”.

He released his grip on Pablo’s neck and threw the shirt at him, watched how Gavi’s pathetically small hands trembled while putting the piece of clothing on.

Holy shit.

“¿Qué?” Oh, maybe Jude said that out loud.

“Nothing,” Jude went back to his stoic look, “White looks good on you”.

Pablo’s look, full of empty hatred fueled his own lust. Culé at heart dressed in white. Humiliation must be burning in his stomach.

But Pablo was hard, the tent of his shorts showed him just that. Was he really into the whole being the bitch of a madrid player thing? That was a new low, it made Jude smile.

Gavi was just as pitiable as he thought. Could bark and try to bite as many times as he wanted to, that wouldn’t change the fact that he’s weak in physicality, biologically inferior.

“Get on your knees”.

Jude didn’t wait for Gavi to move, he shoved him down, using little force. Pablo’s little prince hairstyle was now messy, his curls running wild because of the new hot boiling temperature. He was sure Gavi could feel how warm his bulge felt, even when his face was pressed against it with shorts on.

He couldn’t possibly get harder, the view was amazing, Pablo’s face length matched the length of his clothed dick, that Gavi was caressing with his cheek.

“You’re so big, joder, qué pollón” Gavi whispered, and for some reason, Jude thought that would probably be the dirtiest thing that someone could ever be able to say in Spanish.

Goosebumps ran all through his pelvis, electricity burning high. Not wanting to wait any longer, he pulled down his shorts and boxers, his cock jumping back lewdly to his stomach hung heavy.

It’d be impossible for Pablo to take it all in. It was probably like nine inches. Almost as long as his face. He compared the size of his cock to Gavi, pleasantly surprised about how pliant the man was being with someone who was spreading pre cum on his nose and cheek.

“Yeah, fuck that’s it, lick it. That’s what you want, right? Some good dick to keep you calm” He groaned, rubbing the fat tip of his cock into Gavi’s mouth.

Pablo gave his dick kitten licks, almost scared of the girth. It was so thick, Pablo would have to open his mouth completely to take it in.

Jude was not a patient man with people he hooked up with. He opened the other’s lips with his middle finger, forcing him to suck on the metaphorically offensive digit. Once he got tired of the sight of Gavi’s little mouth struggling, he lined up his cock with his mouth, grabbing Pablo by the back of his head.

There was no running back now.

Not when Pablo had his shirt on, looking absolutely oversized on him, with a hard on between his legs just by the proposition of sucking some madridista off in a storage closet.

Slut.

“Wait, no, it’s not going to fi-” Gavi choked on his cock, closed his eyes and tried to get Jude to back off.

He couldn’t. Bellingham was already fucking his mouth now.

Pablo’s mouth was hot and wet, his tongue laid flat at the bottom, just taking that dick like he could. His lips were made thicker rounding the thick girth of him, stretching his jaw painfully.

Jude sighed blissfully, the tight feeling felt amazing for him, like he was consumed by a pool of wet heat. Inch by inch, he pushed his cock inside, deeper and deeper, totally fixated on how overwhelmed Pablo appeared below him.

Where he belonged.

Pablo’s little hands rested on his thighs, trying to push him back. Didn’t work, he was already swinging his hips back and forward, chasing the high of Gavi’s mouth.

Gavi was gagging, making choked sounds every second, and his eyes were crossing towards his the bridge of his nose, disassociating a little.

Was he passing out? Jude could not care less. Maybe he’d use his mouth better that way. He looked dumb and out of it regardless.

But now that Gavi’s characteristically present strength was just shining by its absence, Bellingham could force him to deep throat, feeling his nose brush against his lower stomach, making it even harder for him to breathe.

Jude fucked his mouth roughly then, not pulling more than one inch out of his mouth, content on how Gavi’s uvula grazed his cock. The back of his throat felt amazing.

Gavi was struggling, trying to pull back, but Jude didn’t let him, cupping the back of his head forward with his arm.

“Take it, shit, don’t fucking pull back, yes, that’s it, good boy” He praised when Pablo stopped moving his head back.

Tears were forming in Pablo’s eyes. But he didn’t look sad, his honeyed eyes were full of lust, apparently he did have a thing for praise.

Something hot boiled inside of Jude exponentially, growing more and more, tensing the elastic until it was just about to snap.

He was so close. Gavi was now looking up at him, wet lashes, face dirty with pre cum and drool, tears too.

Every time Pablo moaned the vibrations went to his dick, stimulating him more and more. He wasn’t fighting anymore, his arms, like some sex doll, went down, letting Jude do whatever he wanted with his mouth.

Jude let out a grunt, rapidly increasing the rhythm of his hips moving, just abusing Gavi’s mouth. Pablo’s gagging sounds echoed on the walls, lewd symphony that Jude loved.

Loved how this was the right sequence of events that should happen. This was what he needed. To remind Pablo what he was really useful for, instead of some stupid tournament where he didn’t even play.

So, so close, he could almost taste the glory that was robbed out of him before on the pitch.

Jude Bellingham felt his orgasm all through his body and right out of his dick, felt how the cum spilled out of him in the most intense way that he ever experienced. The elastic band snapping inside of him, leaving his legs feeling like jelly.

He rode his climax with his cock bottomed out in Gavi’s mouth, his cum spilling right inside of his throat.

He quickly pulled out of Pablo, letting him finally breathe. The blaugrana player coughed roughly, almost throwing up all of the cum that he had inside of his stomach now, hands resting on the ground, not looking at him. Still coughing, tears came out of his eyes, Gavi was crying.

“Thank you, thank you, mnh” Pablo tried to say, his voice was completely destroyed and he was still almost about to vomit. He didn’t, he swallowed most of Jude’s cum back.

Pablo was a mess, his face full of fluids, puffy eyes and a fucked out expression, he was totally out of it.

Jude pulled his pants back up, grabbed a pen that was on the shelf and wrote his phone number on Gavi’s arm.

He took Pablo’s Spain jersey, put it on, and left him, to be found in that state.

(…)

A/N — Hi! I hope you liked this! I usually don’t write a lot in English because I don’t feel confident enough so I’m really hoping that this felt natural! If you have any feedback please let me know <3

[trentsgirl]

— 🤍 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

⟡ summary: just a lovely morning with your boyfriend.

⟡ content: very fluffy, clingy jude, established relationship, short, around three hundred words.

⟡ notes: had this in my drafts for a while, so thought i should post this because i have too many. requests are open:))

⟡ streaming: tip toe by hybs.

⟡ masterlist.

mornings with jude were usually hectic and far from peaceful. you would quickly get ready for your respective commitments and barely have any time for each other before rushing out the door.

but today was different. it was friday, and jude had been granted a few days off due to a shoulder injury. despite the unfortunate circumstances, jude was excited about the prospect of spending the entire day with you.

his plan was to stay in bed all morning, cuddling and making up for lost time, if you know what i mean. however, you had other plans in mind.

you were accustomed to waking up early and being productive. so as you attempted to free yourself from jude’s firm hold, he unconsciously grunted, his body pressing against yours.

nevertheless, you paid no attention to his murmurs and left the bed, causing jude to grumble even more.

“come back to bed,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. you couldn’t help but find it endearing how much he longed for you. “i’m tired,” he added, lightly tapping your pillow.

deciding to tease him, you donned an exaggerated pout and adopted a whiny tone, as if speaking to a child. “oh, you’re tired? i’m so sorry baby, it must be so difficult for you.”

jude expressed his annoyance, stating, “actually, scratch that. when i said i was tired, what i really meant was that i’m tired of you being a sarcastic little shit.”

you chuckled, returning to the bed with a gentle smile. “well, i’m your sarcastic little shit.” you playfully remarked, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

jude seized the chance to embrace you, shifting his position so that he loomed over you with his much larger frame, making you nearly invisible beneath him.

“jude!” you gasped for breath, “do need to remind you that you’re six feet tall? you’re not exactly on the small side!”

he seemed unfazed by the fact that his weight was completely crushing you, and retorted mockingly, “i’m actually six foot one, baby.”

rolling your eyes, you chose not to respond and surrendered to jude’s agenda for the day.

to be fair, it wasn’t too bad at first. however, once his snoring started again, all you desired was to kick him from the bed.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 2 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 2 ► they say i got no purpose, they say i got no cause, but i’m loved by all my people, i’m the leader of the lost

Tipsy Jungkook was usually known for his wit, maybe his charm, but never great ideas. Hence his plan to win the bet early—and he was certain he would win—as he knocked on the door of your hotel room at eleven-thirty that same night.

The long flight was already far behind him, but it wasn’t behind you as you opened the door of your pitch-dark room only several minutes later. He thought he got the wrong room until he saw you, squinting at the violent light coming in from the hall.

“Jungkook?” you mumbled, too disoriented to understand the pointlessness of your own question. His knock had woken you up from what was supposed to be a ten-second rest of your eyes. “I thought we’d agreed on a text.”

“We did,” he said, suddenly very aware of how difficult it was to choose words now that he was actually standing in front of you. “But I figured I’d report to you live. So, that’s why I’m here.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. Your words felt heavy, your mouth too tired to voice them. “Well, uh—thanks. You should—”

You were already in the process of closing the door of your room, but he grabbed it, startling you. His gaze was cast low, however, and he did not notice the widening of your eyes.

“I was thinking—what if you came down for a drink?” his question was quick as he fought a battle against his sober mind that was catching up to him.

Eventually, he looked up at you. Your eyebrows were rising, then fell quickly as you tried to play your surprise off. It was this look on your face that—finally—gave him a pause.

It caught up—the sober part of him—and he blinked, fully grasping what he was doing and regretting it immediately. He hadn’t really thought he’d come up here, ask you out, and you’d jump at the chance. He knew you wouldn’t. But he supposed that, maybe, against nearly all odds of the years between you, he still had a glimmer of hope that you’d agree, after all.

“How much have you had to drink?” you countered—and whatever hope he’d had dimmed completely.

You wouldn’t have said no to a drink under normal circumstances, but these particular ones were hardly normal. Not to mention, they involved Jungkook’s so-called friends, and you’d have sooner shrivelled from thirst than considered drinking with them.

You assumed Jungkook knew that.

“Barely anything,” he told you truthfully enough. There was, of course, the matter of his brain being clouded, but he figured alcohol had little to do with it. Looking at you more closely, he took in your dishevelled hair and droopy eyes and bit his lip before asking, “did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied, but for a good cause—the protection of your dignity. “Are you feeling alright? Your eye is twitching.”

Looking down again and bringing his fingers over his eyes, he groaned under his breath. This was jetlag. It threw him off his game.

Turning his head sideways to hide his flustered face, Jungkook attempted to get himself together in under a second—and failed, of course. If anything, he only became more aware of your suspicious gaze as he rubbed his eyes continuously.

Fucking Sid and Jude. He’d clearly acted too big-headed in front of them, and now he was outside of your room, having whatever the hell this awkward silence was with you, and his fucking eye was twitching.

He loathed this.

“I’m great,” he said without looking up at you. New plan, new plan, new plan. “Going to bed now. Night.”

He turned so abruptly, it took you a moment to realise that he meant he was going to go to bed right this second.

“Do you want water or—?” you called after him, voice faltering as you lost confidence in your phrasing. Water felt a lot like suggesting turning the device off and on again when it began to malfunction.

You watched Jungkook’s back as he hurried down the hall, shaking his head. He threw one hand up – as a gesture of refusal? Gratitude? Goodbye? You weren’t sure – before disappearing inside of his room down the hall, only daring to peek at you over his shoulder before turning away again.

There were several thoughts in his head, all of them far less eloquent than the one before, full of words starting with “F”. He realised that he couldn’t possibly just ask you out. That was outrageous; you’d knock him unconscious and kick him off the band.

Leaning against the door of his hotel room, he decided he’d have to find an excuse. Some sort of an occasion. Something laid-back, yet serious—something he could present as casual to you, but meaningful to his friends.

His eyes lit up at once. He realised he might have something, hidden in the back of his personal email, long forgotten due to the clashing of schedules. But if he made it work…

He’d have to try, he decided. This might be the only way to get you alone.

Back in the hall, you closed your own door, retreating to your room. You chose to blame the nerves on this barely two-minute-long conversation that had to be one of the weirdest ones the two of you have exchanged over the years.

He was anxious about the tour – it made sense.

You decided that, if this persisted, you’d talk to him the next time you saw him—preferably not in the middle of the night in an empty hotel hallway.

The next time you saw Jungkook was at the restaurant downstairs. It was early in the morning and the staff of the hotel was only preparing the buffet. Everywhere you looked, people were either yawning or dozing off in the eating area.

“Morning,” you announced yourself by the buffet table where the crew and the band were choosing what to put on their plates and chatting with the hotel staff in hopes of some warm cinnamon buns. “Did everyone sleep okay?”

“I left my melatonin spray,” Yoongi mumbled, appearing next to you. His eyes were redder than the shirt he was wearing. “So, no.”

Concerned, you pointed your index finger at him. “You’re coming back to the hotel after the rehearsal for a nap.

He nodded. But before you could add anything else, his slightly shapeless form glided away towards orange juice, putting an end to this exchange. He did that sometimes. He didn’t realise that his perception of the flow of conversation—namely, that it ended—could have differed from the other person’s; didn't realise that they might still have something to say.

With Yoongi gone, you looked over at Hoseok and Taehyung. “What about you? Did you get enough sleep?”

“I’m perfect,” Hoseok said. He’d rather sell both of his arms and a leg than ever admit that something was wrong with him, so you looked at him especially long as he spoke, “can’t wait to get this going. First show tonight!”

His excitement seemed genuine, so you met this palm with yours in a high-five and turned to Taehyung. He’d been standing next to you, chewing something, even though his plate was still empty.

“I’m fine, too,” he said, catching your eye. “I did try to order room service at four in the morning, but they weren’t very—well, it’s my bad in any case. I just wanted a sandwich.”

Your face was compassionate as you patted him on the arm. “Wait until we’re on the bus. We’ll all be cooking ramen at midnight.”

He smiled back wryly. “I’m looking forward to it now, but I know it’ll get old very quickly.”

You were about to agree when you felt someone’s hands on your shoulders. Flinching lightly, you turned your head until you caught sight of Jungkook’s profile.

“If anyone’s wondering,” he said, “I slept fine, too.”

“I was getting to you,” you replied, managing to get yourself out of his grip—graciously enough—so you could face him instead. “Your head’s alright?”

“It’s perfect,” he replied, beaming. “Keep telling you I know how to drink.”

You squinted your eyes, but chose not to question the last conversation you’ve had – he seemed normal enough now.

“Okay. Have a good meal, guys,” you redirected your attention back to the rest of the band—and the staff around them. “We’re leaving in forty-five.”

Most of them nodded—some grunted, too, expressing displeasure at the tight schedule—and you were finally able to grab a plate for yourself.

Jungkook, oddly enough, stayed by your side.

“Try these,” he said before you could ask him why he’d lingered. He picked up two strawberries with a fork and dropped them on your plate. “They’re so much sweeter than what we have back home.”

You looked down at the strawberries like he’d plucked them straight from an alternative universe where this gesture—dropping them on your plate for you to try—was normal.

“I don’t really eat fruit for breakfast,” you mumbled under your breath, the words—like this whole situation—inappropriate somehow.

“You should,” he replied. “They’re good for you. And the strawberries go well with a croissant. Chocolate? Your favourite.”

You stood there, barely blinking, as you watched him fetch a chocolate croissant—your favourite—for you.

He smiled proudly as he did this and even seemed surprised when you asked, “did Sid and Jude drug you last night?”

“Why would they?” Jungkook countered, but did not wait for your response as he pulled you away from the buffet table by tugging on your forearm softly. “Let’s get a seat.”

“Okay, hold on,” you took a step backwards, away from his touch. “What is going on? Are you buttering me up, because you’re going to tell me you’re addicted to meth?”

“What?” he stopped, too, looking at you with as much confusion as you were looking at him with. “Of course not.”

“Are you leaving the band?” you guessed next.

“Hell no.”

“Are you—”

“I am literally walking to get us seats at a table, so we can have breakfast,” he said. “Or, actually, trying to do that. Since you’ve stopped and won’t move.”

Still suspicious, you eyed him for half a minute longer, and then forced yourself to keep walking. He nodded, relieved, and followed your step towards the table.

He sat down next to you, which took Namjoon—one of the producers on tour with you—completely off-guard, because he was the one who usually sat with you when Rated Riot were touring. Out of everyone here, Namjoon was one of the few people—the other ones being Yoongi, the de-facto leader of Rated Riot, and Seokjin, the stage manager—that you could count on to keep everyone in check, so the two of you had a lot to talk about over breakfast.

But this morning was already starting off weird.

Hesitating for a second, Namjoon looked around and sat down on Jungkook’s other side, shooting you a confused look over the band member’s shoulder.

Jungkook didn’t notice, momentarily preoccupied by the waffle on his plate. You shrugged briefly in response to Namjoon and ripped off a piece of your croissant, scattering crumbs everywhere on your plate and the table.

You didn’t feel very hungry, to begin with—the anxiety of the band going on their first European Tour was really showing its’ full face today—but Jungkook acting unusual only made you more unsettled.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke up—bless him—as he, like you, avoided actually eating anything that was on his plate, but kept playing with the stems of his strawberries. “Nervous about tonight?”

“Not more than usual,” Jungkook replied, his tone nonchalant even though you could feel the restless bouncing of his leg against yours under the table. “I know we’ve got a great crew here. We’ll be fine. Right?”

He looked at you as he said this last part—an innocent, expectant smile on his face. But there was a conspicuous glint of mischief in his eye. You couldn’t tell if he was up to something, or just nervous.

“Right,” you said, chewing the piece of the croissant you’ve broken off. It didn’t taste like anything.

“First show’s a sold-out, so that’s a good start of the tour,” Namjoon continued. “Can’t wait to see you guys on stage.”

“Can’t wait to be on it,” Jungkook echoed, his voice empty somehow, until he turned to you. “You’ll be at the soundcheck, right?”

He was watching you again—truthfully, he never even looked at Namjoon; when he spoke to him, he looked down at his plate and only peered at the producer through his peripherals—and you shifted in your seat awkwardly.

“Of course,” you said. “It’s my job.”

“Right,” Jungkook said. “Of course.”

You glanced at Namjoon, your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked back at you with an almost identical expression.

“Guys,” was the next thing you heard, followed by a very agitated slam of a plate against your table. Alarmed, you looked up to see Seokjin next to you. “The owner of the venue only speaks Czech. I called, but I could not get any information from him whatsoever. I even tried negotiating in German.”

You lifted your eyebrows, but Namjoon beat you to the most important question at hand, “you speak German?”

Seokjin sat down with a defeated sigh. “I don’t. But I’m desperate. I know how to say hello, I thought it’d break the ice.”

Jungkook watched the exchange in silence, curious. He wasn’t usually present at these backstage meetings where you discussed the logistics of the tour; it all distracted him from his plan.

“I’ll try to talk to him,” you said, wiping your hands on your legs to lose the crumbs. “What do you need to know?”

“Well, everything,” Seokjin replied. “I’m going over there right after breakfast to fix the place for the soundcheck while the guys rehearse, and I don’t even know how many loudspeakers the place has.”

You nodded as you got your phone out of your pocket and considered your next course of action. It was a crisis you expected before you came here—language translation had always been a problem in foreign countries, especially in venues that had terrible internet connection—so you checked your schedule and decided on the simplest way to solve this: teamwork.

“Let’s both go over there,” you said. “We’ll figure out a way to communicate face-to-face.”

Seokjin was mid-nod when Jungkook extended a hand, making everyone freeze.

“Hold on,” he spoke in a rush, “I thought you were coming with me.”

There was offence in his words. You felt Seokjin glance at you and did not need to turn your head to know that the look on his face was questioning—did you have plans with Jungkook this morning?

“I’ll be at the soundcheck,” you spoke slowly. “You hardly need me at the rehearsal, too.”

“I—well I do need you, as a matter of fact,” Jungkook said. Then, responding to the surprise of everyone at the table (Seokjin was actually grinning), he added, “at, uh—at the rehearsal, I mean.”

There was a warmth under your skin that felt prickly and uncomfortable.

“You’ll deal,” you said simply enough and took another bite of your croissant—properly this time, because you had to get going soon.

“And what if I forget the lyrics?” he pushed. “Who is going to yell at me if you’re not there?”

“Yoongi,” you replied, your mouth full, “he’ my befft—” you paused to swallow, “my best replacement.”

Jungkook huffed in exaggerated disappointment, but he dropped the topic, allowing you to finish your breakfast in peace. Instead, he handed you a napkin to help with the chocolate on the corners of your lips, all without a comment.

Another minute later, he watched you and Seokjin leave together. And, with you gone, he realised that he did feel nervous.

One part of the reason why he was by your side this morning was because of the bet, that was true. But the bigger part was because of what he’d said to you – he really did want you there at the rehearsal and at the soundcheck.

Tonight was the first show of the band’s European tour. Your presence made the wait for the concert feel less massive and easier to grasp.

The bet had distracted him, too, and it gave him a reason to talk to you. But now that it was him and Namjoon left at the table, he had to find a way to bite, chew, and swallow, despite his stomach turning inside out.

Namjoon was talking about Prague to him, reading about previous bands that performed at Malá Sportovní Hala before moving on to bigger venues the next time they toured Europe—and all of that only made Jungkook bounce his leg harder.

He decided he couldn’t eat anymore as soon as he finished another waffle. With no one else distracting him from the upcoming concert, he needed to do something himself.

“Excuse me,” he said to Namjoon, who looked up in time to see him stand up with his plate and walk away. The producer thought Jungkook had looked pale, and concluded—like you had last night—that the weirdness of this morning was prompted by anxiety.

Jungkook was someone who had a captivating, effortless stage presence. Someone who put on a show until he collapsed, until he had to be dragged backstage because his legs no longer worked. Or until he climbed on the railing of the balcony and the owners of the venue, witnessing this in horror, went to fetch you, pulling on your sleeve and asking you to put a stop to this, threatening legal measures.

Jungkook performed like every night was his last. But there was so much that went into it: rehearsals, soundchecks, warm-ups, herbal throat remedies, and, most of all, anxiety. He was aware of all the what-ifs—what if my voice cracks, what if I forget the lyrics, what if my in-ear monitor lags—and they all weighed on him.

He worried. He said he didn’t, he laughed and jumped around—and all of his energy was mistaken for excitement, not stress. But he jumped because he couldn’t not jump, his whole body was tingling.

Therefore, wanting to do something else—something that would give him a reason to still feel excited even if he messed up the band’s performance tonight—Jungkook sat down on an armchair in the hotel lobby and pulled his phone out.

It was time to carry out the plan he’d come up with last night in order to win the bet; this would give him something else to focus on.

The plan was this: Kihyun, one of Jungkook’s old friends from university—and, coincidentally, the fiancé of your friend from university, Chloé—was getting married in Paris in a few days. Initially, you and Jungkook both said you couldn’t make it to the wedding because the date coincided with Rated Riot’s tour. But now this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

He'd checked his schedule beforehand, so he knew that the band had a day off right on the day of the wedding. He struggled to calculate travel time, but he figured Poland wasn’t that far from France—you could make it there and back in time for Rated Riot’s next show.

However, this was very last-minute—and he had already sent the pair a wedding gift—so he wasn’t very hopeful as he dialled Kihyun’s phone number. That being said, Jungkook knew he could be persuasive—when he wasn’t drunk and you weren’t standing in front of him in the doorway of your hotel room, that is.

But as it turned out, he didn’t even need to use his charms.

As soon as Kihyun picked up the call, he joked, “Jungkook! Change your mind about the wedding?”

And, after Jungkook admitted that he had, in fact, changed his mind, that he was in Europe, and, actually, he was thinking of bringing you as his date—Kihyun was more than happy to extend you both an invite.

Worriedly, Jungkook asked if Chloé wouldn’t mind, but Kihyun assured him—assured him!—that, if anything,  Chloé would be excited. She was, apparently, hoping to see you again at her wedding and felt bummed when you said you couldn’t make it.

That was enough for Jungkook, but ever-polite Kihyun continued: the fact that you and Jungkook managed to find time in your busy schedule to see them on their special day—Jungkook cringed here, guilt creeping in—meant a lot to them both.

And so, easily enough, the plan swung into motion. Ending the call, Jungkook exhaled in relief as though he’d already invited you—and you’d said yes.

He did want to see his old friends again. And he did, really, want to take you with him—so perhaps he wouldn’t even go to hell for this. And if he would, then perhaps it’d be worth it.

After all, everything fell into place so effortlessly, it seemed like this was meant to be. And now he could go to the rehearsal, do the soundcheck, perform at the show, meet his fans, and win the bet—in this particular order.

You and Seokjin got everything settled faster than you’d expected—the owner of the venue didn’t speak any languages that the two of you spoke, but he seemed to be fluent in pointing-at-yelling, which, coincidentally, Seokjin also excelled at, so it all worked out. You still had some free time left, so you returned to the hotel before the soundcheck.

But as soon as you entered your hotel room, you felt an unsettling sense of guilt somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

What if Jungkook really needed you at the rehearsal? Not because he, clearly, had some sort of ulterior motives—covering up the fact that Sid and Jude recruited him into a cult?—but because he was genuinely nervous or unsure of himself.

It made sense—all the members of the band could have felt this way; tonight was the first show of the tour, after all. It could be that this was the only way Jungkook knew how to approach you, too prideful to ask for help directly. Perhaps you should have taken him more seriously.

Sighing, you turned around and left your room as soon as you came in.

But your journey back to the venue wasn’t smooth – security had changed shifts and there was an unfortunate mishap: you and Seokjin had gotten your credentials mixed up. Somehow, Seokjin managed to enter with your pass, but you, for some reason, couldn’t enter with his.

Half an hour later, you were finally allowed inside and found the band members about ten minutes before soundcheck was supposed to begin.

They were in the hallway leading to the stage, ready to go out—some of them were doing stretches against the wall, others were browsing on their phones while balancing water bottles on their knees.

“Hey,” you approached them from the empty stage while doing a head count to make sure all four of them were here. “How was the rehearsal?”

“The rehearsal? It was fine,” Taehyung was the one closest to you and he was the one who replied. He appeared a little thrown off by your question. You realised you’d never had to ask before—if something went wrong, they usually told you right away. Otherwise, you assumed everything was okay. “Nothing unusual. Why?”

“No reason, just curious,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded neutral enough. “Looking for reasons to worry, I guess.”

“Ah. Well, here comes the usual reason.”

He nodded his head at something behind you and you turned around to see Jungkook cross the stage towards you, dragging a mic stand after him.

“You’re finally here,” he said, stopping by the exit from the stage. “We missed you at the rehearsal.”

Taehyung was picking his bass up from where he’d rested it against the wall when he stopped, suddenly, and lifted his head. “Uh, did we? No offence.”

The question was for Jungkook—who awarded the older boy with a glare—but the last part was for you.

“None—uh, none taken,” you said, then turned to Jungkook. “I was told the rehearsal was fine.”

“Oh, sure,” he replied, “but you know me. I adapt to hardships very well.”

You looked back at Taehyung. “What hardships?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he said. Your gazes ping-ponged back to Jungkook again, almost accusing.

“I mean the hardship of being by ourselves,” Jungkook said in a frustrated voice. As if this was obvious and he felt stupid having to explain this to you. “Unmanaged.”

You raised your eyebrows. “With all this staff with you, you’re hardly ever unmanaged.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there.”

“Okay, honestly, did you need me there?” you asked, directing the question at Taehyung, because you were more comfortable with his responses. They were less cryptic.

Feeling a bit like a third-wheel after the back-and-forth between the two of you, Taehyung looked at you, then at Jungkook, then back at you again.

“No,” he said finally. Then, nodding at Jungkook, he added, “I think he’s doing the job of giving you reasons to worry about.”

Jungkook didn’t open his mouth in time to cut in, and you spoke up first.

“He always is,” you said to the older boy. When you looked at Jungkook, he was already watching you with a face so dramatically displeased that it was clearly an act.

So, he seemed to be doing well, then.

“Get back to work,” you said with a gentle smile—Jungkook needed that smile even if he put up a front. “I’ll be with the sound operators if you really need me.”

The soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet afterwards, unsurprisingly, went by without either member of the band needing your assistance, so you were able to have a coffee-and-ice-cream break with Jimin, the lead sound technician on tour. It wasn’t really a break, because Jimin had to be present for the soundcheck, but things were going well, so when he mumbled how nice it’d be to have some ice cream right now, you left to get it.

This wasn’t Rated Riot’s first time doing this, of course – and they may have acted like they had fallen off an alien spaceship sometimes, but, at the end of the day, they were professionals.

You were too busy yourself before the show, so you barely got to exchange more than a few words of good luck with the band. But as soon as the opening act – a rookie band with a fitting title of Poison Tongue, considering how much they cursed in their songs – finished their performance and Seokjin’s team prepared the stage for Rated Riot, you made sure to find a spot on the side of the stage.

It took some effort, too – you tried not to block anyone by the barricade, but also not get in the way of photographers, coursing right by the stage. Especially Maggie, another one of your friends on tour, and easily the boldest photographer here—she wasn’t above hanging off the second-floor balcony to get the perfect shot.

But you couldn’t find her now. Fortunately, when you found a spot by the stage, Luna—Taehyung’s girlfriend—joined you there, so, at least, you weren’t by yourself.

For once, the two of you were able to actually enjoy the concert. Normally, you kept interrupting Luna’s videos as you had to scold Jungkook’s friends for chatting up people who came to watch the show. Tonight, thankfully, Sid and Jude weren’t here – they were picking up Minjun, another one of Jungkook’s friends, at the airport. You hoped they’d get lost on their way back, settle down in Prague, and never bother you again. Poor people of Prague, of course, but maybe they’d be the ones who finally taught them a lesson.

You’ve seen Rated Riot perform countless times at this point: at restaurants, company events, nightclubs, and, eventually, concert venues – but there was nothing about their performances that could have ever made you feel bored.

You filmed them on your phone as Hoseok nearly broke the platform on which he played the drums—with wild screaming in the background—as Taehyung fired water guns at the audience—the screams turned thundering—as Yoongi performed his solo guitar part on his knees—the screaming was ear-splitting—as Jungkook returned for the encore shirtless, his tattooed skin glistening with sweat, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning—the screams were deafening.

The audience sang along to every song, there was never a quiet moment in the concert hall. Objectively, you knew that around 3,000 people had come, but the ringing in your ears made the audience feel twice, even three times as big.

The support was overwhelming, and all of it came in response to the unstoppable energy on stage. Two songs in, Jungkook had already climbed and jumped off the largest loudspeaker on stage. By the fifth song, Taehyung stage-dived right during his bass solo.

By the end of the show, the members were drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe as they tossed their guitar picks, the drumsticks, and the towels into the audience, and took their final bows—promising, of course, a quick return, and hoping, silently, that this promise would come true.

This was Night One of Rated Riot’s first European Tour – and you felt giddy as you already waited for the next night.

The band went to change into something more comfortable backstage, and then headed back out to meet some fans who’d lingered behind, buying merchandise and hoping that the members of Rated Riot would come out to meet them—and they did, always.

You worried, a little, about what you’d have to do with the gifts—the plush toys and, most importantly, the letters—that the fans gave them. The thought of throwing them out or, simply, not taking them, had never crossed any of your minds, even though that was what the label suggested.  

This was another thing that you had to fight with Jett Records about. You knew that the band actually read the letters, especially when they were tired or lacked inspiration. That’s when the words from their fans became their source of motivation. Their purpose.

They were doing this because they loved it. But when they got tired, they kept doing it for them.

And, because of this, you figured you might end up having to rent out a separate bus for gifts alone, once you’d toured enough countries.

This thought was supported by Rated Riot returning with hands full of mementoes from fans. You took them and, while everyone gathered for traditional shots of gin & tonic backstage, you went outside with some of the crew to load the equipment—and the gifts—into the buses.

You had a six-hour drive from Prague to Krakow ahead of you, but, when you returned to the venue, the whole band was jumping around the room. You knew they wouldn’t sleep one bit tonight.

Hence your lack of surprise when, several hours later, when you were already on the bus, you went to find Jungkook, and he was sitting in his bunk, scrolling on his phone.

You were hoping he’d be awake, so you could speak to him. You couldn’t risk there being something deeper about his weird behaviour earlier today, even if he did give an outstanding performance on stage.

“Hey. You’re up,” you said, pointing out the obvious, because it was a good enough conversation starter.

Jungkook lifted his head.

“Yeah.” He put his phone down and patted the bunk next to him. “You can’t sleep either?”

You nodded, taking the invitation and sitting down next to him. “I have something I want to ask you.”

He was surprised. Really, he should have been the one saying this to you; he hadn’t had a chance to ask you to Kihyun’s wedding yet.

“Go ahead,” he said calmly enough.

“Are you really okay?” you asked, choosing not to beat around the bush, because it was three in the morning—not the time for that. “You’ve been acting weird the whole day.”

He looked away, not having expected this, evidently. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” you explained, “but then I couldn’t help myself. It’s my responsibility to know if there’s something wrong with any of you, so I felt like I had to ask.”

Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned backwards until the back of his head touched the wall of the bus. “I’m fine. Just—adjusting, I guess. This is new. Europe.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your knee under yourself as you got more comfortable on his bunk. “It’s new for all of us.”

“Yeah. So, maybe, I guess, I’m worried,” he said clumsily.

Even though this wasn’t why he’d acted weird—and, really, he was appalled that you found his behaviour “weird”; he truly was off his game—it was the truth. He did feel anxious. So much so, that a part of him appreciated Sid—not for suggesting the bet, per se. But for giving him something else to focus his mind on.

“Well, about what?” you asked. “Maybe talking it out would help.”

He looked at you, but then moved his gaze towards the bunk opposite his—empty right now because Hoseok was at the front of the bus, taking pictures through the window and, probably, chatting up the French bus driver.

“About not being good enough,” Jungkook said after a minute, his words coming in the form of a deep sigh. “This is Europe, it’s a different audience for us. I mean—realistically, I know it’s not. If people are buying tickets to our shows, they probably know us. They like our music. But still. Most of them have only ever seen our performances online. Hearing someone sing in a YouTube video is so much different from hearing it live.”

You merely nodded, not wanting to interrupt, because, although he’d paused, it didn’t sound like he’d finished.

“So, now I’m thinking all these things, like…” he continued, “I don’t know. Not living up to their expectations,” you saw him swallow before he kept talking, “what if these people have been listening to Rated Riot since we started? From the very beginning, you know? And now they hear us live, and they think I’m doing a half-assed job. And they’re disappointed—they’ve waited to see us for so long and we didn’t deliver. I didn’t deliver. I don’t want that. I want them to remember this night, not just because we may be their favourite band, but because they’ve truly had a good time. You know?”

He needed reassurance—and asked for it repeatedly—so you nodded again, more eagerly.

To be fair, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you were talking about this. Years before he joined Rated Riot—before you broke up—you’d had multiple conversations about the one genuine fear that Jungkook had: disappointing others.

“But you are showing them a good time,” you said. You scooted backwards and leaned against the sideboard adjacent to him; it seemed like you were going to stay here a while. “I’ve watched you play tonight. You guys were brilliant.”

“Thanks,” he said, sounding noncommittal. “I know the guys are always—they don’t fuck around. They come and they tear that stage up to shreds.”

“So do you,” you reminded him.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I know this isn’t insecurity speaking,” you said, “because we both know you’re great—”

Snorting, he interjected, “that part’s true.”

“—so, you’re worried you’re not doing enough. Not giving enough,” you concluded. “But do you feel like you’re holding back?”

He considered this for a moment. “No. I feel like I cough up my lungs and my heart, and toss them right into the crowd after the show. I couldn’t get off stage if I didn’t feel that way.”

“And it shows,” you said, softer now, as you watched the spark return to his eyes. Memories of the concert played back in his mind. “Performing is in your blood. It’s always been.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I should have nothing to worry about, then?”

He had a sardonic smile on his face, and he was, essentially, asking you if he should have stopped complaining. This wasn’t at all what you were trying to say.

“No, you have every right to still feel worried,” you said. “What I mean is, don’t forget that you know what you’re doing. You know it well. Fortunately for you, you were born to do this. I know it sounds like a nice thing to say to someone, but you know I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t mean it.”

He looked down. “I know.”

Then, hesitating for a moment, he pulled his lower lip in and brought his teeth over his lip ring. He added, “thank you.”

“I’m here to listen if you need me to,” you said. “And to remind you that people see your effort. They appreciate it. You guys are doing well.”

“We’re doing well,” he repeated—and did it while inhaling, like a mantra. Then, exhaling again, he joked awkwardly, “in any case, I can always fake it ‘til I make it, right?”

You shook your head, disagreeing immediately. “You’re the most genuine you’ve ever been when you’re performing. You guys have got nothing to fake.”

Coming from anyone else, he would have called this nonsense—he was a performer, so how would anyone know what was genuine for him? But you would. You were the one person who knew.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face as he asked, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, feeling your own lips stretch into a smile. You added, “you’re my favourite band.”

He snickered and rolled his eyes. “You’re our manager, you have to say that.”

“Very true,” you did not argue, “but again, I’m saying that because I mean it.”

He gave you a look—not necessarily doubting your words, but having a hard time wrapping his head around your serious tone. He’d always assumed that the only reason why you paid any attention to his band, was because you had no other choice.

“You’d still listen to Rated Riot if you weren’t working with us?” he asked—a question long overdue, but he supposed he’d never really cared that much about this before. All that he cared about was that you were around.

“I’d even come to your shows,” you said.

He laughed, amazed for some reason. This was what you should have said to him from the very beginning; there were no signs of prior anxiety left on his face now.

“Wow. Okay,” he said in uncertain delight—as if he feared he’d misunderstood this and got excited about nothing. “Thank you.”

Calmer now that you’ve made him smile, you reached out to pat his knee amicably. He felt goosebumps on the skin of his arms and crossed them over his chest immediately.

“Don’t forget that, okay?” you said. “Part of the reason why so many people love you—why you have this opportunity to perform in Europe in the first place—is because you give away so much of yourself on stage. And, actually, I don’t think this is something you can control. It comes naturally to you.”

Jungkook watched you as you spoke, an almost forgotten warmth spreading in his chest. It’s been so long—so impossibly long—since he’d felt it. He wasn’t sure if he was even aware how much he’d missed it.

“Thank you,” he said once more—breathless this time. Wistful.

You nodded and asked, “you feeling better?”

“Definitely,” he replied, but it was hard for him to tell if this was true. He felt less anxious, yes. But now he felt confused.

He hadn’t expected this conversation, even though, reasonably, he should have—your work ethic required you to be reliable and trustworthy, to take care of those around you. And that was what you were doing.

But this conversation didn’t feel official. It didn’t feel like you were doing your job. It felt friendly and familiar.

And exciting, his rapid heartbeat whispered.

Yes. It felt exciting, too.

“Good,” you spoke, scooting back towards the edge of his bunk. “Now go to sleep.”

He snorted; your return to the role of his manager did not let him bask in nostalgia much.

“Alright,” he said, crawling to fluff the one remaining pillow in his bunk. “You’re the boss.”

“And stop acting fucking weird!” you added as you stood up. He laughed at the sudden outburst. “Nearly made me call a therapist for you.”

“Why would I need a therapist when I have you?” he teased. The brightness on his face was so honest, so infectious, that you had to look away to hide your own smile.

“Because they do not pay me enough for this,” you retorted.

Clutching his chest in mock-offence, he asked in a sorrowful voice, “am I nothing but a client to you?”

You picked up a pillow that had fallen off his bunk and tossed it at him.

“You’re my favourite clients,” you replied. He caught the pillow before it hit his face and grinned—despite knowing that Rated Riot were your only clients at the time.

“You’re my favourite manager,” he returned. This, finally, got a laugh out of you as you walked back to your own bunk.

Left alone, Jungkook didn’t even realise that this could, technically, count towards winning the bet. He didn't even remember the wedding at first; your questions, your reassuring tone, you had distracted him from bringing it up.

But he felt calm. He knew that he could afford to worry about this later. For now, he was busy replaying your conversation—and the part of it where you laughed—in his head.

chapter title credits: palaye royale, “king of the damned”

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[thatsdemko]

the culer- j.bellingham

masterlist | pairing: Jude Bellingham x gavi!fem!reader. summary: with the pressure of the match at hand, Jude makes an error that’ll cost him. warnings: fluff + angst + the following events in this fic are completely fictional and are not based on real life events. a/n: I dislike Real Madrid but I love Jude because he played for Borussia Dortmund.. he’ll always have a place in my heart I fear

It’s not like the words “Pablo gavis sister” were plastered against your forehead, so how was he supposed to know? it wasn’t the worst thing to happen to him, but it certainly wasn’t best when he rounded the corner and hear your soft laugh ring his ears. it was even ten times worse when his breakfast threatened to come up seeing your brothers arm around your shoulders.

you’re squished in between culers, your brothers jersey clung tight against your chest that serves as a major distraction to him. yet, he can’t actually see you. glimpses of you from the tunnel replay in his mind, the ball against his feet should be in the back of the net right now, but he’s stalling.

if he scores, your brother and his team lose. why does it matter to him anyway? this should be an exciting moment here in Barcelona with the crowd booing his name and boosting his adrenaline, so why does he care so much about you?

you’d never had more than just sex. an occasional cuddle and maybe a late night movie cozied up in his bed, but that was it. so you’re unsure why he’s playing with the ball when he’s got a 90% chance of scoring.

“just shoot the damn ball, Jude.” you mutter to yourself. the quicker he gets this over, the sooner the dread and anxiety bubbling in your stomach will fizzle out, and the sooner this is over the better chances your brother or his teammate have in evening the score.

yet there he still stands, unable to decide to shoot or to pass and the crowd wasn’t having it. Jude was usually so quick with his mind, football came easy yet this shot was the hardest one. he knows if he shoots this into the back of the net all chances with you end tonight on this pitch. he knows if he passes, all chances of his team advancing into the next round, end here.

why did it have to be him to decide the fate?

as if on cue, pablo takes the stab. he pulls Jude from his mind games, and decides to end the misery for himself and the crowd. Jude didn’t have much of a reaction time, in fact, he didn’t even put up a fight as the ball was swept from his feet.

“what the fuck man?!” his teammates shout frustrated in his inability to play the damn game.

your nails dig into your palms, watching your brother and his teammate play keep away from the Real Madrid defenders before taking the shot on net and ending the tie once in for all.

Real Madrid lost and wouldn’t advance to the next round.

a smile couldn’t form to your lips. watching Jude’s head hang low, you feel guilty. knowing he’d been riding the highs of the past couple of wins, he should be proud of the fight the team put up today. but those three minutes of torture would haunt him for the rest of his career for every time he saw you.

you.

his head picks up, eyes scanning the mass of fans the sea of red and blue all mesh together. faces booing and others cheering become a blur, but he’s sure you’re out there celebrating. you always expressed how important family was to you, and he was sure your family couldn’t of been happier.

—

you shouldn’t be here. not this late. the match ended hours ago and Jude most likely wasn’t even home yet, but it didn’t stop you from pounding your knuckles against the wood door in hopes he was there. you’re the last person he probably ever wants to chat with, but you needed to check on him. you needed to make sure he wasn’t beating himself up.

you hear the lock click, the door slowly creeps open revealing his dark brown eyes scanning your body. you’d changed into sweatpants in a sweatshirt, a more casual fit than what you were used to wearing to see Jude.

“what are you doing here this late?” his posh accent floods your eardrums, your heart can’t help but thump faster as you move closer to the small crack of the door to find any signs of concern across his face.

“I came to see you.”

“I don’t want to see you.” his bitter words make your heart come to a screeching halt. it’s just the game, you tell yourself, he doesn’t mean these words he’s clearly just upset.

“you played well, ba—Jude. please don’t beat yourself up.”

the door opens up more, like he couldn’t resist. seeing your concern for him mixed his feelings about you. at first, he was done with you. said it was for the best to move on, but seeing you here? with your doe-like brown eyes staring into his, he couldn’t resist.

“I’m the laughingstock of the team now. all because I couldn’t shoot the damn ball.”

“why didn’t you?” the words come rolling off your tongue before you can even process. you’d been asking yourself the question ever since the game ended. why didn’t he just shoot the damn ball? what was stopping him? you couldn’t press the questions in your mind any further when you knew what was stopping him: you. its silly and cliche but it’s the truest that’s been gnawing at him. you were the reason he couldn’t bare to see his own rivals lose.

“I don’t want to discuss this.” his shoulders slumped. he hardly notices you’d pushed the door further and allowed yourself in. he knew your care taking tendencies couldn’t bare to see him this down.

“come on,” you guide him into his bedroom, the curtains are drawn and a Spanish soap-opera plays quietly in the corner of his room. you crawl into his bed and allow him to rest against your body. your nails rake across his skin, careful not to put too much pressure on the black forming bruises.

“you really shouldn’t be here.” he mumbles feeling his shoulders and body sink further into the depths of touch. he hates himself for this, he knows he shouldn’t be falling at the hands of his rivals sister, but yet he can’t stop himself.

“I know,” you say peppering kisses to his throbbing temple, like you knew there was too much pressure there, “I’ll deal with that tomorrow, right now I’m here to deal with you.”

“you’re the better gavi, did you know that?” Jude lifts his gaze to meet yours, your lips briefly touch enough to ghost his.

“I did know that actually.”

he may have lost the game, but one things for sure, he didn’t lose you.